'Oh yes, I remember the Jubilee Project. I was in Aberlady Primary then, and my class was involved too. We did the farming section. I never taught with Myra Skinner, but I knew her.
`Later on, after I moved to Gullane Primary, I taught Alex. A very clever child, she was, with a father who doted on her. That was a one-parent family with absolutely no problems!'
`You should see them now,' thought Maggie Rose.
Anne McQueen, the head teacher of Longniddry Primary, was a formidably fit woman, dressed predominantly in serviceable black; mid to late forties, Rose guessed. Hers was a large school, with a non-teaching head, and so she had been available to meet the Inspector at short notice.
`What's all this about?' she asked. 'You said on the phone that you were looking for help: with what?'
It's something that's cropped up as a line of investigation in one of our enquiries. I'd like you to listen to this tape. Myra Skinner made it as part of her research for the Jubilee Project.' She handed over the Walkman, with the cassette in place.
Mrs McQueen listened to the tape in an emotionless silence, but when it was over she looked as astonished as Henry Wills. 'That's a new one on me, and I've taught in this county for over twenty years. I've heard a few children spin stories in my time, but I've never heard a delivery like that. Nana Soutar must have been some character!'
`There's no chance that she could still be alive, is there?' asked Rose.
Mrs McQueen looked doubtful. 'A great-granny, twenty years on? Not much, I wouldn't have thought. Mind you, there are Soutars in Longniddry Primary today. One of them in Primary Seven, that's Edward, and his wee brother Gareth's in Primary Five. Their father, Davie, he was here too. He could well be a brother or cousin of the child — woman now — on that tape.'
`But the name Lisa Soutar, that means nothing to you today?'
`No. Nothing at all. She could be Lisa anything by now, of course, and that really widens the field. It was a popular girl's name in the sixties; still is for that matter.' Suddenly she stopped, and looked at the policewoman, appraisingly. 'OK, I've heard the tape. Now how can I help you?' She smiled. 'I don't imagine you're investigating the murder of poor old Aggie Tod, four hundred years on.'
Maggie Rose put the player, and the tape, back in her jacket pocket. 'No… at least I don't think I am. I understand,' she said, 'that the project was published as a very limited edition book, and that the schools each kept a copy.'
Anne McQueen nodded. 'Yes, that's right. Ours is kept right here in my office. Would you like to see it?'
`Yes please. Just to confirm something I was told earlier.'
`Hang on just a minute then.' The head teacher rose and opened a glass-fronted bookcase, from which she took a thick volume, expensively bound in red leather. The title East Lothian, A Jubilee History was picked out in gold leaf on the cover. She placed it on her desk in front of Maggie Rose.
The book was still stiff. She could tell that it had been used very little. She found an index, and turned to the chapter headed 'Witchcraft and Superstitions' on page 78. Slowly, she read through it. There was a single brief mention of the burning of Agnes Tod and her coven, but she could find no mention of the doomed witch's curse. 'So,' she muttered to herself, 'Henry Wills was right.'
She made to close the volume, but as she did, her eye was caught by the title page.
She read aloud. "A Chronicle of the County of Haddington, now East Lothian, compiled by the children of its schools, and edited by the Marquis of Kinture."
Is that the present Marquis?'
`No,' said Mrs McQueen. 'That would be his father, the old Marquis. He died about ten years ago. He was very good to the schools in the area, was old Lord Kinture. His son's very generous too, but things have changed since then. The parents like to do more for their children's schools today, and that old-fashioned patronage isn't needed so much.'
She picked up the red book. 'Right, I've heard the tape, and you've read the book. I also remember something I glanced over in the Scotsman earlier. That gives me a clearer idea of why you're here. So how else can I help?'
`You've helped plenty already, Mrs McQueen. But you couldn't give me an address for Mr Soutar, could you?'
I could, but you won't need to go to his home. Davie's a police Sergeant. He's stationed at Dalkeith, as I remember, but I imagine that you can have him come to you!'