∨ Death of a Gentle Lady ∧

10

In the highlands, in the country places,

Where the old plain men have rosy faces,

And the young fair maidens

Quiet eyes

—Robert Louis Stevenson

“Everyone in Lochdubh seems to know, Hamish. I was sent back up to cover the bomb. Shall I come and join you? Are you on holiday?”

“Is that what they are saying?”

“You know this village. Chinese whispers. But certainly that seems to be the sum total of it.”

“Elspeth, leave me alone for a bit. But you might have a story down there. I was sent up here to stop the murderer from finding me and trying again. If you can find out who was spreading the news about me, you’ll at least find someone who’s interested in seeing me dead. And get back to me if you’ve found out anything.”

“All right. Give me a few paragraphs about the bomb in the kitchen.”

Hamish gave her a brief description.

“I know Grianach,” said Elspeth. “Weird place. They make wooden things.”

“That’s right. Trouble is, a tour bus comes every two weeks.”

“And you think the murderer might travel that way to find you?”

“Perhaps. But probably too complicated.”

The next morning, Hamish went out to explore the village. It nestled at the foot of steep cliffs, and any car approaching from outside could clearly be seen on the one-track road down into it. There was a horseshoe bay in front of the village, the waters calm in an unusually placid day. Far out beyond the bay, he could see the whitecaps of the great Atlantic waves.

He sat down on a bollard on the jetty. It was all so remote and peaceful. The air smelled of tar, fish, baking, and peat smoke.

A voice behind him said, “Enjoying the view?”

Hamish stood up and turned round. “I’m James Fringley,” said the man. “I heard you’ve arrived.”

Racking his memory for who he was supposed to be, Hamish remembered suddenly that he was supposed to be Mr. William Shore.

“William Shore,” he said, holding out his hand. “You’re English.”

James was a small dapper man dressed in a Barbour and jeans. Hamish judged him to be in his fifties. He had silver hair, carefully barbered, and neat features.

“Are you visiting like me?” asked Hamish.

“No, I live here. I used to be a bank manager but I took early retirement. We’re about to start setting up the stalls. The bus arrives today.”

“I’m surprised a tour bus found this place.”

“I wrote to them,” said James. “What with the fishing dying off, I thought it would be nice to help the villagers. Do you know, the European Union cut the cod and fishing quotas last December and Scotland wasn’t even represented? Luxembourg was there. One tiny landlocked country having a say. It’s mad. We’ve a lot of home industry now, and every month or so I load up the van and go south to flog the stuff around the shops. I mean, look at the beauty of this place. A man would do anything to keep it as grand as this. I’m off to the church hall to start helping with the stalls.”

“I’ll come with you,” said Hamish.

“You’re highland, aren’t you?” asked James curiously. “What brings a highland tourist here?”

Hamish was blessed with the Highlander’s facility to lie easily and convincingly. “It was the wife,” he said. “She threw me out. I thought if I went away for a bit, she’d come to her senses.”

“That’s bad. Got children?”

“No, we’ve only been married three months. I blame her mother,” said Hamish bitterly. “Awfy auld queen. What about you?”

“Mine died of cancer. We didn’t have children. I came here four years ago on holiday and decided to stay. Probably the last place in Britain where you can buy a cheap house.”

The figures of the villagers could be seen approaching the church hall. “They’re all verra small,” said Hamish.

“Maybe inbreeding, but they’re all sane enough.”

Hamish helped to carry trestle tables down to the harbour. Then the villagers started to set out their wares. Hamish was amazed at the wood carvings. They were very good indeed. One stall had beautiful lengths of tweed. “That’s your neighbour, Ellie,” said James. “She’s got a loom in a shed in her garden.”

Hamish decided to buy presents before the bus arrived. He bought a wooden salad bowl for his mother, two carved candlesticks for Angela, and an attenuated wood sculpture of a woman for Priscilla.

The prices were remarkably reasonable. Then he noticed a carving of a man, a flat bloated man whose face was set in a horrible sneer. It looked remarkably like Blair. Hamish bought it as a present for Jimmy.

Then he thought how much his mother would like some tweed and bought a length of a heathery blue-and-pink mixture.

He carried all his purchases back to his cottage and returned just in time to see the tour bus make its precipitous descent of the cliff road. He walked behind a shed at the end of the harbour and looked around. The bus was full – full of elderly ladies and two elderly men.

He came out of hiding and walked towards it. Two were being helped into wheelchairs. Some walked with sticks.

