Autographs In The Rain Part 17

He looked at her. 'So you see, Ruth, on the basis of all that, plus what the old man said to his friend about you having money troubles, maybe you can understand a bit better why I was so b.l.o.o.d.y sure of myself yesterday.'

She bit her lip, unconsciously. 'Yes,' she conceded. 'I'll give you that.'

'Can you remember the car's registration number?'

'Yes. CDV 32.' She laughed quietly, taking the policeman by surprise.

'I remember Uncle John telling me, about ten years ago, that a man called Charles de Were offered him five thousand pounds for it... for the plate alone, that is, without the car.'

'That looks like another a.s.set stripped out, then. Mind you, maybe this woman will surprise me by being really stupid and offering the number for sale in Exchange and Mart.'

'Do you expect her to?'

'Not for one second. Come on,' he said briskly. 'Let's see what else, if anything, she's got away with.'76.AUTOGRAPHS IN THE RAIN.

Ruth nodded, and followed him into the living room. 'What about his watch?' she asked.

'There was one watch among his effects; a cheap battery thing.'

'There wasn't a Rolex?'

'No, absolutely not. I'd have remembered.'

'There should have been. My aunt gave it to him on their fortieth wedding anniversary. She retired about a month before that; she was the matron of a hospital in Stirling. She bought it out of her lump sum.'

She pointed to a wall cupboard, near the fireplace; it was split into two halves, and the upper section had a gla.s.s door. 'There was a silver tea service in there; my aunt's. What about her jewellery? My mother and I were left a couple of pieces, but Uncle John kept her diamond engagement ring and a sapphire and diamond ring that had been my aunt's mother's.

That in particular was worth a lot of money.'

'They've gone too, then. What can you tell me about the grandfather clock?' he asked.

'Not a lot. I'm no expert. I can tell you that it was a big one, though, with a shiny bra.s.s face that Uncle John always kept polished. It always kept good time as well; he knew a watchmaker who serviced it for him.'

She dropped to one knee and swung open the doors of a big sideboard.

'b.a.s.t.a.r.ds,' she hissed in anger. 'There's nothing in here either. There should have been an eight-piece Wedgwood dinner service, and a canteen of Sheffield steel cutlery.

'Inspector,' she said, as she stood up once more. There doesn't seem to be anything of value left in this house. It's been picked clean. I don't know who this woman was, but she's a vulture.'

'No, Ruth,' said Mackenzie slowly. 'She's worse than that. Vultures are carrion birds. This creature does her own killing.'Detective Sergeant Gwendoline Dell had sore feet; she had spent the afternoon on fruitless visits.

'One had been to John McConnell's doctor, who had declared that on his last visit, for a pre-birthday check-up, the old man had been the fittest eighty year-old he had ever seen. 'Strong as a horse, he was. All that golf over all those years gave him forearms like a blacksmith.'

Another call had been to his club cronies gathered in the bar, sheltering from the awful day. One of them had directed her to a railwayman's club in the nearby village of Croy, but the steward there had never heard of the old man.

Finally she had canva.s.sed every house in the streets around his home, trudging from door to door, ringing bell after bell, most of them without reply. Those people who were in were either wrapped up in afternoon television or struggling with pre-school children.

They were all concerned citizens; every one of them frowned sympathetically as they denied even knowing John McConnell, far less being familiar with his visitors and his habits.

She had kept the unlikeliest prospect for last: Miss Alice Find, retired schoolteacher, of Number Twelve Glenlaverock Grove... unlikely because it was she who had reported seeing the tall dark woman heading towards her neighbour's door on the last day of his life. More than that, she had given impetus to the wild goose chase by suggesting that it might have been his niece.

'Come away in, dear,' said Miss Find, in an accent which suggested a genteel Glasgow upbringing. 'You poor soul,' she clucked, 'you look absolutely worn out. Let me make you a cup of tea.'

Normally Gwendoline would have declined, but the old lady was right. She was worn out, and dry as a bone. And there was another reason to accept: she guessed that the blue Corolla parked behind Lorraine Mackenzie's Noddy-car belonged to Ruth McConnell, and she78.AUTOGRAPHS IN THE RAIN.had no wish to b.u.mp into her again.

She looked around the neat living room as her hostess rattled crockery in the kitchen. It was of another age; it felt just like visiting her granny.

Miss Lind's return broke into her thoughts. She took the proffered cup of tea gratefully, and even accepted a Tunnock's caramel wafer.

'I heard the news at lunchtime,' the former teacher said. 'Poor Mr McConnell; how very awful. No wonder your people spent so long at the

house.'

She paused then added, casually, 'Was his niece of any help to

you?'

'She's helping us right now,' DS Dell volunteered. 'But I'm sorry to tell you that wasn't her you saw ten days ago.'

The old lady looked genuinely surprised. 'Oh, was it not? I don't know the girl, of course, but I've seen her on the odd occasion she's been to see her uncle, and from the back, it did look very like her.'

'Ah. So you only saw her from the back.'

'Well yes. I suppose I did. It was the hair, though. The girl Ruth's is long and well-groomed, like those la.s.sies in the shampoo ads, and this other one's was just the same. I was absolutely sure too. I hope I haven't caused Ruth any upset.'

'None at all,' Gwendoline lied. 'No, I was just wondering, Miss Find, if you could remember any more about this woman. Her car, for example; can you recall what make it was?'

'My dear, I can't tell one car from another. I grew up in a time when there were shooting brakes and running boards and things like that. Today, they're all the same: not like that lovely Rover of Mr McConnell's. Now that is what I call a car. The woman's? I'd enough trouble remembering that it was green.'

'Green? But you said before that it was blue.'

'Did I? Well maybe that's what I thought at the time. When you get to my age, my dear, the memory goes funny.'

The detective moaned inwardly. 'Do you have any idea how long the car was there?' she asked.

'Not really, dear,' the old teacher replied. 'I don't think it was there when I closed my curtains at six o'clock, but it was dark by then, so I can't really be sure.'

'What about the woman herself? Think back please, Miss Find. Can you remember what she was wearing?''A long coat and boots. That I can remember; they made her legs even longer.'

'Anything else? Anything at all?'

The old lady pursed her lips and put a hand to her head, as if she was rummaging about in it. 'Well, there was her bag, I suppose.'

'Her handbag?'

'No dear, not a handbag, more of a shoulderbag. Only it was bigger than that. A big square thing, almost the size of a suitcase. Yes, I remember thinking that, from the size of the thing, Ruth must have come for the weekend.'80.22.'Should I be doing this?' Dr Sarah Grace Skinner asked, as she took the folder from her husband. 'By that I mean have you cleared it with ...' She opened the folder and peered at the top sheet, '... Dr McCallum?'

'Of course I have,' her husband replied. 'Neil spoke to her. She told him that she was more than happy to have someone else look over the papers.

The impression he got was that she feels a bit exposed, now that all the background circ.u.mstances have come out.'

'I don't blame her. Okay, drowning in the bath is not an everyday cause of death among adults, but this man was eighty years old. In this case, the pathologist's natural instinct would not be to ring alarm bells.'