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

interviewed.

“Not that I believe for a minute that John would do something like that,” continued Hazel. “I mean, why would he have wanted to hurt Donald?”

Gemma thought of the usual motives for murder. There was jealousy, but John had never met Hazel until that weekend. There was greed, but she couldn’t see how John had benefited from Donald’s death. There was revenge, but as far as she knew, Donald had been a good friend to John. And then there was the desire to protect a secret.

“Hazel, what do you really know about John?” she asked. “You and Louise hadn’t seen each other for years.”

Hazel considered for a moment. “Louise met John after Donald and I split up—after I’d gone back to England—so I never knew him when Louise and I were living in Grantown. I don’t think she ever really dated anyone seriously until she met John, come to think of it.

Um, let’s see.” She chewed her thumbnail. “I know he sold commercial real estate in Edinburgh before they came here, and that he and Louise had a flat in the New Town. I know he always wanted to cook. And then there are the obvious things, of course—he’s married to Louise; he has a much younger brother, Martin, from his mother’s second marriage.”

John did have another connection with Donald, Gemma realized, one she had forgotten. They had both been friends with Callum MacGillivray.

“This is dreadful,” Hazel said suddenly. “These are my friends. How can I be sitting here, speculating about them?” She pushed her bowl aside.

“I’m sorry.” Gemma could have kicked herself for being so insensitive. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have asked

you. This is hard enough for me, and I’ve only known them a few days.”

“No, I’m sorry.” Hazel gave her a tremulous smile.

“You’re trying to help, and I snapped at you. And here you must be worried sick about Kit, and I’ve been no use to you at all.”

“I’m certain he’s all right with Nathan,” said Gemma, reassuring herself as much as Hazel. She wondered what had happened to Duncan, and if he had succeeded in reaching Ian. “Why don’t you go on to bed,” she told Hazel, “and I’ll give Louise a hand in the kitchen.”

Hazel had protested, but without much force, and Gemma soon convinced her to go back to her room for a bath.

“You’re not staying with me, are you?” asked Hazel. “I think Louise meant to put you and Duncan in Pascal’s room.”

“You’re certain you don’t mind?” Gemma still didn’t feel entirely comfortable leaving Hazel alone, but she didn’t want to worry her by saying so.

“Positive.”

“Okay. I’ll just pop in and get my things later on.”

When she had seen Hazel out the front door, she stood in the hall for a moment, listening. There was a low murmur of male voices from upstairs. Duncan and Martin had obviously found something to talk about.

Collecting a stack of dirty dishes from the dining room, she carried them into the kitchen and looked around. There were cooking pots piled in the sink and an unfinished bowl of Cullen Skink on the small table, but there was no sign of Louise. Gemma thought she would have heard if Louise had gone up the stairs, so she stepped out through the scullery to have a look outside.

The garden was quiet, deep in the shadows of the late dusk. From somewhere nearby she caught the faint, pungent scent of tobacco smoke. As her eyes adjusted to the dimness, she noticed a flickering glow of light coming from the garden shed. “Louise?” she called out, crossing the lawn.

When she looked inside the shed’s open door, she saw Louise sitting on a campstool, smoking a cigarette. On the potting bench burned a small spirit lamp. “Do you mind if I come in?” Gemma asked.

“Suit yourself. I had to get out for a bit.” Louise had thrown a cardigan on over her kitchen apron but still hugged herself as if she were cold.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” Gemma said as she took the other stool.

“I don’t, usually. These are John’s. It’s a little game we play. I pretend I don’t know he smokes them, and then occasionally I nick one or two, but he can’t say anything to me without admitting that he bought them in the first place.”

Gemma smiled. “That sounds like one of those things that keep marriage interesting.”

“I suppose you could look at it like that.” Louise took a last drag on the cigarette, ground it out under her foot, then set the fag end carefully on the bench. “But you and Duncan aren’t married, are you? Why not?”

“Oh, um, it’s complicated,” said Gemma, taken by surprise. “I was married before, and so was he, and neither of us was very successful at it. Maybe we’re afraid to jinx what we’ve got.”

“And the son who played truant today, he doesn’t belong to both of you?”

“He’s Duncan’s son from his first marriage. Toby, the four-year-old, is my son from my first marriage.” She

couldn’t help thinking of the child they had lost, the little boy who would have been due any day now, if he had lived.

“It sounds complicated,” said Louise, bringing Gemma back to the present. “Blending a family like that.”

“Sometimes. But no more complicated than most families, I think.” Gemma saw an opportunity. “Louise, speaking of families, why do you dislike Martin so much? He is John’s brother, after all.”

“Half brother,” Louise corrected, “and he presumes on it. He always has some sad story, although I don’t know the whole of it this time. John’s always taken care of himself—why should he feel obliged to bail Martin out of trouble time and again?” she added bitterly.

“I suppose John feels responsible because Martin’s so much younger,” Gemma suggested, privately wondering if it had something to do with the fact that John and Louise had no children of their own. “Louise, are you sure you don’t have any idea where John was yesterday morning? Could it have had something to do with Martin?”

Louise frowned. “I don’t see how. I saw John leave on his own, and Martin was here.”

“You’d have seen Martin go out?”

“Well,” Louise hesitated. “I think so. But I was working in the garden, and I was in and out of the shed, so I can’t be absolutely certain. And I can’t imagine what Martin and John would have been doing together at that time of the morning.”

“Fishing?” Gemma said, remembering her conversation with Callum MacGillivray.

Louise looked at her blankly. “What are you talking about? John doesn’t have time to fish.”

“But Callum MacGillivray told me that he and John and Donald fished together.”

“You’ve talked to Callum?” asked Louise, sounding surprised.

“Earlier this afternoon, after I picked Duncan up at the station. I saw Alison Grant, the woman who came to see Donald on Saturday night, and she said it was Callum who told her Hazel would be here.”

“And what did Callum tell you?”

“He wanted to convince Alison that Donald wasn’t serious about her.” Gemma thought back to her conversation with Hazel in the dining room and saw an angle she hadn’t considered. “Louise, do you know if John knew Alison Grant?”

The shadows from the spirit lamp flickered across Louise’s face, making it difficult for Gemma to read her expression. “If he did,” Louise said carefully, “he never told me.”

Callum had sat through dinner with his aunt and his father in the farmhouse kitchen, picking at his food. From the worktop, Aunt Janet’s old black-and-white television had re-layed the local news, and they had all watched, transfixed by the fuzzy images. The police had released Donald’s name, and the television producers had managed to unearth a tape showing Donald opening the previous year’s local Highland Games. This they had juxtaposed with footage of Benvulin, of the crowd milling about the gate at Innesfree, and of the white mortuary van turning out of Innesfree’s drive.

It had made Callum’s throat tighten with renewed grief, and he thought with horror of Alison and Chrissy watching from their sitting room.