Getting Involved

Section Forty-One

After a thorough analysis of the facts and findings, they could not conclude much. They could find out who had been in Nigel's bedroom, but that was meaningless. People could have had plenty of reasons to see him there, his daughter especially. No material had been found in the bathroom.

Margaret found it very significant that Poppy's fingerprints had been found on the first aid kit. Iain was less impressed. "She lives here. It's not odd to find her prints on items in the house. I know you're thinking of the gloves, but..." He still did not see the significance of the spare pair.

"You could ask her if she's ever looked into the thing." She was sure he could think of that himself, but it had to be said nevertheless.

"I could." He would. He had many more things to ask, so he should make a list to tackle them in the right order. In the absence of much physical evidence it was revelations and motives he was after most. He should not give Poppy the opportunity to fabricate a story based on the questions he asked her.

"You should make a list," Margaret advised. He could probably think of that himself, but it was always amazing what people did not think of when they should.

"Margaret!"

"What is it?" she asked, the epitome of innocence.

"Don't tell me what to do when I've already decided to do it." He spoke quietly, as if he did not really mind much.

Therefore Margaret was not concerned in the least. "Don't decide to do things without speaking up about them," she pointed out with a shrug. How else could she know what he had already thought of?

Randall snickered. "My thoughts exactly!" Sometimes Scott was altogether too secretive. He was not very good at sharing his thoughts, so he should actually be glad that someone voiced them for him.

Iain looked from one to the other, not betraying the mixture of amusement and resignation that he felt. "Are you two teaming up against me? Well, never mind. I can handle the two of you. The list. I should ask Poppy about the gloves. What did she need from the first aid kit and how did she dye her hair? With or without gloves? Furthermore we have to question her about the will and about her knowledge of ... you know." He was referring to Anna's parentage, but he could not speak about that openly in her presence.

"I'd say she knows a lot about you know," Margaret commented immediately.

"Undoubtedly." He had heard Margaret say something to that effect before, but the matter was not interesting enough to pursue. It was in fact more interesting to wonder if Margaret disapproved of people who knew too much about you know. He did not even want to tell her she should not sound so obviously disapproving. On the one hand he appreciated her opinions, but on the other he wished she would not always be so quick to share them. Nevertheless, honesty was laudable.

Anna was staring at them wide-eyed. "Poppy? Do you want to question Poppy?" She sensed that something was going on and that her friend was connected.

"Here you're trying to be circumspect for the first time and you're failing instantly," Margaret said with a snicker. She could not help but pick up on that irony. He did not want Anna to notice anything and then of course she did. "Please try to be mysterious all the time. I'm sure we'd understand you a lot better then."

Iain decided he would be better off ignoring that. "Ladies," he said, getting up. "I'll leave you to talk things over among yourselves in non-circumspect ways. I'm going to do some work." It was pleasant to sit here and waste time like this, but the case had to be solved.

"Am I with the ladies or am I with the police?" Randall inquired. She could be with either -- or both.

"You are with the police."

Margaret sighed. They had left them with all the documents. Was that a hint? Usually they kept this room locked. At least, she thought she had seen something like that in the morning. It probably meant they could not leave until Randall or Scott got back, but she did not understand why they were allowed to stay here. "You know, Anna, sometimes I don't know if the police really know what they're doing." Iain would know she would look at anything in sight. It was dangerous to leave her here. They had discussed the faxes out loud, but there might have been something in this pile they had kept quiet about.

Furthermore, Iain jumped from one line of inquiry to the next without ever getting to the bottom of anything, as if he had no idea what to do first. It was a bit chaotic. Did he ever solve a case? Or would he be able to handle several threads at once? She would, but she did not often see that ability in others.

"Oh," said Anna. She had no opinion on the subject. It was not her place to wonder about the methods of the police.

"Yes, why you should you care anyway," Margaret said amiably, picking up the top fax. She put it down again when she thought of something else. "The day after Nigel was murdered and you were at the pool, which was actually yesterday, Poppy left at some point, didn't she?" This was her chance to get to the bottom of that.

Anna frowned. "Yes, probably."

"Did you go with her?" Someone had come upstairs with Poppy when she had been in Anna's room. It had not occurred to her before to ask if it had been Anna. "Someone did. Did you go upstairs to your room with her?"

The girl thought hard. "No, it was Sebastian, I think. I never went inside in between."

That was certainly interesting, because either Poppy or her companion had gone into Anna's room. Margaret had heard that distinctly. She had climbed over the balcony railing because of those sounds. Someone had come in.

If it had not been Anna, it had to have been Poppy or Sebastian. And that meant that one of them had seen her go upstairs, but how? She had looked very carefully before she embarked on her mission. Poppy had been by the poolside and so had Sebastian. She recalled he had been looking bored, so perhaps he had been the one who had got up eventually and seen her. He was the sort to tell Poppy about it, though Poppy had been all over Edwin and Edwin must have noticed then. She could ask him, but she would ask Anna first. "Did Sebastian ask Poppy to go inside?"

"I don't remember."

That was to be expected. Margaret looked at the fax again, an incomprehensible jumble of technical jargon. "Bother." She had always thought she was clever. "I might as well be illiterate. I can only tell that this is a fingerprint." And that it was identified as Poppy's. She had almost forgotten that the night of the murder, before Scott and Randall had arrived, a very zealous local policeman had had all their fingerprints taken. In her mind the real investigation had not started until the morning after. The locals were still around, though, but they did not do much of the thinking work.

Just as she was thinking about them, one knocked on the door to the study and peeked his head around the door. "Excuse me? I'm looking for Detective Chief Inspector Scott."

Margaret unobtrusively put the fax down. "He's not here. Could I take a message?" If he left her here, she might as well act as his assistant or equal.

