‘They left their house, and all their belongings?’
‘They didn’t have any. The house was rented: I found that out when the landlord’s solicitor rang me at the school looking for him.’
‘What about Miss Gentle?’
‘I didn’t have much to do with that. I left it in the hands of Bessie Stone, head of the junior school. I barely remember the girl, to tell you the truth. I had very little contact with her. She absented herself in the same way that Bothwell did, on the same day.’
‘Did you call on her, or did Miss Stone?’
‘No, Bessie phoned her on the morning she failed to appear, thinking she was sick. As I recall, one of her house-mates answered. Apparently Miss Gentle had gone up north on holiday at the beginning of July, or so she’d led them to believe, but hadn’t come back. She hadn’t given up her room, but they were thinking about letting it.’
‘How did you deal with the matter?’
‘Peremptorily: Bessie gave her until the end of the week to return, then sent her notice of dismissal by recorded delivery.’
‘Where?’
‘At her flat,’ said Mr Goddard. ‘That was the only address we had for her. I gave Claude an extra week’s grace, and then I did the same with him.’
‘Did you ever hear from either of them again?’
‘There was a phone call, I believe, from the girl’s family, looking for her. The secretary told them that she was no longer with us.’
‘What about Bothwell?’
‘Nothing. I thought that someone might get in touch if he applied for a job somewhere else, but nobody ever did.’
‘And you didn’t link the two departures?’
‘Not really. As I said there was conjecture, but it was staff-room talk, that was all, laughter about our Adolf being a bit of a wide boy. There had been no talk about them at all when they were both on the staff, no rumours. These things happen; people behave badly. To me, it was an unfortunate coincidence, but now you tell me they were carrying on after all. Where does that information come from, young James?’
‘From Miss Gentle’s sister. She says that Annabelle told them, the Easter before all this happened, that she and Bothwell were engaged.’
‘Indeed? Mrs Bothwell would have had something to say about that, I’d have thought.’
‘Did you ever meet her?’
‘Of course, and so did you. She gave you a pot at the school sports, as I recall.’
‘Thank you, I thought that’s who she was.’
‘What do you remember about her?’
Proud’s smile had an edge of guilt about it. ‘Quite a bit, actually: I was sixteen then and beginning to notice such things. Tall, dark hair, striking, well built. “Tits like racing airships” was Bertie Stenton’s description, as I recall. We were more impressed by Adolf after we saw her.’
‘Young Stenton always had a way with words,’ the old rector remarked. ‘He still does now he’s on the Bench, from what I read in the Scotsman whenever he sentences some poor miscreant. Mrs Bothwell was Spanish. Her name was Montserrat, like the soprano; Montserrat Rivera Jiminez, the daughter of an hotelier. I know all that because I asked her to send me her curriculum vitae: she’d been a teacher too, of English. I thought about employing her in the modern-languages department but she’d have had to upgrade her qualification. She told me that she and Bothwell met in Girona, when he was on holiday one summer, trying to learn Catalan.’
‘Was that her home town?’
‘No, she told me that she was from a place called Torroella de Montgri.’
‘I know it. My deputy has a property not far away. My wife and I go there quite regularly.’
‘The place was very different in those days, though; it was Franco’s time. Mrs Bothwell told me that she was happy to leave Spain because of him. Perhaps they’re still there.’
‘What age would they be now?’
‘The Bothwells? Mid-seventies; he was thirty-six when he left, and she was a couple of years younger. Miss Gentle? I can’t say for sure.’
‘She’d be seventy.’
Mr Goddard refilled his cup and topped up Proud’s. ‘What’s the daughter’s story?’ he asked.
‘Adopted.’
‘I hope she knows what she’s letting herself in for, assuming that you find Miss Gentle, which I doubt you will.’
‘Is there nothing else you can recall about Bothwell? Did he have any particular friends on the staff?’
‘He didn’t have any particular friends at all, from what I could see. That said, I can think of two places you might ask. There’s the pensions people: if he’s still alive he may be claiming one. Then there’s the SSTA.’
‘What?’
‘The Scottish Secondary Teachers’ Association: Adolf was a staunch member. That did nothing to enhance his popularity in the Academy, I can tell you. Other than that, young James, I can’t be of any more help to you.’
Eighteen
‘ I’m glad you could make it, Dottie,’ said Neil McIlhenney. ‘This is no sort of a hand-over, and we’ll have a longer chat once you get back from London, but the boss and I thought it was important that I should talk you through things before you went away.’ He nodded towards a blonde-tinted woman seated at a desk in the Special Branch outer office. ‘It’s good that you’re having a chance to meet Alice Cowan too: she’s been my eyes and ears in this job. She’s the best back-watcher in the business.’ The young detective constable smiled at the compliment.
‘I’ll need one, that’s for sure,’ Shannon admitted. ‘This is all going to be very new to me: it’ll take some getting used to. Working here at Fettes was just a dream for me a couple of days ago: now I find I’m right in at the deep end.’
‘You’ll be fine. The time you spend in London with the DCC will be all the learning curve you need.’
‘Mmm. I’m more nervous about that than anything else. What can you tell me about it? What will we be doing?’
‘I’m not telling you anything about it. Mr Skinner will brief you himself once you get to London.’
‘He said we’d be “playing with the big boys”. What did he mean by that?’
‘Wait and see. This is the only advice I’ll give you: when you get where you’re going, keep your face straight, your mouth shut and follow his lead.’
‘Sounds heavy.’
‘Don’t worry, you’re on the right side. You couldn’t be with anyone better than him.’ McIlhenney pushed himself up from the desk on which he was perched. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I saw a familiar car outside when I arrived. I must go and see what its owner’s up to. You two get acquainted.’
He left the suite and walked along the corridor, making a right turn at the end. When he reached the head of CID’s office, he saw that the door was ajar. He walked in, through the outer area to the room beyond. Mario McGuire was leaning back in the swivel chair, his feet on the desk, reading a copy of Scotland on Sunday. He glanced across at McIlhenney as he entered. ‘Where’s the coffee, then?’ he asked.
‘Fuck off.’
‘That’s insubordination, Superintendent. Is that how it’s going to be from now on?’
‘More or less.’
‘Been clearing your desk?’
‘That and introducing Dottie to Alice. Been filling yours up?’
‘I’ve brought nothing to put in it: I don’t go for too much personal stuff in the office.’
McIlhenney pointed towards the newspaper. ‘What do you think of that?’
‘The E-fit? Tell me it’s the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come and I’ll believe you. It looks just like a hundred others we’ve seen: PR to make the punters think we’re on the case. I wonder how many calls they’ve had.’
‘There’s one good way to find out.’
‘Surprise visit to the investigation?’
McIlhenney grinned. ‘Exactly.’
‘Just what I was thinking. Come on: we’ll take my car.’ McGuire folded the newspaper and stood up. ‘Did you read the story?’ he asked, as he closed the outer office door behind him.