“Tell me what was in the bag,” Ramsay said. “In detail.”
Elliot began to list the equipment he had provided. “ There was a knife,” he said. “Not a bread knife. I’ve only one of those and I couldn’t spare it. But there was a big, old kitchen knife at the back of the drawer. I gave him that.”
“Would you recognise it again?” Ramsay asked. No knife had been found in the barn during the detailed examination. But it seemed that Elliot might have provided the means used to murder his son.
“I expect so,” the old man said, unaware of the implication of the questions. “We’ve had it for years.”
There was another silence and Ramsay could sense Hunter’s impatience. He wanted to be out on the streets, knocking on doors, making things happen. He hated this waiting. But Ramsay could tell that Elliot had something else to say and that he wanted to say it in his own words.
At last the old man spoke. “ There’s something you don’t know,” Elliot said. “ I didn’t tell you. On Saturday night Charlie came in at eleven like he said, but he went out again. I heard the door slam while I was in bed. He wasn’t gone long, not long enough to kill her, a quarter of an hour at the most.”
Later Ramsay was to see this admission of Fred Elliot’s as a turning point in the case. Everything else developed from it. Now Ramsay nodded sympathetically. There was no recrimination because Elliot had not told them before, though Hunter might have made threats about wasting police time.
“Where did he go?” he asked.
“Just out on the green,” Elliot said. “ I looked out of my window and saw him. He walked over towards the Castle.” He paused. “I suppose he was waiting for Maggie Kerr.”
“Did he meet Maggie?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t wait to see. I’d lost all patience with him. But I’ve told you he wasn’t gone long. Just a quarter of an hour.”
“And he didn’t say anything the next day?”
“No,” Elliot said. “ Neither of us mentioned it.”
Hunter, unable to sit any longer, got up and walked to the kitchen window. There was nothing to see and he turned back to face the room.
“Mr. Elliot,” he said. “ What were you doing between five and half-past six this morning?”
Ramsay knew that the question had to be asked, but he thought Hunter brutal. He would have done it differently. But Elliot was so confused by unhappiness that he was not offended. He did not even ask why the question had been put to him.
“I was here,” he said simply. “ Putting up the papers for the delivery boys. The van from Newcastle comes at six and the first boy at half-past. There’s never enough time.” He shook his head, then repeated, as if it were a statement of profound belief, “There’s never enough time.”
Out in the street Hunter stamped his feet. “What did you make of all that then?” he asked.
Ramsay shrugged. “If Charlie Elliot was out on the green late on Saturday night or early Sunday morning, it adds weight to your theory that he was blackmailing Alice Parry’s murderer,” he said. “He might have seen something.”
Then, just when Hunter was wondering if he would be able to claim the credit for making a breakthrough in the case, Ramsay added: “But it’s still too early to be certain of anything at this stage. If Charlie did go back to the pub to walk Maggie Kerr home on Saturday night, why didn’t she mention it to us?” He was talking almost to himself, and Hunter did not bother to reply.
Someone had put a bunch of daffodils on the pavement outside the post office. It was a form of apology. No-one believed that Charlie had murdered Alice.
In the house behind the garage the Kerrs were finishing a meal. As the policemen approached they heard Maggie shouting at one of the boys that it was rude to leave the table without asking to be excused. The snapping ill temper seemed out of character and her voice was strained. Olive Kerr let the policemen into the house. As she opened the door to them she realised she was still wearing a pinafore and took it off, apologising.
“We’re not ourselves today,” she said.
When Maggie saw Ramsay and Hunter, she turned on the boys again. “Go on and run the bath,” she said. “ You’re big enough to do it yourselves now.” Then, when she thought they were about to argue: “You can use some of my bubble bath. It’s on the bathroom shelf.” They leapt away up the stairs, whooping with glee.
Olive took the half-empty plates into the kitchen, and when she came back they were still standing, staring at each other. At the head of the table, his head bowed so that the bald patch gleamed in the electric light, stood Tom Kerr.
“I expect you’ve come about Charlie Elliot,” she said. “We heard this afternoon. It’s a terrible thing to have happened.”
“Sit down,” Olive Kerr said, and obediently they all sat around the dining table like delegates at some conference, or, Ramsay thought, very aware of Tom Kerr, like members of a church committee. He almost expected the man to suggest that they pray. It wouldn’t do any harm, Ramsay thought. They didn’t have much else to go on.
“How can we help you, Inspector?” Tom Kerr asked, and the normal quiet voice broke into Ramsay’s fantasy and startled him.
“I need to ask your daughter some questions,” Ramsay said. “ If you feel you have any information to help us find out who killed Charlie Elliot, I’d like to hear from you and Mrs. Kerr, too. But I’m here to speak to Maggie.”
“Would you like us to leave you alone with her?” Tom Kerr asked, but Ramsay shook his head. Something about Kerr’s still, almost fanatical presence concentrated the mind. He turned to Maggie.
“What time did you get home on Saturday night?” he asked. “I spoke to the regulars at the pub, but you didn’t tell me what time you got back.”
“It was late,” she said. “Gone one o’clock.”
“Did you see Charlie Elliot as you came back from the Castle?”
“No,” she said. “He’d left the pub much earlier. I think I told you. It was a relief.”
“We know he arrived home at about eleven,” Ramsay said. “But his father tells us that he went out again later. Fred presumes that he’d gone back over the green to walk you home.”
“No,” she said. “ Really. I didn’t see him.”
“Did you see anyone else?”
“No,” she said. “Not until I was almost home. Then I saw my father.”
Tom Kerr looked up. “It was so late that I was beginning to worry about her,” he said. “I’d gone out to see if I could see her coming. I could see that she had just left the pub, so I waited for her. I didn’t see anyone else, either.”
“You knew we were looking for witnesses who had been out on Saturday night,” Ramsay said. “ Why didn’t you come forward before?”
“I wasn’t out,” Kerr said. “Not strictly speaking. I was only several yards from the front of the garage. And I’ve told you. I saw nothing.”
“When I saw Dad waiting, I began to run,” Maggie said. “ It was very cold, although he was so wrapped up you’d have thought he was out on an Arctic expedition. I didn’t see anything.”
“Did you notice if there was a light on in Fred Elliot’s cottage?” Ramsay asked.
She shook her head. “I was just so glad not to see Charlie,” she said. “I didn’t see anything else.”
There was a silence.
“Did Charlie Elliot try to get in touch with you after he left Brinkbonnie on Monday afternoon?” Ramsay asked.
“No,” she said. “Of course not.”
“We know he made a phone call on Monday night,” Ramsay said. “It wasn’t to you?”
“No,” she cried. “And anyway I wasn’t here on Monday night. I was working.”
Ramsay turned to Olive and Kerr.
“Was there a phone call here on Monday night?” he asked. “Perhaps from someone who did not answer when you picked up the receiver?”
But they shook their heads. “We were here all evening,” Olive Kerr said, “and the only call was for Tom from the vicar.”