As far as the local policeman knew, she was one of the suspects -- but she was also a well-known personality and she was handling papers with such confidence that he did not know what her official position was. He hesitated.

Hesitation was a conquest, as always. Margaret took a pen and paper and looked at him expectantly. For some reason fame put one above suspicion. As stupid as that was, she could take advantage of it and rule the place in his absence.

The policeman still only kept his head inside the door, as if there was something he wanted to hide. "We've been receiving some questions at the front gate. The press wants to know what's going on."

She knew that. It was why they were all assembled in the pub in the village. There was very little she could do. She would be pushing her luck too far if she went out to speak to them and she did not even want that. "Well, refer them to your public relations officer." There had to be one.

"That's the problem. They say she doesn't know anything."

"Nothing or not enough?" Margaret suspected it was the latter. They would never think they got enough information. They would always ask for more. Still, if the woman was supposed to get her information from Iain it was understandable that she felt she did not know enough.

"I don't know. But ... she's here." And he obviously wanted to get rid of her.

Well, that was interesting. Margaret sat up straight to tackle this challenge. Or perhaps it was a nuisance to have the public relations officer poking her nose in. "But the Detective Chief Inspector is busy." She did not know precisely what he was doing and she did not know where to find him. She could try, but maybe she did not want to. Maybe he had better not be exposed to a nosy woman -- or even to any other woman, come to think of it. "Send her in and we'll wait for him to return." Then she could assess whether the woman was posing any danger to his person. Perhaps she was a harmless woman over fifty years of age. Surely he would, whatever his age was exactly, not look that far up?

He could hardly berate her for the assessment, could he? She would be the essence of a lady, or perhaps the essence of Margaret Maxwell -- whichever role she was forced into by the public relations woman. It was a pity that it was not a public relations man. She would surely be able to dazzle him. She was turning into the essence of depravity.

Section Forty-Two

The spokeswoman for the police was a woman her own age or slightly older, neatly coiffed and groomed and obviously no embarrassment to the police force in the media. Margaret wondered why someone would come here at two o'clock on a free Saturday afternoon to check up on the case. It spoke of too much zeal -- or a desire to see the DCI?

She knew she had to tread carefully when she saw the expression in the woman's eyes and the determined lines around the mouth. But she was always careful, was she not? In some matters of observation women were sharper than men, save Iain naturally.

The PR woman looked taken aback to find Margaret Maxwell there and no police officers. "What happened to Detective Chief Inspector Scott?" she demanded, as if it was absolutely unthinkable that he was not there.

"The case happened to him." Margaret wondered if she was considered part of the media and therefore had to be treated with care. She had dressed up when Iain had asked her to that morning and although she was not dressed for a television appearance, she looked enough like her public image to be recognisable. She was not part of the media, even if she did make a living making use of them. Oh worse! Perhaps she was thought to be doing a reality TV show, though the obvious absence of cameras ought to exclude that possibility. She eyed her opponent -- her answer was not appreciated.

"Where is he, Ms Maxwell? And what are you doing here?"

Margaret briefly considered tricking her and telling her to smile at the camera hidden in the vase of fake daffodils on the desk, but that was just a little too much. "I'm sorry. Were we ever introduced? I don't like being at a disadvantage." She did not like someone interrogating her.

"I'm the press and publicity officer for the police. Kirsty Johnson. I'm responsible for the release of information to the media. Regular contacts with police officers are also a part of my job." She did not waste any time after these introductions she considered superfluous. "What happened to the DCI?"

"The case did," Margaret repeated because Kirsty Johnson had not liked that answer. She wondered if the woman had dressed up for the DCI. Nobody would dress like this on a Saturday otherwise, unless there was a specific purpose. She felt quite wary.

"Can you give me a straight answer, Ms Maxwell? Something useful."

"I did." This was not Iain's superior. There was no need to give straight answers or to be useful. And the request was ironic coming from someone whose job was to manipulate the press.

"I need to speak to the DCI."

It was all right for her to say so imperatively, Margaret thought, but it was not going to bring Iain back here any quicker. "Unless you'd become a suspect, I doubt that he'd make you a priority." He had gone to speak to Poppy -- finally -- and he would not break that off just because some PR person wanted to know what she could tell the press. She should have been properly trained to ward off probing questions. If she was not, that was not Iain's problem.

"The man's got his priorities all mixed up, hasn't he?" It was a calm observation.

Suddenly Margaret felt exposed. Then she told herself that was nonsense. Kirsty Johnson had been referring to herself and not to her, but she did not quite like the look in the other woman's eyes, which seemed to bore deep into her and see far too much. "Suspects are a priority, aren't they?" That was a lame answer. Kirsty Johnson would surely outdo her here. Still, Iain had to be defended. He was not mixed up.

"Solving the case is, Ms Maxwell."

"In any way he deems successful." Margaret was quite cheerful about that. She had to be.

"Going by the rules." Ms Johnson exuded the utmost confidence in having thorough knowledge of those rules, implying that Margaret did not and that she was somehow involved in breaking them.

Margaret did indeed not know all of them. However, she suspected that leaving one of the suspect alone with one's notes was not exactly going by the rules. She wished she had a bosom ample enough to obscure all the faxes from view. Unfortunately she was not that well-endowed. The only solution was to leave her chair and to draw Ms Johnson's attention away from the desk before she noticed that the DCI had left a suspect to leaf through his notes. "I'm sorry I cannot help you as to the DCI's whereabouts. I can, however, provide you with a cup of tea." It was marvellous how women were more versatile than men and had more options at their disposal. She could not imagine a man offering a cup of tea as a distraction and gave a proud attempt at a polite smile. It was difficult to feel all too benign towards a rival.

Ms Johnson stood her ground. "Thank you for your offer, but I'd much rather speak to the DCI." Evidently she believed that Margaret knew exactly where the man was.