Hamish went up to the tour guide, a slim woman in a yellow suit. “Where are this lot from?” he asked.

“A retirement home in Perth,” she said. “Great for us. They booked the whole bus, and this is a quiet time of year. I’d better go and help them with their purchases.”

Hamish was pleased to see that sales were brisk.

After half an hour of buying, the tour operator called out, “If you will make your way to the village hall, there is a buffet lunch.”

Hamish thought a free meal was just what he needed after having spent so much, but when he got to the hall, James was at the door. “Six pounds for the lunch, William, and cheap at the price.” Hamish paid up.

He collected a plate of cold chicken and salad from the buffet and sat down next to one of the elderly gentlemen who turned out to be stone deaf, so Hamish contented himself by studying the women just in case one of them might look like someone in disguise. But for a start, not one of them was tall enough to fit the description of the woman who had made that phone call.

Superintendent Daviot was told that a Miss Elspeth Grant of the Bugle was waiting to speak to him.

He hesitated. But he was wearing a new suit and thought he looked very fine. “Does she have a photographer with her?” he asked.

“Yes, a sour-faced Glasgow type,” said the sergeant at the front desk.

“Send them up,” said Daviot.

He brushed back his silver hair and asked Helen to prepare coffee and biscuits. He had met Elspeth before but not the photographer, who was a sullen, middle-aged man with a bloated face.

“Do sit down, Miss Grant,” purred Daviot. “We have met before.”

Elspeth indicated the photographer, who was crouched on the floor, taking cameras out of his box. “That’s Billy Southey.”

Helen came in with a laden tray. Elspeth waited until coffee had been poured and Helen had left before saying, “I hear Hamish Macbeth is hiding out in Grianach.”

Daviot looked at her in shock. “Who told you that?”

“It’s all over Lochdubh, and I want to know why. Some man turned up at that bar on the waterfront and started shooting his mouth off. The thing is, if it was supposed to be such a secret, how did it leak out?”

“I will look into it right away. I do not want you to write anything just now. It is a matter of PC Macbeth’s security.” He pressed a buzzer on his desk. When Helen entered, he ordered her to get Jimmy Anderson up immediately.

Blair was lurking around the detectives’ room. He was waiting to see Daviot to explain he was ready to return to work. He hated the idea of Jimmy being in charge.

A policewoman appeared and called to Jimmy, “You’re to go up to the super’s office right away, sir.”

“Now what,” grumbled Jimmy, heading for the door.

In Daviot’s office, Elspeth was saying, “He was a thin, scruffy man in his forties. Looked like a druggie.”

“It’s a pity no one got a photograph,” said Daviot.

“Oh, but they did. A photographer from the Highland Times was out taking pictures for the calendar. I looked through them. He’s got a shot of the harbour and people on the waterfront, and that looks like our man.”

She was carrying a manila envelope which she opened, pulling out a glossy photograph just as Jimmy entered the room.

Daviot outlined what had happened and said to Jimmy, “See if you recognise the man.”

Jimmy looked at the photograph. It showed a group of people outside Patel’s grocery store. He pointed to a man in the middle of the group. “That’s Tommy Shields, drug pusher and addict. I’ll find him.”

Billy began to rapidly pack up his cameras as Elspeth rose to go. “Elspeth,” said Jimmy, “come down to the detectives’ room and I’ll take a statement from you.”

No photographs, thought Daviot, disappointed. The new suit would have looked grand.

Blair looked up as Jimmy came hurrying in. “Do you know someone called Tommy Shields?”

Feeling as if he had just gone down in a very fast elevator, Blair said, “No, what’s he done?”

“Never mind,” muttered Jimmy, switching on the computer.

“I am your senior officer,” raged Blair.

“Aye, sir, but you’re not supposed to be here. Find a chair, Elspeth, and I’ll take your statement. On second thoughts, I’ll take it later. I’d like to find this Tommy Shields first.”

Blair lumbered to his feet and headed rapidly out of police headquarters. He had to get to Tommy before they did.

He got in his car and raced down to the tower block by the docks. The lift was broken and he had to hurry up the filthy stairs, stopping on each landing to catch his breath. At last he reached Tommy’s door and hammered on it.

There was no reply. Frantic with fear, he took a small cosh out of his pocket, smashed one of the glass panes on the door, and, reaching inside, turned the handle.

There was a foul smell of booze and a sweetish smell of decay. He went into the bedroom. Tommy was sprawled across a dirty bed with a needle stuck in his arm. Blair felt for a pulse and found none.

