Their Final Act Page 3

  The woman also looked familiar. Jane was sure she'd met her somewhere before, though she'd not been able to pinpoint where. Maybe just around the city, although Jane had spent little enough time out and about. That had been one of the rules in the old days. Then, after she'd left, she hadn't been able to go out for fear of running into him and being dragged back into that hell.

  Even so, she'd come across this woman somewhere. Jane had the sense of having seen her close up, having heard her talk, but hadn't been able to work out where or how that might have happened. Perhaps, if they had the opportunity to talk more in their new home, she'd get to find out.

  Jane was still staring out of the window, trying to make sense of their journey. After another mile or so, they came to a roundabout, with the driver continuing on the A9 north, the road reducing to a single carriageway. There was woodland on both sides of the road, and no clue as to their destination.

  A farm, Jane had been told. A working farm, though she hadn't had much of an idea what that might mean. She had a vague idea that farms involved animals – sheep, cows, chickens, maybe. Then there were farms growing crops – corn, maize, barley, that sort of thing. But that was the limit of her knowledge. She couldn't imagine what it might be like actually to live on a farm.

  She knew also that they would be expected to help out. Nothing arduous, she'd been told, but the owner was looking for some assistance with daily tasks. That was how she was able to offer accommodation rent-free to those who needed it. Jane had worried about this at first, concerned it might just be another way of exploiting her. She'd had more than enough experience of that.

  But, no, they'd reassured her. This wasn't like that. The owner of the farm was a decent woman, they'd said. A bit of a character, with a history she'll be keen to tell you about. But all she wants is a bit of practical help, some company, and in return she'll take care of you till you're ready and able to take care of yourself.

  It had sounded too good to be true, and maybe that would turn out to be the case. But Jane hadn't had much to lose, and little real option other than to rely on the kindness of strangers. And, if the offer really were genuine, she'd do her best to reciprocate.

  'This is the one,' the taxi driver said, breaking the silence for the first time since his initial attempts at conversation. 'Not far now.' He signalled right, and took the next turning off the main road. Ahead of them, Jane could see another stretch of water, with a line of hills and mountains beyond.

  They passed what was clearly a farm, with a couple of trailers and other farm machinery cluttering a yard beside the road. Jane wondered if that might be the one, but they continued past. The water was on their left, just visible beyond a stretch of fields and woodland. The whole place looked glorious in the spring sunshine.

  After another half mile, they entered a more populated area, with the occasional house or bungalow visible on both sides of the road, and signs warning of an impending thirty mph speed limit. There was a sign indicating the name of the village, though it had passed before Jane had a chance to read it. She'd been told the name previously, when they'd first been talking about her coming here, but it had meant nothing to her.

  The village itself seemed to comprise very little. They passed a couple of small new-looking housing estates, some larger houses with views out over the firth, and a small village general store and post office, with a pub opposite. That seemed to constitute the heart of the village.

  A few moments later, the driver turned left into a single-track road leading down in the direction of the water. 'Have to be careful down here. You get a few speed demons who don't realise there's no way to pass.'

  A few hundred yards further on, he turned right into a gateway. There was a sign to the left of the gate, but again Jane was too slow to catch the name, though she recognised the word "farm". This was presumably their destination.

  A rough track, laid only with roadstone, led them across an open field towards a cluster of buildings ahead. 'Does nothing for my bloody suspension, this,' the driver said, clearly talking mainly to himself. As they reached the first building, the track widening to form a turning space, he pulled to the right and then looped round until he was parked in front of what appeared to be the front door. 'Here we are.'

  Jane glanced back at the other woman, who was already climbing out of the taxi. It was impossible to read her expression. Jane nodded to the driver. 'Thanks. Do we owe you anything?'

  'All taken care of, hen.' He was an elderly man, slightly overweight, with a kindly expression. He was probably a good granddad to someone, she thought. 'Don't worry,' he said. 'Netty'll take good care of you.'