"When I click my fingers, the DCI will materialise in this room." Margaret clicked her fingers and then feigned disappointment when no one appeared. "Sorry, I seem to have lost my skill." Ms Johnson should get it into her head that there was very little Margaret could do for her.

"And the DCI."

"You cannot seriously be thinking I am to blame for his absence. That was a response to form, not to contents."

"Excuse me?" Ms Johnson was impatient, lightly tapping her high heels on the floor.

"I did not lose the DCI, but stylistically it looks nice if you say so." Margaret had lost her skills, not Iain. He was not hers to lose, but if she said so it would sound like the opposite.

"But you know where he is."

"I do not know where he is. If you are at all acquainted with the man you know he does not keep anyone posted on what he is about to do." And Margaret had still not decided whether Ms Johnson deserved to speak to Iain at all. He might only be slowed down if he had to clue her in. Besides, it was not clear yet whether any information was safe with her -- or if Iain was safe with her.

Margaret would not like for her own name to be linked with this case, for instance. She had no wish to read someplace that she was one of the guests, with all the speculations that involved. What was she doing there and with whom?

Ms Johnson squinted at her, as if she was a very strange creature. "Are you his self-appointed assistant?"

Margaret gave a contemptuous, but dignified shake of the head. "Were I to appoint myself as anything, I would appoint myself as his boss. That is much more to my liking."

"Miss Hargreaves," Iain addressed her pleasantly. "May we have a word with you?" Even if she said no, he was going to have a word. She had no choice. They were going to speak to her whether she liked it or not.

"What for? I've told you all I know." Poppy looked hostile. She did not like being questioned, but she was wrong if she believed this attitude was going to get her out of it.

All she liked to do was lie on a sun bed. He knew that. She did not like to speak to the family's solicitor about arrangements either. He supposed she was happy to let the solicitor arrange the funeral and anything with regard to the will, as long as she got her money. He had observed that she disliked taking any responsibility and supposed she would be rid of her money before the year was over, if nothing happened.

"I'd like to ask you a few more questions," he said. "Do you know where the first aid kit is in this house?" She did not strike him as the type who would know.

She hesitated. "I might have seen it somewhere." She did not know if it was in her best interest to deny all knowledge of first aid kits or if that was unbelievable.

He supposed she was trying to work it out why he was asking and what he could know. That meant she was definitely not ignorant. She would not have hesitated in that case, but she would have asked him why she should care about first aid. "And you might have touched it." They had evidence of that, should she deny it.

"I guess. I live here."

This was easier than having to counter denials. "And you might have taken some gloves out of it."

"What for?"

"Why don't you tell me, Miss Hargreaves? You are the one who took them." He had not expected any co-operation and these developments were positive enough.

There was a pause, as if she was again trying to decide what to say. "I used them to dye my hair."

That might be the truth. It would tie in with the gloves left in the package of hair dye, which was precisely what Margaret had suspected. He should have a little more faith in her hunches, as wild as they sometimes seemed to be, but there was more she had been guessing about. "Do you prefer those over the ones that actually come with the hair dye?" He spoke as if he was well-versed in such matters. He tried to spot some traces of darker hair at the roots.

Poppy looked surprised that he had some knowledge about that. "Yes, I always use them," she said curtly.

That was not the truth. She had not replaced the other pair and supposedly she had used those normally. She could have thrown them away, but it was up to her to correct his suggestion in that case. He should not give her the easy way out. "I think you used them only once, because you took only one pair of gloves from the first aid kit. Not the other pair. The other time you dyed your hair you used the pair of gloves that came with the bottle."

"So?" She shrugged with an air of indifference. She did not see what he could prove.

Section Forty-Three

"So he does as you say, Ms Maxwell?" Ms Johnson inquired. She crossed her arms expectantly, hoping for a positive answer. It was unclear what her reaction was going to be.

Margaret was wary. "Is that going to be the next press statement? Suspect takes over investigation?"

"We would never give out such a statement, for obvious reasons. We could neither tolerate nor reveal that a senior police officer was unjustifiably influenced by a suspect. I'm sure you understand. You wouldn't think it desirable either for contestants to take over your show, I assume." The woman kept her cool.

So did Margaret, and she was about to say she was not a contestant and this was not a show, but it was highly annoying that her phone should ring and give the woman an opportunity to leave the room. However, she could not hang up on Ailsa, no matter how many other people she might have chosen not to speak to at this moment. She had not spoken to her little girl at all yet today.

Of course Ailsa had no adjustment problems whatsoever. She had settled in comfortably and was enjoying herself. Margaret would almost feel jealous if she did not realise this was exactly what Ailsa should be doing. Without forgetting about her mother, she should be at ease elsewhere. It would be unhealthy if she was not. After a quick rational reminder to herself that this was good, she resumed listening, keeping an eye on Ms Johnson so she would not leave and go after the DCI on her own.

The woman did not appear to have that intention. She kept her eyes fixed on Margaret and listened unashamedly to the conversation that unfolded.

Margaret was under the assumption that no one would know she was speaking to a child. She was not in the habit of treating Ailsa like a baby or as someone who must be spoken to in a certain manner. This was not going to reveal anything about her private life. "I might be able to pick you up on Monday. How's that?"

Ailsa had far too much to do to go home. "Mum!" she exclaimed in a very disappointed voice. "Already?"

Margaret felt a keen stab of something. Had she at first felt she was letting her girl down, the second word had inspired other sensations. Be it jealousy or disappointment, at any rate she felt rejected. "What!" was all she could utter. Already? She should have been there yesterday.

"Why can't another person be murdered? I need to go pony riding on Tuesday!"

That topped it. "Ailsa! Think about what you just said!" She was appalled. She had not raised Ailsa to say things like that. Another murder!