“There is a God,” muttered Detective Chief Inspector Blair, and he fled from the flat, taking the stairs two at a time. He gained the sanctuary of his car and drove off – just in time. Two police cars swept past him going towards the tower blocks.

He had worn thick gloves the whole time, except when he had felt for that pulse. Could they get a fingerprint off a dead body? They surely wouldn’t be looking for one. Of course, the fact that the flat looked broken into would start them thinking about murder, but the only fingerprints they would find on that syringe would be Tommy’s.

Well, that pillock Macbeth would be safe now. He wouldn’t hang around Grianach waiting to be murdered.

But that was just what Hamish Macbeth proposed doing. He told an angry Jimmy Anderson that it was their only hope of catching the murderer.

“I’ll see if I can get Daviot to agree to it,” said Jimmy finally, “but we haven’t got any spare men to go all the way up there on the off-chance. We found the informant.”

He told Hamish about Tommy Shields.

“That iss verra interesting,” said Hamish, the sibilance of his accent showing he was upset. “If you’ve got any spare time, see if Blair ever arrested the man.”

“Do you mean to say Blair was behind this?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me. I’m not saying he murdered the man, but if he got there before you and found him dead, he must ha’ been verra relieved.”

“Hamish, even if I found out Blair was behind it, I doubt if Daviot would believe me. I went up to tell him about Tommy when I got back and there was a big bunch of flowers on his desk. Daviot said, “Aren’t they lovely? So nice of Mr. Blair to remember my wife’s birthday.” Look, I’ll give you a day or two longer and then you’d better get out of there. Go somewhere else.”

“I’ll go back to Lochdubh. I’m not going to run away any more.”

Hamish spent a pleasant day wandering around the village and chatting to the locals. When he settled down for the evening in front of the fire, he wondered if the murderer would come for him. If I were the murderer, thought Hamish, I wouldn’t drive down that road into the village. Everyone would see the car. So what would I do? I’d park a bit away at the top of the road and wait till it was after midnight. The weather’s on the turn, and there’s no moon tonight. I’d come quietly down into the village. But how would I know which cottage?

He lay back on the sofa and stared up at the nicotine-stained ceiling. He should really report this place to the Scottish Tourist Board, he thought. What a dump for a holiday let! His eyes began to close, and soon he was fast asleep.

He was awakened by a hammering at the door and the voice of his neighbour, Ellie, shouting, “There’s a fire down by the harbour!”

He made for the door and then stopped. That’s it, he thought. Light a big fire, get everyone running out of their cottages, and wait.

“You go ahead,” said Hamish.

He pulled a black woollen cap over his head, then pulled a sweater on over his shirt. He left the cottage quietly and headed towards the river. He had seen a track leading along the side of the river up to the top of the cliffs. Near the top, he turned and looked back. A shed by the harbour had been set on fire; the locals were passing buckets of water, one to the other, to throw on the flames.

Hamish gained the road and walked along to the west, looking for a parked car. He then turned and walked back along to the east. At last he saw it on a bend of the road. It was a small battered-looking van, and the number plates had been removed.

He tried the handles at the back and found that the van was unlocked. He climbed inside, shut the doors behind him, and settled down to wait.

An hour had passed when he heard the sounds of someone approaching. Let her drive off a bit, thought Hamish grimly, and then I’ll have a surprise for her.

The driver’s door opened. He heard the engine roar into life, and in a split second he realised he had not heard the driver’s door close.

He tore open the back door of the van, tumbled out, and leapt, seeing nothing but blackness below him. His flaying hands caught hold of a branch sticking out of the cliff. He clung on for dear life.

There was the sound of an explosion far below, and then flames shot up into the night sky.

He saw he was hidden by the overhang of the cliff. His arms felt as if they were about to be torn from their sockets. He kicked his boots into the soft ground of the cliff until he found footholds and felt the pressure on his arms slacken.

In the light from the flames below, he saw a rocky ledge to his left. With all the strength left in his arms, he swung himself over and fell panting on the ledge. Using tufts of grass for purchase, he swung himself back up over the top of the cliff and, taking out a powerful torch, swung it to the left and right.

Moorland stretched for miles either way. He pulled out his mobile phone and woke up Jimmy Anderson.

“I’ll get the police helicopter up and we’ll search the moors,” said Jimmy. “Go back and lock yourself in.”

