Highland Fling Episode 46

NHe might be using an alias for any one of a hundred reasons. He could be hiding a criminal record

iko waited until the police were gone. “He wants to accuse Nina of being a thief,” he spat. “And then he can say she deserved to die for taking the stupid thing.” “Investigations don’t work that way,” Mcgregor said. “He’s a good detective, that man. He held back the pictures so he could measure our reactions.”

“So he thinks it’s one of us?”

“He thinks it might be,” Mcgregor said. “Of course.”

Everyone lapsed into an awkward silence, only broken by Bruce rubbing his hands together.

“I could do with a sharpener,” he said. “Who’s with me?”

Niko and Tash fell in behind him. The others stayed where they were. Eleanor seemed stunned and, like Mirabelle, just stared, this time in daylight, at the spot where Nina Orlova had been found.

“Do you think this is related to the murder?” Mirabelle broke the silence.

“Well, it would be weird if it wasn’t,” Mcgregor said. “Though I can’t see how.” “She must have been hiding it.” “Probably. But from whom? And why? And where did she get the stone?

“Niko is determined it wasn’t hers. Tash confirmed it.”

“A lover’s gift maybe?” Mirabelle suggested. “A lover?”

“This morning I found out that Nina had formed a connection with Lady Dougal.”

Mcgregor couldn’t help but smile. “The Lady Dougal?” “Yes. Gwendolyn.”

“I say. Well, perhaps it was a gift.” Eleanor shook her head sadly. “I’ve known Willie and Gwendolyn since I first came to Scotland. If Gwendolyn could save half a shilling on the Highland Ball, she’d do it.

“I’d lay a pound to a penny that it was Nina who stumped up the Champagne they were drinking the day they met. I doubt Gwendolyn gave Nina a present worth, what was it? Tens of thousands of dollars.” Eleanor got to her feet.

“Bruce’s right. A whisky would help.” They were well matched, drink for drink, those two, Mirabelle thought. “We’ll be through in a minute,” she said.

They waited for her to leave. Mirabelle got up. She checked through the open door and, finding the hallway empty, closed it. “What are you doing?”

“I eavesdropped yesterday, on Gillies and Gregory in the kitchen. I’m just checking there’s nobody outside to eavesdrop on us.”

Mcgregor’s face split in a grin. “So, you’re a snoop and you’re checking nobody else can snoop?”

“Exactly. I think Gillies hates me,” Mirabelle whispered. “Gillies disapproves of everybody,” he said. “You can’t blame her for not wanting to talk about it all. Highlanders are very tight-lipped.”

“What was she like when you were a child?” “She was a maid in those days.” “And just as gruff ?”

“Actually, she gave me a toffee once.” “And Mr Gillies? What happened to him?”

“I have no idea. The Great War, I imagine. I suppose this affair you’ve discovered explains why Nina never married.”

Mirabelle nodded and thought that, if Nina Orlova hadn’t married because of her feelings for other women, what might be Niko Orlov’s reason for remaining single.

Though, the same question, she realised, might be levelled at her and Mcgregor. Maybe they all had secrets, which had made it more difficult to settle.

At least until now.

“This stone looked around six carats. Bigger than your engagement ring.” Mcgregor lifted Mirabelle’s left hand to inspect the pink diamond and then kissed it. “Mirabelle, there is more. I didn’t want to say it in front of the others – well, not the Orlovs.”

“What?”

“It’s about Gregory. The detective ran a check with the New York Police Department and Gregory isn’t actually Gregory’s name. It’s Wilbur – Wilbur Jones. That’s what it says on his passport. That’s why they took him to the station the other day.”

“People go by different names,” Mirabelle shrugged.

“Sure. He might be using an alias for any one of a hundred reasons. He could be hiding a criminal record. Or maybe he’s hiding from someone. Or, it could be a stage name, for a particular kind of work.” “Is that likely?”

“The detective did some digging and found that Gregory boxes semiprofessionally. It turns out the Orlovs are not his only source of income. He’s good, apparently. He competes locally in New York. He won four knockout fights last year.”

“And he calls himself Gregory?” “Gregory the Grim. In the last 18 months he has won a couple of good-sized purses – hundreds of dollars each.”

“Hands-on violence,” Mirabelle said, thinking of the two corpses.

“Strangulation is a piece of cake for a boxer. They’re used to fighting up close – skin on skin,” Mcgregor nodded. “And there’s something else. His alibi isn’t holding up or, weirdly, it’s turned out to be too sound. It seems he was in Glasgow all right. He drank in a bar near the Clyde – the Scotia – until closing at 10.”

“Do you know the place?”

“Let’s just say I wouldn’t take you there. But it’s a city institution. He was seen, of course. The place was busy.”

“And after that?”

“He went back to his hotel where he ordered more beer in the guest lounge at 10.30 and then went upstairs. The hotel staff can account for him up until 11, or just after. Then the maid at the hotel walked into his room at 7am.

“She was under the impression that he had checked out and the room needed to be cleaned. And there he was in bed. Naked. The officer said he made quite an impression on the girl. Of course, that means he couldn’t have killed Nina. There’s no way he could have got up here, committed the murder and then got back down again for seven. It’s over four hours each way, even driving like the clappers.” “So, he’s off the hook?”

“Not exactly. The officer went on to check Gregory’s assertion that he went to Greenock that morning.”

“And did he?”

“First thing.

“He was in the harbourmaster’s office looking for a shipping clerk at 7.30, which is impossible.”

Copyright © Sara Sheridan 2020, extracted from Highland Fling, published by Constable, an imprint of Little, Brown Book Group, at £8.99