I could hardly wave goodbye and leave, nor could I approach the mournful little marital scene and join in, so I stood there, kicking at the beech cobs under my feet until, with a fond pat and a little pinch of the chin such as one would give to a child, Jack Aitken sent his wife back to the house and came to join me.
‘What have you been saying to her?’ he asked when he was close enough to talk without shouting. ‘She’s very, very upset about something.’
I stared at him. Of course a mother, a week after the death of her only child, was ‘upset’ and surely her husband, the child’s father, should not wonder what about, should he? As though he read my thoughts, Jack Aitken cleared his throat and rubbed at his face with the side of his hand.
‘I was just making quite sure that she didn’t want me to carry on trying to piece together exactly what happened with Dugald and Mirren,’ I said. His eyes flashed, black and sparkling, and for some reason the thought which popped into my head was that John Aitken must have been a handsome man, for Jack was quite unlike poor Bella. ‘Would you like me to carry on, Mr Aitken?’
‘I thought Mary…’
‘Called me off?’ I supplied. ‘Yes, she did. Twice. She most certainly doesn’t want any more meddling. But I thought it might be a comfort to a mother to know as much as possible. A father too.’
‘And what did Abby say?’ he asked, looking over his shoulder towards where she had gone.
‘Plenty,’ I replied. ‘Mostly about the Hepburns.’ He tried to look interested and unconcerned but failed rather spectacularly, a muscle dancing in one cheek and those black eyes wide open again.
‘She barely knows them,’ he said. ‘Couple of committees, a few church bazaars, that kind of thing. We don’t fraternise.’ He bit this off rather and was right to do so, since the non-fraternising of the Aitkens and Hepburns intrigued me; birds of a feather being what they were when it came to flocking.
‘Yes, your rivalry looks almost like a feud sometimes,’ I said.
‘Is that what Abby told you?’
‘She said they were cruel people,’ I replied. ‘I think she meant callous. But that Dugald was a dear boy, quite unlike the rest of them. That he must have been to have loved her so.’
Jack Aitken smiled absently and then his face twisted into a sudden spasm of pain. I started forward, unable not to; no one would have been able not to, for at that moment there was no filmy curtain up between Jack Aitken and his audience, no performance going on. He was white with shock, as wretched as a man could be. He waved me away with one hand and put the other out to brace himself against the sturdy weight of the nearest tree.
‘I keep forgetting,’ he said. ‘With everything so topsy-turvy and everyone upset and angry. I keep forgetting what it’s all about and then I remember again. And it’s like a knife.’
‘I’m so very sorry,’ I said.
‘Mirren forgave me for forbidding the marriage, you know,’ he went on. ‘She was sweeter and more loving in the last two months than she had been since she was a child in ringlets. She seemed almost grateful to me – well, terribly kind and affectionate, anyway. That’s why I was so sure she wouldn’t elope. As for killing herself, I still can’t believe it.’
‘Nor can I,’ I said. ‘I’m so far from believing that she did it, Mr Aitken, that here I am, seeking permission to prove that she didn’t. Dugald too.’
‘What?’ he said. He was staring at me then he blinked twice in quick succession and swallowed very hard. ‘That’s what you meant?’ he said. ‘When you said “piece things together”? You meant how they died? Whether they killed themselves or…’
‘If someone murdered them.’
‘Who would… who would ever dream of… what would ever have made you imagine… What are you accusing her of? You think she would kill a child? You – you – witch. You – twisted… get away from here. Don’t you ever, ever, dare to show your face here again or I will strangle you with these two hands.’
I could only imagine the gesture that went along with the last words, for I was off, sprinting down the drive towards the gates and my motorcar with my heart hammering.
What the hangment is going on, I asked myself, driving off rather jerkily – for my hands were far from steady. I rattled up to top gear and threaded my way through the streets to the other side of the town trying to sort it all through: Bella’s collapse, Abigail’s odd hints and Jack’s extraordinary outburst. When at last I spotted a telephone kiosk at the side of the road I pulled over and hurried towards it, scrabbling for tuppences.
‘Alec, listen,’ I said. ‘First of all, here is the number of the kiosk. Ring me back when this three minutes is up if I haven’t convinced you by then. But listen. I’ve just been run off Abbey Park on pain of having my neck wrung for me.’
‘Dear me,’ said Alec. ‘Dunfermline has been no friend to you, Dandy.’
‘I wasn’t exaggerating, darling,’ I said. ‘It wasn’t a metaphor. I’ve collected the full set to go with Mary. Bella Aitken, who must know that Mirren had no motive for suicide, wants me to leave it alone. Abigail Aitken spoke a great deal about the Hepburns being callous and cruel but wants me to leave the whole thing alone. Jack Aitken was wringing his hands with guilt about having caused Mirren’s suicide yet when I suggested that it might not have been suicide he reacted, as I say, by charging at me with bloodcurdling threats and accompanying gestures, which I took to be an indication that he wanted me to leave matters well alone.’ I took a deep breath. ‘What do you say to that then?’
‘What do you think I say?’ said Alec. ‘Get back in that silly little car and come home. Get out of there, Dandy. You have been sacked by the entire family now, arrested, imprisoned, threatened and almost assaulted. Go for a nice quiet walk in the jungles of Borneo if you will, but for God’s sake get out of Dunfermline.’
‘But there’s something wrong,’ I said. ‘There must be. What kind of people would rather have the stain of suicide upon their family than try to uncover their daughter’s murderer and have him hanged?’
‘Dangerous people,’ Alec said. ‘Really, Dandy, come home. Probably they all know exactly what happened and they have closed ranks to protect someone and there’s an end of it.’
‘To protect whom?’ I said. ‘Who do you think is behind it? Why didn’t you tell me you had a suspect?’
‘I don’t,’ Alec said.
‘But if you had to make a guess?’
‘Mary Aitken,’ he said. ‘I don’t know what and why but she’s the one pulling all the strings, isn’t she?’
I was silent for a moment and then nodded, although he could not see me.
‘She practically had kittens yesterday when Bella took over for once and steamrollered her into getting that man to look at the lift,’ I said. Then I gasped. ‘Alec! You don’t think she knew about Dugald Hepburn too, do you? As well as Mirren. Knew he was there? His body. Killed him, even?’
‘She can’t have,’ Alec said. ‘She was in the Abbey with everyone else, remember. Dugald Hepburn killed himself in an empty building when anyone with reason to hate him was in view of a hundred strangers. And he killed himself because his sweetheart was dead. That seems very clear. But there is something rather fishy about how Mirren died. And why. That I’ll give you.’
‘I tell you what I’d dearly like to know,’ I said. ‘I’d dearly like to know whether there’s the same unanimity chez Hepburn as I found chez Aitken this morning. Because there shouldn’t be.’
‘Dandy, you can’t go barging in the day after the boy died when Mrs Haddo was so clear about not wanting you.’