Deborah Crombie - Duncan Kincaid & Gemma James 09 - Now May You Weep

Louise considered for a moment, then said carefully,

“ ‘I want to see Donald. Tell him I know he’s here.

There’s no use him skulking about, the lying bastard.’ ” Shaking her head, she added, “And in front of the child, too.”

“You’d never seen her before?”

“No. She wasn’t our sort.” Louise Innes seemed to feel no need to apologize for her snobbery.

“Did you overhear any of her conversation with Donald?”

“No,” Louise said, with what might have been a trace of regret. “I was getting the dining room ready, and helping John with the food.”

“I was under the impression that the guests did the cooking on a cookery course.”

“The class did most of the preparation yesterday, but John likes to do the last bits himself. He thinks that if people are paying to stay, they should have a little pam-pering—or at least that’s what he says. If you ask me, I think he just can’t bear to give up that much control of the kitchen.”

Ross gave her an encouraging nod. “Now, about your friend Hazel Cavendish, Mrs. Innes. Did she have some special understanding with Donald Brodie? A relationship?”

“Oh, not for years. But— Well, it was Donald who wanted to invite Hazel this weekend. I told John from the beginning I thought it was a bad idea,” Louise added, with the self-righteousness of the justified.

“You thought there might be trouble?”

“Oh, no—of course I never imagined anything like this! It’s just that—well, no matter what Donald wanted, Hazel is married. He couldn’t expect . . .”

“Are you telling me that Donald Brodie was still in love with Mrs. Cavendish? Were they having an affair?”

“No! I don’t— Donald wanted to see her, that was all.

For old times’ sake.”

“But Mrs. Cavendish knew he would be here, when you invited her?”

“Well, I did mention it, of course.” Louise smoothed already immaculate hair behind one ear. “She didn’t seem too concerned one way or the other.”

“But she was angry last night, after the young woman called for him?”

“I—I don’t know. I wasn’t in the dining room much at all.”

Ross had the distinct feeling she was prevaricating.

“Mrs. Innes, I know you mean well, but it really is best for everyone if you cooperate fully. Withholding evidence in a police inquiry is quite a serious matter.”

Louise Innes tucked her hair behind her ear again, then clasped her hands, rubbing the ball of one thumb over the top of the other. “There’s nothing, really. It’s just that . . . after dinner, when I went to take the rubbish out to the big bin, I heard them in the garden. They seemed to be arguing.”

“Did you hear what they said?”

“No, just raised voices. It was dark by then, and I couldn’t be sure exactly where they were. I hurried back inside—didn’t want to be caught eavesdropping.”

Ross found it interesting that she hadn’t said she didn’t want to eavesdrop; only that she didn’t want to be caught.

“Mrs. Innes—”

“You’re not thinking Hazel had something to do with Donald’s death?” She gazed at him, her hand lifted halfway to her mouth. “That’s just not possible! Hazel would never hurt anyone. And besides, Martin said Don-

ald came back to their room last night, so even if Donald and Hazel were together last night it doesn’t mean—”

“No, it doesn’t, but Mrs. Cavendish’s movements are unaccounted for this morning, and that is the crucial time period.”

“Oh.” The pupils of Louise Innes’s pale blue eyes dilated. “But . . .”

“Did you see Mrs. Cavendish this morning?”

“No. Not until after . . . her car was gone when I first went out into the garden. She drove up just as Gemma . . .” For the first time, Louise looked near to tears.

“Did you hear the gunshot?”

She shook her head, the bell of her hair swinging with the motion. “No. At least I don’t think I did—I might not have paid any attention. I was in the kitchen for a bit, making coffee, doing my usual morning chores, making a good bit of noise, I suppose. But after John left, I went out into the garden. I would surely have heard it then.”

“Your husband left this morning?” Ross’s interest quickened. Behind him, he heard Munro shift position and knew his sergeant had caught it as well. “I don’t remember your husband mentioning going anywhere this morning.”

“He ran to one of the neighboring estates to pick up some fresh eggs for breakfast—they keep free-range hens. What’s the harm in that?”

“Do you know what time this was?”

“I— No, I didn’t notice. You don’t think—you can’t think John took the gun,” she went on, her voice rising in horror. “He couldn’t have. I was in the kitchen when he left.”

“He could have put the gun in the car earlier—perhaps during the night.”

“You are surely joking, Chief Inspector,” Louise said flatly, as if she would not have it be otherwise. “Even if it were possible that John could do such a thing, how could he have known that Donald would be walking in the meadow this morning? How could anyone have known?”

Ross wasn’t sure what he had expected, from what he had heard of Hazel Cavendish—a glamorous woman, perhaps, sophisticated in the manner of her cousin Heather Urquhart.

Instead, he found himself facing a slight woman with an appealing heart-shaped face made more striking by her dark eyes and curly dark hair. She wore a yellow, fuzzy pullover, and her face was swollen from weeping.

Resisting an unexpected urge towards gentleness, he said, “Mrs. Cavendish, were you having an affair with Donald Brodie?”

“No.” The word was a whisper. “No,” she repeated more firmly, with obvious effort.

“But you had been lovers?”

“That was a long time ago, Chief Inspector.” She sounded weary beyond bearing. “It was another life.”

“But Donald hoped to renew your relationship, isn’t that right?” When she didn’t answer, he went on. “Is that why ye argued with him last night?”

Her eyes widened. “I— He—he brought up some old issues between us. It wasn’t an argument. It can’t have had anything to do with Donald’s death.”

“Aye, well, I canna be so sure about that, now can I? I had the idea you were angry over the wee lassie who called on him before dinner.”

“I don’t know anything about that.” Her mouth was set in a stubborn line.

“And what about this morning, Mrs. Cavendish? Can you tell me where ye went in the car?”

She swallowed and took a sharp little breath, as if readying something rehearsed. “I drove to Aviemore. I was worried about my daughter. I’d never left her for so long, before this weekend, and I thought I should go home. But there was no train that early. So I came back.”

She hadn’t had much practice at lying, thought Ross, and she did it remarkably badly. “What time did you leave the house?”

“I’m not sure. It was light. Before five, I think.”

“And yet you returned at”—he checked his notes—

“around half six, according to Mrs. Innes. The drive to Aviemore takes only a few minutes.”

“I sat at the station for a while, deciding whether to wait for a train.”

“Did anyone see you?”

“I—I don’t know. The ticket office was closed. I didn’t speak to—”

There was a tap at the door, and the duty constable came in. “Sorry to interrupt, sir, but one of the crime scene technicians thought you’d want to see this.”

Ross stood up and took the clear evidence envelope by its corner.