"I want to go pony riding on Tuesday." Ailsa wisely left the other part out, knowing full well she should not have asked for another murder.

Margaret shook her head even though the girl was unable to see it. "You can go pony riding at home." They would find a place. There was no need to impose on Scott's mother for longer.

"No, I can't. We won't. We've never been. Where?"

"What sort of reasoning is that? That we've never been doesn't mean we cannot go." That was simply ridiculous. She would find out where it could be done. Ailsa had never wanted it before, so she had never looked into it. It should not be too difficult, however.

"But I know this pony now!" Ailsa protested.

"And this pony knows you? I suppose it's going to be really disappointed if you don't come to ride it on Tuesday." Margaret became sarcastic, losing her caution for a moment. One could easily get to know another pony, if that was at all necessary.

"Mummy! But Gran said --"

"Gran? Did you tell your Gran about this?" That was even worse. This sort of information was not safe with her mother. It was very dangerous to let that woman know Ailsa was staying with the mother of the police officer investigating the murder case Margaret had accidentally got involved in. There was no telling what she might do. On no account would she like it, however.

Apart from having obvious suspicions with regard to Margaret and the policeman, she would be very cross if she heard Ailsa was staying with someone else, disregarding the fact that she always said she could not possibly have her in the house for longer than two days. She would nag constantly and she would try to make Margaret feel guilty for not having asked her first. I'm your own mother! Margaret could already hear her say that.

"I meant my new Gran." Ailsa spoke as if it was the most normal thing in the world to acquire a new grandmother at age eleven.

"Your new Gran," Margaret repeated. The simplicity of life sometimes confused her. "How can you be getting a new Gran without me getting a man?" She immediately regretted speaking those words in front of Ms Johnson. It was none of her business whether Margaret had one already or not. The implication that she did not would immediately make her think of the DCI and her interference in his case. She ought to be more careful.

Ailsa giggled. "I thought we could do it the other way around."

The cleverness made Margaret laugh in spite of herself. This was her girl all right, even if she was mischievous. "I don't want to go into that with you, Ailsa." Such a young girl should not be made to think she could plan her mother's life for her. And getting herself a granny did not mean that her mother would automatically take the son. That would only happen if the son was very nice and if he met many other important criteria, none of which she was going to think about now.

"I'll go into that with Gran then," Ailsa said cheekily.

"You do that." Margaret had some faith in Mrs. Scott's common sense. She would not do this to her son. She had to know that life was not this simple. "I'll call you later. All right?" She had to get back to her conversation with Ms Johnson.

"Family trouble, Ms Maxwell?" said that lady amusedly, as if she had been able to follow it all.

"Perhaps." Margaret was not going to say anything about it. Not to her. Never reveal weaknesses to the enemy. She should have left the room during her phone call.

"This, though enlightening, still doesn't tell me where the DCI is, though," Kirsty Johnson remarked.

Margaret suppressed the urge to do something unmannered. Bad manners were an admission of defeat. "I can't tell you that either. He didn't tell us. Did he, Anna?" Anna had been left out of the conversation before, although she had not appeared to mind that.

"No, he didn't, but we think he's interrogating an important suspect."

Margaret stared at her, more amazed than she had ever been. A surprised exclamation escaped her. "Since when do we think?" Anna should at most be capable of repeating something Margaret said, not come up with an observation of her own.

Randall was becoming excited. They almost had Poppy cornered. She could slip up any minute and tell them something. It was too early for a full confession, but she might inadvertently reveal something that was useful enough to be progress.

Iain repeated things for Poppy's sake. "So, you took a pair of gloves from the first aid kit to dye your hair. You claim you always do this, but that's not true. There was only one pair of original gloves left and only one pair missing from the kit."

Poppy looked blank, as if the swapping was too complicated to comprehend.

He did not fall for her blank look. She knew what he was getting at. "Why did you decide to use the other pair the second time?" She had said she had not, but Margaret had said otherwise. It was worth a try to follow that hunch.

It worked. "I liked them better."

That was a hopeful start. She at least admitted to having used them. Now they had to get her to admit what she had used them for. She was beginning to falter. "Do they give you a better grip lifting things?"

"Such as?"

One did not phrase it like that if one did not know exactly what was meant. What had been lifted in this particular case? All persons involved would be able to guess, unless they did not want to. "A CD player?" He had tried out the hair-dye gloves and found them useless. It had been difficult to get his fingers in them in the first place. Anyone could have discovered this with some careful planning -- and this murder had been planned to some extent.

"I can't believe you'd think I killed my own father." Poppy gave a bad impression of being shocked. It was no wonder she had never succeeded as an actress.

Iain was not unwilling to list some facts for her that explained why he might indeed entertain such a ridiculous notion. "The murderer used gloves. You're the only guest who did too. You're the only one who had any at her disposal."

"Anyone could have found that first aid kit." Poppy did not think it pointed solely at her. "It's in the hall."

"So far we haven't encountered people with a motive who knew where it was," said Randall. "Except you." She conveniently ignored Margaret. Scott would not appreciate it if she did not. Perhaps it was truthful enough to say they did not know any people with motives who knew where it was.

"Me?" Innocence was another thing Poppy faked badly. "A motive? Like what?"

"Money," said Scott. "You're not financially independent, but you'd like to be. You have expensive tastes. We've studied your bank records. There's no money in your account. You've depended on Nigel to give you some. You've had to ask him for it. We wouldn't have been able to trace how much you actually spent if we hadn't also looked at Nigel's bank records. You made good use of his credit card." That was an understatement.

"Is that forbidden?"

"Certainly not, but it's definitely something to consider. What if your source of money was about to dry up? How would you finance your lifestyle then? Don't tell me you were planning to get a job." That would be far too much effort and effort was something she did not like. He could not see that happening.

