Aunt Bessie Considers Page 11

  Bambi nodded. “One could argue, therefore, that Dr. Smythe had a convincing motive for murder,” she said.

  Harold shook his head. “If I could have had a few minutes alone with Mack right after his speech, I might have strangled him to death on the spot, but I never got near him. As soon as Mack finished speaking, he locked himself up in the cuillee and I never saw him again, at least not alive.”

  “What else have you learned?” Dan pressed Bambi for more information.

  Bambi shrugged. “I learned that Mack was trying to cheat on me, chatting up some blonde and trying to get her to meet him later. I suppose that gives me a motive for murder as well, but like Harold, I never spoke to him after his talk.”

  Dan looked up from his rapid note-taking. “What blonde?” he asked.

  Bambi laughed. “You’re meant to be an investigative reporter. Time for you to do some of the work.”

  “Anything else to add?” Dan asked hopefully.

  “I know that Mack used to be involved with someone on the panel,” Bambi said, gazing at Marjorie. “The way I heard it, he broke her heart into a million tiny pieces. I’m not sure if that’s a motive for murder or not, but if I were Inspector Corkill, I’d be checking it out.”

  “And you had better believe that I will be,” Inspector Corkill said loudly, coming out from behind a small divider that had been left near the back wall of the foyer. “While this has all been very interesting indeed, I think it’s time to put a stop to all of the accusations and arguments,” he remarked, as he strolled towards Bambi.

  “I didn’t know you were there,” she said faintly, as he reached her side.

  “But I’m sure you expected all of your comments to reach my ears eventually,” the inspector countered. “I think you and I need to have a nice long talk, don’t you?”

  Bambi shrugged. “I guess,” she muttered.

  Inspector Corkill turned back towards the panel at the table. “I’ll be wanting to talk to everyone on the panel once I’m done with Ms. Marks. I’d be grateful if you could remain in the foyer until you’re called for.”

  He took a few steps towards the door with Bambi in tow. “Oh,” he called back over his shoulder, “and Mr. Ross, if I were you I would be very, very careful about what I put in the paper. A lot of what was said here today was simply the result of angry and unhappy people speculating wildly. I’d hate to see any of that speculation in a respected newspaper like the Times.”

  Bessie watched as Dan frowned and slumped back into his seat. There was no doubt he’d get a good story from today’s events, but it seemed that perhaps he wouldn’t be able to use everything he’d heard.

  Harold cleared his throat. “Did anyone else have any questions about the actual subject of this round table discussion?” he asked tiredly.

  The long silence that followed seemed to answer the question. “Okay, well, then, I guess that concludes our round table,” Harold said with a sigh. “Thank you all for coming.”

  Bessie sighed and slid back in her chair. The conference was certainly not going the way everyone had hoped. For a minute or two it seemed as if everyone was determined to remain in the foyer, presumably anxious to see the next act in the continuing drama that the conference had become, but eventually a few people began to straggle out and after several minutes only a handful of people remained in the foyer with the round table participants.

  “So now we all have to just sit here and wait for the police to question us again?” Harold demanded. “That Bambi has a lot to answer for.”

  Bessie got up and went to Marjorie’s side. “Are you okay?” she asked her friend anxiously.

  Marjorie gave her a tentative smile. “I’m actually relieved,” she told Bessie. “I was so worried about my secret coming out that I couldn’t think straight. I’m sure talking to the police will be uncomfortable, but at least I can just tell them everything and not worry about it.”

  Bessie smiled at her, but the back door swung open before she had a chance to reply. “Ms. Cubbon? I’d like a word with you now, please.”

  After giving Marjorie’s arm a quick pat, Bessie gave the inspector a small smile and followed him wordlessly into the conference room he was now using for interviews.

  Chapter Seven

  Bessie took the seat that the inspector indicated at the small table in the corner of the room. She glanced out the window. It looked like a nice afternoon outside and she hoped she might sneak a short walk in before the end of the day. She’d been up too early to walk this morning and had been too busy with the conference ever since.

