Death in a Cold Spring (Pitkirtly Mysteries Book 9) by Cecilia Peartree Page B

forensic people could retrieve the data even if they did that.
    Keith returned to the minister’s study with renewed purpose. No more Mr Nice Guy. No more tea and biscuits.
    ‘I’ll need to make a note of everything you know about these two,’ he said, forgetting that the minister’s wife was also still in the room.
    ‘Who – Sammy and Craig?’ said Mr Cockburn.
    ‘But they’re such nice young people,’ said his wife. ‘I can’t imagine they’ll have done anything to interest you, Sergeant Burnet.’
    ‘I’m afraid my enquiries are confidential,’ said Keith.
    ‘Oh, of course!’ said Mrs Cockburn, and left the room rather abruptly.
    ‘Thanks for the biscuits,’ Keith called after her, but she let the door slam shut behind her and he wasn’t sure if she had heard him.
    ‘Women, eh?’ boomed the minister, rolling his eyes. He lowered his voice, maybe in recognition that Keith wanted to keep things as confidential as possible. ‘I’ll print out the database entry for you. It’s quite unusual – they insist on being known as only one artist between them. A bit like Gilbert and George, I suppose – except that Sammy and Craig are brother and sister, so that’s a bit different. They want to be called Sammy Craig. Not a bad name for a young artist. What do you think?’
    ‘Yes,’ said Keith, who had never knowingly wondered about what artists liked to call themselves. ‘Thanks,’ he added. He was grateful to the minister for riding roughshod over data protection and so on. Not that it probably applied in this case.
    ‘You’ll see that they still live at home with their parents. In Rosyth. A nice family altogether. Father works in an office at the dockyard, and mother does something or other with a local science firm. Very respectable.’
    ‘How did they come to be part of this Face of Pitkirtly thing anyway?’ enquired Keith, as they waited for the printer to creak into action.
    ‘Oh, the usual kind of thing. We circulated all the colleges, knowing we would need more talent than the local pool could provide. The two of them came forward with a very original idea. I was keen to support it – and so was Mr Wilson, of the Cultural Centre. Maybe you know him. An unassuming man, but a pillar of the community.’
    ‘We’ve met,’ said Keith in a massive feat of understatement. He couldn’t imagine Christopher having been all that enthusiastic about having some messy exhibit in his Folk Museum, but maybe the minister had caught him in a weak moment. ‘About this idea of theirs – did you know it would contain human blood?’
    ‘Blood?’ The minister reeled back in surprise until he bumped into a chair. ‘No, it had nothing to do with blood. It was one of those video art pieces. I just thought it would be very amusing. And interesting. Different.’
    ‘Yes, it was different all right,’ said Keith. ‘Not in a good way, either. Not at all amusing.’
    ‘You sound a bit grim, Sergeant Burnet. I hope this isn’t anything too serious. But then, I don’t suppose you’d be investigating it in the first place if it wasn’t. Silly of me.’
    The printer had finished. Mr Cockburn silently took the pages and passed them to Keith, who glanced at the top page to make sure the print had come out clearly and then folded them into his notebook. ‘Thanks for this. If you happen to see them, please let us know.’
    ‘I hope you’ll catch up with them and that the matter can be resolved,’ said the minister. ‘I expect there’s an innocent explanation.’
    ‘I hope so,’ said Keith, although he doubted that anything about this would turn out to be innocent.
     

Chapter 5 Amaryllis can’t resist it
     
    As Keith left the manse, Amaryllis pushed further into the cotoneaster hedge, wincing at the scratches she received as a result. She had taken what she felt was a mature and informed decision not to try and question Mr Cockburn herself, in the light of what Christopher had said. However, she had