Ross Macfarlane’s short story serial specially for Edinburgh’s festival season continues
JD pointed to the spread in the newspaper: ‘Do you really think that people look like their dogs?’
Doc leaned over and studied JD’s face: ‘Now that you mention it, your face has always reminded me of a Chinese pug.’
JD frowned: ‘But I don’t own a dog.’
‘And yet…’
Wally Wood came back with a pint of Guinness in his hand
JD leaned back: ‘So - fill us in, Wally - what’s happening?’
‘You mean about The Lady in Red case?’
‘No - not that. The big question is: did you ever get off with that woman who cuts up the bodies?’
Wood sighed: ‘On the one hand I do not “get off” with women - this is not a school dance for 13-year-olds. On the other hand, the lady in question was telephoning me to apprise me of developments in the case. On the other hand…’
The narrative was interrupted by JD putting up his hand in a ‘halt’ motion: ‘Sorry - that’s three hands now - makes no sense….’
Wood wrinkled his brow: ‘Additionally, then, I think that Katharine Livingstone hung up on me.’
Doc leaned toward: ‘Are you sure? What did she say before she “hung up”’?’
The prosecutor considered this for a moment, then: ‘Something about she needed to “crack on”.’
Doc shook his head: ‘That’s not a ‘hang-up’ - that’s an ‘abrupt goodbye’
JD was impressed: ‘How do you know this stuff?’
‘I was a GP for over thirty years. I must have seen thousands of patients. They don’t always get a sticker and a balloon on departure.’
Wood picked up the thread: ‘SO - as I understand it from Katharine, the thinking now is that The Lady in Red did not jump out of the window. She had been dead for a couple of days already and had been thrown out.’ Wood shut his eyes tight, gnashed his teeth and shook his head. ‘I am so stupid.’ Pause. ‘Stupid, stupid, stupid.’
JD smiled: ‘At last - something we can all agree on…’
Doc looked serious: ‘How so?’
‘The son – Alex Bryant - said that the lady was myopic. She had two pairs of glasses. When I was in the lady’s flat, there were two pairs of glasses there on the sitting room table. She would have needed glasses to find the footstool and place it beside the window…’
Doc nodded: ‘…and to see what she was doing to open up the window and climb up onto the windowsill…’
JD chimed in: ‘…and last - but not least - if she was waiting for a gap in the crowd below, then she had to be able to see down there - and from that height, that would be hard enough without her specs on. So…’
Wood sighed. ‘So, we’re agreed.’
JD nodded: ‘Yes. We’re agreed. Wally, you’re as thick as mince…’
*****
*Ting*
Ignored.
*Ting*
Abbie looked up from her morning coffee: ‘You know, Grampa Wally, you’ll forgive me for saying, but if you are going to ignore the texts on your mobile phone, then what is the point of having one?’
Wood groaned: ‘Thing is, my lovely, that I am from a generation that is not a slave to these things.’
‘I have a different theory.’
‘Which is?’
Abbie smiled: ‘A number of the communications are from young women and you’re afraid to open them up in front of me in case I see them.’
*Ping*
Wood sighed and got up from the table. He walked over to where the phone was charging, put in his code, lifted up the phone, studied it and smiled. He removed the phone from its charger and placed it in front of his granddaughter. ‘As you will see - no amorous messages from any young ladies. Merely a WhatsApp message from my old buddy, John Douglas Douglas, Emeritus Professor of Criminology, which forwarded message would appear to contain a photograph of Ursula Andress emerging from the sea…’
Abbie smiled: ‘And that’s one hot mama – but I have no idea who she is.’
Wood left his phone on the table and walked over to the sink to wash his cup.
*Ping*
He looked over his shoulder: ‘More from the illustrious professor?’
Abbie looked at the phone.
‘No - it’s from another friend of yours - you have her stored as “Detective Maddy” - it says: “Wally - I really need to see you.”.’
Abbie grinned: ‘My, my – at this rate, I’ll be buying the two of you a love-heart padlock to stick on the News Steps…’
Wood groaned.
‘Grampa, if you want, I can text back for you. Do you want me to add a wee kiss at the end?’
‘Give me that phone!’
*****
Festival of Murder continues tomorrow in: ‘As My Old Weegie Granny Used to Say’
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