Quintin Jardine - Poisoned Cherries

I waved a finger at her. ‘No she was not, but we’ll let that pass. Okay, so you killed David, then Natalie, here. .’ on the couch, the drunk rolled her eyes at the mention of her name, ‘. . let you into the office so you could kill Anna Chin, and have Alison caught red-handed, as it were. Only the last part didn’t quite work, thanks to a random accident.

‘But why Torrent? Why kill him?’

Margaret hesitated. ‘I don’t think I’m going to say any more.’

‘You might as well; none of it’s admissible in court.’

She thought about it. ‘I suppose you’re right. Okay. Torrent was smart, you see. He twigged at once, after he heard of Anna’s death, that something was up. He asked Natalie what she knew, and the stupid woman caved in and told him. So he had to go too; simple as that. I had already stolen the knife from the Goodchild woman’s office. I had intended to use it to kill the girl, only it wasn’t necessary. So when we were all at Miles’s dinner party, I slipped a ground-up Mogadon into my husband’s last brandy, then, once he was sound asleep, crept out and took care of the problem.’

‘And that left only Natalie knowing what had happened?’

‘Exactly.’

‘And she, overcome with grief at her beloved uncle’s death, horses a bottle of Stolychnaya in the bath, flakes out and drowns.’

‘Exactly.’

‘Which is where we came in.’ I smiled at her. ‘Would you like something for that headache, Margaret?’ I asked.

‘I’ll get over it; I’ve had worse.’

‘No you haven’t, lady. It’s going to get really bad when the police get here.’

‘Why? What’s my problem? I was visiting my friend Natalie when you people broke in and assaulted me.’

‘What? You were visiting her dressed like the Milk Tray Woman?’

‘I have an exotic taste in nightwear. The police will assume we’re lezzies, and we won’t deny it.’ She had a point there. ‘Natalie’s too drunk to be interviewed just now, but when she sobers up she’ll confirm it all. She doesn’t have any choice; she’s in it up to her neck.’

‘Indeed!’ I exclaimed. ‘I’m impressed. You really do think on your feet. . or on your arse in this case. . don’t you, Mrs Capperauld? There’s only one small problem about that; no, sorry, one big one.’

For the first time, she looked slightly uncertain. ‘What’s that?’ she challenged, brassing it out.

‘My pal Mr Ross here; nothing is safe from him. He’s the worst eavesdropper in Edinburgh. Do you know, he even has his own house bugged! He’s so bad that he carries a bloody pocket recorder with him everywhere he goes. Isn’t that right, Ricky?’

He stepped round from behind her and waved a small device in the air. ‘Mini-disc,’ he said. ‘Broadcast quality; it’s the same kind radio reporters often use. Would you like to hear?’ He reviewed the recording, listening through an earpiece, made an adjustment, then paused and pressed a button.

I had already stolen the knife from the Goodchild woman’s office. I had intended to use it to kill the girl, only it wasn’t necessary. So when we were all at Miles’s dinner party, I slipped a ground-up Mogadon into my husband’s last brandy, then, once he was sound asleep, crept out and took care of the problem.

Margaret Capperauld went dead white as she listened to the sound of her own confession through the tiny, but effective speaker. ‘But that won’t be allowed in court,’ she snarled, when Ricky switched off the recorder.

‘Don’t wager your life on it,’ I told her, ‘for you’d lose. But of course, you’ve placed your bet already, haven’t you?’

As soon as Greg Oliver saw Ronnie Morrow’s car arrive, as per orders from Ricky he got Ewan to hell out of there. No way did we want him to be around when his wife and his mistress were huckled into a police car.

We went with them, of course; not as suspects, but as witnesses.

It was almost eight by the time we finished making our formal statements. Ricky did a deal with Morrow for Alison to come in later that day, so that the charges against her could be formally binned. The young sergeant gave us a lift back to the Mound after that, and after I had called Miles and advised him to stand down the extras for another day at least, suggesting that he shoot Liam’s bedroom scene instead.

Ricky came up to the apartment with me, but only to collect Alison, break the good news to her and take her home for what he hoped would be a bit of a celebration.

Tough luck, Richard. ‘But I can go back to my own place now, can’t I?’ she said. ‘I don’t need minding any more, do I?’ The way she chopped him off was pretty brutal; I could see why she had such a bright future in the PR business.

Just before nine, they left me on my own. . almost. I was just beginning to think about a long sleep, when Liam appeared; from my bedroom. He looked at me, in a way I could only describe as shifty.

‘All right then?’ he asked.

‘It is now. What about you? You don’t look so good. Rough night?’

‘Mmm. The thing is. . I don’t know if I should tell you this. Fuck, I don’t know if I believe it. I was lying there trying to sleep, and then I hear you lot leave. Thank Christ , I thinks to myself, then five minutes later this Alison woman comes into my room and gets into bed beside me.

‘I thinks about it. . give her that. . but then I says, “No thank you very much,” gets up and goes across to your room.

‘The light bulb’s jiggered, but I thinks So what? and goes into the toilet to bleed the lizard. Then, when I came out. . Whizz! Bang! I’m up in the air and on my arse and there’s a bloody great naked woman lying on top of me!’

I kept my face straight. ‘So what did you do about that?’ ‘What the hell could I do? I tell you, Oz, there’s no bloody security in this building, none at all.’

The Capperauld scandal hit the fan twenty-four hours later, when Margaret was charged with the murders of David, Anna and Uncle James. Natalie was released; the crown office was going to need her as a prosecution witness.

Ewan was devastated; he really had known nothing about it, and, like the rest of us, suspected nothing.

With Miles’s agreement he withdrew from the project, and the boss himself took over the part of Skinner. Okay, he’s a bit short for it, but he has the charisma to carry anything off.

We finished the production on time; an achievement considering everything that had happened. Liam and I were even able to sleep easy in our beds, once Ricky had obliged us by sending Mandy O’Farrell on a temporary assignment as security chief on an oil terminal in the Orkney Islands.

We had a big close-down party of course. Everyone was there, even Nula, Liam’s air stewardess, who fixed her schedule to accommodate it. Prim was not. She paid me one brief visit in Edinburgh to tell me, to my great relief and to confound Susie’s suspicions, that she’d put her signature alongside mine on the divorce petition, and had it lodged with the court.

She surprised me then by telling me that she’d taken my advice, and decided to go back to basics. She had signed a six-month contract as a senior staff nurse in Ninewells Hospital, in Dundee, and she was planning to move back into Semple House, in Auchterarder, beside her parents, to draw breath, and do some serious thinking about what she wanted to do with the rest of her life.

She told me that although we’d been rotten at marriage, we’d been good at being friends, and hoped that would still be the case. I told her that as far as I was concerned, it would. Her new spirit of openness didn’t extend to owning up to having it off with Mike Dylan, but I let that go. That, and he, were both history.