  “Now then, Ms. Cubbon, I’d just like your thoughts about what was said at the discussion group out there,” the inspector told her.

  “It’s Miss Cubbon,” Bessie said patiently. “And I haven’t really had time for any thoughts. It was all a little bit overwhelming.”

  “Of course,” the inspector frowned. “Let me ask more specific questions, then.”

  Bessie braced herself for what she suspected was going to be an unpleasant interview.

  “Let’s start with Harold Smythe,” Inspector Corkill suggested. “I assume you were aware that his research centred on Roman history and that Mack’s findings were upsetting to him?”

  Bessie shook her head. “I was, of course, aware of Harold’s work. I’ve known him for many years and I’ve always enjoyed hearing him speak about his research. But how upset Mack’s talk made him I could only guess. It was obvious earlier in the evening that he was disappointed that Mack was giving the opening talk rather than the schedule going ahead as planned, but it seemed to me that he was blaming George Quayle rather than Mack for that turn of events.”

  The inspector frowned. “I haven’t had a chance to speak at length with Mr. Quayle as yet,” he told Bessie. “But getting back to Harold, what about the damage that Mack’s finding are going to do to his career?”

  “I don’t know anything about that,” Bessie replied. “As far as I know, Harold is a highly respected professor. Whatever Mack found, I can’t believe it could do all that much damage. Harold was disappointed, but the find will give many archeologists and historians lots of work for many years to come. Being the first to find the evidence is exciting, but it isn’t the only thing that matters.”

  Inspector Corkill shook his head. “I realise you’re determined to protect your friend,” he told Bessie. “If we do decide that Dr. Dickson was murdered, I’m going to have to look a lot more closely at Dr. Smythe.”

  Bessie simply nodded, not wanting to argue with the man. She watched as he flipped through the notebook on the desk.

  “So did you know that Dr. Dickson and Marjorie Stevens used to date?” the inspector asked in a casual tone.

  “Marjorie mentioned it to me this morning, when we were talking about Mack,” Bessie admitted.

  “Can you repeat the conversation for me, please?” Corkill asked.

  “I could,” Bessie said with a sigh. “But there’s very little point. I can summarise it in a few sentences. They dated several years ago and it ended badly when Marjorie discovered that he was cheating. After it ended, she moved to the island to get away, and yesterday was the first time she saw him again since they broke up.”

  The inspector frowned again. “As I said, it’s obvious that you’re doing your best to protect your friends,” he said. “I’m going to let it go for now, but I may have to ask you again for a more complete account of that conversation with Ms. Stevens.”

  Bessie nodded again, wishing that she could be having this conversation with Inspector Rockwell instead. She knew she could trust Rockwell with every last detail that she knew. He would carry out a proper investigation into Mack’s death. In spite of this different line of questioning, Bessie still felt as if Inspector Corkill was convinced the death was an accident.

  “Tell me about Bambi,” Corkill invited Bessie. “She volunteered that she’d discovered that Mack was chatting up other women. Was she angry enough about that to kill him?” />
  Bessie shook her head. “I just met the woman last night,” she pointed out. “We’ve barely spoken.”

  “You’re meant to be an astute judge of character,” the inspector told Bessie. “I’m just looking for your opinion.”

  Who has he been taking to, Bessie wondered as she considered the question. “She seems like a smart young woman,” Bessie said after a moment. “I think if she did do it, she would be smart enough to keep her mouth shut now and let everyone think it was an accident. Instead, she’s running around telling anyone who will listen that Mack was murdered.”

  “Unless it’s an elaborate double bluff,” Corkill suggested.

  Bessie raised an eyebrow and pressed her lips together. The idea seemed ludicrous to her, but telling the inspector that wouldn’t make him like her any better.

