Chapter 8 #2
There were bothies all over the Highlands. They were small cabins for hikers and were maintained by groups of volunteers. Some were outfitted with a few amenities, but most were merely shelters from the wild Scottish weather. The closest one to my practice was just a short walk up the mountain.
“What makes you think he might have been staying in the bothie?”
I shrugged. “It’s free and fairly close to town,” I said.
“She said he liked to save money. From what I understand, with the exception of a couple of rooms at Mrs. Beatty’s B&B this weekend, there are bookings for most of the places people can stay around here because of the festivities.
He might have had to stay in the bothie for practicality. It’s worth a look.”
He carried my messenger bag for me. It had evidence kits and things we might need if we did come across anything helpful.
“I don’t like the idea of people using our bothies as a motel.”
I grinned. Most of the bothies didn’t even have restroom facilities or showers. But I wasn’t going to point that out to him.
“Since you’ve tried the other places around town, I just think it’s worth a look.”
We traveled in silence the rest of the way. The sun hid behind the clouds, and the temperature dropped several degrees. I was glad for the mac that I’d thrown on at the last minute. While there was no forecast for rain today, one never knew what might happen in the Highlands.
When we arrived, the bothie was dark. It had been refurbished since the last time I’d been there. A fresh coat of paint and new trim around the windows. The bushes around it had been cut down. They’d nearly hidden the place from view a year ago.
I pulled out my flashlight, and Ewan did the same.
I put on gloves that I kept in my pocket. Then I handed him a pair. “Just in case.”
“Stay behind me,” he said. Then he opened the wooden door. “Constable Ewan, please make yourself known,” he said in that deep Scottish brogue of his. It was all very professional.
An eerie silence replied.
“Sounds like we’re alone,” I whispered.
“Someone has been here,” he said. There were ashes in the fireplace. And someone had swept the floor. The bothies tended to get dusty with all the hikers tracking in mud on their boots. There was a list of rules by the door, that included picking up after oneself and leaving it clean for others.
Firewood had also been brought in and stacked by the hearth. It was the only source of heat in the bothie.
I moved from behind him and checked out the side room. Before, there had only been a well-worn cot, now it was outfitted with two sets of bunkbeds, each with thin mattresses, meant for a hiker to use with their sleeping bag. There was a backpack on one of the beds.
“Do you think that might be his?”
Ewan popped in the doorway. “Let me go through it,” he said. “That way, if it isn’t, it’s police business.”
“You’re wearing gloves but be careful. He may have touched something with hemlock in it or on it.”
“Understood.”
He took the pack and moved to the small dining table in the main room. We sat down in the wooden chairs. He dumped the contents out so we could look at everything at once.
When a wallet fell out, he picked it up. “It’s his,” he said. He shook his head.
“What?”
“Your instincts. Maybe you picked the wrong profession.”
“I keep telling you, an emergency doctor has to be part detective. We have to figure things out on the go and look at all the evidence presented to make a diagnosis. But it’s a far cry from what you do.
I only thought of this place because it’s free and close by.
If he were visiting estate sales, he could stuff what he buys in his car, wherever that is, and trek down here with just his backpack. ”
I frowned.
“What?”
“He was clean when we found him. I mean, he’d recently showered and there was a scent of aftershave. So he hadn’t done that here. And why was he dressed in a costume?”
“And why did he end up on your doorstep?”
“Maybe he had planned to go to one of our events. Everyone was dressed up at the haunted house and in the pub. Or he could have been hiding from someone? I only say that because of the adrenaline, as if he’d been frightened. The costume would give him some cover.”
“OK. We have no proof of any of that, but I see where you’re going. And he ended up at yours …”
“He didn’t feel well. It could be the hemlock took a bit to work.
He could have been at a party or something and on his way back to the bothie, stopped for help at my place.
” I still felt bad about that. “People have been running around in costumes for the last two weeks. The only thing that doesn’t fit are the ligature marks on his wrists. ”
“True. So he was restrained at some point. He could have been having an affair. Is there any way of knowing when those appeared?”
“They were light, I’d say hours before death. Nothing in this case adds up. I don’t see a phone.”
He checked the pockets of the backpack. “There isn’t one.”
“That’s suspicious, right? We’re all addicted to our phones these days. He would need his to look up items on the internet, I’m certain. I don’t know that much about antique dealers, but it seems like he would. That and to keep in touch with his family. He called his daughter every night.”
“Which according to his wife, he hadn’t done since Monday. And we know he was alive until last night.”
“Maybe he lost it. His phone. I did that once at a farmer’s market in Seattle. I set it down to pick something up, and then when I went back it was gone. Same sort of thing could have happened to him. And phones aren’t cheap, so he could have been waiting until he went home to replace it.”
“Still, he could have contacted his family somehow to make sure they wouldn’t worry. Do you see anything here that might hold the hemlock you mentioned?”
“No.” I picked up a small puzzle box. I pushed and pulled, and a drawer popped out.
“How did you do that?”
“My grandmother gave me a puzzle box when I was a kid. I’ve always loved them.” Inside the drawer was a velvet pouch. “Wow.”
“What is it?” I turned it so he could see the large ruby, surrounded by diamonds. “Do you think it’s real?”
“If it is, it would be worth a great deal,” he said. “I know a bit about gems from my mother. She was a jeweler before meeting my father.” He held it up and used his flashlight to look at the stones. “Hard to tell in here, but it appears real.”
He didn’t often share personal information.
I’d met his mother and father at several charity functions.
His family was wealthy, but down-to-earth.
His father was fairly quiet, while his mother was the belle of most balls.
If they’d been surprised I showed up at so many events with their son, they never said a word.
I’d once asked Ewan why he asked me. He said, “You’re good company.”
“The rest of this is receipts and such,” I said pawing through the remnants of the dead man’s life. “We may be able to track his movements with these.” Even though it was dark, there was enough light from my flashlight to take some pictures with my phone.
Ewan gave me a look.
“I know, you have a team to go through these, but this is how my mind works. I need all the information. Besides, I may be able to help when it comes to tracking down where the hemlock came from—maybe, that is.”
“There are no hidden compartments on the ring,” he said.
“Good to know. Though that would be an excellent way of dispensing poison. Like a spy ring.”
“You watch too many television series and films.”
“We live in Scotland, what else am I supposed to do in the winter? Besides, I seem to remember you being on the same couch.”
He laughed.
We returned everything into the pack, along with the change of clothes that had been in a separate compartment.
“Let’s get back,” he said. “I’ll send a team for forensics. In case someone else was staying here. It’s been taking forever to get the info on his phone. It may be days. But the warrant’s gone through.”
I nodded. Every time we found some sort of clue, it only led to more questions. That was the nature of a mystery, but this was a confusing one.
Two men were dead, and we still had no idea who was the intended victim, or if both of them had been targets.