‘He’s a Siberian husky,’ said his owner. ‘The size of him scares some people, but Blue’s as docile as they come, just a little down because I haven’t been able to walk him in this damn fog. That should be my husband’s job, of course, but he’s never . . .’ She faltered, as if she was no longer able to keep her anxiety at bay. ‘This is about Ivor, isn’t it? Has there been an accident?’
Maggie Rose found herself wondering how often she had been asked that question in her police career. ‘No,’ she replied. ‘But what we have to tell you is still the worst possible news. The body of a man was found on the Meadows this morning. We believe it to be that of your husband.’
Virginia Whetstone blinked, then looked down at the dog. She reached out a hand and touched the back of a blue, cloth-covered armchair, then seemed to feel her way round it, until she sat down. ‘I see,’ she whispered. ‘You believe that it’s Ivor.’
‘Yes.’
‘You’re certain?’
The superintendent glanced across the room at a large framed photograph that stood on a sideboard against the wall, beside the door. It showed Mr and Mrs Whetstone in evening dress; two tall, smiling, confident people. ‘As certain as I can be without a formal identification. There was a driving licence in his wallet.’
‘I see,’ the widow said again. She looked quickly up at Rose, then back at the dog; she stayed motionless for several seconds, until suddenly she stood up. ‘Would you excuse me for a few minutes?’ she asked. ‘I think I need to be alone for a bit.’ Her cheeks, pink when she had opened the door, had a pale yellowish tinge to them.
‘Of course,’ Rose agreed. ‘Would you like us to wait in our car for a while? We don’t mind.’
‘No, no. You stay here with Blue. I’ll just go upstairs and,’ she paused, ‘compose myself.’ She frowned. ‘Or better still,’ she said, with an attempt at briskness, ‘I’ll go through to the kitchen and make us all a cup of tea. They say it’s called for at a time like this.’
Steele would have preferred coffee, but he decided not to ask for it. Instead he stood silently to one side as she left the room. ‘Should we be doing this?’ he asked. ‘Leaving her alone, I mean. If this is a murder inquiry . . . and it bloody well is . . . she might be a suspect, for all we know at this stage.’
‘She couldn’t have got him up there,’ the superintendent pointed out.
‘Maybe she had help. I mean . . .’
‘I know, I know. Stranger things have happened, but in the absence of proof, let’s just be kind, and assume that we’ve broken the worst news this lady’s ever had in her life, and let’s help her handle it the best we can.’
Steele smiled grimly. ‘I suppose so. You’re right, of course. Listen to me, for Christ’s sake, quoting the book at you. It must have been exposure to Manny English this morning that did it.’ He crouched down beside the dog and scratched it behind the ear; the animal rolled on to its side. He played with it for a while, and it was still licking his hand when Mrs Whetstone came back into the drawing room. She was carrying a tray with three mugs, a sugar bowl and a milk jug. Her face was still as pale, and the rattling of spoons on the tray told the detectives that she was trembling. Steele jumped quickly to his feet and relieved her of her burden.
She asked for no milk, one sugar; having been brought up to believe that hot sweet tea was a remedy for everything from shock to shingles, the inspector gave her two. She sipped the brew as she settled back into the armchair. The two detectives took their mugs and sat on the settee, part of a traditional suite.
‘You understand that there are some questions we must ask you, Mrs Whetstone,’ Rose began.
‘Of course.’ Her voice was strong and steady, but the officers could tell that it needed an effort to keep it that way.
‘It doesn’t have to be now, though. I can put that off for a bit, if you wish.’
The woman shook her head. Reflections of the room’s central light sparkled in her hair. ‘No, I’ll deal with that now. I have some questions of my own first, if you don’t mind.’
‘What can we tell you?’
‘You can tell me what happened to Ivor. Was he attacked? Was he mugged?’
Rose took a deep breath. ‘He was found hanging from a tree,’ she replied quietly.
Virginia Whetstone flinched; her hand shook violently for a moment, spilling some tea into her lap. ‘Oh dear,’ she whispered, pawing absently at the marks. ‘Had he been there long when he was found?’ she asked.
‘All night; at least, that was the police doctor’s preliminary view.’
She frowned, as if that would help her make sense of what she had been told. ‘Are you telling me that Ivor killed himself?’ There was incredulity in her tone. She looked from one detective to the other.
‘No,’ Steele replied. ‘We’re not telling you that.’ He caught Rose’s quick glance, and her message. ‘The circumstances were such that we have to regard his death as suspicious,’ he concluded cautiously.
‘So he was attacked?’
‘That’s a strong possibility,’ said the superintendent. ‘When did you see your husband last, Mrs Whetstone?’ she continued quickly, not wanting to be questioned any further herself.
‘Yesterday morning, when he left for the office.’
‘Did he use public transport? I notice that there are two cars in your drive.’
‘Sometimes he used the bus, but quite often he walks.’ The present tense registered with her at once; she bit her lip awkwardly. ‘It’s his main form of exercise, now he has less time for golf, although he hasn’t been doing it as much lately.’
‘So the MO was right, and he didn’t come home last night.’
‘He was right.’
‘Didn’t this alarm you?’ The question was put softly.
‘No.’
Rose was puzzled. ‘It didn’t? Weren’t you expecting him?’
‘No, because he called me in the afternoon, after the fog had closed in, when it was really very bad. He said that he could hear buses crawling along Lothian Road, and bumping into each other, and that the streets just weren’t safe. He told me that if it hadn’t lifted, or at least got a bit better by the evening, he might well take a room in the Caledonian Hotel. I assumed that he had.’
‘So he didn’t phone to confirm that?’
‘No.’>
‘And you didn’t phone the Caley?’
‘No. I spent the evening with a neighbour, Connie Dallas. She’d just bought a DVD of the extended version of
‘Did you think to check your answering service,’ Steele asked, ‘to see if your husband had called?’
‘We don’t have an answering machine, Inspector, and we don’t use the BT service. Ivor has a mobile,’ she flinched again at her mistaken tense, ‘and that’s all.’
‘Did you try to call him at his office this morning?’
‘No,’ she said, stiffly. ‘Why should I? I have never interrupted him at work, unless it was absolutely necessary.’
‘Were you surprised that he didn’t call you?’
‘A little,’ she confessed. She sniffed, and added, ‘Enough for me to decide to get my own back. When the fog cleared a little I called a taxi and went to Jenners for some retail therapy. It’s always been my way of letting Ivor know when I’m displeased.’ As she spoke, her voice became a whisper, and her gaze dropped. ‘Isn’t that right, Blue?’ she murmured to the dog. Finally, tears began to roll down her cheeks; she reached out to a side table and ripped a handful of tissues from a box, roughly, as if she was annoyed by her weakness.
Rose let the silence last for a few seconds, giving Virginia Whetstone time to gather herself, and to drink some of her tea. ‘How was your husband’s state of mind recently?’ she murmured eventually.
‘Robust!’ The answer was fired back in an instant. ‘Ivor has never been more successful in business, and we are both . . . have both enjoyed being back in Edinburgh.’
‘He’s never mentioned any worries?’
‘None.’ The widow knitted her brows. ‘There were a few concerns at first, I suppose; he didn’t care for the woman he had to report to, for instance.’ There was something in Mrs Whetstone’s tone which hinted that she had shared his dislike. ‘The new approach to business came as a surprise to most of the managers, and as a terrible shock to some who couldn’t adapt. Ivor could, though, as Vernon Easterson anticipated. After some self-doubt, his new post began to stimulate him far more than Kelso had in recent years. To be frank he’d become a bit of a boring
