Shadows of Death (20 page)

‘My will isn’t up to date,’ I muttered, but not loud enough for Alan to hear me.

Once more we had to leave Watson behind, to his obvious disgust. We put him out in the little patio where he could at least see and smell the great outdoors, and ignored his whines of distress.

I felt a qualm when Alan left me at the door of the nursing facility. Mrs Norquist was, after all, reputed to have violent tendencies, and I didn’t know how old and feeble she might be. The insane are also said to have strength, sometimes, beyond what might be expected.

Pull yourself together, Dorothy, I admonished myself. There will be attendants and nurses around. And there’s a CCTV camera up there over the door, and I’ll bet there are more inside. What could happen?

W
hat could happen was nothing. I girded my loins, walked in the door, and asked to see Mrs Norquist.

‘I’m sorry, madam, no one can see her.’

It was like preparing to take the first step up a stairway, only to have one’s foot come down on empty air. ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Oh, dear. Is she – um – ill or something?’ I hardly knew how to ask if she was crazier than usual today.

‘She has requested no visitors.’

‘But I made a special trip out from the village, and my driver has gone. Couldn’t I just speak to her for a moment?’

‘No, madam.’ The woman at the desk was pleasant, but quite firm. ‘We always honour our residents’ requests of that kind. She wishes to see no one.’

‘But she doesn’t even know me! I mean, it isn’t as if I’m someone from the village who might upset her in some way.’

‘I’m sorry.’ She smiled and turned away.

I didn’t know what to do. Alan had arranged to come back for me in an hour. I certainly didn’t want to cool my heels in the reception area for that long, but there seemed to be no way I could see Mrs Norquist.

Reluctantly I pulled out my cell phone. Alan wouldn’t even be halfway back to the village yet. He could come and pick me up, and either take me with him to see the redoubtable Miss MacKenzie, or drop me at the flat. I punched in his number and pushed Send.

Nothing happened. I probably tried three times before I noticed the message on the screen: No Signal.

We’ve grown so used to the idea of instant communication that I simply stared at the miserable thing, willing it to come alive and do my bidding, but of course it lay there in my hand, inert and useless.

‘Mrs Martin?’ The voice was soft and gentle. I turned around to see one of the women from last night’s little gathering. ‘We haven’t met properly, but I was at Ruth Menzies’ meeting last night. I’m Leonora Tredgold, but everyone calls me Nora. The vicar at St Mary’s is my husband. You seem to be in difficulty. Is there any way I can help?’

‘It’s very kind of you, but I … the truth is, I’m at a bit of a loose end. I came to talk to Mrs Norquist, but they won’t let me in. I guess she isn’t seeing visitors. And I don’t have a car here, and my husband is on his way back to Stromness, and my mobile won’t work, and …’ To my horror, my voice began to quiver, and I closed my mouth abruptly.

‘Then I’m so glad I saw you. I’m quite free this morning, and I’d be happy to take you any place you like. Stromness, or Kirkwall, or anywhere at all.’

Suppressing an absurd desire to say ‘Sherebury’, I swallowed the lump in my throat and said, ‘If you really have the time, I suppose I might as well go back to our holiday flat. It’s on the harbour road in Stromness.’

‘Yes, dear, I know. The car’s this way.’

I had my voice under control by the time we had got away from the home. ‘This really is very kind of you. I had so hoped to talk with Mrs Norquist, and when I couldn’t, I didn’t know quite what to do.’

‘I imagine you wanted to talk to her about her son. You might not have learned anything, you know.’

‘I’ve heard she’s not always lucid.’

‘That’s not quite how I’d describe her. She’s only mad nor’-nor’ west, and I sometimes have the feeling she’s pretending to be less capable than she is. That’s just my own idea, mind you. My husband would reprove me for saying this, but she’s not a very nice person, and I do think she gave her son a frightful life. It’s rather a mercy he doesn’t have to look after her anymore, but the respite may have come too late for him.’

‘You think he’s dead, then?’

‘I don’t know what I think, but that’s not what I meant. You know, when a caged animal is suddenly set free, sometimes it won’t come out of the cage. It doesn’t know how to cope on its own, and fears freedom. I think perhaps Charlie Norquist was in subjection to his mother for so long, he no longer knows how to make his own decisions, fashion his own life. He can’t shrug off the bonds.’

‘Mrs Tredgold—’

‘Nora.’

‘Nora, what do you think has become of Mr Norquist? I’ve heard so many theories, and I know so little about him that I can’t begin to guess which might be true.’