  Jane nodded, unable to think of anything else to say, and then pushed open the passenger door. 'Thanks,' she said again.

  Outside, she stood blinking in the sunshine, while the driver retrieved their luggage from the boot, just a couple of small bags between them.

  Jane looked around, wondering what would happen next. There didn't seem to be anyone to greet them. The building in front of them was clearly the farmhouse, an old brick-built edifice that looked as if it had seen better days. The front door was closed.

  'Good morning! Welcome!' The voice came from around the side of the house, unexpectedly loud.

  A moment later, its owner emerged into the sunshine. 'I'm so sorry,' she said. 'I meant to be here to greet you, but I lost track of the time.'

  The woman speaking was a short slightly squat figure dressed in a shapeless grey cardigan and tweed skirt. Her unkempt hair was a matching shade of grey. But she had an oddly ageless air, as if she might always have looked that way. Her accent was English, though with a burr that suggested she'd lived in the Highlands for many years. She fumbled in her pocket and then thrust a hand out towards the taxi driver. 'Thanks as always, Archie. Something for your trouble.'

  He smiled and took the crumpled note. 'You don't need to, Netty. All paid for by the centre. But I know there's no point in arguing with you.'

  'Glad you've finally learned that lesson, Archie. Buy yourself a pint.'

  'Aye, and I'll be drinking to your health.' He turned to the two younger women, as he climbed back into the car. 'Best of luck, ladies. You're in safe hands.'

  'Welcome to you both. In case you hadn't guessed, I'm Netty Munro.' She waved a hand around her to indicate the buildings and land around them. 'This is Muir Farm in all its spring glory.'

  Jane felt overwhelmed by Munro's ostentatious manner, welcoming as it was. For a moment, Jane wished she could climb back into the taxi that was already disappearing across the field. But Munro was already grasping her by the hand, as if about to drag her physically into the house behind them. 'You must be Jane and Elizabeth. Right, let's get you both inside. You're probably both gasping for a cup of tea. I know I am.'

  Without waiting for a response, she picked up both of the women's bags and strode towards the front door of the house. The two younger women glanced at each other, Elizabeth giving a barely discernible shrug, and then followed in her wake.

  Inside, the house was gloomy and cool, but with a welcoming air. The hallway was shabby, dominated by a heavy oak dresser which had clearly seen better days. But there was a lingering scent of freshly baked bread, and another faintly perfumed smell which Jane couldn't place but which immediately made her feel at home.

  Munro dropped the two bags in the hall and proceeded through a door at the far end, beckoning the other two women to follow. They found themselves in a large farmhouse kitchen, with a pine dining table, an imposing-looking Aga, and a mismatched array of cupboards and work surfaces. It looked like a practical workspace rather than any kind of show kitchen, and Munro seemed more than at home here. She filled an old-fashioned kettle and placed it on one of the rings of the Aga, waving for Elizabeth and Jane to seat themselves at the table. 'Tea? Coffee?'

  'Tea, please,' Jane said timorously.

  'Coffee,' Elizabeth said, adding 'Please' as an apparent afterthought. She had already sat down, and was wa
tching Munro with a glint of amusement in her eye. Like someone watching an eccentric animal in a zoo, Jane thought.

  Munro talked as she busied herself preparing the drinks. 'So, welcome to you both. You're no doubt wondering quite what you've let yourself in for coming here. I hope more than anything you've let yourself in for a good time. I'll need you to do some work, of course, but nothing unreasonable, and you'll have plenty of time to relax. Enjoy the fresh air, enjoy the scenery. Enjoy the food, I hope. Speaking of which…' She crossed the room to what looked to be a pantry, leading off the main kitchen, and returned a moment later, bearing a plate holding a large sponge cake. 'I baked this to celebrate your arrival. So I insist you both have a piece.'

  Jane was still looking around her, amazed that she should even be here in this extraordinary kitchen, listening to this equally extraordinary woman. Elizabeth might be unimpressed, or at least pretending to be, but Jane could hardly believe her own eyes or ears. It was as if she'd entered a world she barely knew existed.

