My Bones Will Keep

‘It’s still all a bit odd, you know,’ said Laura, moodily.

‘An understatement, I feel.’

‘So we go and see the station-master?’

‘Yes, indeed. He may not remember whether his car was on hire that afternoon and evening but he will most certainly remember whether Mr Grant did, or did not, travel by train to Inverness that day.’

‘Good enough. Have you decided who killed Black Dog?’

‘Oh, yes, of course, child. That was fairly obvious from the beginning. The police know, too. Their trouble is the same as ours – lack of proof.’

‘Well, who did it, then?’

‘Suppose you tell me what you think.’

‘Mr Grant Senior, assisted by Mr Grant Junior, in which case they must be related, and I don’t believe they are,’ said Laura; but she spoke doubtfully. ‘The name is a common one and, although I know they live fairly near to one another, I don’t see that that makes them either relatives or fellow criminals. It’s just a hunch I have, that’s all.’

‘What else makes sense, my dear Laura?’

‘Well, there’s Macbeth. He must come into the picture somewhere. I just can’t fit him in. I can’t see him as a murderer, though. And then, what about the disinherited son? We simply must regard him as a suspect. You know – revenge and all that.’

‘But there is nothing to suggest that he was on Tannasgan when the murder was committed.’

‘But is there anything to suggest that he wasn’t?’

‘I think there may be, but of that I am a little uncertain.’

‘Yes? How do you mean?’

‘Nobody has mentioned that he was there. To particularise, you did not see him, Macbeth has not suggested that he was on the island and the Corries cannot have thought that he was there.’

‘It wouldn’t have been too difficult for him to have hidden himself from all of us. However, I still think the Grants know most about what happened. Oh, well, now for the station-master at Tigh-Osda.’

The station-master at Tigh-Osda proved to be a cautious softly-spoken man who received them in his primitive little office behind the booking-clerk’s den, offered them seats and asked what their complaint was.

‘We have no complaint whatever,’ said Dame Beatrice. ‘We are hoping for information.’

‘You cannot understand the time-tables, maybe?’

‘Nothing of that kind. I am sure they are as clear as British Railways can make them. Our enquiries, in short, are connected with a Mr Grant who lives at Coinneamh Lodge, about a dozen miles from here.’

‘Ay?’ said the station-master. ‘I know Mr Grant very well as a passenger to Inverness.’

‘You do? That is helpful, then. Would you remember a Friday at the end of last month when there was a deluge of rain, severe even for the Western Highlands, when Mr and Mrs Grant left their station wagon or estate car here because it had broken down?’

‘I mind it very well. This young lady here’ – he nodded at Laura – ‘was good enough to drive Mrs Grant home.’

‘That is so.’

‘How do you know?’ asked Laura. The station-master pointed to the windows on either side of the little room.

‘That way I can keep my eye on the platform. That way I can see who comes in from the road.’

‘Oh, of course. Well, I spent the night at Coinneamh Lodge, as the weather was so atrocious, and, some time during the time I was there, my car vanished. It was returned – I mean, I’ve got it back all right – but it was a hired car and I was responsible for it, so I’d rather like to know who had it. All I can think of is that somebody who knew the Grants also knew that they owned a station wagon and went to Coinneamh Lodge to borrow it. They found my car in the shed, so borrowed that instead.’

‘Did it suffer damage, then?’

‘Well,’ said Laura, treading on delicate ground because she did not want to tell a direct lie, ‘it certainly wasn’t quite in the same condition as when I left it, and judging by the mileage figures and the – er—’

‘The petrol consumption?’

‘ – I just wondered whether somebody – it would have to be two people, actually – used it to reach the station here so that one of them could catch a train.’

‘What would be the latest time you could be sure it was safely housed at Coinneamh Lodge?’

‘Well, I didn’t go to bed until well after midnight and I should have heard it being driven away, I’m sure, or the door being slammed, or something. From what I can work out, it was taken away some time between about two o’clock and six in the morning.’

The station-master fished out a timetable.

‘You may see for yourself, mistress, that there is no train leaves this station after the one Mr Grant catches at eight-fifteen when he travels to Inverness during the clement months of the year. The earliest morning train does not go out until nine-five.’

‘Well, anyway, thank you for telling me,’ said Laura. ‘I just thought it might be