  Corkill made a few notes in his notebook and then gave Bessie what looked to her like a fake smile. “I think that’s all my questions for today,” he told her. “Or at least for now. I assume you’ll be here for the rest of the day?”

  Bessie shrugged. “I might try and get away for an hour or so and take a short walk,” she answered. “I didn’t have a chance to get any exercise this morning and I’d like to stretch my legs before the rest of today’s talks.”

  The inspector nodded. “That’s fine. I know where you live, anyway, so I can always find you if I need you.”

  “Indeed,” Bessie smiled faintly.

  “I’ll walk you out,” he told her as she stood up. “I need to collect the next person on my list.”

  The pair made their way back into the foyer where the inspector asked Claire Jamison to join him. She gave Bessie a grin as she strolled past her. No one else seemed to have moved from their spots at the conference table, but the museum staff were busily refreshing the tea and coffee that were laid out on long tables along the wall.

  Bessie filled a plate with biscuits from the table and then fixed a cup of milky tea. She took them over to the panel members, who were all wearing uneasy looks.

  “Have some biscuits,” she suggested as she put the plate in the middle of the table. She handed the cup of tea to Marjorie. “You look like you could use this,” she told the younger woman.

  Marjorie smiled. “Thank you, I really can. I don’t know why I didn’t think to get up and get something myself.”

  Bessie watched as the plate of biscuits was passed down the table. Everyone managed to find something palatable from the selection she’d gathered and she was relieved to see some of the tension lifting from her friends’ faces as they nibbled their sugary treats.

  “That’s done the job,” Harold announced. “I’m going to grab a coffee. Does anyone want anything?”

  Joe and William both muttered affirmatives and got up and followed Harold across the room.

  Paul grinned at Bessie. “Was it awful in there?” he asked.

  “Not at all,” Bessie assured him. “Inspector Corkill just asked me a few questions about everyone, that’s all.”

  “I’m not sure why he even wants to talk to me,” Paul said. “I wasn’t even on the island last night.”

  “I guess he’s looking for background information,” Bessie suggested. “You know all of the key players, at least a little bit.”

  Paul shrugged. “I guess.”

  “Do you think the inspector thinks I killed Mack?” Marjorie asked timidly.

  “I don’t think the inspector thinks anyone killed Mack,” Bessie replied. “From what he said to me, I think he still thinks it was an accident. Anyway, I know you didn’t kill Mack, so you don’t have to worry about answering the inspector’s questions.”

  “I didn’t kill Mack,” Marjorie agreed. “But I still don’t want to talk to the inspector.”

  “You’ll be fine.” Bessie patted her arm. “I’ll stay with you until he’s ready for you, shall I?”

  “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d appreciate it.” Marjorie gave her a huge smile that looked almost genuine.

  “The round table discussion broke up early and there isn’t anything else on the schedule before dinner,” Bessie said. “I think, after you’ve gone in to talk to Inspector Corkill, I might take a short walk.”

  “It’s a lovely day for it,” Paul told her. “I almost hated coming inside after I got off my flight.”

  “It would have been a great day for touring Castle Rushen and the Abbey,” Bessie remarked. “What happened to the planned excursions?” she asked Marjorie.

  Marjorie shrugged. “The inspector asked us to cancel them,” she told Bessie. “He wanted people close by just in case he had any further questions for them.”

  “I suppose that’s just as well, considering,” Bessie said with a sigh. “Is anything going to happen as scheduled at this conference?”

  “On that note, Harold and I were just talking, and we’ve decided to ask the café staff to push dinner back an hour,” Marjorie told her. “The round table was supposed to take about ninety minutes, and then dinner was meant to start at six, but with the police here questioning everyone again we can’t be sure about the timing. Harold suggested we move dinner back to seven to be on the safe side. Of course, as it’s not even five yet, that should give you plenty of time for a walk before dinner.”

  “What’s happened to tonight’s talks then?” Bessie asked.