  'So,' Munro went on, once they were all seated with their drinks and slices of cake, 'I've had a few dozen young women up here over the years. All recommended to me by the centre, like yourselves. Some stayed just a week or two, others for the whole summer or longer.' She held out her hands expansively. 'You're both welcome to stay as long as you wish. But when you choose to leave, that's entirely your business.'

  'But why do you do this?' Elizabeth said. To Jane's ears, the question sounded abrupt, discourteous. But Munro appeared not to notice.

  'Why do I do it?' she said. 'That's a good question. I suppose partly just because I can. I have the space and facilities to accommodate people without it being intrusive. I suppose partly because I do need some help with the farm as I get older. I have some paid support for the heavier tasks, but an extra pair of hands or two is always useful.' She paused. 'And because I do have at least an inkling of what the two of you might have been through. I can tell you about that sometime when we've got to know each other better. And you can tell me your stories, if you wish. But there's no obligation.'

  'We're very grateful to you anyway, Mrs Munro,' Jane said, ignoring the look that Elizabeth was giving her. 'It's very kind.'

  'It's Netty,' Munro said. 'The last part of it is that I do enjoy the company. It's good to have some younger blood around the place. Keeps me young as well.'

  'So what is it we have to do while we're here?' Elizabeth said. 'I mean, what's the deal?'

  Munro gazed at her for a moment, and then smiled. She'd clearly encountered Elizabeth's type before, Jane thought, and wasn't going to be fazed. 'You don't need to worry, my dear. I'm not going to take advantage of you. The deal is simply this. You're welcome to stay as long as you like and to leave whenever you wish. While you're here, I'll provide you with a comfortable bedroom each – I'll take you up and show you those in a minute – and more food than you'll be able to eat. You can also be assured that you'll be safe and secure here. In return, all I ask is that you do a little work for me – mainly just cleaning, some light gardening, and other similar jobs. Just what I need to keep the place in order, really. I have very few rules, the main one simply being that you treat me and the farm with respect.' There had been no change in Munro's tone as she spoke the last sentence, but Jane was left in little doubt that this was not a woman who would brook any nonsense. Elizabeth looked as if she'd also taken on board the message. 'But mostly,' Munro went on, 'while you're here I just want you to relax, leave your worries behind and enjoy yourselves.'

  To Jane, all this sounded far too good to be true. Her life didn't deal these kinds of cards. She just lurched from one crisis to the next, escaping one disaster only to find herself stepping into something worse. When she'd met Iain, she'd thought everything was finally going to be all right. But it had all turned out worse than ever. And so here she was.

  She fully expected that this would turn out the same way. Something would go wrong. Netty Munro would be just the next in line to take advantage of her. Jane had little doubt about that, and she could see from Elizabeth's expression that she thought the same. But it wasn't as if there were other options, other than staying in the centre, and that wasn't feasible in the longer term. All Jane could do was go with the flow, and hope that finally her luck had changed.

  Munro took a last mouthful of tea and pushed away her mug. 'Okay. Assuming you're both happy to stay, let me show you your bedrooms. You can get settled in, freshen up if you want to, and then I'll give you the grand tour of the estate.'

  5

  'Garrotted?' DS Ginny Horton looked up at Alec McKay who was looming over her desk. 'Did you say garrotted?'

  'Aye. You know, like strangled. With a thin cord.'

  'I know what garrotting is, Alec. I just didn't know it was much practised in the Scottish Highlands these days.'

  'They're all a bunch of teuchter heathens. You never know what to expect of them.'

  'Everyone up there sings your praises too, Alec. But you're serious about this?'

  'Deadly. Body found this morning. Just off Bank Street, by the river. Tucked away in a doorway. Suspect a few people had already walked past it, assuming it was some homeless guy or drunk asleep there.'

  'So who found the body?'