She was silent while negotiating a rather complicated roundabout. (Et tu, Orkney, I thought ruefully. I hate roundabouts and hadn’t thought to find them here, back of beyond.)

‘I don’t know what to tell you,’ Nora said slowly. ‘I cannot feel that he is dead, though I know that seems the most reasonable explanation. I can think of no reason for anyone to wish him dead, and I can’t imagine he would have enough resolution, if that’s what’s required, to take his own life. You see, Dorothy – may I call you Dorothy?’

‘Please.’

‘Charles Norquist has been told what to do all his life. His mother decided, after his father died, that they would move back to Orkney. His mother decided he should work at the museum. His mother decided what he would wear, what he would eat, probably what he would think. She imposed her own religious beliefs on him, and her own moral values.’

‘I’ve heard his beliefs were – are – somewhat peculiar.’

Nora laughed, rather bitterly. ‘That’s one way to put it. She was an out-and-out pagan, and directed her son in the same way. I don’t mean simply a non-Christian. That’s common enough in these days, more’s the pity, but Theodore and I can deal with that. Non-believers are usually pleasant and kind people, and we always cherish the hope of leading them into more life-giving paths. But pagans have their own set of beliefs that are not simply un-Christian, but quite definitely anti-Christian, and I fear sometimes quite nasty.’

‘Including sacrifice?’ I murmured.

‘Sometimes including sacrifice, and nothing like the sacrifice of the Eucharist. I am extremely worried about Charlie Norquist, Mrs Martin. I think his life may be imperilled, and I fear even more for his soul. Theodore and I pray for him daily. Now let me see, is this your flat?’

‘Yes.’ I started to struggle out of the small car, and then sat back. ‘Nora, would you like to come in for a cup of tea? Unless you have to be somewhere.’

‘That’s very kind of you. I’m always ready for a cup of tea. I’ll just park across the street in the ferry lot. No one bothers much about the rules unless the lot is full.’

We went into the flat, and I let the dog in. He was voluble in either welcome or recrimination; I wasn’t sure which. I calmed him and turned on the kettle.

‘This is quite nice, isn’t it?’ she said, looking around. ‘One never knows about holiday flats, but this one’s been done up beautifully.’

‘It’s well equipped, too. Mr Fairweather was telling us about a holiday he and his wife once spent in Cornwall in a cottage with no pots or pans. They couldn’t cook at all. It’s always tricky in someone else’s kitchen anyway, isn’t it?’

‘Indeed. But Dorothy, you didn’t ask me in to talk about kitchens.’

I do like a person who comes to the point. ‘No, I didn’t. I’ll make the tea, and phone Alan to tell him where I am, and then I want to talk over this whole situation.’

Alan didn’t answer. I considered worrying and then decided not to. He was probably talking to Miss MacKenzie, or more likely listening to her. She wouldn’t take kindly to being interrupted by a phone call. Or anything else. I left a voicemail and sat down at the table with the tea tray.

‘Now,’ said Nora in business-like fashion. ‘How can I help?’

‘For a start, tell me why Mrs Norquist won’t talk to anyone.’ I had only just realized how odd that seemed to me. ‘Is she usually so reclusive?’

‘First you must realize that she’s inconsistent. The mentally ill usually are, and when dementia’s thrown into the mix, one can never be quite sure what to expect. Having said that, I have to say that I was very surprised to be stopped at the door to her room. I visit several patients there at least once a week. Theodore visits too, of course, but that’s parish visiting. I go as a friend. Mrs Norquist is a difficult woman, as I’ve said, and one who likes to be in control. I think she’s immensely frustrated in her present situation. Charlie isn’t there to be ordered about, and the staff, though patient and kind, don’t take orders from the patients.’

‘Of course not. So she doesn’t have anybody to boss around.’

‘That’s it. I understand she had one or two temper tantrums when she was first sent there, but as they didn’t get her what she wanted, she soon decided not to waste her energy. She’s not a stupid woman.’

‘But if she wants someone to issue orders to, you’d think she’d want visitors.’

‘Oh, yes. She usually welcomes me with open arms, though they do rather resemble the open arms of a large carnivorous animal. She tells me all the sins of the staff and demands that I do something about it.’

‘She’s that much in command of herself?’

