My Bones Will Keep

‘It is a long shot, Inspector, but, as I think you will agree, we still do not know for certain what motive the murderer or murderers of Mr Bradan may have had for what they did to him.’

‘Motive?’

‘Well, self-interest, in one form or another, is seen to be a motive in most cases of murder, is it not?’ asked Dame Beatrice. ‘But in this case I would postulate revenge.’

Chapter 17

Following the Death of a Salamander

‘Treason has done his worst: nor steel,

nor poison.

Malice domestic .foreign levy, nothing,

Can touch him further.’

Shakespeare

« ^ »

THE list of names and addresses, supplied to Dame Beatrice at her hotel in Slanliebh two days later, at first offered no hope of providing any clue to the still mysterious death of the laird of Tannasgan. It transpired that most of the crew of the lost collier Saracen had been Lascars and that of the captain and three officers (the third officer, so-called, was an apprentice), only one was a Scotsman. This was the second-mate, a man named Baillie. Dame Beatrice decided to try his wife first.

The address was that of a street in Glasgow; this to the surprise of Laura, who insisted that the man must have lived in Leith. Dame Beatrice confirmed the address with the inspector and in due course George drew up the car in front of a quiet, respectable house in Govan.

The door was opened by a quiet, respectable woman who confirmed that her name was Mrs Baillie. She asked Dame Beatrice and Laura in, and produced strong tea, bannocks and shortbread.

‘Ye’ll be from the police,’ she said. ‘I had word.’

‘Full marks for the inspector,’ said Laura. ‘That’s going to save a lot of explanation.’

Dame Beatrice picked up the cue. They had rehearsed several openings to this conversation on the way from Slanliebh.

‘We are conducting an enquiry into the destruction of the collier Saracen, which was lost somewhere in the Atlantic five years ago. As you know, I have no doubt, one of the owners has been found killed. The circumstances seem mysterious and the motive for the murder rather obscure. Did your husband ever express any opinion as to the nature and scope of his employment?’

Mrs Baillie sipped tea and thought over the question.

‘Nature… and scope…’ she repeated, with long pauses. ‘Well, maybe he did. I mind well him saying that, once he had his master’s certificate, he could be very sure of a command. It is not all those who hold a master’s certificate that can get a ship of their own, ye ken.’

‘You mean that your husband hoped to captain one?’ asked Dame Beatrice.

‘Just that. It sours on a man, not to get his own ship. But Ian was always hopeful – too hopeful, I thought, times – of getting a command, but he always said that, once he had his wee bit of paper, he trusted the Company to do the right thing by him. I was not so hopeful.’

‘Why not, Mrs Baillie?’

‘Ian was too old. He was no verra guid at studying. I couldna see him passing an examination. Practical seamanship, ay, certainly; but to write it all down – well, I had ma doubts; I certainly had ma doubts.’

‘What did you think of the shipping firm for which he worked?’

‘I kenned little about it, but I thought the money was too guid. Not that I scorned the pay – oh, no, not that! – but it was way aboon what the Union were asking.’

‘So you suspected that something was wrong?’

‘Maybe not just at first. You ken the way it would be. Nobody looks twice at guid siller when it’s to your hand. It was only afterwards that I began to wonder.’

‘Since the Saracen went down, you mean?’

‘Ay. Mind ye, there was naething wrong wi’ the ship and there was naething wrong wi’ the owners – only —’

‘Yes?’

‘No, no,’ said Mrs Baillie, almost with violence. ‘It was the money. The money was too guid. Danger money, it was. I can see that fine the now.’

‘Did you ever meet the captain of the Saracen?’

‘I did that. Many’s the crack he and Ian had together in this very house. Ou, ay, many and many’s the crack. I’ve left them laughing over their rum mair than twenty or thairty times, I would say. Ay, mair than twenty or thairty times.’

‘What about the first officer?’

‘That one? There went a bubblyjock of a man for ye. Ay, a right down bubblyjock of a man.’