The Book of Souls (Inspector McLean #2)(43)

‘Well now, inspector. I can’t say it’s not nice to see a policeman round here from time to time, but I don’t suppose you just stopped in for tea. I’ve no’ done anything wrong, have I?’

‘Of course not, Mrs Stokes. It’s about next door.’ McLean nodded towards no. 31.

‘Oh aye. Donnie McKenzie’s place? Such a shame when he died. Used to keep his garden lovely. But that was months ago. Has something happened?’

‘Have you seen his daughter lately?’

‘Wee Katherine? Aye, she was in and out for a while about a week ago. There’s a poor wee lassie, growing up without her mum. I know Donnie tried his best with her, but she was always a handful. Sich a temper when she was a bairn.’

‘Was she staying at the house? You know, overnight?’

‘A couple of nights, aye.’ Mrs Stokes put her own cup and saucer back down on the tray, got up and went to the other side of the room. For a moment McLean thought she was going to bring back a diary with all Kate McKenzie’s movements listed in it, but instead she unfolded a copy of the Radio Times onto her lap, then pulled a pair of spectacles up from where they had been tucked neatly down her cardigan front on a chain around her neck.

‘Let me see now.’ She leafed through the pages. ‘I was watching that programme about the polar bears the first night she came in. Aye, that was Tuesday. She was there on Wednesday afternoon. I heard the vacuum cleaner going. Yes, that’s right. She went out about seven o’clock that evening and that’s the last time I saw her.’

Mrs Stokes thumbed quickly through the rest of the pages, as if Kate McKenzie might suddenly appear from the middle of them, then dropped the magazine into her lap all of a sudden.

‘Oh me. She’s gone missing, hasn’t she.’

‘I’m afraid it’s worse than that, Mrs Stokes. Kate ... Katherine is dead.’

The little terrier ceased its snuffling around DS Ritchie’s feet almost as soon as McLean had said the words. Silently it returned to its owner and leapt with surprising grace into her lap. She started to stroke its head with long, rhythmic motions of her hand, saying nothing for what felt like hours but was probably only a minute.

‘Was it ... was it an accident?’ She asked eventually. ‘I know the roads can be dreadful these days.’

‘I’m afraid she was murdered, Mrs Stokes.’

‘Murdered? Crivens. Who could do such a thing?’

‘That’s what we’re trying to find out.’

‘Here? It didn’t happen around here, did it?’

‘No, I don’t think so. We found her ... outside the city. What I’m trying to do now is put together her last movements. See what she was doing, where she was going.’

‘Oh, I see.’ Mrs Stokes put the terrier back down on the floor and once more levered herself out of her chair. She headed back to the corner of the room where the Radio Times had come from. ‘You know she has her own flat on the other side of town. Shares it with a nice young girl. So much safer sharing like that. Not like these student places where there’s boys and girls all cooped up together. I’ve got the number here somewhere.’

McLean put his cup down on the tray, got up and walked over to where the old lady was rifling through an address book.

‘It’s all right, Mrs Stokes. We’ve already spoken to Debbie. She was the one who told us Kate was missing.’

‘Oh, right.’ Unable to be any more help, she looked rather lost, her eyes slowly sweeping over the room as if it represented the sum total of her existence. Their visit that afternoon had quite possibly been the most exciting thing to happen to her in years.

‘Well, I think we’ve taken up quite enough of your time, Mrs Stokes.’ McLean took out a business card from his pocket and handed it over. ‘Thank you so much for the tea. And biscuits. If you think of anything else, please, give me a call.’

‘Och, that’s nothing, really. It’s nice to have a wee bit of company from time to time.’

‘Will you be all right?’ McLean stepped out of the living room into the hallway, almost tripping over the dog as it decided to play a game with his feet. ‘I know this must be quite a shock. I can have a constable pop round for a while if you’d like.’

He could see in her eyes that it was a tempting offer, but eventually she declined. ‘No, no. Barry’ll be round for his tea in an hour or so. I’ll maybe just take Archie here for his walkies before that.’

‘Well, thank you again, Mrs Stokes. You’ve really been very helpful.’ McLean had made it outside now, DS Ritchie ahead of him. The street lights were on in the road, blackening the falling dusk and giving everything an oddly heavy feel. The old lady watched them from the open front door as they walked down the short driveway, then started up the garden path of no. 31. Only then did she tell them.

‘If you’re wanting inside, I’ve got a key.’





30





No. 31 Lifford Road was a marked contrast to its neighbour. The house was tidy enough, but it hadn’t been decorated in many a year. The furniture was old, worn out like the greying carpets. Mould had begun to form in the bay window of the front room and the Formica on the kitchen units had been peeling off for quite some time. It smelled like a house that hadn’t been lived in for months.