Nora nodded. ‘Mind you, most of what she says is sheer fabrication, but she expresses herself quite clearly. Forcibly, in fact. I must confess that I’m sometimes a trifle intimidated. She’s quite strong physically. Her body seems to have strengthened as her mind has deteriorated. It’s rather a pity, really, though I shouldn’t say so. If ever someone’s death would be a blessing, hers would. To all concerned. Don’t you ever dare tell my husband I said that last bit.’

I couldn’t help smiling. ‘He’ll never hear it from me. But does she ever talk about her son?’

‘Oh, my dear.’ She put her cup down and I refilled it. ‘He is her other subject of lament. Sometimes she talks as if he’s still about three and running her ragged. At other times she’s living more in the present and grumbling about his neglect of her. Really, I’m afraid I do find it hard to be patient with her.’

‘I think you’re a saint even to go and visit. So this is the first time she’s sent you away?’

‘Yes, and she was almost hysterical about it. You see, I’d been visiting other patients, so I was in the residents’ area. I always keep her visit for the last, though I suppose I should get it over first. But when I came to her door it was shut, which is unusual, and an attendant was sitting beside it. He knows me, of course, and when he said I couldn’t go in, Mrs Norquist must have heard him, and she started screaming. Really raving, which I’d never heard her do before, threats and carrying on. It was really quite unpleasant.’

I shuddered. ‘It must have been. But it’s certainly peculiar. One more peculiar thing. And you know, Nora, one thing I’ve always believed is that when odd things start happening in a certain … constellation is the only word I can find that describes it – the chances are very great that they’re somehow related. I’ve never quite believed in coincidence. There’s a reason for most things, don’t you agree?’

‘Of course I do. God does move in mysterious ways.’

‘And not only God! Alan thinks—’

‘What does Alan think? Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you were on the phone.’ Alan had come in unnoticed and now stood in the doorway to the kitchen. ‘I didn’t mean to interrupt, but I didn’t know we had a guest.’

I introduced them. ‘Nora was at Ruth’s meeting last night, and I ran into her this morning at Sinclair House. Alan, I didn’t want you to leave you a long message, but they wouldn’t let me in!’

That entailed a long explanation about Mrs Norquist’s atypical behaviour, which Alan thought as odd as Nora and I did. ‘And I was just about to tell Nora your theory that someone is manipulating these oddities for his – or her – own devious ends.’

‘It would,’ said Nora, in the most uncharitable tones I had heard her use, ‘take a world-class manipulator to force Lillian Norquist to do anything she didn’t want to do. I would have said it was impossible, save for her conduct this morning. Something has moved her out of her groove, but I’m afraid I have no idea what.’

‘Or who,’ said Alan.

‘Or who,’ she agreed, and looked at her watch. ‘I’m very sorry, but I’m afraid I do have to get home and make some lunch for my husband. He forgets to eat if I’m not there to remind him. We’ll talk again?’

‘Absolutely.’ I stood. ‘I’ll let you know if anything interesting comes up.’

‘And I’ll do the same. And please, both of you, be careful. Something evil is abroad in these islands. I fear more people will be harmed before it is vanquished.’

‘T
hat,’ said Alan when he had showed her out, ‘is a remarkable woman.’

‘I like her very much,’ I said. ‘What would you like for lunch, dear?’

We decided on thick, American-style hamburgers. There was a small grill on the patio and we’d bought some charcoal, so they ended up tasting almost as good as the ones I used to make back home, long ago. Different, because the beef was different, but not bad at all.

While we ate, Alan and I exchanged notes. I told him all I’d learned about Mrs Norquist, and he regaled me with his encounter with Janet MacKenzie.

‘The woman toyed with me, Dorothy! You know I used to be pretty good at interviewing witnesses, but this one defeated me.’

‘It’s a pity you have no police authority anymore.’

‘I don’t think it would have made a hap’orth of difference. She’s a malicious woman with an acid tongue, and she despises men.’

‘Maybe I should have gone to her after all, but I confess I quailed at the thought.’

‘I think she despises women, too. She’s the sort that likes to pin butterflies to a board for the fun of watching them struggle to escape.’

‘But did you learn anything?’

‘If your sources are correct, that she doesn’t lie, then I learned a couple of not very useful facts. One is that she doesn’t have keys to the display cases, nor are they kept at the museum. She insists that Norquist has the only keys, and that he was pernickety about them. Shorn of her vituperative prose, the story is that he kept them on his key ring and would let no one else so much as handle them. If a case had to be unlocked while the museum was open, which would have been extremely unusual, he did it himself. Most of the time, he did any necessary maintenance after hours, by himself. The keys, she insists, never left his person.’