Five Six Pick Up Sticks (Grasshopper Lawns) Read online

  There was a gap seven months ago, and another last April, when the only older woman who had died in remotely similar circumstances had been strangled. The murder was unsolved, and on her list only because a carnation in a water glass had been found on the scene. Apart from those two gaps there was now a complete list going back nearly two years, but the dates were a little erratic. Susan had died on the tenth, and there had been a definite in Falkirk on the eleventh, a month earlier. The February victim had been on the tenth, and the January one – the one she had just updated – either the tenth or the eleventh. Well and good, but the slight shift in dates was very marked once one jumped back a year.

  The May victim last year had been on the twentieth, and there was no confusion about the date, or question mark about the death. She scrabbled to the bottom of the file of printouts and found the discarded lunar calendar, checking the dates with rising certainty.

  'Iain! I’ve found the date link. It was the lunar calendar, but not full moon – new moon! That could help us find the two missing ones. Now that we know the exact date we can check every single recorded death in those two months.'

  'Oh?' He put down the file he’d been working on and came to stand behind her as she gave him the lunar calendar, then pointed to the dates on her summary. He swore under his breath and hurried back to his desk to check his own notes.

  'Damn! This January death, is that definately not before the tenth? Our guy was in Majorca. He left that morning. It was one of the few dates he had an absolute alibi, but the original estimate of date for that death had been between the ninth and the eleventh. That lets him out!'

  Kirsty stared at him, then down at the lunar calendar, and felt a shock of unease.

  'Iain.' Her voice cracked and she had to clear her throat. 'Iain, it’s the new moon today. And my aunt has gone to meet a man who asked her three times to meet him on this date.'

  'Phone her.' He crossed back to her desk as she dialed her aunt’s familiar mobile phone number, and saw from her face the call had gone straight to voice mail. 'She’ll have our one with her.' His voice was sharp. 'That’s the only number he’d have, she’ll have taken it with her.'

  Kirsty punched the number in, then mutely shook her head. He picked up his own Airwave, ready to punch buttons. 'Where was she going, I’ll get a car out there?' Kirsty shook her head again, dry-mouthed. Had Edge even told her? She’d gone completely blank.

  'Kirsty, concentrate.' Iain was stern. 'Do you have Vivian’s number?'

  'I – yes, I do.' She dug her private phone out of her handbag and found Vivian’s name in her list of contacts. The phone rang three times, then went abruptly to voicemail. With hands that, despite herself, shook slightly, she clicked on redial.

  'Yes?' The voice, impatient and familiar, definitely wasn’t Vivian’s, and hard to hear against strident orchestral music.

  'D-Donald? Is that you?'

  'Yes. Who is this? Vivian can’t take any calls right now.' A tenor voice added itself uncertainly into the background, and went fairly spectacularly off key. 'Ouch.' Donald added and the music moved away, then was abruptly muffled. 'That’s better, I’ve shut the door. Who is this?'

  'Kirsty, Kirsty Cameron. Where on earth are you?'

  'Rehearsals. It’s not going well, but Vivian’s about to sing. Can I get her to call you back?'

  Kirsty looked up at Iain, eyes huge with horror, and he took the phone from her.

  'Donald, Iain McLuskie here. We were trying to get hold of Edge but her phone is off, we thought Vivian might be with her. Would you know where she is?'

  'On another date, apparently,' Donald said resignedly. 'But William’s on duty, and he’s taken La Pinkerton along for company. Vivian’s very unimpressed. Do you want William’s number?' He called out the number for Iain to write down, then added, 'He doesn’t answer the phone, by the way. Disapproves of people using them in public on aesthetic grounds, so you’ll have to send him a text. Is everything all right?'

  Iain looked at Kirsty, now so pale he could see the freckles scattered on her cheeks and nose.

  'Not sure. You wouldn’t know where they were going, would you?'

  'Whistling Haggis, in Fife. Seven fifteen,' Donald said promptly. 'Iain, does this have anything to do with the attacks? Brian told me he’d been pulled in for questioning after two women he dated had been targeted in some way. He was never given details but he knows they’d died.'