Hamish stayed awake, listening to the sound of the police helicopter overhead. At last he could not bear the inactivity any longer and went out. The harbour was full of police cars. A forensic team was working on the burnt-out van, which had fortunately hit a large rock instead of plunging down onto one of the houses.

James Fringley appeared beside him. “I gather you’re not who you said you were,” he said.

“No. Who told you?”

“A copper asked me which cottage had been rented to Hamish Macbeth. I gather that’s you and you’re that policeman from Lochdubh. Why are you here?”

“Headquarters has me hidden up here because some murderer is after me,” said Hamish wearily.

“Do me and everyone in this village a favour and get the hell out of it as soon as you can. There were fishing nets burnt in that shed, and that van could have killed someone.”

Hamish guessed the would-be killer had probably guessed he would search for him up on the clifftop. The back of the van had been cramped, and he had changed his position from time to time. Maybe the van had rocked a little, alerting the murderer to the fact that he was inside.

Jimmy arrived at Hamish’s cottage at six in the morning to find the policeman still awake, packed and ready to leave.

“No success,” said Jimmy. “We kept the helicopter up as long as we could but then Daviot came on the phone screaming about the cost. All we can do now is put a police guard outside your station.”

“I’ll alert the villagers,” said Hamish. “Any strange woman appearing in Lochdubh and they’ll make a citizens’ arrest. There is no need for a police guard. Do you know, I don’t think she or he will try again. I think whoever it is could possibly be mad, and made even madder with fear that I might guess something.”

“It’s up to you. What a dump this place is. Worse than Lochdubh.”

“It’s really lovely,” said Hamish. “That reminds me. I’ve a present for you.”

He took out the wood carving that looked so like Blair.

“Man, that’s grand,” said Jimmy. “Can I stick pins in it?”

Lochdubh looked reassuringly the same. As soon as he had unpacked, Hamish got into bed, joined by his cat and dog, and fell sound asleep.

He awoke in the late afternoon to find Elspeth standing over him.

“You cannae chust walk into a man’s bedroom!” he howled.

“I came to see if you were alive,” said Elspeth. “I bought you a present.”

“I don’t want a present,” said Hamish sulkily. “All I want iss a bit o’ peace.”

“Smell something?” asked Elspeth.

Hamish propped himself up on the pillows and sniffed the air. “Coffee?”

“Yes, good coffee. I bought you a percolator.”

“Have you seen Sonsie and Lugs?”

“Last time I saw them, they were strolling along the waterfront, heading for the Italian restaurant. They must be hungry.”

Hamish got out of bed and stretched and yawned. Then he realised he had not put on any pyjamas and was stark naked.

Elspeth giggled. “That’s quite a blush you’ve got, Hamish. It goes all the way – ”

“Get out!” he roared.

When Hamish had washed and dressed, he found Elspeth in the kitchen. She poured him a cup of coffee.

Hamish drank a little and then smiled. “This is grand. Thank you. Now, what do I have to do for this?”

“Nothing. There’s a clampdown on reporting what happened up in Grianach. Editor’s phoned all over. Story suppressed. Unless you can think of anything, I’ve got to get back to Glasgow.”

Hamish looked at her thoughtfully. She had lit the stove. The kitchen was warm. She was wearing a chunky grey sweater over jeans, and the grey seemed to highlight the odd silvery colour of her eyes. Her hair had reverted to its usual frizzy look, which seemed to suit her better than when it was straightened.

“I may be back,” said Elspeth. “The editor of the Highland Times is retiring, and Matthew is taking over as editor. He’ll need a reporter.”

“Wouldn’t it seem a bit tame after the city?”

“Not with the goings-on you seem to conjure up. I’m highland to the bone, and I don’t really seem to fit in in Glasgow. Then the photographer I have with me, Billy, is a complete lout. All he does is sneer at this place, and the more he sneers at it, the more I realise how much I love it.”

“I was sorry to hear about you being jilted,” said Hamish. Elspeth had been left at the church on her wedding day. She had been about to marry a fellow reporter but he had run off and left her. “Were you very hurt?”

“I was angry and then I was relieved,” said Elspeth. “And while we’re on the subject of jilted people, how are you getting on with Priscilla?”

“I cancelled the engagement,” said Hamish. “Not her. I havenae seen much o’ her. She’s traipsing around the hills and heather with that Irishman.”

“Not any more. He’s left, and she’s too busy rehearsing her part with that writer. I’m still amazed you actually got around to proposing marriage to someone, Hamish. That Russian, I mean.”

