Death of a Gentle Lady

∨ Death of a Gentle Lady ∧

2

Marriage is a desperate thing.

—John Selden

Hamish Macbeth was thoroughly miserable. After all the red tape had been gone through and he had permission to marry Ayesha and had returned triumphantly to tell her the news, it was to find that Mrs. Gentle had taken over.

He raged at Ayesha, who had just informed him that Mrs. Gentle had not only promised Ayesha a generous gift of money and said the reception should be held in her home, but even paid up for the church roof. She was restored in the eyes of the Highlanders to local saint.

Hamish, hearing all this horrible news from Ayesha at the police station, said grimly, “Then the wedding is off.”

Ayesha looked at him with cold eyes. “If you cancel this wedding, I will tell everyone you got my visa forged.”

“Then you’d be deported.”

“If you don’t marry me, I’ll be deported anyway.”

Hamish, normally easy-going, could feel himself in the grip of a blind rage. The news of his forthcoming marriage had made his bosses relent and promise that he could keep his police station. If he cancelled it, his station would be under threat again.

♦

Mrs. Gentle was sitting over her accounts, scowling at them. She was regretting her generosity. She had guessed Hamish Macbeth was behind her recent fall from grace and, knowing that he would be furious with her for taking over the wedding arrangements, had done just that. She had supplied Ayesha with a wedding outfit. But now she had learned that a highland wedding reception was a free-for-all. Everyone from around the Highlands, from gamekeepers to fishermen and forestry workers, would be cramming into her elegant home. She tapped her pen against her still-perfect teeth. Then there was that ridiculous sum of money she had promised Ayesha. Something about the girl had made her uneasy. What had she overheard when the family had been in the castle for that reunion?

She rang the little silver bell on her desk. When Ayesha appeared, Mrs. Gentle said with her sweetest smile, “I am doing a lot for you.”

“And I am so grateful,” said Ayesha.

“The fact is, it is all more than I can really afford. I am afraid I won’t be able to give you the ten thousand pounds I promised you.”

“I need that money!” exclaimed Ayesha.

“My dear girl, you are to be married.”

“A policeman does not earn much.”

“Then get a job!”

Ayesha looked down at her and said in carefully measured tones, “If you do not give me the money, I will tell everyone about you. I will tell them everything I overheard at that family party of yours.”

Mrs. Gentle turned in her chair and looked up at her. For one moment, Ayesha felt frightened. Mrs. Gentle’s eyes were full of hate and venom. But then she turned away and said quietly, “I’ll see what I can do, Ayesha.”

♦

Hamish Macbeth’s wedding day. Only a few villagers were going to attend the ceremony in Inverness: the rest would congregate at Mrs. Gentle’s for the reception.

Jimmy Anderson was to act as best man. Ayesha had arrived the evening before and left two large suitcases at the police station. Hamish realised he would need to let her have his bedroom while he slept in the cell. His dog, Lugs, and his wild cat, Sonsie, had sensed their master’s misery. Whenever Ayesha appeared, Lugs growled and Sonsie glared at the girl with baleful eyes.

Jimmy found Hamish sitting at his kitchen table in his dressing gown. “Come on, man,” he cried. “Get a move on.”

Hamish sighed and uncoiled himself from his chair. “What’s up, laddie?” asked Jimmy. “You’re going to marry the most smashing-looking girl.”

“Wedding nerves,” said Hamish bleakly.

Urged by Jimmy, he dressed quickly in his best suit. Jimmy was to drive him to Inverness.

“The super’s going to be there,” said Jimmy. “He’s organised a guard of coppers, crossed truncheons when you leave as a married man.”

Hamish grunted by way of reply. He thought a large noose hanging outside the registry office would be more appropriate. How could he have been such a fool? He admitted to himself that had he done it not only to keep his beloved police station and his cat and dog, but out of his malicious highland streak which wanted to imagine what Priscilla and Elspeth would both think when they heard the news.

His mother and father were delighted. He could hardly let them know of the mistake he had made. They were travelling to Inverness from Rogart for the ceremony and had forgiven him for not having introduced them to his fiancée.

When Hamish arrived at the registry office, he was only dimly aware of a sea of faces. Then he saw his mother looking at him with anxious eyes and went and hugged her.

The horrible Mrs. Gentle had promised to be Ayesha’s bridesmaid. Hamish went into the entrance hall of the registry and waited for his bride-to-be with hatred in his heart.

And waited.

Superintendent Daviot approached. “Time’s getting on, Hamish, and the registrar has another wedding to perform this morning.”

“I’ll phone her and see what’s keeping her.” Hamish dialled Ayesha’s mobile. It rang and rang and then switched over to the answering service.

“No good,” he said.

“Phone Mrs. Gentle,” said Jimmy. “She’s supposed to be bringing her.”

“I don’t have her number.”

“I’ll get it from directory enquiries,” said Jimmy. He moved off.

After five minutes, he came back. “I’m right sorry, Hamish. Mrs. Gentle says she can’t find her. She said she went out for a walk very early and never came back.”

Blair’s face loomed up, a fat grin on it. “She’s stood you up,” he said.