"Dry up? I don't know what you mean."

"Don't you?" Iain stared hard at her. She could not convince him of anything, except of the fact that she was constantly lying and obscuring the truth. "Is it news to you? Nigel was going to change his will and cut you out."

Poppy's eyes shot fire. "He was not going to cut me out!" Again her voice was shrill.

"Did he tell you that?" He leant forward at this denial. She had not denied that Nigel was going to change his will. She had not even displayed any surprise upon hearing it. The only thing she had denied was that he was going to cut her out. Had they spoken about this? "What did he tell you precisely?"

"Nothing."

That was another obvious lie. He could see it. Nigel had definitely spoken to her. That was how she knew then. Nigel had told her himself for some reason. "Then how could you know he wasn't going to cut you out? He told you that you'd at best have to share his money."

"No, he didn't."

He continued speaking quietly. "And this bad news dashed all your hopes. You were afraid he'd no longer sponsor your wish to become a famous TV personality and you would furthermore not have any money to spend. Worrisome, wasn't it? And there was not much you could do to stop him." Except killing him and thus stopping him from sending the will to his solicitor.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Poppy's expression became even more hostile.

"I think you do."

"I think I don't."

Iain smiled at her knowingly. "Then we shall just have to change that." He did not specify how, so she might start to wonder and become nervous. Then she might make a mistake and they would catch her.

He knew they would progress a whole lot more if they found the will and the motive contained therein. It would have been smart to destroy the will, but perhaps they were in luck and it was still somewhere they had not looked. "May we search your room, Miss Hargreaves?" He did not have to ask, because he could get a warrant, but her reaction might reveal something.

Poppy did not care. "Sure. You're not going to find anything." She shrugged a few times, to make it absolutely clear that she did not care.

He did not know about that. He would tell Randall to get warrants for all rooms, just in case. "That'll be all for the moment." After Poppy had left he ordered a constable to keep an eye on her so she could not leave unnoticed. Randall and he returned to the study.

"Kirsty?"

"Iain."

The two retired to a corner after these loaded greetings. Margaret defined her primary emotion as pure jealousy. She disliked herself for it, but it was impossible to remain unaffected by the evident familiarity and tension between the two. After a short deliberation, Kirsty Johnson left them. Margaret wanted to ask about her, but did not dare. It would be a bit too obvious if she did.

There were likely more women who were on a first-name basis with Iain. She should not read so much into everything. Still, it made her depressed to see how guardedly he reacted upon seeing the woman and how obviously eager she was to talk to him in private.

Iain said something to Randall in a low voice and then, "I need to talk to Kirsty for a moment." He left the room too.

It was hardly any consolation that he seemed less keen on talking to Kirsty in private. He should have said, of course, that there was nothing Margaret could not hear. That he had not done so was rather troublesome and that there was no reason why he should have done so was even more troublesome.

Section Forty-Four

Margaret felt crushed. She had not often liked men and she had never minded much to whom they spoke. That she felt it so keenly this time was as significant as it was incomprehensible. She wanted to tell him she was better, yet her rational side insisted that he had every right to talk to anyone he liked and even to like anyone he liked. She could not help it if he liked someone else better. She should stand aside and let him choose, even though part of her wanted to scream "me, me!" She berated herself for having entertained notions of meeting after the case. He had never mentioned anything about his private life. His mother did not count.

Randall was heartily amused at the obvious jealousy and uneasiness that Kirsty Johnson inspired in Margaret. She had, after perhaps a fourth or fifth meeting, heard how it really was. But enlightening Margaret was the DCI's prerogative. He was to blame for this situation.

Meanwhile, Margaret sat picking at her trousers, a frown on her face as she was obviously thinking and wondering. Randall felt sorry for her. She had proved to be nice enough, even if she was not someone who easily confided in another. The night before they had spoken cautiously, for Margaret had not seemed to be very good at speaking about unidentified matters close to her heart. She did not like to go there at all.

This was very revealing, however. Miss Maxwell did not like the idea of the DCI with another woman, no matter how afraid she might be to think of herself with him.

The moment Scott returned, Randall beckoned him. That was all she could do to relieve Margaret's suffering. "Sir? You have some explaining to do," she said in a low meaningful voice, gesturing at Margaret.

He glanced at her, reading correctly that she was unsettled. It was hard to mistake her expression for anything else. "I know, but I won't be the one doing it." He raised his voice. "Margaret? Someone wants to talk to you outside."

Margaret was startled. "Who?" But she saw she was not going to receive an answer from him. He had even turned away immediately after speaking. There was no option but to step out and see for herself whether it was the PR woman. Outside the room she indeed found Ms Johnson, whom she eyed with her head up, preparing to be disappointed.

"Welcome to the family," Kirsty Johnson said sourly.

"I beg your pardon?" Which family? Margaret wondered if the police perceived themselves to be a kind of family, so that her involvement was now approved. She wondered what Iain had said to Ms Johnson about her involvement in the case. Bless Iain and his authoritative stare. The man was a God -- to some extent. She remembered that she still did not know what this woman meant to him.

The police were not a family. "My darling brother refuses to tell me anything at all professionally if I don't make up for my negligence in not telling you I am his sister." It was not negligence. It had all been premeditated. She had deliberately not told Ms Maxwell, so she could see what she was like. That was always easier if you did not play your cards right away. And her brother was not much of a darling.

"Your brother?" Margaret was aghast. Somehow she felt she ought to have noticed a resemblance in physique or mannerisms. She had always believed herself to have above average observational skills, but she still could not see anything. This was Iain's sister? She stared at the woman in shock, not knowing whether to laugh or feel ashamed. She had been freaked out by his sister? Her cheeks burned. She had fallen prey to primitive emotions for no reason.