  'Nothing to worry about.' Iain evaded the question. 'Thanks for your help, have a good rehearsal.' He rang off as Donald started to ask something else. 'Whistling Haggis in Fife. I’ll radio the Fife lot, ask them to swing by and check all is well, but she’s okay, you know. William’s there. I’d be a lot more anxious if she was meeting someone called Tom but she isn’t, is she?'

  'No, he’s called Ben. Why Tom?'

  'One of the reports I was reading. We’re re-interviewing witnesses, and apparently one of the victims was off to meet someone called Tom. It was the only name we’ve not found a profile for.' He held up his hand as the phone was answered, and talked briefly to his Fife counterpart. The desk phones rang again and Kirsty automatically picked up the call.

  'I feel such a fool,' the woman caller told her. 'It’s about my friend, Margery Spitzen. She died last September and a poliswoman was round yesterday asking me questions. Do you know what I’m talking about?'

  'Aye, I do. Why do you feel a fool?' Kirsty made her voice friendly and encouraging and the woman gasped slightly.

  'I told her Margery was meeting someone called Tom. The thing is, Margery liked to call herself Geri, you know, like that Spice Girl. I knew the name went with Geri, and for some reason I thought Tom and Jerry, you know? But I just went shopping, and I was putting the frozen stuff away and I thought, oh how silly, it wasn’t Tom and Jerry. It was Ben and Jerry. Like the ice-cream. So I thought I had better phone in and let you know.'

  'Hold on, please.' Kirsty covered the mouthpiece with her hand. 'Iain, it was Ben. Not Tom. Are the Fife guys going there?'

  'They’re stretched pretty thin, but they’ve got a patrol car out not far from there answering a call. They’ll go on to the pub afterwards.' He fidgeted as she thanked the witness in a voice that she managed to hold steady. As soon as she put the receiver down he clicked the phones through to the regional call centre.

  'Tell me in the car. Ben is now officially a person of interest in the case, we’re getting over there.' As she scrambled up and followed him to the car he threw back over his shoulder, 'I’ll drive. I sent William a text; Donald said he doesn’t like using his phone in public. Gave him a couple minutes to see it, said we’d phone at seven ten. I’ll get Control on the radio as we go.'

  The powerful cruiser, lights strobing, made short work of the town streets and snarled up the hill to the main road as Iain, concise and calm, updated the Control room with the situation, then clicked off.

  'Time to phone William. Kirsty, lass, you have to pull yourself together. They weren’t even meeting until seven fifteen and it isn’t that yet.'

  'Ken.' Kirsty glanced up at him with huge eyes even as she dialed William’s number. 'It’s the shock, that we might have missed it. Missed the new moon significance, missed that call, it really shook me up. William, dammit, pick up!'

  Edge sighed inwardly as Miss P’s happy laugh rose above the buzz in the bar. In the mirror above the bar she could see her neighbour was flushed with excitement as she sipped a tiny sherry, one finger daintily extended. Vivian would never, ever forgive her for accepting a date on a rehearsal night and had very nearly cancelled going to the rehearsal. Only the reminder that she found sitting in one position for more than ten minutes at a time profoundly uncomfortable, and that William would be on guard duty, resigned her to letting Edge out without herself or Donald, but she hadn’t been pleased. For her part, Edge was as glad to be meeting Ben away from her sharper-eyed escorts.

  'Suzi!' She jumped as Nick, looking more impossibly handsome than ever in a long leat
her coat, put down two shot glasses and hitched himself gracefully onto the next bar stool. 'Please don’t tell me you’re here on a date, not after turning me down so often? '

  'Well – why are you here, Nick?'

  'Okay, I’m on a date. But only because you wouldn’t accept my invitations.' His voice was warm and teasing. 'She hasn’t arrived yet, though. Is your guy late?'

  'No, I’m early.' She made her smile as false as possible, and hoped it would deter him. He pushed one of the shot glasses towards her.

