Too Soon a Death: A Scottish mystery where cosy crime meets tartan noir: Borders Mysteries Book 2 (3 page)

The cat lay in the airing cupboard as usual, which would have been unbearable had the plumber not removed the hot-water tank when he recently installed the cottage’s new heating system. Zoe unlocked the French windows out of the kitchen—another timely home improvement—and went out onto the patio, opening up the garden umbrella and lowering herself carefully onto the sun-lounger. Mac followed her outside and went to sit in his current favourite place, under an old holly tree.

She alternately sipped from a glass of iced water and held it against her face. A house martin swooped past on its way to the nest under the cottage’s eaves which she had insisted must stay until the autumn, against the advice of the stonemason who’d been forced to work around it. In the distance, a chainsaw started up with a noise like a motorbike.

As if sensing she’d relaxed, the baby began to kick. Zoe smiled and patted her swollen abdomen. ‘Don’t give me a hard time. I’m not going to get many chances to put my feet up once you’re here so I’m making the most of it now.’

The side gate creaked open, causing Mac to leap up and bark briefly until he recognised the figure dressed in a pink top and cut-off jeans picking her way through building debris towards them. He raced to greet her, tail wagging.

‘I thought maybe you’d forgotten our date when there was no sign of your car,’ Kate Mackenzie said, sitting down opposite Zoe in a chair not covered by the umbrella’s shade. ‘Then I saw you back here. What a pity your hedge had to come out. A fence with a few rose bushes behind it gives you no privacy.’

‘It keeps Mac in, which is the most important thing. I’ll get more trees planted once all the work’s finished.’ Zoe looked straight at her friend as she spoke, even though the sun made her squint. Kate’s skill at lip-reading was remarkable, and many people chatted to her at length without realising she was deaf, but even she struggled with faces partly turned away from her. ‘A man with a digger’s coming soon to spread those piles of earth from when the new drains were put in, although the lawn can’t be laid until autumn. Do you want a cold drink?’

Zoe swung a leg off her sun-lounger but Kate gestured to her to stay put. ‘I’ll get it. Remember, I know only too well the hassle of climbing out of a low seat once your bump’s that big.’

Leaning back, Zoe said. ‘Bring a jug, will you? With ice?’

Kate laughed. ‘Being pregnant has definitely mellowed you. Not long ago there’s no way you’d sit there asking someone—even me—to do that.’

‘I know. I’m getting so lazy.’

‘Zoe, no one could ever accuse you of being lazy. You’re just more laid back. Which is a good thing, believe me.’

Kate disappeared into the house before Zoe could argue, coming back out a few minutes later. Ice cubes clattered against the side of the blue jug she carried, then splashed noisily as she poured water into her own glass and topped up Zoe’s.

‘Do you want to move your seat into the shade?’ Zoe asked.

‘No thanks, I love the heat. We’ll probably never see another summer like this in my lifetime, so I’m making the most of it.’ Kate ran her fingers through her cropped hair, which had recently changed from brick-red to white-blonde. ‘I know we’re not supposed to allow ourselves to tan these days, but peely-wally is only ever flattering on models, not normal people.’

‘You’re looking great,’ Zoe said, aware Kate’s recent weight-loss and bloom were more likely thanks to happiness than a suntan and the new swimming regime she’d adopted to help tackle a recently-diagnosed degenerative spine condition. Zoe lived in fear her friend’s rekindled relationship with Erskine Mather might be snuffed out at any time, given his uncertain marital status, but she kept those thoughts to herself. She was hardly in a position to counsel anyone on how to run their lives.

‘So are you. Pregnancy suits you, although typically you’ve not put on weight all over like I always do.’

‘Yes I have. Look at my face.’

Kate tilted her head and stared. ‘No, can’t see it myself. Maybe because your already splendid hair has become even thicker and shinier. Needless to say, mine got thin and greasy every time I was pregnant.’ Her eyes travelled down Zoe’s body. ‘You’re carrying high and to the front. You must be having a boy.’

‘I know what you’re doing, Kate.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I can’t tell you what sex it is because I truly don’t know. Why won’t you believe me?’

‘It may have something to do with your refusal to admit you were pregnant until even Dad noticed.’ Kate grinned. ‘Remember how embarrassed he got when Mum said maybe you’d just put on weight and it was very rude of him to mention it? She was winding him up, of course, but even after nearly fifty years of marriage he still can’t tell.’