"I'm afraid so." Kirsty did not sound regretful of being Iain's sister or of not having told Margaret about it. She was comfortable with either thing.

"You're his sister and he didn't tell you anything?" She did not have to feel too bad then about occasionally being left out of the flow of information. It was merely one of his character traits.

"Because I'm his sister, I expect," Kirsty Johnson said dryly. "But sisters know when something fishy is going on. That's why I came over to check." To check up on Iain and his distraction, especially after speaking to her mother. She had wanted to see this for herself.

To Margaret that made perfect sense. Especially older sisters knew. She had always sensed suspicious things when it came to her sister. Mrs. Johnson's words begged another interesting question, though. "Do you mean he's otherwise more communicative?" She tried to make that sound more sarcastic than interested.

"He's not too bad."

No, that was actually true. He told her far more than he ought, but she should probably not reveal that to the press and publicity officer. "So what's wrong right now?" She did not know how other cases were, but was this one very tough? It did not seem that way because there were suspects and sometimes there were none.

"You are," Kirsty said without mincing words.

"Oh, I interfere too much and he couldn't possibly tell you that," Margaret said knowingly. Other people might have been offended by such directness, but she was not. "I suppose he doesn't come across such people in every case." He would not be used to it at all and he would not tell his sister about it until he had decided what to think of it. Now that the sister had come unannounced he must be very unprepared, which had to be why he had sent her out of the room to talk. Perhaps he was not so unshakable after all.

"Do you interfere on purpose?"

Margaret considered her answer. She did not do it to be annoying; she did it because she had no other choice, perhaps not unlike Iain's inability to share his thoughts immediately -- but then the opposite. "Let's put it this way. I don't switch off my intellect on purpose, nor do I keep silent when I have a useful comment to make." She shrugged with a grin. "But it really pains me that my contributions are so easily discounted. Ashamed of me, is he?"

Kirsty Johnson did not laugh yet. She did not fall as quickly as Iain. "I don't know. He said I was to blame for this situation. Now tell him you know who I am and I can get the information I need. I have a job to do."

Margaret was not ready. The topic was fascinatingly frightening. "Do you think I'm his ... girlfriend?"

Kirsty shrugged. "I'd find that odd."

"Why? Is he odd?"

"He would be odd."

"Why? I wouldn't be his only one?"

"He met you yesterday."

Margaret deduced Iain did not have more girlfriends and judging by the speed with which Kirsty had appeared on the case, she would have known about any others. It made her smile. "Well, that's precisely why I asked you that." She could not become someone's girlfriend in a day.

"You don't strike me as the type who cares about that," Kirsty said provocatively.

"Telling the truth always holds the risk that it might spread and work against me," said Margaret. "If I feel that the truth should come out I'd want to be in charge of it, so that I know it's at least the correct truth they're holding against me. In this case I think I'll just suffice with saying you could not be more wrong about what I care about."

"Does Iain know this truth?"

Margaret reviewed what she had said and done to see what his conclusions might be. "I think he may have some idea."

"They are beginning to search the room," Randall announced to break the silence. She wondered how the DCI could be nervous about the situation and attach more importance to this than to his investigation. What was he afraid of? His sister might not like Margaret at first sight, depending on how they both behaved, but that was not an insurmountable obstacle, she would think. Why did he even care what his sister was thinking?

"Good," Iain said absentmindedly. He was waiting for Margaret to storm into the room, demanding why she had been kept in the dark. He knew he had been negligent, not telling Kirsty enough and he should have known that she would become suspicious, but he had never expected her to come over to check it out in person and then to land in the worst possible situation imaginable: Margaret in charge of the command centre. He had not found her behind the desk, but Kirsty might have and the room also gave the unmistakable impression of being his office. Kirsty would see that and she would have her own ideas about leaving people alone in his office whom had met a little over twenty-four hours earlier.

It was amazing. Thirty hours ago he had been unaware of the existence of Margaret Maxwell, yet at this moment he trusted her enough to leave her with his notes.

There was no keeping things secret from Kirsty, though. She would know right away how matters lay. One chat with Margaret would suffice, unless Margaret was impossibly difficult -- which was not unthinkable. He wondered what he preferred. Did he prefer to have Kirsty know everything, or was he seeking some sort of approval from his sister? Or even both?

He sent more glances towards the door than he would later admit.

"Well, that's sorted," Margaret announced brightly when she returned. She looked carefully for Iain's reaction. He was as impassive as usual. It was practically impossible that anything should change in that respect. She was quite happy that he was not taken yet, though. He was worth liking despite his silence, although whether mere liking would result in taking him for herself was quite another matter.

"Not quite," he replied. "Briefing." That meant he would have a quick word with his sister to fill her in on the situation. She had obviously told Margaret what she had needed to tell her.

Margaret was intrigued by it all. She studied them both for a physical resemblance and still saw none now that she had them both before her. "Did you know?" she asked Randall. If Randall had known, she would also have been snickering to herself. Margaret had been so caught up in feeling threatened that she had not noticed anything. She did not worry in retrospect. Randall had her mind made up already by her foolishness.

"Yes." Randall expected some reaction.

"How nice of you to tell me. All right. There's not much point in telling me his sister works for the police as well, is there?" Margaret conceded. She saw the two siblings distance themselves a bit, eventually stepping outside, and returned to her own efficient self now that this danger had passed, telling herself to be rational. "What did Poppy say?" She could be filled in while Iain was doing something else. It was the smart thing to do. Her mind functioned also when he was out of the room.

Randall let out a sigh. If she refused to tell Margaret right now, Scott would undoubtedly tell her later. It was pretty pointless to postpone Margaret's enlightenment. "She did not say much, denied everything at first, but admitted to having used the gloves to dye her hair -- after we said we could prove that she took them. So she had no choice, really."

