‘No. She’s through the house. Who shall I say is calling?’
‘Detective Chief Inspector Lorimer, Strathclyde CID and Dr Solomon Brightman,’ Lorimer held out his warrant card and the woman peered short-sightedly at it.
‘You’ll be here about Kirsty, I suppose?’ her tone was disapproving but she opened the door wider to let them in.
‘That’s right,’ Lorimer answered and was on the point of asking the woman’s name when she fixed them with a gimlet stare and said, ‘Follow me, please.’
The woman closed the door behind them and stepped into a darkened hallway.
‘She’s through here.’ Lorimer and Solly followed her into a light, airy room facing the water. An old lady was sitting with her back to them in a huge wing chair that faced the bay window.
‘Mhairi, it’s folk from Glasgow to see you. A Mr Lorimer from the police and his Doctor friend.’ Lorimer was struck by the change in the woman’s voice. It was the tone one would use with a child, soothing and whispery. He stepped forward just as the old woman turned her head towards the voice. For a moment he was speechless. Mhairi MacLeod might be over eighty, but she was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen. Her face was smooth and brown with not a sign of a wrinkle except where fine spider’s web laughter lines spread from her mouth and eyes. The snow-white hair was wispy and caught back in a net but he could see its abundance of plaited coils and wondered if it had ever been cut. The eyes regarding him were blue, but faded.
‘Mr Lorimer, Dr…?’ she turned to Solomon and gave him a sweet smile.
‘Brightman. How do you do, Miss MacLeod,’ Solly came forward, gave a stiff little bow then took the old woman’s hand.
‘Would you like a cup of tea, gentlemen?’
‘Thank you. That would be most welcome,’ Solomon replied before Lorimer had time to think.
‘Make us all a pot of tea, would you, Chrissie. And could we have some of those lovely scones you brought in? Thank you, dear.’
Mhairi MacLeod waved her hand at the two men. ‘Bring a couple of chairs over and sit beside me. The view’s too good to miss.’ There was a twinkle in her eye as she addressed Lorimer. He looked around, found two small wooden chairs, each with plump embroidered cushions, then lifted them over and set them down on either side of the wing chair.
‘I don’t know what I’d do without Chrissie. She’s been so good to me since Kirsty’s passing.’
‘She’s your home help?’ asked Lorimer.
‘Oh, don’t let her hear you say that! No, no. Chrissie’s my next door neighbour, which makes life easier for us both. Home help? Dear me, we don’t have such luxuries in this part of the world unless we’re really poor old souls with nobody to care for us.’ She glanced as Lorimer turned his chair slightly inwards. ‘Did you have a good journey up?’
‘Yes, indeed,’ Solomon answered.
‘You’re not with Strathclyde police, are you, my dear?’ Mhairi MacLeod looked at Solomon with interest.
The psychologist shook his head and turned his large brown eyes upon the old lady. ‘No, I’m helping the police with their case. I may be able to construct a profile of Kirsty’s killer which would assist the investigation,’ he explained.
‘Ah, like Cracker on the TV?’ she smiled at them. ‘Oh, we’re not entirely in the backwoods here, we do have the television. Don’t know what Chrissie would do without Coronation Street’ she added. ‘You’re not from this part of the country, then Dr Brightman?’
‘No. I was born in London, but Glasgow’s my home now,’ Solly replied.
She nodded. ‘Aye. And it was poor wee Kirsty’s home for a while.’ Lorimer noticed her lip tremble for a second but then Chrissie came bustling into the room bearing a tray laden with what looked like the best china and a huge plate of buttered scones. She set it down on the table in front of the old lady.
‘Right, I’m away ben. Just give me a knock when you want me through,’ Chrissie told her and marched out of the room. They heard the front door close behind her.
‘She said to give her a knock?’ Solomon asked, puzzled.