He sighed. “I thought I was doing the right thing, Elspeth. I did it to keep my police station. And the idea was that we’d divorce after a while.”

“It’s wonderful how you got permission to marry her so easily. They’re clamping down on these arranged marriages. There was a woman down in England who charged a hefty fee to marry foreigners. When they caught up with her, she’d married five and not a divorce paper in sight.”

Hamish suddenly remembered the day he had bought an engagement ring to present to Elspeth, only to find out that she had promised to marry her fellow reporter.

He had bought Irena another ring. He wondered what had happened to it. Inspector Anna had arranged to have the body flown back to Moscow for burial. Why she had persuaded her bosses to go to that expense, he did not know.

He suddenly decided to take the plunge. “Excuse me a minute,” he said. He went into the bedroom and took the ring in its little box out of his bedside table. His heart was hammering.

Just as he walked into the kitchen, the door opened and Priscilla walked in.

Hamish stuffed the box in his pocket and shouted, “Damn it, don’t you ever knock?”

“I’m off,” said Elspeth hurriedly.

“I’ll come with you,” said Priscilla. “It seems I am not welcome.”

Say something, yelled a voice in Hamish’s head. But he stood there, frozen, as they both walked off.

He walked along to the Italian restaurant to be told that his animals had been fed and then had gone away.

By asking people on the waterfront, he learned that they had been spotted heading for Angela Brodie’s cottage.

Angela opened the door to him. “I’ve sent them home,” she said. “The poor things seemed so hungry that I fed them first.”

“Angela, they’ll be as fat as butter. They’ve already been stuffing themselves at the Italian restaurant.”

“Oh, well, they say that pets take after their owner, and you always were a moocher, Hamish. I suppose you want a coffee.”

“No, I do not. I haff the verra good coffeemaker. Elspeth gave it to me.”

“Did she, now. You ought to marry that lassie, Hamish.”

Hamish stared down at her, his mouth slightly open and a vacant expression on his face.

“What’s up?” asked Angela. “You look as if you’ve been struck by lightning.”

“I’ve been struck with a flash o’ the blindingly obvious,” said Hamish.

He turned and ran to the police station, got into the Land Rover, and sped off to the Tommel Castle Hotel.

He erupted into the manager’s office. “Where’s Elspeth?” he asked. “Which room?”

“Oh, she’s gone. Left about ten minutes ago. Coffee?”

Hamish slumped down in a chair in the office.

“Why not?” he said.

When he left the manager’s office, he stood in the reception wondering whether to chase after Elspeth. But that sudden desire to ask her to marry him had faded. He sighed. Perhaps when this case was solved – if it ever was solved – he might take a trip down to Glasgow.

“Got over your bad temper?” asked Priscilla, interrupting his thoughts.

“Sorry about that,” said Hamish. “This case is getting to me. Murderers are usually stupid and have nearly got away with it before because they were lucky amateurs and the last people you would suspect. But this one isn’t an amateur. The only amateur attempt was that wire on the stairs.”

“I’ve heard weird and wonderful stories about what happened up at Grianach.”

“Still no odd strange woman booked in here?”

“No, only Polish maids. Do you know the Northern Times has brought out a free Polish newspaper?”

“Maybe the Highland Times will do the same.”

“Not enough up here as yet. Have dinner with me and tell me about it.”

Hamish hesitated. Priscilla smiled. “Sonsie and Lugs will be fine. Gosh, it’s like dealing with a man with a possessive wife waiting at home.”

“All right, then. That would be grand.”

Over dinner, Hamish told her all about the happenings in Grianach. When he had finished, Priscilla said, “You must still be in shock. Have you considered that?”

Hamish stared at her for a long moment. Was he? Was that what had prompted his sudden desire to propose to Elspeth? And it was hard to think of Elspeth with the cool beauty of Priscilla facing him across the table.

“I might be,” he said.

“I called on your mother the other day,” said Priscilla.

“I was over in Rogart and thought I would look her up. You should go home a bit more often, Hamish.”

“I’ll try. I bought presents for her in Grianach. Oh, I’ve one for you. Ma was so upset about the wedding. She made me feel ashamed, particularly when it got out that Irena was a prostitute.”

“So what happens now?”

“I think I’ll spend the next few days writing down everything I know. They might give me time off. I’m tempted to go down to London and talk to Kylie Gentle. I can’t ignore the fact that it must, somehow, have something to do with that family.”

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