Kate Carlisle - If Books Could Kill

“Commander,” a deep voice shouted out.

“Hello, Angus,” Derek called. “Down here.”

I watched the two men shake hands and slap each other’s backs. Old friends and possibly colleagues, it seemed. Then Derek turned and said to the group scattered up and down the close, “Ladies and gentlemen, this is Detective Inspector Angus MacLeod. He’ll be in charge of the investigation. Please give him your attention.”

“Aye, the commander has the right of it,” the detective inspector said, taking over. “Now, you’ll be wanting to line up along the stairway wall to give my unit as wide a pathway up and down as possible. Each of you’ll speak to one of my men stationed at the top of the close.”

Several of the group jumped into line and made their way up the stairs to get the procedure moving.

MacLeod continued. “We’ll need to see some identification, so if you’ve left your hotel or home without it, we’ll be accompanying you back there to get it.”

“Can’t we bring it by the station in the morning?” Liam asked.

“No,” MacLeod said in a cheery voice.

“Will this take long?” one of the men asked, his voice bordering on petulant. Not a good sign.

MacLeod smiled. “Ah, well, we’re not after keeping you all night, but there are questions that must be asked when foul play is suspected, and these things can’t be rushed. I thank you in advance for your cooperation.”

All I could think was, Angus MacLeod was a hunk. Literally. Big and burly, at least six feet, four inches tall, with boyish, sandy blond hair, the man had muscles on his muscles. I could picture him strutting about in a kilt, brandishing a claymore and looking for trouble.

Derek Stone met my gaze and grinned as if he knew what I was thinking. The man had friends in the strangest places. He and MacLeod began to talk in hushed tones as they stepped inside the building together.

“I don’t think I can do this,” Helen whispered.

“I can help you,” I said, clutching her hand.

“Not yet,” she said. “I… I don’t think I can move yet.”

“That’s okay. There’s no hurry.”

“Oh, God, he’s just lying there in that horrible place, cold and alone.” She buried her face in her hands and wept silently.

“Helen,” I said gently. “You know Kyle and I were old friends, right? We talked this afternoon. I don’t think you’d be betraying any secrets if you wanted to tell me why you’re so upset.”

She blinked away tears to look at me. “He told me he ran into an old friend, and that’s why he was running late.” She sniffled. “It was you?”

“Yes,” I said. “We ran into each other up by the castle, so we stopped at a pub and had a beer together.”

“That sounds wonderful,” she said wistfully. “He was such a loving, friendly person.”

Ah. Friendly, yes. Especially when he was trying to coax you out of your pants. And no, I didn’t think that qualified as speaking unkindly of the dead. On the contrary, Kyle had often said that his skill at removing a lady’s clothing was one of his most admirable abilities.

“You know we used to date, right?” I said cautiously.

She hesitated, then let out a tiny sob. “I’d forgotten.”

I persisted. “I’m going to assume from your reaction to his death that you two were involved?”

She choked back a sob. “We were in love. We were going to be married.”

It was my turn to choke. Was she kidding? Sure, I loved Kyle, but I’d suspected all along that he was a total player. Of course, I’d thought at the time that I was special enough to be the exception, so I was in no position to judge Helen.

“Kyle asked you to marry him?” I asked. “He proposed?”

“We were in love,” she repeated softly, as though that were all anyone needed to know. It wasn’t.

“Ladies,” Detective Inspector MacLeod said from directly behind us.

Helen clutched my hand.

Damn. I’d been so wrapped up in Helen’s shocking disclosure that I hadn’t noticed him sneaking up on us. For such a big guy, he sure moved quietly. Thank goodness we were whispering. How much could he have heard?

“I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation.”

Crap. I rubbed Helen’s cold hand, hoping I hadn’t gotten her into too much trouble.

“Miss?” he said, looking at me.

Why was he looking at me?

“I heard you say you met with the deceased this afternoon.”

Oh, crap again. “Yes, sir?”

“I’ll speak with you now, if you please.”

Me? What did I do? I had to pry my hand away from Helen’s before I could stand. MacLeod helped me up as if I weighed almost nothing. Once I was standing, I still had to lean back to look up at him. The man was extra large. His eyes were the type that twinkled when he talked, but I doubted he’d be jolly enough to let me slide simply because I happened to know his old buddy Derek.

And speaking of his old buddy, where was Derek? Figured he’d disappear when I needed him most. It wasn’t the first time he’d left me to fend for myself with the cops.

MacLeod allowed me to go before him up the stairs of the close, but he kept his hand on my elbow the entire time. It should’ve been comforting but felt more like he was coaxing a turkey to the chopping block.

When we reached the area at the top of the close, I saw Derek talking to one of the investigators. As I walked past in MacLeod’s wake, Derek shook his head in resignation. Hey, it wasn’t my fault I seemed to find dead people on a regular basis.

Angus MacLeod led me inside a nearby office building where, apparently, a few offices had been commandeered for the investigation. We walked down a short hall to an open office and he indicated a chair in front of a mahogany desk. “Please do have a seat, Ms…”

“Wainwright. Brooklyn Wainwright.”

“Ah, yes, Ms. Wainwright. You know our Commander Stone, I understand.”

“Yes, I do,” I said, starting to sit. “We’re acquaintances from-”

“A previous murder investigation in which you were also the prime suspect.”

My butt had barely hit the chair before I bounced back up and blurted, “Also the prime suspect? What’s that supposed to mean?”

And what kind of stupid question was that? I knew exactly what he was insinuating, and I wasn’t happy about it. How had I become the prime suspect again? It was so unfair. This probably wasn’t the best time to throw a tantrum, but I wanted to pout and kick something.

“It simply means that you have some experience with murder,” he said a little too cheerfully.

My inner alarm meter rose quickly. “No, I don’t. I mean, yes, I’ve been unfortunate enough to have come across a few victims of murder, but I have no experience with murder personally. I mean, I’m not a… Well, I would never…” Oh, God, I just needed to shut up.

“Please sit down, Ms. Wainwright,” he said again.

I stared at the threadbare visitor’s chair, then glanced at him. He had already seated himself in the deluxe boss’s chair behind the intimidating desk, clearly in charge. This wasn’t looking at all friendly. Good thing he wasn’t really carrying a claymore.

Did he think I did it? That this was a slam dunk? Was he picturing this investigation all wrapped up with a bow on top? I pulled my jacket a little tighter around me, feeling a distinct chill in the air.

“Fine.” I sighed as I sat. I could learn to hate the police, despite my sincerest efforts to love my neighbor and all that.

“Thank you,” he said. “Now, what I meant by experience was that you, Ms. Wainwright, of all people, may be the most accommodating of witnesses, having been on both sides of a similar situation in the past, and thus able to shine a clear light on the sad events of this evening.”