Mhairi MacLeod smiled at him. ‘Aye, with my stick.’ She picked up a walking stick that lay at her feet and motioned with it towards the partition wall. ‘I don’t have the telephone, you see. A couple of raps and Chrissie knows I need her.’
The old woman leant forward and grasped the teapot with both hands then concentrated on pouring out three cups of tea. Lorimer’s instinct was to offer to do it for her but a glance from Solly warned him off. Mhairi MacLeod might be old and infirm but she was still the hostess in her own home. Lorimer watched her frail hand shaking as she passed him a cup. She saw his expression and pursed her lips together in a gesture of determination. Chrissie might have to make the tea but she was the one who would serve her guests.
She took a few sips of tea then placed her cup back on the tray, rattling the saucer. Her shoulders sagged as she leant back into the deep armchair and patiently folded her hands.
Mhairi MacLeod gave a short sigh. ‘Right, now. You’ve come to see me about Kirsty, haven’t you?’ Lorimer looked straight at her, returning her directness. He nodded. ‘I’m afraid so.’
‘Don’t be afraid, Chief Inspector.’ Her hand was suddenly covering his own and he felt the warmth of its light touch. ‘May I ask you something first?’
‘Go ahead.’
‘Kirsty,’ she paused to let the name roll off her tongue as if she’d become unused to saying it. ‘Did she suffer much? I never asked before.’
Lorimer saw her bite her lip to stop it trembling. ‘No. Not at all. She’d hardly have known what was happening. The Doctor said it was over very quickly. There were no signs of a struggle,’ he added gently.
For a moment Mhairi MacLeod stared at him, those faded eyes trying to outmatch his own blue gaze. Then she nodded, apparently satisfied that Lorimer was telling her the truth.
‘There are several things we’d like to ask you about Kirsty, your niece.’
‘Great-niece, Mister Lorimer.’ There was a faint smile around her mouth as she corrected him. He smiled back.
‘Did you know of any men friends that she’d made in Glasgow, anybody she might have written to you about? A particular boyfriend perhaps?’
‘No. Nobody special. She used to say she was waiting for Mr Right. But I don’t think he ever came into Kirsty’s life.’ She gave a sigh. ‘She wrote regularly and would have told me if she’d met a young man. Always started her letters, Dear Aunty Mhairi, I’m fine, how are you?’ Suddenly the old woman’s face crumpled and she groped into the depth of a cushion behind her back for a handkerchief.
‘Here,’ Solomon was immediately hunkering down by her side, offering a large white linen hanky. There was silence except for the blowing of her nose and a muffled sobbing from the folds of the handkerchief until Mhairi MacLeod shook her head at them. ‘So sorry. I’m just a silly old woman.’
‘No, you’re not.’ Solomon was holding her hand now and stroking it with some concern, his eyes fixed on the old lady’s face. She straightened up again and wiped her eyes.
‘What was I saying? Yes. Kirsty had nobody special down in Glasgow. She’d had a nice boyfriend up here, Calum, but he went away down to university and they only kept in touch occasionally; birthdays, Christmas cards, that sort of thing.’
‘Did she ever mention anything about her work in the letters?’
‘What sort of thing?’ The faded eyes were alert again.
‘Did she say if she was happy? Did she like the staff? Was she was coping with the patients, that sort of thing.’
Mhairi MacLeod frowned. Was she remembering something? Lorimer asked himself.
‘I sometimes wondered if Kirsty was suited to the nursing,’ she began slowly. ‘She took everything so much to heart. Became involved with her patients. Grieved terribly whenever one of them passed over. Oh, I know it’s a grand thing to be concerned about those who are sick, whether in mind or body,’ she said, waving a hand at them. ‘But you need to be a bit hard to be a good nurse, don’t you think? It’s the same in the police, I suppose,’ she directed her question to Lorimer who nodded silently. Her voice was quiet when she added, ‘Kirsty wasn’t hard enough, I’m thinking.’
They waited for the old lady to elaborate on that statement but apparently that was all she had to offer on