  'Saw you sitting here and couldn’t resist. See, I remembered your favourite – cream liqueur. While we wait.' He lifted his expectantly and tilted it, ready to click glasses and she glanced away, annoyed. She really didn’t want to meet Ben with liquor on her breath. In the mirror she could see William grinning at her, obviously highly amused by the awkward situation, but she refused to make eye contact. He reached into one of his cavernous pockets and brought out his mobile as she let her eyes slide past him. As she scanned the room in the mirror for Ben she was momentarily surprised to see Brian tucked away in an alcove, out of sight of William and Miss P, watching her thoughtfully. Nick touched her arm to regain her attention.

  'You look absolutely gorgeous, by the way. He’s a lucky lad, but at least we can catch up until either one arrives. Maybe we should introduce them to each other and go off by ourselves, eh?'

  She forced a smile, and made sure that it looked forced. Talk about bad timing. He was still dangling his shot glass in his fingers, still waiting, and she reluctantly lifted hers to click against his. They both drank, and she pushed herself back from the bar as she set her glass down.

  'Now that you’re here to keep an eye out, I’ll nip to the loo, okay? Two minutes.'

  'Hurry back,' he said lightly and added, as she reached for her jacket, 'I’ll watch it for you. Then I know you’ll come back. Missing you already.'

  'That,' she told him severely, 'is beyond corny.'

  He laughed, but finally looked slightly offended and she hurried to the Ladies and switched on the phone. No messages, and no text from Ben to say he was running late. One missed call from Kirsty, no doubt to nag about being careful again. She hesitated, but it wasn’t seven fifteen yet, so she couldn’t call him. She switched it off, dropped it back in her bag, checked her makeup in the mirror and finger-combed an errant strand of hair back into her topknot. They’d agreed quarter past, in case she was held up on the Forth Road Bridge, but surely he’d be here by now? Tardiness was one of Edge’s pet peeves, which was why she was so early herself, and there was a slight frown between her brows as she walked back into the main room. Nick was watching the main door, looking discontented, but flashed his gleaming smile at her as she sat down again.

  'Nose beautifully powdered, I see. Another drink?' He waggled his refilled glass suggestively but she shook her head, and reclaimed her jacket to search for a peppermint in the pocket, offering the roll of Polos to him politely. He beamed at her. 'I’m beginning to hope neither of them makes it. You’re a very special lady, Suzi. Why are you playing so hard to get?'

  'Because I don’t care for con-artists and you’re altogether too smarmy,' she didn’t say but simply simpered meaninglessly. Her refusal to be drawn did finally seem to be working, and he drained his glass abruptly.

  'I suppose I’d better wait outside. Show willing, and all that. And I want a cigarette, anyway. I do find first dates alarming – as you know! Suzi, at least promise me if he doesn’t pitch you’ll let me buy you dinner?'

  'Sure,' she had to say, with every intention of bolting to join William and Miss P if Ben hadn’t appeared in the next five minutes. William would positively relish the job of choking Nick off. She glanced across at him in the mirror and saw he was frowning slightly at his mobile phone, while Miss P, still flushed and giggly, looked around the pub with the air of a person who had never been in one before. Edge was feeling a bit flushed herself, and even slightly queasy, as Nick kissed her cheek and left in a swirl of leather.

  She looked at herself in the mirror behind the bar and realized she’d gone pale, her carefully-applied blusher standing out garishly on her cheeks. Her vision blurred, and she felt a warning wave of dizziness. A migraine? Damn and blast, what else would go wrong on this date? The only possible way of fending off the worst of a migraine was immediate tablets, and she’d left those in her other bag. Water sometimes helped - she stood up abruptly and, clutching her bag and concentrating on not stumbling, headed back to the Ladies. She suddenly wished Vivian had been able to make it; she would have followed her instantly to the Ladies, provided pills and support, generally cared, unlike Miss P who wasn’t even looking in her direction…

  'This is absolutely against my principles, so I hope it’s urgent,' William answered the phone cheerfully. 'Anything to help the police. What’s up?'

  'Are you with Edge, is she okay?' Kirsty had put the call on speaker so that Iain could hear as well. 'Has her date arrived?'

