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Chapter Eighteen

Caleb’s mother squeezed his hand and then kissed his fingers. “It’s enough that you’re awake. I thought we lost you. Whatever you need to say can wait.”

“No,” he said hoarsely. “I messed up. I—have to tell the truth.”

“Caleb, I’ll not allow you to legally cause yourself harm. Wait until you’re better, and we can decide what to do.”

He turned his head to me. “I was with Robbie when he died,” he said.

I stopped checking his pulse.

“Caleb, don’t,” his mother said. “Luv, please.”

“No, Mum. They need to know. If I don’t make it through the night, I …”

“We have doctor–patient confidentiality,” I said. “But if you tell me something that might help with the case, as a coroner I will have to share the information with the constable. Do you understand?”

“I just bloody want it over,” he said.

“I need to get his father. He can’t—”

“No,” Caleb whispered. “Not him.”

“Just tell me what you know, and then we can decide what to do with the information.”

“I saw him in the hallway when I came out of my room the night I arrived,” he said. “I thought maybe I imagined him, as I was coming down off the gear. I wanted to head down to the stag, but I decided to follow him. I barely made it up those stairs. I could barely breathe.”

He coughed, and then we thought he might be sick. I held up the bucket, but he shook his head.

“He was just standing there, staring out the windows, even though you couldn’t see much because it was so dark. I turned on my flashlight and nearly fell down the stairs when he turned to face me. It was Robbie, but …”

“His features had changed,” I said.

“Aye.” His eyes closed, and for a few minutes he didn’t say anything. “He looked rough.”

“You need to rest,” I said. As much as I needed this information, I wouldn’t put his life in danger.

“I have to finish.” He tried to breathe deeply but coughed. That wasn’t a good sign. I used my stethoscope to listen to his lungs. The telltale sound of pneumonia wasn’t there. At least he had that going for him.

“I asked if he had any gear on him, and he acted like I was crazy. Said he’d been clean for years. But I swear he was on something. He was ranting about lies and needing to protect people.

“When I asked why he was there, he said he’d done something bad, but he had to fix it. Right after that, he stumbled against the window. Thought he might fall through. I tried to grab him, but he pulled away from me. Then he wretched. Told me to go away.”

He closed his eyes again. “I didn’t know he was dying, but I might as well have killed him. It’s no excuse, but my brain was in a fog. I half thought I imagined it when I woke up the next day.”

His mother sat next to him on the bed. “Darling boy, it wasn’t your fault.”

“Any decent bloke would have gotten him help. He didn’t have to die.”

“I’m not sure it would have done any good,” I said. It wasn’t to make him feel better; it was the truth. “The amount of poison he’d ingested by that time had done irreversible damage. Did he mention if anyone else was involved? How he arrived?”

“Enough,” his mother said. “I’m grateful for your help, Doctor. But as you said he needs to rest. He’s said enough.”

“Nay,” he said. “I don’t remember his exact words, just that he wanted to set it right. Then he bent over and was sick. Told me to leave, and I’m not good with that sort of thing—even if it’s my own—so I left.” His last few words were a bit slurred.

His eyes fluttered shut.

“Is he …?” She sobbed.

I checked his pupils.

“He’s sleeping,” I said. “That took a great deal of effort.”

“What will you do?”

“I’m not sure what you mean?”

“With the information. He let Robbie die.”

Or he killed him. Even though Caleb was ill, I wasn’t sure I believed his death-bed confession. It would make sense if he and Robbie worked together to destroy the wedding. They were both drug users, and as Abigail pointed out, “Dr. Google” can help anyone find easy poisons to use.

I’d been thinking one of the suspects might be a chemist or in the medical profession. The doses needed to make someone sick, instead of killing them, would have been specific. But that didn’t mean a layperson couldn’t figure it out.

One thing was for certain: Robbie hadn’t poisoned himself, and Caleb had been in his vicinity.

There was a knock on the door, and Ewan entered.

“How is he?”

“We’re doing our best, but he needs a hospital,” I said.

“We’ve four more hours of this blasted weather, and then we’ll get a helicopter in as soon as possible.”

“Thank you, Constable. Please know how grateful I am to you and the doctor,” Mrs. Carthage said. She gave me a look, as if willing me to hold back the truth.

“Aye, we’re lucky that Em was here.” He very seldom used my name.

“I need to speak to you—outside.”

I followed him out.

“What’s the real prognosis?”

“I honestly can’t say. Abigail is running some tests so I can check his liver enzymes and kidney functions, but it’s nearly impossible to truly know without the proper equipment. Everything is slapdash, but we’re doing our best.”

“I’ve no doubt,” he said. “Did he say anything?”

“What do you mean?” I took my oath seriously.

“Henry compared Caleb’s fingerprints with some we found where the victim died. If he lives long enough, I’ll be charging him with murder.”

“Is he the one who pushed the gargoyle?”

“Boot print doesn’t fit anything we found in his room, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t him.”

“I see. Well, he’s quite ill, and I’m not certain if he’s going to make it through the night. And then there’s the fact that someone tried to poison him.”

“What?” He seemed genuinely surprised.

“I thought someone might have told you.”

“I’ve been using the radio to communicate with the station. We’re finally through. I had them do a background check on Caleb. He’s mixed up with some rather nasty fellows in Edinburgh, who deal in drugs and gambling.”

“But that doesn’t make him a murderer.”

“Aye, but he’d also been trying to get money from his dad and brother. Could be he wanted payback because they refused to help him.”

I hadn’t heard about that.

I pursed my lips. “Right. Again, I might understand if he went after one of them. But Robbie? Angie? Why?”

“Take away the one person Damien loves most? People have been murdered for less,” he said.

“Well, he won’t be going to prison in the near future. His recovery from ethylene glycol mixed with the drugs he already had in his system will take a while.”

