Murder on the Moor - C. S. Challinor [45]
“Right,” Rex concurred. “There was a lot of water on the floor, but that could have been from sudden displacement of the water when she went under, rather than a struggle. I didn’t see any marks around her throat or anything. No one heard anything either.”
“I have just begun to catalogue the injuries,” the doctor informed him. “But the ones I mentioned are the most obvious. The trauma to her right hip might just conceivably have been caused by striking a rock when she was released into the loch, but it’s rather uniform, so I think a flat surface where she made contact is more likely. So far, I have noted an elevated level of alcohol in her system, which may have slowed her reactions when confronted by an alleged assailant. That’s all I have for the time being.”
“I’m most grateful to you, doctor.”
After Rex ended the call, he thoughtfully tapped the phone against his chin. Dr. Macleod had not come up with any great surprises, but it was reassuring to have his theories substantiated by an expert. He could now proceed with more confidence.
Meeting Helen at the front door, where she was anxiously waiting, he asked, “Do you fancy a walk? I need to round up Cuthbert and Donnie.”
“I thought that’s where you went.”
“I had other business to attend to first.”
“I’ll just get my anorak.” She disappeared back inside and re-emerged dressed for the elements. “I was getting worried.”
He pulled her away from the house. “I found Moira’s mobile—”
“Where?” Helen demanded.
“Hidden in the coal shed. But don’t let on.”
At that moment a window squeaked open above them. “Are you going out to look for Bertie?” Estelle blared out from the guest bedroom.
“Aye. If he returns in our absence, tell him to stay put. Same goes for Donnie.”
“I could come with you. I’ll be ready in a jiffy.”
“We won’t be long,” Rex answered, moving on his way. The window slammed behind him. “She doesn’t sound pleased we’re going without her.”
“I couldn’t bear it if she came along. She’s so bossy! Why are we going this way?” Helen asked, hurrying after him.
“It’s most likely Cuthbert went back to the spot where Donnie saw the hummel yesterday, over in Deer Glen.”
A quarter of a mile uphill, they crossed a wooden footbridge spanning a burn and followed upstream as it pursued its ghostly trickle past lonely mountain ash and grassy fringes rampant with harebell.
“I’m still a bit stumped,” Rex admitted, leading the way along the bank. “I think I’ve narrowed down who might have killed Moira. I just don’t know for sure.”
“Perhaps I could help.”
“Who do you think murdered Moira?” he asked.
“Hamish Allerdice.”
“Really? Why?”
“Because he’s a lewd scumbag who can’t keep his hands to himself!”
“The same could be said of Cuthbert Farquharson for pinching your bottom, but go on.”
“Well, I think Hamish came on to Moira and things got a bit out of hand. He might have gone back to shut her up before she said anything to his wife.”
“Plausible theory. Who else?”
“It’s Hamish,” Helen insisted, beginning to sound winded from the exertion of climbing. “I can’t imagine Alistair killing anyone, and Cuthbert is inept.”
“The actual murder didn’t take a whole lot of brains.”
Helen turned to face him. “Then why haven’t you outed the suspect yet? All you’d have to do is tell the person you knew exactly how they did it and wring a confession out of them.”
“The problem is,” Rex said, taking this opportunity for a break and filling his pipe, “the murder could have been executed by any one of them, except for perhaps one thing—maybe two. And the question of motive.”
“What two things?”
Rex tamped down the Clan tobacco with his thumb. “First, I need you to help me walk through this, in case I missed something.”
“Unlikely—but okay …”
“I think we can eliminate Alistair from our list of suspects.”
“But you said to keep away from him.”
“Aye, and I still want you to do that. But he’s the only guest who, to my