  “They’ve been pushed back an hour as well.” Marjorie sighed. “It means a late night for everyone, but it seemed like the best solution to a difficult situation.”

  Bessie grinned. “As unhappy as I am with the way the conference has been going,” she told her friend, “I am glad that I’ll be able to get a walk in. I’m so used to walking whenever I feel like it.”

  Paul smiled at her. “And at home you get to walk on the beach as well. Your cottage is lovely, and in such a perfect location.”

  Bessie smiled back. She’d invited Paul and a handful of others to her cottage one evening many years earlier when they were in the middle of an excavation at Rushen Abbey. She’d been visiting the site when a huge rainstorm put a stop to the day’s work. The original plan had been for a picnic dinner on site, but that changed to takeaway pizza in Bessie’s small cottage as the rain continued to fall.

  “I’m glad you enjoyed your visit to my cottage,” she said now. “I love having access to the beach all the time and I start to feel quite cooped up when I can’t get out and about for a day.”

  The trio chatted about nothing much and before long the others rejoined them, hot drinks in hand. Bessie had to keep fighting the urge to watch the clock; she was feeling so anxious to get away. It was certainly no more than fifteen minutes later, though, when Inspector Corkill reappeared.

  “Ms. Stevens? I’m ready for you now,” he announced.

  Marjorie gave Bessie a worried look and then drained her teacup. “Wish me luck,” she whispered as she stood up.

  Bessie gave her a sympathetic smile and then watched as she joined the inspector.

  “I guess Claire must have slipped out the back after her talk with the inspector,” Joe said in a disappointed tone.

  “She seems quite nice,” Bessie said with a smile.

  “She’s lovely and very smart,” Joe answered. “I really think I’m going to take her up on her offer and do some research in Anglesey. She makes it sound very tempting.”

  “Mack did some work in Anglesey, didn’t he?” Bessie asked Harold. “I’m sure I remember reading a paper he wrote about his research there in some conference proceedings or something.”

  “He did work in Anglesey,” Harold confirmed. “It was probably two or three years ago and I don’t think he was there for long. I think he stepped on a few toes and ended up leaving under something of a shadow.” Harold sighed deeply. “Of course, those sorts of things never stuck to Mack for long. Somehow, he always managed to come back stronger than ever.”

  “He was such a gifted speaker,” Bessie replied. “I’m sure his students loved him.”

  “They did,�
�� Harold admitted. “And he was very good at raising funds, so his administration loved him. Look at how he won George over. Mack was an expert at finding ways to fund his projects, which always seemed to find dramatic and exciting things. I hate to admit it, but the world of archeology will be less rich for losing him.”

  A few minutes later a pair of uniformed constables arrived. They apparently had orders to keep the panel members company while their boss questioned them in turn. The awkward silence that descended on the room made Bessie even more anxious to leave.

  “I think I’ll head out for that walk,” she told the others. “I’ll be back before seven so I don’t miss dinner.”

  One of the policemen checked her name off the list he had been given and gave her a tight smile. “You’ve been cleared for now,” he said. “But the inspector may well have more questions for you later.”

  “Fair enough,” Bessie grinned. “I won’t go far.”

  She took the lift down to the lobby and felt a huge sigh of relief rush out of her as she pushed open the huge glass door at the front of the museum. Outside, the sun felt warm and the world felt brighter than normal to Bessie. She grinned at her own foolishness. She was as giddy as a small child given an unexpected day off school.

  The car park extended along the side of the building and Bessie followed it now towards the long path that led into downtown Douglas. She walked slowly, enjoying the stunning view out over Douglas Bay. With no clear idea of where she was going, she headed for the promenade that stretched almost the entire length of Douglas Beach.

  Twenty minutes later, she reached it and sank down onto a convenient bench. She watched the gentle waves as they lapped up on the sand and sighed with contentment. While she wanted to get more walking done, she didn’t want to overdo it, either. She still had the long walk back up the hill to get back to the museum.