Perfect Death. Helen Fields

structure, careful moisturising and a trim figure made it hard to guess precisely. The media had listed several different ages for her, all to be taken with a pinch of salt, but they were universally agreed on the good her charity was doing in a variety of African countries. Crystal was a clean water initiative that relied on educating communities in how to build wells, then funding them to teach their neighbouring village so that a network of safe, sustainable water systems spread like a life-giving spider web, changing lives and securing futures.

      ‘So, Jeremy, I have to say it’s very generous of you to offer to volunteer. Sian does our day-to-day administration and she has a fairly rigid view of the world, but she doesn’t mean any harm. I hope she didn’t put you off, but she was right to point out that we can’t pay you. We have limited resources and I make sure that as great a percentage of donations as possible reaches its intended destination. I’m not much of a one for expensive offices or endless amounts of staff.’

      ‘That’s w-why I’m here,’ Jeremy said, head down towards his lap. ‘I read that about you. It’s the reason I’d like to help. You seem …’ he blinked a few times, chewing his bottom lip. ‘You seem good.’

      ‘That’s very kind of you,’ she said. ‘And if you’re serious about helping then I’d love to have you here. Can you tell me a little bit about yourself?’

      Jeremy flushed, took a deep breath, and steeled himself to make eye contact as he spoke.

      ‘Twenty-five,’ he said. ‘I like to help people.’ He spoke slowly, deliberately, every word considered. ‘I w-was fostered. Nice people. I’d like to give something back. Other times I do some gardening w-work. Not much call for that in w-winter.’

      ‘I guess not,’ Cordelia said softly. ‘I know what you mean about wanting to put something back. I was lucky. My parents were both Kenyan but from wealthy families. They moved me here when I was just four, at a time when racial integration was still a work in progress. My father worked in the finance sector. I was sent to a decent school, had holidays abroad, got through university without any debt. After my degree I sailed into the corporate machine, making piles of money for people who didn’t need any more than they already had. I suppose I got fed up and wanted to find more of a purpose, and here I am. Doing something to improve the lives of people in Africa felt like joining up the ends of a circle for me. You know, I think you’re going to be a real asset around here. What matters to me more than anything is working with people who have a positive attitude and the desire to do good. Why don’t you come in next week, spend a few hours getting to know what we do and where you can fit in, and if you like us we can make it more regular? In the meantime, fill in a personnel form with some details and the name of a referee if you have one.’

      ‘I do,’ Jeremy said, allowing himself a small smile and a nod.

      ‘How about I make you a coffee before you go, just so you can experience how badly I do it. Everyone here will be delighted to have someone other than me in charge of the kettle.’

      She handed Jeremy a form requiring basic details – address, National Insurance number, telephone contact, next of kin for emergency purposes – and a pen, then she disappeared out to rattle cups and teaspoons around in a sink. He filled the form in quickly then glanced around Cordelia Muir’s office. A family photo took pride of place on her desk. She was with her children. An older girl and a boy, taken a little while ago judging by the changes in Cordelia. Research had told Jeremy that her daughter was away at university while her son was attending sixth form college in Edinburgh. He wondered if she would mind him picking the photograph up, watching her through the glass partition as she opened the fridge door to put a carton of milk away.

      ‘You have beautiful children,’ Jeremy said as she walked back in holding two mugs.

      ‘Thank you,’ she replied, putting the steaming liquid down in front of him, showing no concern about him holding the precious image. ‘My husband passed away a couple of years ago. He was terminally ill when we had that photo taken. My daughter has coped better than my son. Randall is only seventeen. I think boys need a man around to help them through those transitional years.’ She smiled.

      ‘My father died when I w-was two,’ Jeremy said, putting the photo back down on the desk. ‘He and my mother were in a coach crash. My foster parents tried their hardest but teenage years are tough. I w-wasn’t very forgiving.’

      ‘I’m sure you were no worse than any other teenage boy, and it must have been harder for you than most. Your parents would have been proud of you now.’ She smiled. ‘You’ve filled in the form already? Wonderful. How about you come in Monday morning? I’m starting a new project and I’d appreciate some help with it. Nothing very glamorous I’m afraid, but I’d love to have you here.’

      Jeremy beamed, taking a sip of coffee with shaking hands.

      ‘That w-would be great,’ he said. ‘Thank you, Mrs Muir.’

      ‘Cordelia. First name terms only in here,’ she said. ‘I feel as if fate brought you to us, Jeremy. I’m a great believer in fate. Welcome to the team.’

      * * *

      DI Callanach was waiting in Ava Turner’s office at the police station. He stood as she entered.

      ‘Luc,’ she said. ‘What’s the news on the body at Arthur’s Seat?’

      ‘Nothing much yet, ma’am,’ Callanach said, sitting once she’d waved him back into his chair.

      ‘Could you please not call me ma’am? I mean, yes in front of other people, but not when it’s just us. You know I’m uncomfortable with it.’

      ‘I’m uncomfortable without it,’ he replied. ‘I heard about the Chief. I wanted to see how you’re doing and check if there’s anything I can help with.’

      ‘You want to get falling down drunk with me later, make sure I get home safely, hold my hair while I throw up then sit next to me all night to make sure I don’t choke?’ Ava put her head on the desk in front of her. ‘God, I’m sorry. I don’t know where that came from. Does everyone know?’

      ‘Sergeant Lively knows,’ Luc said. ‘So it might as well have been publicly broadcast. And I will, if that’s what you need me to do.’ Ava looked confused. ‘Hold your hair and make sure you don’t choke.’

      ‘I’m sure you have better things to do with your evening,’ Ava said, guessing he probably didn’t. Callanach had model looks that never failed to turn heads in public, but a false rape allegation made by a coworker during his time as an Interpol agent had made him reclusive in his private life. ‘I have work to do anyway. Tell me about the girl at Arthur’s Seat.’

      ‘Her name’s Lily Eustis. Nineteen years of age. In a gap year before university mainly because she was working to save money for her tuition fees. She was due to begin studying medicine next September at St Andrews. Her family has been notified. Mum, dad, one sister. I responded to the call but it’s not looking like a matter for the Major Investigation Team. Initial findings are that cause of death was hypothermia.’

      ‘How did she get all the way up there?’ Ava asked.

      ‘We don’t have the answer to that yet. She doesn’t own a car, lives with her parents. Apparently, she went out last night to meet a friend at a pub, and didn’t come home. That’s unusual but not completely unknown, although the parents say that normally she’d have phoned to let them know where she was staying.’

      ‘Have you spoken to the friend?’ Ava asked, scribbling notes.

      ‘No one knows who it was. Parents suspect it was a male but they’re not certain. Her sister has been calling Lily’s friends but none of them have any further information.’

      ‘Let’s keep it with MIT for now. Ailsa should be doing Lily’s autopsy as a priority. Keep me updated.’

      Callanach stood up. ‘Why don’t you let me drop you home later?’ he said. ‘You can leave your car here. I’ll pick you up and bring you back in tomorrow.’