“Not here, Mrs. Flynn,” MacRae said with a warm smile. “We’re more than willing to cooperate with someone of your stature.”
“I’m flattered,” Judith said as guilt pangs stabbed her conscience. I should hand over those emails, she thought. But still she hesitated. “Don’t you think we should see if Ogilvie has found Chuckie?”
“Yes,” MacRae said. “Which way would my sergeant have gone?”
“We only know the courtyard route to the other wing,” Renie said, slipping into her shoes.
“That’s fine.” MacRae rose from the chair and went to the door, opening it for the cousins.
Mrs. Gibbs was in the passageway. “Did ye want tea?” she inquired of the detective.
“No, thank you.”
“Have you seen Chuckie?” Judith asked Mrs. Gibbs.
She shook her head. “Not since lunch. If ye’ll be wanting Gibbs’s car, it won’t be ready until late today or tomorrow.”
“But,” Judith said, “we came with him when he brought it back from the garage.”
Mrs. Gibbs shook her head. “Gibbs found something else wrong. Fuss and fret, that’s Gibbs. He’s gone back to the car shop with Archie Morton. No wonder there’s always something awry. That car is auld as the hills.”
“We don’t need transportation,” Judith said. “Although we should have asked Archie Morton if he had a car for hire.” She shot Renie an annoyed glance. “A shame we got sidetracked.”
As usual, Renie looked unrepentant.
Mrs. Gibbs had been standing stoically, hands at her sides, eyes cast down. Suddenly she lurched forward and grabbed MacRae by the arms. “You will arrest our dear laddie’s killer, won’t you? Please! Justice must be done!”
“Of course!” MacRae gently disengaged himself from Mrs. Gibbs’s grasp. “That’s why we’re here, to find your grandson’s murderer.”
Mrs. Gibbs looked stunned. “Do wealth and privilege keep ye from doing your duty? You must arrest Moira at once! Why must we always be the victims of an unjust world?”
Words were futile. Despite MacRae’s insistence that there was no solid evidence against Moira Gibbs, Mrs. Gibbs remained adamant. Judith felt sorry for the old lady, who tore at her apron and sobbed. “Not fair!” she wailed, and stumbled down the passageway.
MacRae sadly shook his head. “Poor woman. She’s convinced that we’d let Moira go free if we thought she’d murdered Harry. That’s not true, of course. But so far we have nothing to go on in that direction. She was at a wedding in Inverness.”
In the courtyard, clouds had drifted overhead and a drizzle began to fall. Judith felt as if the towers and battlements loomed above her like reminders of past dangers—and perhaps those to come.
“The dungeon is at the far end,” Judith said. “It may be locked.”
MacRae looked grim. “Not much use for locks in such a place.”
Just as they approached the tower door Judith had seen Chuckie head for previously, Ogilvie came out onto the walkway from the Fordyces’ apartments.
“Sir!” he called to his superior. “I can’t find him.” The young policeman ran down the walk, raincoat flapping behind him. “Mrs. Fordyce hasn’t seen him. Mr. Fordyce isn’t in.”
“You tried the dungeon?” MacRae asked.
“First thing,” Ogilvie answered. “Nothing. Just a barrel of dirty water. No point going down there. The dungeon must’ve been sunk deep into the rock. The room above is for storage with a trapdoor in the floor for the dungeon.”
“Chuckie told me he goes there often,” Judith said anxiously. “He mentioned a torture chamber, too.”
MacRae nodded. “Showing off, perhaps.”
Beth Fordyce and Will Fleming came out onto the walk. Will kissed Beth’s cheek and moved briskly toward the castle entrance.
“The tide has turned,” Beth called, coming to join the others. “Will has to hurry.”
MacRae frowned. “Perhaps we should, too, if Gibbs isn’t here. We could leave the skiff on the other side, though. Otherwise he might not be able to get back.”
“Gibbs has boots,” Beth said. “As long as the sea is fairly calm, he can wade to the castle up to his knees.” She brushed raindrops from her face. “You still haven’t found Chuckie?”
MacRae shook his head. “Perhaps he doesn’t want to be found.”
“Very likely,” Beth said, but she looked worried. “He rarely leaves the castle. He’s got to be somewhere. I wish Philip would get back. He might know where Chuckie’s hiding.”
MacRae looked up, down, and all around the castle precincts surrounding the courtyard. “I should think this place provides all sorts of nooks and crannies for someone who wants to avoid company.”
“Indeed,” Beth said in a hollow voice.
But Judith feared that Chuckie had already been found—by a killer.
MacRae and Ogilvie left moments later, promising to send more men to make a thorough search of the castle. Beth seemed grateful.
“I always feel like a visitor at Grimloch, not the chatelaine,” she confessed, leading the way into the private entrance. A sweep of her hand took in the entry area, which was decorated in a severe modern style with only a couple of abstract paintings and whitewashed walls. “Phil’s second wife did this. She stripped it of all the old character. I’d like to change it, but I’m not sure how to go about it.”
Renie looked at the space with her artistic eye. “Ghastly. What was she trying to prove?”
“That she was young and hip,” Beth replied. “Wait until you see the sitting room,” she continued, heading down a narrow corridor with black-and-white photographs of London street scenes on the walls. “Poor Phil. His first wife, Bella, died young from an aneurysm. His second wife, Rosemary, was much older, but very rich, and at the time, Phil was having financial problems. The dot-com crash, 9/11, the whole global downturn hurt business. His second wife died of cancer, only two years after they were married. Phil’s always felt guilty about marrying Rosemary for money, which makes him touchy whenever I mention redecorating this part of the castle. I suppose it’s his memorial to Rosemary, expressing gratitude for bailing him out of shark’s waters.”
They’d reached an open archway into what appeared to be the sitting room, all black and white with a couple of red accent pillows to break the monotony. “He’s doing well now, I gather,” Judith said as all three women sat down on the large U-shaped sofa.
“Yes,” Beth replied, “but he got a bad scare when things turned sour. Phil talks about diversifying, maybe merging with Gunn Shipping.”
Renie looked surprised. “Is your mother the sole owner?”
“Basically,” Beth replied. “My father, like Phil and his father and grandfather before him, believed strongly in keeping their businesses in the family. After my father died, Frankie inherited the position of chief officer, but the will was set up so that Mummy would actually run the business until the eldest son turned thirty. Frankie never lived that long, and all my brothers are under the official age, so Mummy is still in charge. She has quite a good head for business.”
Judith recalled overhearing the conversation between Philip and Kate Gunn. “There are no ties to Blackwell Petroleum through either Grimglen or the shipping company, are there?”
“No,” Beth replied, “though I’ve heard Jimmy has been considering some changes. The North Sea is a difficult area for oil exploration and requires investing in very expensive equipment. Production peaked a few years back, but there’s been a steady decline since. All of Blackwell’s operations are offshore, and quite far north. Jimmy, I understand, wants to merge with some of the other UK companies. Harry didn’t like that idea and thought Blackwell should invest in some of the marginal fields and put money into better exploration and drilling equipment. Jimmy and a couple of the other top executives felt that the initial expense wouldn’t be worth the return down the road.”