Chapter 34 #3
The police also wish to speak to Mr Alistair Graham, son of Sir Hector Graham on the mainland.
Mr Graham had been staying with the Pattersons and was considered to be the future bridegroom of Miss Lily.
It is now known that he disappeared around the same time that the couple fled to the mainland.
Anyone with information on his whereabouts should contact the police.
Word has been passed to the police in both Glasgow and Edinburgh and at train stations along the line to try to trace him.
It is not known what his connection was to the boating accident or if the two events are quite separate.
Also missing since the accident is a young girl called Catriona MacLeod, daughter of a local fisherman, who had been taken in by the laird’s family as companion to their daughter.
It is not known whether Catriona was also in the boat, and her body has not been found.
Any information on her whereabouts should be reported to the police in Portree.
“The Wild Girl.” Emma gave a small satisfied sigh. So she had been real, too.
Emma turned the pages but there was no more mention of the incident.
No information on Miss Catriona MacLeod.
Had she also been on that sailing boat? Emma wondered.
If not, why had she fled? And most troubling of all, no mention in subsequent editions of the discovery of Alistair Graham’s body buried in the woodland.
Now she knew she had to speak to the Patterson family.
Andrew had mentioned that he might show up again to take her out.
She’d definitely take him up on that. It would be a good way to gain entrance without seeming intrusive.
“Are you finding what you need?” the older man asked, passing by her desk.
She looked up. “Why, yes I am. It’s all here, just as the author wrote it. She must have come here to this newspaper. And read the account. It would have been in the thirties. Would you remember if a famous woman author had visited you?”
The man shook his head. “I can’t say I remember one. There have been writers, of course, but as to famous . . .”
“She might not have given her proper name,” Emma said. “She was Australian, like me.”
“If it was the thirties I’d probably not have been here,” he said.
“My father ran the paper in those days, and I went off to work in Edinburgh for a while. I was expecting to be a proper journalist, you know. Big city scoops.” He chuckled at the thought of it.
“But then the war came and I was called up and nearly sent home in a box. So there was no question of me running around getting scoops any longer. I helped my dad here, just like Nellie is doing now, until he retired.”
“Could I perhaps talk to your dad?” she asked. “He might know more.”
“I wish you could, my dear,” he said, shaking his head sadly. “But he’s gone. He was always a heavy smoker, you know, and in the end his lungs couldn’t take it any more. It was a sad end, fighting to breathe.”
Emma nodded in sympathy.
“So are you a journalist of sorts yourself?”
“Actually I’m a fiction writer,” Emma said, “but this is turning into a true crime story, so I’m not sure where we are going with it. I’ll have to interview the Patterson family.”
“The Pattersons? You’ll not find them easy. They keep themselves to themselves. A bit high and mighty if you get my meaning. Both the old laird and his son have been our MPs and they don’t socialize much on the island. So I wish you good luck.”
“Thank you,” Emma said. “I may be back but I think I’ve been through every edition that mentioned the crime.”
“A crime was it then? I was thinking it was an accident you were speaking about.”
“No, definitely a crime.” Emma stood up. “I’ll help you put these back, Nellie.”
“Och, the girl can do it herself. Give her an excuse to build up muscles,” her father said, chuckling.
“Then I should be going.” Emma started for the door. “I’ve kept Young Jock waiting long enough.”
“If you’re paying him, I doubt he’ll mind. His new missus has expensive tastes, so we’ve heard. Got a new three-piece suite shipped across from the mainland after their wedding.” He gave Emma a knowing nod. “Next she’ll be wanting a fancy nursery, no doubt.”
As Emma left the shop and headed back for the waterfront, the sea mist gathered, turning the buildings into indistinct shapes and completely blotting out the hillsides beyond.
From somewhere out on the water came the rhythmic chiming of a bell and a distant foghorn.
It was all very eerie and unreal. She pictured the boat capsizing in the mist, its passengers clinging to the side, maybe, calling for help that never came.
And there was still the question of the missing Mr Graham.
A disturbing thought came to her. Did the Patterson family know where he was buried but choose to keep quiet about it? And who were they shielding?
Iris said that Inspector Melrose used to talk to her.
“I wish you’d speak to me, Melrose,” she said. “You must have figured out who the murderer was. You always do.”
She stood there alone in the mist, listening for a voice that didn’t come.