  'Not yet,' William started to chuckle, 'luckily. That bloke Nick is here and was all over her. He’s outside now, having a cigarette and looking sulky. At one point I thought I’d have to go over, that she’d never get rid of him on her own!'

  'Good, join her now, and make sure you stick with her. Tell her it’s polis orders if she objects, but don’t leave her alone. Rope Nick in if necessary, the more the merrier, but stay with her.'

  'Will do.' William was no longer laughing. 'She’s gone to the loo again, but I’ll intercept her as soon as she reappears. What’s up? Oh, and that berk Brian’s here. Just walked past on his way outside, didn’t even glance at us. Not the first time I’ve spotted him on one of these evenings.'

  'Never mind Brian, to hell with Brian!' Iain said urgently. 'Just worry about Edge. In fact, it might be worth sending your friend to the ladies room to stay with her. Okay?'

  'Okay.' William must have covered the phone with his hand, as his voice was suddenly muffled, then clear again. 'Miss P’s gathering herself together to go after her. What the hell’s going on?'

  'We think Ben is potentially dangerous,' Iain said forcefully. 'There’s a polis team on its way from Fife, and Kirsty and I are on our way too. You stick with Edge; keep him talking if you can until we get there. Everything will be fine.'

  He disconnected and flicked on the siren as they flashed up behind a car that hadn’t pulled over for their flashing lights. 'Hang in there, Kirsty. It’ll be okay now. In fact, more than okay – bringing this guy Ben in could be a good night’s work!'

  Edge dabbed away the water she’d splashed on her face, and tried to focus on her reflection. This was going to be a bad one. She gagged, and resigned herself to the loss of the date. Nothing for it but to ask William to drive her home, she was in no state for any sort of social meeting. She let herself into the corridor and swayed against the wall, putting a hand to her head.

  'Suzi, you’re as pale as death, are you okay?' Nick, who’d added a woolen cap pulled almost to his eyes and shed his coat, caught at her arm to steady her, looking concerned. 'You look like hell.'

  'I – I think I have a migraine,' she managed and his blurred face looked even more anxious.

  'Sweetie, you need fresh air. There’s an emergency door here.'

  She focused on the heavy red door with the familiar warning sign she’d always found faintly ridiculous – THIS DOOR IS ALARMED – and felt an unexpected giggle rising.

  'S’alarmed. I know how it feels. Nick, I fee’ awfoo.' Her tongue thickened, and she tried again. 'Awful.'

  'It’s open. Anyway, if the alarms go off, they go off. You need fresh air. Come on.' His grip on her arm was wonderfully steadying as he led her into what proved to be a utility area with two reeking bins, and he grimaced. 'Okay, that’s not very fresh. My car’s just over there, sit inside for a moment.'

  'Okay. Bu’ no furver. Donal’ would be crosh wimme.' Edge sank bonelessly into the leather passenger seat but kept her feet firmly on the tarmac, resisting Nick’s at
tempt to solicitously lift her legs into the car. Donald really had been so insistent about her not going off with strangers … she tried to climb out of the car again, and had to clutch at the door, concentrating on not being sick. This was no migraine, this was ten times worse. Could it be a stroke?

  Even as she thought it she heard James saying firmly, 'I don’t think so, pal.' But James was dead, so she must be dying after all… She tried to lift her heavy head and had to fight a more insistent wave of nausea.

  'My wife’s not well,' Nick said testily. 'I’m going to run her home. What’s it to you?'

  'She’s not your wife,' James said grimly. 'And I’m taking her home.' Edge felt a strong hand on her arm and looked up blearily. 'Edge, out of the car, now.'

  Her vision cleared briefly, and she giggled weakly. 'I thor you were Jamsh. I keep doin’ tha’. Good ol’ Mountain Phwoar. Jush need another minute, I’ll be fine. Doan need to worry about Nick, he’sh jusht after my money…'

  The hand was suddenly jerked from her arm and Nick crowded in, cold and grim.

  'You heard her, Jock. Take a hike.'

  'Not going to happen, pal. I’m going nowhere without her.'