‘And I felt obliged to put him out of his misery and admit he was right. I still think you and Etta planned it.’

Kate took a long drink rather than answer. Anxious to move the conversation away from her pregnancy, Zoe said, ‘I got called out by the police this morning. To see a dead body.’

This had the desired effect. Kate gasped and put down her glass. ‘Who was it?’ she asked.

‘A young Asian boy, maybe sixteen at the most. He’d been thrown into the Tweed.’

‘Thrown in? How awful. Does anyone know who he is?’

‘No, that’s why I was there. The police thought he might have visited the health centre recently.’

‘Why did they think that?’

Zoe hesitated and Kate frowned. ‘You’re wearing the shut-down look on your face I’ve become very familiar with. If he’s not a patient, you can talk about it. This isn’t like last time, you’re not actually involved, are you? I mean . . .’

Kate’s voice petered out and a flush spread across her face. ‘Sorry. Thoughtless of me.’

Zoe absentmindedly plucked at some stray dog-hairs which had landed on her dress. After being friends for nearly a year, she ought to be used to Kate’s tendency to say things which would be better left unsaid.

‘Sorry,’ Kate repeated.

Zoe raised her face and forced a smile. ‘You’re right, I’m not involved. And I don’t wish to be. But you should have seen him lying there, so young and innocent-looking. What could he have done to make someone treat him like that?’

‘Did he drown?’

‘I don’t think so. It’s likely he was already dead when he hit the water. Sergeant Trent thinks someone drove him to the old bridge just up from Paxton and threw him off it.’

‘The Chain Bridge, you mean?’

‘That’s the one.’

‘Was Dave Trent in charge?’ Kate asked.

‘Don’t you mean, was DCI Mather there?’ Zoe said. Kate had her own weak spots. ‘He’s in Edinburgh this morning, though I would have expected you to know that.’

‘Actually, I haven’t seen Erskine for a few days. He’s got a lot on at the moment.’

‘But everything’s okay between you?’

‘He’s suggested we all go to Crieff Hydro next half-term. I’d rather it was just me and him but I’ve looked at the website and they’ve got a pool and ponies and even a cinema so the kids’ll be kept occupied.’

‘Planning ahead’s always a good sign.’

‘A sign he doesn’t intend going back to Glasgow, you mean?’

For Glasgow, read Mather’s wife
.
Zoe had no intention of getting into a discussion about a woman she—and Kate, for that matter—had never met. ‘I have a confession to make,’ she said. ‘Although I remembered you were coming round, I forgot to get anything in for lunch. So shall we nip into Duns? My treat.’

Kate raised her eyebrows but went along with this clumsy change of subject. ‘That’ll be good. If we’re lucky, we may get a table outside.’

‘And then you could drop me off at the health centre on the way back so I can collect my car.’

Kate nodded. ‘Sounds like a plan. Do you need help getting up?’

All the tables outside were occupied, so Kate and Zoe sat inside the cafe, beneath the huge wooden clock on the wall and beside an electric fan which produced a welcome breeze. They both ordered gazpacho served with homemade oatcakes, which Zoe found a more pleasing combination than she expected. It also proved very filling, so when Kate said, ‘I think I’ll have a piece of chocolate cheesecake,’ she opted for just a mug of tea.

‘You didn’t finish telling me about the dead boy in the river,’ Kate said, digging her fork into her sweet. ‘And why the police thought you might know him.’

‘They found a piece of paper in his pocket with the health centre’s address and phone number written on it. Sergeant Trent was expecting one of the partners to pitch up, but he got me instead.’

‘His wife’s pregnant too, you know.’

‘So he said. Anyway, he’s gone to see Paul himself as I was no help.’

‘The Borders isn’t exactly racially diverse, is it? A young Asian boy would have stood out. Someone will remember him.’

‘I hope so. His family must be missing him, even if they don’t know yet that he’s dead.’ To her horror, Zoe felt her eyes prickle as she thought again about the young life ended so prematurely. Damn these hormones. She found the physical changes due to pregnancy just about bearable, but hated how emotional she’d become. A patient’s distress over a late miscarriage had nearly triggered a bout of crying last week, which would have been both humiliating and selfish.

Luckily, Kate was too intent on gathering up every remaining chocolate curl on her plate to notice. When she lifted her head again, Zoe asked how her latest contract was shaping up.

