Murder on the Moor - C. S. Challinor [18]
Rex wondered if an examination of Melissa Bates would reveal an escalation in the perpetrator’s behavior.
“I tried calling Dalgerry,” Alistair informed him. “But he’s not answering his phone.”
“He’ll be busy with this new case. Just let the chief inspector do his job, Alistair. There’s nothing you can do tonight.”
“The poor parents!”
“The poor babysitter,” Rex added. “Think how guilty she must feel. I wonder how long she was on the phone.”
“She said only a few minutes, but she admits she was talking to her boyfriend, so who knows? Phone records will probably show it was twenty minutes or longer.”
“I wonder what subterfuge the murderer used to lure the wee girl into his van. A kitten? Sweets? Oh, no,” Rex exclaimed, noticing a water stain on the ceiling. “This place leaks like a sieve. Looks like it’s coming from the guest bathroom.” He tuned in again to the rain drumming on the eaves beyond the drawn curtains. “Now I’ll have to get the roof looked at. It’s like pouring money into a bottomless well.”
“Didn’t you get an inspection done?” Alistair asked in self-
defense. He was, after all, the one who had notified Rex of the sale of Gleneagle Lodge and highly recommended the solicitor.
“I did, and there was a lot of deferred maintenance on the place which I was made aware of. I just did not expect everything to go wrong the moment I signed the papers. It should have been called The Money Pit.” Rex shrugged helplessly. “And it needs to be properly winterized before I can use it for skiing holidays.”
“It’s a great investment,” Alistair insisted. “You have all these acres and your own loch, for goodness sake.”
“Aye,” Rex conceded. “I like the place just fine. It’s a great place for nature-walking.”
“And skiing, eventually. Much better than paying those outrageous prices for lodgings in Aviemore.”
“All right, you’ve convinced me, Alistair.”
“I wish the little boy could have got a glimpse of the man,” his colleague muttered, his attention reverting to the muted television set, which showed shots of rainy moorscape and an area of bog cordoned off with blue-and-white police tape.
“Wishes are futile,” Rex cautioned Alistair. “Try to get some sleep. We’ll call the police in the morning and see if there are any developments.”
“I’ll never be able to sleep.” Alistair slumped into an armchair and put his head in his hands.
Rex went back upstairs to see if he could find a sleep aid. “I’m surprised you’re still awake,” he said, seeing Helen sitting up in bed reading a paperback novel.
Covering her mouth, she yawned deeply. “I was waiting for you. You’ve been gone twenty minutes.”
“Won’t be long now.”
“What are you looking for?” she asked when he came back out of the bathroom. “I heard you ransacking the cabinet.”
“Alistair needs something to help him sleep.”
“Is he okay?”
“Aye, he’s just a bit uptight about work.”
“In my wash bag. I always travel with a few pills.”
“Thanks, lass.” Rex returned with the bag and sank down on the bed. He felt bad about lying to Helen, even if it was only by omission. The last time he had done that, it had almost cost him his relationship with her. But he didn’t want to upset her with this new development.
He doubted he could sleep either after what he had seen on TV about the Melissa Bates murder. It made him glad his son, Campbell had reached age twenty without any serious mishaps in his young life. A broken toe and the removal of his tonsils was all. It also made him hesitant about seriously considering the possibility of having another child. Helen was still of child-bearing age and had mentioned a couple of times how she had always wanted a daughter. In light of the Moor murders, the prospect sent a shudder through his core.
“Rex?” Helen held out a couple of tablets in the palm of her hand.
“Aye?”
“You seem very pensive.”
“I was having one of those philosophical moments when you weigh life’s pleasures with the reality of the world we live in.”