“He was poisoned?”

“Yes, that’s what I was trying to say. Someone who visited him earlier tried to kill him.”

“Do you know who came into the room?”

“The housekeeper you assigned knew a few of the people, but not all. You may want to have your men show her the guest list. A petite, dark-haired woman brought him broth and then took the dishes away to the kitchen. Your young housekeeper hasn’t come back with the bowl, so I’m guessing it was washed.

“She may be a little afraid of me. I tend to growl when I’m working.”

He chuckled. “She bloody well deserves a scolding. That’s Samantha, one of my men’s daughters. She’s trying to earn a bit before university next year and offered to help this weekend. I’ll let him know.”

“Just talk to her, Ewan, like a human being. Mara was grilling her for me while I worked on Caleb, but I was distracted. She saw the person who poisoned Caleb. She needs protection.”

“Aye. Good point. I’ll have her dad question her.”

“Show her the list of women guests. Maybe she’ll recognize one of them. The suspect arrived with a group of women, but she left alone after feeding Caleb. She’s one of our killers.”

“Aye. You’re on to something there, Doc.”

“I do remember that—what was her name?”

“Samantha.”

“I’m tired, but she said that the woman told her to say she fed the broth to Caleb.”

“I’m not following.” He crossed his arms.

“The suspect fed the poison—at least I think it was in the broth—to Caleb. But she told—Samantha to say that she fed him. Which would make Samantha the attempted murderer.”

“Blasted witch.” He stopped. “Sorry, Doc.”

“Don’t be. I agree with you. The girl was vulnerable, and whoever is doing this is a conniving—well, you said it best—witch. Smart, manipulative, and dangerous.”

“Aye. We’ll get on those photos right away.”

I yawned.

“When was the last time you slept?” he asked.

“I could ask you the same.”

He shrugged. “I don’t need much. Is the patient stable enough I can post someone here to give you a break?”

I very much needed a bed and to get off my legs, which were killing me. I could have slept on the sofa in the patient’s room, but I wouldn’t have rested.

“Let me check on him one more time. Whoever you post must let me know if there is any change in his condition. Immediately.”

“Henry and a couple of my other men have some medical training. They’ll keep an eye on him.” He took off down the hall. That’s when I realized no one was here, outside the door.

Strange.

Except for his mother, Caleb wasn’t allowed any other visitors. It was more for his safety than anything else.

I went into the room to talk with his mother.

“If he breathes or coughs funny—anything different than him sleeping—let me know immediately.”

“I will. Did you tell the constable what Caleb said?”

I smiled. “It didn’t come up. They are focused on the person who did this to him. Though they did find Caleb’s fingerprints in the tower where the victim died. At some point, he’s going to have to tell the truth.” I went to leave the room. “The helicopter will be here in a few hours,” I said. “That will give you a bit of grace.”

Caleb was a mess, but he didn’t deserve to go down for a murder I was certain he hadn’t committed.

Without someone to guide me through the upstairs hallways, I lost my way.

“Darn.”

My legs were stiff, and the last thing I needed was to walk unnecessarily. I made it down another long hallway, only to find I’d gone even farther from the stairwell.

Tempted to sit down on the floor and wait for someone to find me, I forced myself forward.

Why had I given Mara the walkie-talkie?

There was a strange noise behind me. Like a shuffling.

I turned and swung my cane, like a bat.

No one was there.

The wind rattled the window at the end of the hall, and it was as if the whole house held its breath.

I shook myself.

“You’re tired, and the castle talks. It’s the wind or boards creaking. It’s old. And I’m standing in a hallway whispering to myself.”

The Gothic castle was gorgeous in so many ways, but it also had a fair amount of craosach factor, as Mara called it. I assumed that was Gaelic for creepy.

There were places in the world that no matter how well appointed they might be with furnishings, wallpaper, and art, there was an air about them. As if ghosts might walk the halls.

Not that I believed in the supernatural, but if the battle tapestries on the wall were an indication, this castle had seen some things.

Mara’s stories about ghosts and fairies were getting to me. The Scots believed in both wholeheartedly. And who was I to argue with their culture?

I paused to listen for noise, but the howling wind outside was the only sound.

I stared down yet another long hallway. Perhaps I should have left a bread-crumb trail so I’d remember each one I’d traveled down. Halfway down, I knew it was the wrong one, but there was a door at the very end with an “Exit” sign above it.

For the building to be up to code, Ewan had said he put the signs in on every floor.

As I put my hand on the door, something thumped nearby.

Probably someone getting ready for bed, but I didn’t look back.

I took a breath and then opened the door. It led to a narrow stairwell. The overhead light flickered and then went out.

Great.

I could have gone back into the hallway, but when would I find another set of stairs? Down was the direction I had to go.

Holding on to the railing, I turned sideways. I couldn’t trust my legs, so going down slowly was my only option. I’d made it down to the next floor when the door from the floor I’d been on creaked open.

“Hello? Is anyone there?” I called out.

No answer, but there were footsteps.

My stomach twisted, and my heart raced. I took one step at a time, but perhaps a bit faster than I’d been going. I had one more floor to go, but the footsteps above me were hurried.

“Please be careful,” I said. “It’s quite dark, and the stairs are steep.”

They didn’t stop.

I increased my pace, but by the time I reached the bottom floor, the person behind me no longer hesitated.

They were after me.

As I opened the door to the first-floor hallway a shadow of a man blanketed the back wall.

I raced in and was surprised to find myself near the dungeon. The door was locked, but I had one of the keys.

My hands shook as I missed the first time I tried to put the key in the hole. Second try was a success. I ran inside and locked the door.

Breath coming out in a pant, I waited.

The door rattled violently.

Something metal hit the concrete floor below me.

I’m going to die.