‘I’m going across to Hawick to do some research at the Heritage Hub on Monday.’

‘Who’s your client this time?’ Fascinated by Kate’s job as a genealogist, Zoe enjoyed hearing her friend talk about what she called her history detective work.

Kate looked embarrassed. ‘Strictly speaking, I’m not supposed to discuss it with anyone.’

‘Oh. In which case you mustn’t.’

‘This client’s a bit strange, to be honest, but things are slow at the moment so I can’t afford to be choosy.’

Knowing she carried out most of her business using email and Skype, Zoe asked, ‘You’ve actually met him?’

‘Yes, last week when I was up in Edinburgh. Don’t worry, he’s perfectly harmless, just rather intense. Wouldn’t stop talking, didn’t listen to hear what I had to say. You know the type?’

‘Only too well. Do many clients worry about confidentiality?’

‘My contract’s usually enough to cover the things that might concern them, like me discovering something scandalous about their ancestors and going to the press with it. I did once work for someone who thought he was more famous than he really was. He made me sign a confidentiality agreement.’

‘Is that what you’ve had to do this time too?’

‘No, it’s nothing formal. He was just weirdly insistent I shouldn’t talk to anyone else about it.’

‘A pity.’

‘If it’s any consolation, the job doesn’t sound very interesting anyway.’ Kate put down her fork and pushed her plate away. ‘I shouldn’t have had that, but it was good. Are you ready to go? I’ve just remembered I said I’d collect Dad’s prescription from the chemist.’

‘I’ll pay the bill and see you there,’ Zoe said.

When she left the cafe a few minutes later, she wasn’t surprised to find Kate’s progress across Duns Square had been slow, most likely due to having stopped to chat with almost everyone she encountered. She caught up with her at the Mercat Cross, a symbol of the town’s past trading status and, as Kate once gleefully informed her, where the severed heads of the vanquished were put on display in earlier times. These days, the red-stone column was mainly used as a gathering point by teenagers sharing fizzy drinks and cheap cigarettes.

An elderly man held the glass door open for them and Zoe went in search of deodorant while Kate approached the pharmacy counter. Having made her purchase, she joined Kate to wait for another month’s worth of the medications which had thus far helped Ranald Mackenzie stave off another stroke. Kate swapped pleasantries with one of her mother’s friends while Zoe watched a young woman wearing a white coat check a display of homeopathic medicines, occasionally jotting something down on a notepad.

A notepad.

She edged towards the woman to glance over her shoulder. The sheets were larger than the one found in the dead boy’s pocket and the logo at the top wasn’t the same, but the notepad was definitely a promotional freebie. GPs weren’t the only recipients of drug companies’ largesse. Why hadn’t she thought of this before?

‘Good afternoon, Doctor Moreland. How are you?’

George Romanes owned this pharmacy and several others in the Borders. Zoe had first met him when he invited her to see the state-of-the-art dispensing robot he was rightly proud of, and although she wasn’t one of his regular customers, that would probably change once the baby arrived. She smiled a greeting and said, ‘Can I ask you something?’

‘Of course. Let’s go somewhere a bit more private.’ He led her into a room off the shop floor, and they sat down.

‘I don’t know if you’ve heard,’ Zoe said, ‘but a young man was found dead on the banks of the Tweed near Paxton this morning.’

‘I’ve heard a rumour going about but there’s been nothing on the news yet.’

‘The police called me out because they thought he may have been a patient of ours. I didn’t recognise him—which doesn’t mean anything, of course—but I’m wondering if he came here. His hands had been bandaged by someone who knew what they were doing.’

‘Was he Asian? Very young?’

‘So you did see him.’

‘It was me who bandaged his hands. They were both badly burnt, more seriously than I was comfortable treating, to be honest.’

‘And you gave him a note with the health centre’s address and phone number?’

‘I told the man who brought him in he should go to see a doctor, but he was insistent we should just patch him up.’

‘What did the boy himself say?’

‘He couldn’t speak English, not a word. I brought him in here, tried to explain how badly injured he was. All I managed to get was his name, by pointing to myself and repeating “George” then pointing at him.’

‘What was it?’

‘I think he said Ara.’ Seeing the look on Zoe’s face, George spelled out, ‘A-R-A.’

‘Ara,’ Zoe said. It felt important to commit his name to memory.