"Of course." Margaret nodded. It was no surprise.

"We're going to have her room turned upside down."

She would agree with the lack of hope in Randall's voice. "And you're not going to find anything."

"No, probably not, but it might make her nervous to feel pursued and she might make a mistake."

What kind, Margaret wondered. Everything had happened already. Poppy could only speak up now. She could no longer leave evidence -- of what? -- and she could not be so stupid as to have neglected to get rid of evidence at this point, such as the will. It could not possibly still be in existence.

Nevertheless, there was a chance that Poppy was even more stupid than they assumed. She could have hidden the will somewhere and to eliminate that possibility, they would have to search. Margaret doubted that it was in Poppy's room in that case, though. "Did she protest?" It might be significant.

"Not at all."

"That could either mean it's not there or that it is and she hoped to put you off the search."

"Isn't it lovely?" asked Randall, who had had the same thoughts. "But it can't be the second. We'd have to be stupid for that to work. As if we believe suspects."

"If she's stupid, could she guess how clever we are?" Margaret did not know if Poppy was capable of thinking so far ahead as to have considered the effects of different reactions before she picked one.

Randall laughed at Margaret and how she included herself in the question. "I suppose not. They'll let us know as soon as possible if they find any documents or papers. Any at all."

After Iain had given his sister a brief outline of what had happened so far and what they had discovered, he wanted to return to the study to head off any further questions. She held him back. "You forgot to fill me in on the personal details, Iain."

"There aren't any," he said evasively. Of course there were. That was why he wanted to escape.

"Don't tell me you hadn't noticed that she's very pretty, very spirited and very single." Her mother's observations and her own had told her that. She had only needed a brief visit to see it and Iain had been here a bit longer. It could not have escaped his notice. It was the personality in particular that struck her. Coupled with Iain that could lead to some serious sparkles. Lots of women were pretty and lots were single, but there were not that many that posed a challenge to Iain -- that was what he always said, at any rate.

He laid his hand on the doorknob. "I'll notice that after the case." That was a lie. He had noticed it already.

"You haven't...?" She did not finish her question. He might be able to guess what sort of things she meant. She did not know how exactly he approached such matters. What was a meaningful move to her might not matter to him.

"No!" He had not taken any steps while he was still investigating. His sister appeared to be reassured by that answer, he saw. "She has principles," he said to reassure her some more. He did not even know whether he was going to take any steps after he investigation.

"If she's told you that already, then she knows what she wants. Don't worry. Well, I'll hear it from Mum." Kirsty smiled. She expected that would make him uncomfortable and there was indeed a frown. She liked to trigger people. Miss Maxwell had not really bitten when she had tried, though.

"I'm not telling her anything."

There was a laugh. "I don't think she really needs you to. She's got the girl, remember?"

Section Forty-Five

Scott returned. His sister had finally been satisfied with what he had told her and she had gone home, or perhaps to her office to prepare a press statement. He did not care what would be in it. He knew he could trust her. She would not leak out more than he wished to be known and she would be careful with what she called the extra dimension that had to be treated with special delicacy. It was fairly obvious that she meant Margaret, who had better not hear she was about to be treated with special delicacy, words that in all likeliness she did not personally understand or believe in.

For a moment he wondered how a mere suspect could have become an extra dimension that was seemingly all too clear to any observer who knew him well. There was nothing tangible, though. He did not know what he had done to let them know. He liked Margaret a great deal. Perhaps this had shown, but he had always thought that he was rather good at keeping his feelings to himself and that, like there was nobody who knew his ideas about the ideal woman, nobody would know when he had seen her.

However, he had never imagined it would be like this, this knowing and not realising it at the same time.

"Everything sorted out?" Margaret asked sweetly. For some reason she felt quite good, good enough to be sweet.

"Yes," he replied, giving her an odd look. He had always assumed she would never use such a tone without an ulterior motive and her ulterior motives could usually be spotted miles off. He saw none now.

She did not think his replies curt anymore. They were merely short and it did not bother her. "What now?" He had talked to Poppy before, but now he must have something else to do. He would not be postponing work until after the weekend. He would have gone home in that case.

"Why don't you..." Iain stopped. He did not even know what he had been about to ask. He had wanted to ask her to do something, but nothing had occurred to him and then he had realised that if everyone else was observing special delicacy on his behalf, maybe he should too. He could not, while they were careful, continue to put things at risk by devoting more attention to an attractive suspect than to the case, even if she was no longer a suspect in his eyes and she had never really been one.

He should not be asking her to help him out. That was a sign of being far gone. At first she had only interfered, but he had come to take this for granted so much that he even asked it of her. This was when he should be wise. He should, for the duration of the case, observe some distance and professionalism. He still had that, somewhere.

"Why don't I what?" she asked immediately.

That was to be expected. Margaret never wasted much time making inquiries. "Never mind. By the way, your room is going to be searched as well. Do you want me to do it?" She might prefer that. It was just that little more private than having a bunch of the locals ooh-ing and ahh-ing over her stuff.

Margaret shrugged. She did not know why he needed to search hers. Perhaps it was to give people the impression that he was objective. "If there's anything particular you want to look at, please be my guest. Shouldn't you look at everybody's personal effects to get a better picture of them? You could learn a lot about a person by looking through their things."

He gave her a benevolent smile. She was still helping. "Yes, Margaret. What could I learn about you?" He should not be asking that. So much for his good intentions.

She was sure he would be better of taking a look, because she would focus on things she considered important if she had to make a list. He might find completely different things of interest. "Looking through my things you'd find I'm practical rather than vain, I don't have expensive tastes, but I do have a computer and special running shoes -- oh, and don't forget to look into my car. Have you found out where everyone puts their car keys yet? On the shelf by the door. I won't go with you. I might feel embarrassed if you went through the drawer with my knickers, so I'll just pretend that you won't." Margaret spoke fast, to give embarrassment no time to creep in.

