Stay of Execution

61

Murphy Whetstone was home alone when Steele called. As he led the detective through to the kitchen, to make coffee for them both, he explained that his mother had taken Blue off in her car for a walk around Holyrood Park. ‘The poor dog’s had barely any exercise since Dad died, and from what Mum said, his walks had been getting shorter before that.’

‘Yet your father was in the habit of walking home from the off ice?’

‘I know, but that had tailed off too, so Mum said.’

A night’s sleep seemed to have done him some good. The circles had gone from beneath his eyes, and he looked more like a man of his age than he had on the inspector’s first visit to him. He seemed also to have regained some spirit, as he handed Steele a mug. ‘Are you here to ask or tell?’ he said bluntly.

‘Tell, in this case. There’s been a development I thought you should know about.’ As he explained about the disappearance of Aurelia Middlemass and her husband, Murphy’s face seemed to light up. ‘It all fits now,’ he exclaimed, when the inspector had f inished.

‘What does?’

‘Come into my dad’s study and let me show you something,’ he said. Carrying his coffee, Steele followed him into a room next to the kitchen that looked out on to a long, immaculately maintained back garden. ‘My mother’s pride and joy,’ he said. ‘Dad had his golf; she’s got that.’

In one corner of the study, there was a desk on which a computer sat, up and running, showing moving stars as a screensaver. ‘I’ve been looking though my father’s files,’ said the young man. ‘To be completely honest, I thought that if he had left a suicide note, this is where it would be. The Old Man came late to computers, but when he did, he embraced them. His Filofax is gathering dust somewhere; all his personal records and notes were kept here. He had a web-cam, and he and I used to have video chats every couple of weeks or so. He didn’t keep a daily diary. . not the Samuel Pepys kind at least; he wasn’t that sort of man. . but I did find reminders and stuff, and notes, in a personal folder.’ He looked at Steele. ‘Before I show you this, I promise you, I didn’t create it to try to prove anything. This is his own document.’

He touched the mouse and the screensaver vanished, to be replaced on the screen by a photograph of Blue, the Siberian husky. Murphy smiled. ‘He used to create his own wallpaper,’ he said. ‘He had a video camera and downloaded pictures from it. He was always changing the image.’ He moved the mouse and clicked on a series of folders, until a document opened. It was headed ‘Countdown’.

It showed dates listed in sequence. Some were blank while others had entries against them. Steele scanned them and his eye was drawn to one in particular. It appeared on the day of his death, and it read ‘Check AM/BP’.

‘What do you think that is?’ the young man asked.

‘I think it’s interesting. AM could be Aurelia Middlemass, and BP could be. .’

‘Bonspiel Partnership,’ he finished. ‘I reckon my dad was on to her, that she found out and that she killed him to shut him up, making it look like suicide so that when the fraud was discovered it would be blamed on him. What do you think?’

‘I think it’s a possibility, Murphy, that’s all I’ll say. I’ll put it to her when we catch her, you can be sure of that, but without a confession there isn’t enough to make a murder charge stick. Can I ask you, would the financial consequences for your mother be any different if the fiscal decides it wasn’t suicide, and we can convict Middlemass of fraud?’

‘No. After our solicitor showed them the pathologist’s report, which said my father would have died within months, the insurance company paid out on his policy. His pension’s ring-fenced as well, that passes to Mum and there’s nothing the bank can do about it. All I care about is my dad’s memory.’

‘In that case, pal,’ said Stevie Steele, ‘I’ll do all I can to help you protect it.’