The Hermitage by LJ Ross

Author:LJ Ross [Ross, LJ]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: UNKNOWN
Published: 2018-10-19T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 24

“Look, son. I don’t think you understand what I mean when I say, ‘stottie cake’.”

MacKenzie walked back into CID after her meeting with Chief Constable Morrison and came to an abrupt stop beside Phillips’ desk. He appeared to be engaged in a heated debate with an unknown caller on the topic of baked goods, which had nothing whatsoever to do with murder or serious crime.

At least, she sincerely hoped not.

“No. No, it’s not a cake, it’s a bread. No, not like soda bread. Naht, it’s not a scone, either. Imagine the King of all Breads. The fluffiest, lightest, tastiest…no, man, it’s not a pitta. We’re gannin’ from bad to worse, here—”

MacKenzie tapped a finger against her watch and rolled her eyes.

“Alreet, listen. Just hold off on the stotties for now and I’ll call you back later.”

Phillips set the desk phone back into its holder with a little more force than was necessary, then made a raspberry sound with his lips.

“Trying to arrange a decent caterer for this wedding is like gannin’ on a quest for the Holy Grail,” he complained. “What kind of self-respecting chef doesn’t know what a stottie cake is?”

“It’s all soda bread and chowder, where I’m from,” she reminded him, having decided to humour her soon-to-be husband for a couple of minutes. “Which reminds me, I had my auntie on the phone, earlier.”

Phillips winced. MacKenzie’s ageing Irish aunt was a strong-headed woman from County Kerry who was known throughout that land as being one of its most opinionated and outspoken residents.

“She had a list of complaints about our plans,” MacKenzie continued. “She doesn’t understand why I wouldn’t want to marry in the church where I was baptised, rather than having a civil ceremony in the beautiful castle I’ve admired since I was a girl. I didn’t bother telling her I haven’t seen the inside of a Catholic church since I was investigating one of its holy men for murder.”

Phillips chuckled.

“Aye, that wouldn’t have gone down too well,” he said, then reached across to touch her hand. “Would you like me to have a word with her? You shouldn’t have to deal with all that nonsense, love. It’s supposed to be a happy time, planning our special day.”

MacKenzie squeezed his hand.

“Thanks, Frank, but there isn’t really time just now. We have to shake a leg.”

Assuming she was referring to the Warkworth case, Phillips reached for his notepad.

“Well, I’ve just heard back from Faulkner, who says he’s having a devil of a time trying to find any useful DNA that doesn’t belong to the victim. Yates has been liaising with the Crown Prosecution Service and the Courts Service to pull together a list of all the people he prosecuted—and sent down—while he was practising.”

He didn’t need to mention what a mammoth task that might be.

“Tell her to cross-check against prison releases between eighteen months and six months ago,” MacKenzie suggested. “If our working theory is that Edward Clarkson was scared enough to leave his old life behind, maybe it was to do with him worrying that someone from his past would be coming for him.

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