"Do you think I would?" He did not know yet. He thought he could muster a clinical detachment in doing so, but perhaps not if he stayed here to listen to her much longer. With a movement of his head to beckon Randall, he began to leave. Perhaps he should write his intentions on the back of his hands so he would be reminded of them more often than the constantly belated occasions so far. Of course he should make no mention of the larger long-term intention that overruled things right now.

"Yes and you have my permission," Margaret replied. When he had left the room with a rather cryptic grimace, she pulled a face. "I'm a terrible temptress. I scare them away." That she generally did so and liked it was irrelevant in this case. She had to laugh at her own silliness.

Randall, who was slower to leave, smiled reassuringly. "He'd only be looking to see if you two could share a closet -- and perhaps to buy the necessary daring items currently missing from your wardrobe." She shot out the door, in case Margaret might consider throwing something at her head.

Margaret did indeed feel that urge, but she did not act on it. She wondered what the grimace had meant.

Several constables searched Poppy's room, even taking all clothes from the closets and searching the pockets. No documents or gloves were found, but all receipts of purchases were confiscated. Since they had carelessly been discarded mostly in her closet, they would not be missed anyway and they might reveal some cash purchases that were not otherwise traceable.

While the police officers moved on to Sebastian's room, Iain went to Margaret's. Poppy had been hovering about, obstructing the search, but he sent her away. He did not know what he would do if he for instance found gloves in Margaret's room. They would have been planted there, he was sure, but at any rate it was not something he wanted Poppy to witness. With her there, he could never make them disappear and that was very likely what he would do if he found any. It had come that far and this realisation shocked him a bit. He would ask Margaret about it, but initially he would pretend he had not found anything.

Margaret's suitcase lay open on the floor on the other side of the bed, where he had not yet been during his brief visits. It was half-packed -- with dirty laundry, he soon discovered, but nothing else. While she had no immediate plans to leave, she was obviously not keen on staying here for a much longer time.

There was a photo of Ailsa and her beside the bed, but interestingly not a recent one. The girl was nothing more than a baby. Perhaps Margaret had it to remind her of the long way she had come.

Under the pillow there was something textile that he did not unfold. He was feeling too much like a voyeur as it was.

The closet contained all her clean clothes, of which there were no longer very many. He saw she had nothing that was worthy of a blush, contrary to Poppy. That was good, because Randall was still following him, undoubtedly waiting for a moment to embarrass him by drawing his attention to something flimsy. He had pretended not to have heard Randall mention necessary daring items and he was glad there was nothing here that could set her off.

Randall never needed a cue. "A decent lass, our Margaret. You are far too little of a gentleman for her, sir, snooping through a lady's underclothes." She thought she had detected some hesitation in his manner, as if he was afraid of finding something, but she did not know whether that applied to the underclothes or to possible incriminating evidence.

Iain shut the closet with a bang he had not intended. "Not so bad that I'd spend money to bring her wardrobe up to par with Poppy's." He considered telling Randall that Margaret's matched his own in decency, but she could probably guess that. He was relieved that they had not found anything questionable or out of order, so that he had not been forced to overlook it.

Randall snickered at having been overheard, but she was prevented from speaking by a constable seeking the DCI's opinion on something he had found in Sebastian's room -- an envelope with money, shoved under the mattress.

Iain regarded it sceptically. "A bit of an obvious hiding place. Do we have loose floorboards as well?" He did not know whether he could take this seriously as something that Sebastian had hidden himself. He would have believed it sooner had it been in another place. "How much money?"

The constable, wearing gloves, had counted it. "Two hundred and fifty, sir."

That was strange. It was a large sum. "He has no money in the bank. Hasn't had any for months. Where did this come from? Check it for prints." Either it had been Nigel's, ending up in Sebastian's possession through Sebastian's own doing, or someone had planted it there in his room. Stranger things had happened and he could not rule anything out. "Anything else so far?"

He had made an error of judgement here by watching the search of Poppy's room and not attending the one in Sebastian's, supposing it was going to be less interesting. He wanted to make sure that the immaculate Margaret was indeed immaculate. And she was. He could have known.

"No, sir," said the constable.

Iain leant against the wall and looked at Randall, tired of his own faults. "Where did he get two hundred and fifty pounds? And why didn't he spend them?" Money was no good for anything lying under a mattress.

"If he arrived here with that sum, he wouldn't have put it under his mattress," she reasoned. "It looks more like he acquired and hid it here." Otherwise he would indeed have begun to spend it already -- unless he did and there used to be more of it. "Or he was going to pay someone? But that's not logical, because he did not have the money." It had to have come from another source. Someone had given it to him or he had stolen it from somebody.

"Don't tell me Nigel found out his money went missing and Sebastian killed him because this wasn't the first time such a thing had happened," Iain suggested with a weary sigh. "That would be a completely new angle." It would be ironic, just when he thought he was close to nailing Poppy. He wanted this case to end and he did not want to come across new twists.

Randall did not think thefts had occurred in the house before. "We haven't heard of any large sums of money disappearing before. It would have leaked out because Nigel would have made inquiries or called in the police and someone would definitely have blamed either Poppy or members of the staff for stealing it. That's on whom suspicion would fall first. Yet members of the staff would have told us if they'd been wrongly accused. We haven't heard of any staff having been fired either." She had spoken to the staff herself and nobody had mentioned anything of this sort.

That was true. Iain let out another sigh. "Let's go and talk to Sebastian and see if he can explain the money. He had better have a good explanation, although he's probably not going to admit someone paid him to murder Nigel."

"You have to be really desperate or stupid to do it for only two hundred and fifty," Randall commented. "It doesn't make sense."

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