Death's Door

Twenty

‘You cut it fine,’ the woman exclaimed. ‘I was on my way to the door when the phone rang. If I had closed it behind me, I wouldn’t have come back in to answer, you know.’

‘I know, Sylvia, and I’m sorry,’ said Maggie Rose, making herself sound contrite. ‘I won’t keep you long, honest.’

‘Och, it’s all right. I’m in no rush. And. .’ she drew a breath ‘. . I like to keep in with the police.’

Rose had enjoyed a working relationship with Sylvia Thorpe for several years. She was an executive officer in the General Registers Office of Scotland, and she had been a useful contact on several occasions. ‘That’s what I like to hear. By the way, how’s Jim Glossop, your old boss? Enjoying retirement?’

‘You know Jim: he can’t sit still. He was choked when he had to pack it in, so now he works for half a dozen charities for nothing. Not me, when I get to that age: I’ll be off round the world. Now, what can I do for you, Maggie? Which villain’s antecedents are you trying to trace this time?’

‘Mine. This isn’t an official request; I’m asking for a favour.’

Thorpe chuckled. ‘A parking ticket’s worth?’

‘Ouch! I can’t even make my own tickets disappear, Sylvia. Let’s just say there’s a drink in it.’

‘And you know that on a big night out I might have one Bacardi Breezer.’

‘I’ll buy you a case.’

‘God forbid! What do you want?’

‘Stuff I can’t get in the Scotland’s People website, or I’d have logged on there. I’m looking for the death records of my grandmother and my aunt Fay.’

‘Where and when?’

‘I don’t have exact dates, but my granny died thirty years ago, and Aunt Fay died eight years later, both in Edinburgh.’

‘Ages?’

‘My aunt was forty-two and my granny was sixty-one.’

‘Full names?’

‘My granny was Mrs Martha Kellock, maiden surname McKinstry, and my aunt was Miss Euphemia Kellock. No middle names: we don’t go in for them in my family.’

‘Your grandfather’s full name?’

‘Herbert Kellock.’

‘Do you want his record as well?’

‘No, just those two.’

‘Okay,’ Thorpe declared. ‘I can find them from that information. How urgent is this?’

‘Whenever you can?’

‘Okay, I’ll try to get it done tomorrow morning. Do you want me to post the extracts to your home address, since it’s a personal enquiry?’

‘No. Send them to the office, please; first class, so they get there on Friday. It’s my last day before I go off. Give me a note of the cost of the extracts, and I’ll send you a cheque.’

‘Don’t be daft. What do you mean, you’re going off?’

‘Maternity leave. Stevie and I are having a baby in a couple of months. Eleven weeks on Saturday, according to the timetable.’

‘That’s wonderful! Congratulations. It couldn’t happen to a nicer couple.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Maggie,’ suddenly Sylvia Thorpe sounded serious, ‘why do you want this information? Are you growing a family tree?’

‘God forbid. There’d be too much bitter fruit on it if I did. No, let’s just say that I want my daughter to know what might be in store for her.’

‘Ah.’ Rose heard a sigh on the line. ‘Look, I know you well enough to be blunt. We get quite a few requests for this, the bulk of them from women; you were a detective, so you can work out why. Have you got something to worry about?’

‘Maybe, Sylvia, maybe. The women in my family have an unfortunate history: they tend to die young. At this moment I need to know a little more about it. But please, keep this between the two of us.’

‘That’s why you want the extracts sent to the office, isn’t it? Maggie, whatever this is, doesn’t Stevie have a right to know?’

‘It’s probably nothing, so he doesn’t need to at this stage. If it is a problem. . we’ll deal with it together.’