  'Couple of restaurant workers from the one of the places by the river apparently. Stopped for a smoke before heading in to work.'

  'But – garrotted?' Horton had a fresh-faced appearance that suggested she might be disturbed by the prospect of a gruesome murder. McKay knew that this was far from the case. He'd even discovered, disconcertingly, that she was much less English and more Scottish than she appeared to be. That, he'd decided, would explain a lot.

  'The examiners haven't arrived yet, so it's not confirmed. But there doesn't seem to be much doubt.'

  'Not just an ordinary strangling?'

  McKay laughed. 'The common or garden fucking stranglings we get so many of in the streets of Inverness. No, I spoke to one of the uniforms I know. Looks like very thin cord or even wire. Cut right into the neck. Genuinely nasty piece of work.'

  'So we picking this up?'

  'Helena's tossed it in my direction. Keep us busy while we've still got some resources here. At least till she gets overridden and they send some wet-behind-the-ears kid up from Edinburgh.'

  'Is that on the cards?'

  'Increasingly. Fucking centralisation. Only reason we're getting away with it at the moment is because they don't believe there's life after Perth.'

  'Or death. In this case.'

  'Exactly. So, you just going to sit there shuffling computer files, or do we get down there to find out what's what?'

  'I take it I'll be driving?'

  'Do I look like fucking Parker, your Ladyship?' He was already out of the room, leaving her with no option but to grab her coat and follow.

  At the end of the corridor, he stopped and looked back, waiting for her to catch up. He sometimes had the sense that this was the only time he felt alive. Those rare times when he had a proper new case on the horizon, something he could get his teeth into. He had a growing paranoia that all the really serious stuff would soon be syphoned off down south.

  Aye, well, he thought as he led Horton down the stairs, just let them fucking try.

  'You've done a decent job,' McKay said. 'Considering.' He turned and peered along the riverside. The uniforms had cordoned off a lengthy stretch of Bank Street, as well as the streets leading down to the river. There'd be some grumbling at the restaurants, given that the area was unlikely to be reopened for the lunchtime service.

  'We did our best,' the uniform said. He was a relative youngster, but everyone looked young to McKay. 'Bit short of bodies–' He stopped and glanced involuntarily over his shoulder to where the forensic tent had been erected. 'If you'll pardon the expression.'

  'Where's the two who found the body?' McKay asked.

  'Two gents over there.' The uniform gestured to the men standing by the river looking as if they were
itching to be somewhere else. 'On their way into work.'

  They almost certainly wouldn't be able to tell him anything useful, beyond what time they'd found the body. He might as well go and put them out of their misery. He turned back to the uniform. 'See our examiner friends are here. Who's drawn the short straw this time?'

  'The old guy,' the uniform said, then, clearly noting McKay's raised eyebrow, he added, 'The tall one, I mean.'

  McKay glanced over at Ginny Horton, who had been watching the exchange with her usual amusement. 'Jock Henderson, presumably. He only stays in the job to keep running into me.'

  'That'll be it,' Horton said. 'Want me to talk to our two witnesses over there, while you exchange pleasantries with Mr Henderson?'

  'Pleasantries? That would be a first. No, Jock won't thank me for interrupting him till he's finished. Let's have a chat with yon two first. See if there's anything useful they can tell us.'

  McKay imagined that, in normal circumstances, the men would be cocky wee buggers. They had that air to them. It was clear though, that much of that bravado had been knocked out of them first by the experience of finding the body and second by being left to cool their heels for the last half hour.

  The taller of the two looked up as McKay approached. He was dark-haired, skinny, with a complexion that had suffered from the ravages of acne. The other man looked barely out of his teens with a pale complexion and a mass of ginger hair already showing signs of thinning.

  'You the police?' the first man said.

  'Aye, I'm the police,' McKay said. 'As is my colleague here. DI McKay and DS Horton. You two were the lucky winners of our daily "find a body" competition, I understand?'