‘Methanol,’ said Alec. ‘Absolutely lethal, but close enough to alcohol to pass for it if no one had reason to check. Good Lord, a flask of this stuff? Your poor husband didn’t stand a chance.’
‘It makes sense, I know,’ I said. ‘But I can hardly believe that he just marched into the Rosebery Hall in broad daylight and put it in the flask. What if someone had seen him?’
‘He cannae have been in his senses,’ said Mrs Dudgeon. ‘He’s no’ been the man he wis since he lost his laddie. Nivver been the same.’ I began to lead her towards the living room hoping to comfort her, but Alec stopped me.
‘No time,’ he said. ‘Mrs Dudgeon, I’m sorry, but we have to go. Stay here and lock your door.’
Back in the Austin, we crept forward through the gathering gloom of the woods; I sent a prayer of thanks for the careful owner of the little motor car with its smooth, quiet running.
‘Why didn’t you take the top off and sniff it yourself, Dandy?’ said Alec. ‘When she first showed it to you.’
‘I did,’ I told him. ‘I just thought it was that particularly dreadful whisky one comes across that smells of apples.’
‘No whisky in the world smells of apples,’ he said.
Aware that my ignorance had let us down again, I should have hung my head in shame but I was still stubbornly sure that I had smelled exactly that sickly apple smell before.
‘God,’ I groaned, remembering. ‘When I knelt at his side at the bottom of the greasy pole, I remember thinking that he couldn’t be dead because he smelled so alive. Of sweat, you know, and flour dust and of the fairground itself. I thought he had eaten a toffee apple – that sweet fruity smell. And then how many times did we tell ourselves afterwards – a ham sandwich and too much whisky. A ham sandwich and too much whisky… and I never made the connection, or rather noticed that there wasn’t one. If I had mentioned the apply smell right there and then…’
‘Yes,’ said Alec, not even trying to comfort me.
‘But I was sure that whisky could smell like that too.’
‘Look!’ said Alec. ‘What’s that?’ He paused, the little motor car trembling as his foot attempted to hold the balance of the clutch. ‘No,’ he said at last, ‘I thought I saw a light shining, but it’s the tin roof on the den, I think.’
‘Yes, it could be,’ I said. ‘We ’re near the rascals’ stamping grounds here.’
‘And don’t berate yourself about the whisky, Dan,’ said Alec. ‘We both know it’s not your strong point.’
‘Wait though,’ I said, for thoughts were stirring in me, of glinting things in the woods and the smell of apples from a bottle of whisky, and then it fell into place with a click.
‘Oh, bloody hell,’ I said. ‘Alec, you’re going to kill me. Turn round. We need to go back.’
Alec did so and drove in silence, waiting for me to explain.
‘I know how Brown happened to have poison to hand,’ I said. ‘And I know why I thought that whisky could smell that way. I even know what Joey Brown was doing hanging round here after the death.’
Again he waited and at last I plucked up the courage to lay out how blind I had been.
‘It was the bottle of Royal Highlander,’ I said. ‘The special bottle of whisky for Billy Brown’s return.’
‘Of course,’ said Alec. ‘The Royal Highlanders.’
‘Otherwise known as the Black Watch. Billy’s regiment. Bobby’s too.’
‘So the special bottle wasn’t whisky at all,’ said Alec. ‘It was methanol. It was poison.’
‘And so it wasn’t exactly for Billy. But it was in his honour. To be used exactly as Brown tried to use it. And when Joey told her father that it was Bobby Dudgeon in the burry suit he didn’t hesitate.’
‘So it was never Robert Dudgeon that he meant to kill.’
‘I’m not so sure,’ I told him. ‘Out in the street, it was certainly Bobby he had in his sights. When he went to the Rosebery Hall to poison the flask… he might have thought that “the Burry Man” – meaning Bobby – would be the one to drink it. But when he brought the bottle here he must have meant it for Robert. To punish him for harbouring his son.’
‘Here?’ said Alec looking around the dark woods.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘He brought it to the cottage and left it there on Burry Man’s day. Of course, once Robert Dudgeon dropped dead at the greasy pole Brown knew that he had drunk the flask and the bottle here wasn’t needed; more than that, he knew it would be dangerous to leave it here in case the police mounted an investigation. So he packed Joey off to get rid of it. That’s why she was dug in like a dog in a foxhole. That’s why she was so very unnerved when the sisters started offering Cad a drink of whisky and saying that they’d seen a bottle of malt, and that was what she’d been doing round the back of the cottage when I happened upon her.’
‘What do you mean?’ said Alec. ‘What had she been doing?’
‘She’d been pouring the poison away and putting the bottle on Donald’s rubbish heap,’ I said. ‘I met her coming back.’
‘So do you think it’ll still be there?’ said Alec, pressing down on the pedal and making the little motor car surge forward.
‘No,’ I said. ‘I know it’s not. It’s buried in some undergrowth between the cottages and the castle. I know it is because I put it there myself. But Brown doesn’t know that and, unless I’m mistaken, he’ll be out the back at the cottages, searching for it, or waiting until everyone has gone to bed so that he can search for it then. Stop here, darling, and let’s walk.’
We stepped down and made our way silently along the verge of the lane, slower and slower until we were only edging forward. In the dusk, the kitchen lights of the cottages were winking at us through the tree trunks and the outlines of the sheds and midden heaps at the bottom of the gardens stood out against the glow. We stopped as soon as we had a decent view of the whole scene.
‘I don’t think he’s here,’ said Alec. ‘Where is he? If he didn’t come to Mrs Dudgeon’s and he’s not at the castle what’s he doing here at all?’
Before I could answer, there came a drumming of running footsteps, getting louder all the time, twigs snapping. I spun around on my heels, my heart hammering. It sounded like an army approaching us and both Alec and I took a couple of hesitant steps towards the lights of the cottages. Then we began to make out shapes, low and scurrying, and to hear the ragged panting and the high pitch of the hissing voices as they rushed towards us.
‘We’re nearly hame, Lila, come on!’ ‘We’ll get Daddy tae go and catch ‘im.’ And above the voices came Lila’s whimpering and deep, revolting sniffs.
‘Oh, God in heaven,’ I said, stepping towards them, ‘if he’s hurt one of them… Donald? Randall? Can you see me?’
When they heard my voice they changed direction towards it like a flock of starlings on the wing and began shouting their news.
‘He’s back, missus. He’s goin’ to the holes.’ ‘The demon’s back and he seen us and -’ ‘Hush now, hush now,’ I said as they drew near. ‘Is anyone hurt? Did he touch you?’ They barely paused in their clamouring but amongst the shouts I could make out ‘Naeb’dy got catched’ and ‘We’re a’ grand but -’
‘Very well,’ I said. ‘Now listen. Where is he?’
‘In the woods, missus.’
‘He’s goin’ to the ghostie holes.’
I raised my voice to be heard above them. ‘Randall,’ I said to the tallest boy, ‘can you find your way there and show us?’ Randall’s eyes flared with fear, but he nodded even before I had had the chance to reassure him: ‘We’ll both be with you. We won’t let him lay a finger upon you. You other children go inside. Donald, tell your mummy and daddy -’
‘I’ll come with you, missus,’ said Tommy.