Somewhere inside Hamish was the beginning of a little warm glow of relief.

♦

Mrs. Gentle’s home was crammed with villagers. She had tried to turn them away, but they had retaliated by saying it was a shame to let good food and drink go to waste and simply walked in. Not only that, but they had found the wedding presents laid out for display in the morning room and begun to take them back.

A band had turned up and had begun to play, and the house echoed to the sound of accordion, fiddle, and drums.

♦

Hamish returned to the police station after having assured his family that he would be all right. There was a hysterical message on the answering machine from Mrs. Gentle, demanding that he come to her house immediately and tell everyone to go home. He had told Jimmy to go to the reception, adding that he would be along as soon as he could.

When Jimmy had left, he went into the bedroom and flung the first of Ayesha’s suitcases onto the bed. It was not locked. He opened it and rummaged around. Then he opened the other one. In the flap at the back of the suitcase, he found a wallet. It contained ten thousand pounds in crisp notes and Ayesha’s passport. He put the money back in the wallet and took the passport with him into the kitchen. He took the lid off his unlit wood-burning stove and dropped it in. It could stay there, he thought grimly, until he found out where she had gone. Then he set out for the castle.

He was not surprised to find that Jimmy had joined the revellers and was standing, grinning, and holding a large glass of whisky. There was a silence as Hamish walked in.

“Please leave,” he said. “This is a sad day for me, and you should not be celebrating.”

They slowly left, clutching wedding presents.

When the last one had gone, including Jimmy, Hamish said to Mrs. Gentle, “We need to have a talk before I contact police headquarters.”

“What about?” Mrs. Gentle’s usually dulcet tones were now harsh. “She’s run away rather than marry you. Accept it.”

“It’s not as easy as that,” said Hamish heavily. “I had a quick look through the suitcases she left with me. I found a wallet with ten thousand pounds in it.”

“Oh, goody. That’s mine and I want it back. I gave it to her as a wedding present.”

“Very generous.”

“I have been too damn generous. Look at my home! Food trodden into the carpets.”

“I do not think she would have run away and left all her things, along with the money,” said Hamish. “I am afraid I will need to keep your money until the enquiry is over.”

“What enquiry?” she screeched. “You stupid man. She ran away from you, that’s all.”

“When did you last see her?”

“This morning, early. She said she wanted to go for a walk before changing her clothes and leaving for Inverness. She never returned.”

“Did your daughter see her?”

“Sarah has gone off to London. I am here alone.”

There was a ring at the doorbell. “I’d better get rid of whoever that is,” said Mrs. Gentle. “Probably one of those villagers come to take their wedding present back. I’ve never seen such a load of rubbish. Six crystal butter dishes!”

She went out into the hall to answer the door. When she returned, she was followed by Superintendent Daviot and Detective Chief Inspector Blair.

“Hamish,” said Daviot, “this is a sorry business. It’s hardly a police matter, but if you like, we’ll check the ports and airports for you.”

“I’m afraid it is a police matter,” said Hamish. “She’s left all her belongings at the police station along with ten thousand pounds, given to her by Mrs. Gentle.”

“And her passport?”

“I’ll have another look. But I couldn’t find it,” lied Hamish. He was worried that if that visa was subjected to police scrutiny, the forgery might be discovered and Peter might be questioned.

“Where is she from?” asked Daviot.

“She said she was from Izmir in Turkey, and that her father wanted her to marry a local businessman so she ran away. The family name is Tahir.”

“Do you have a photograph of her?”

“I do.” Hamish took out his wallet and extracted a photograph. He had taken it outside the police station before he had tried to tell Ayesha that the wedding was off. It showed a laughing Ayesha, tall and beautiful.

“We’ll get this wired over to the police in Izmir. I’m very sorry for you, Hamish,” said Daviot. “Come along now. We’d best leave Mrs. Gentle in peace.”

♦

Back at the police station, Hamish found Angela Brodie, local author as well as doctor’s wife, waiting for him with his pets. She had promised to look after them while he was in Inverness and then to shut them up in the police station while she went to the reception. But word of the cancelled wedding had spread like fire in the heather, and so she had decided to keep the animals with her until he might return.

“Gamekeeper Jamie phoned me and said he had seen your car heading towards Lochdubh, so here I am to see if I can say or do anything to help you.”

“Nothing at all, Angela. Come ben and have a drink with me.”

After he poured whisky for himself and Angela, he said, “It’s odd. For some reason, Mrs. Gentle gave her a present of ten thousand pounds, and yet not so long ago Mrs. Gentle had told the girl she was fired. She’s left the money in one of her suitcases along with her clothes.”

“May I have a look? Maybe in your distress you missed something.”

“Go ahead. Her cases are in the bedroom.”

He sipped his whisky, calling himself all kinds of fool, aware the whole time of that passport lurking at the bottom of the stove.

Angela came back in. “It’s very odd, Hamish. Didn’t you notice her clothes?”

“Not particularly.”

“They are very, very expensive. For example, there are a couple of Versace dresses and an Armani jacket.”

“Maybe her family are wealthy. I’ve a bad feeling about this. Why didn’t she take her clothes? Why did Mrs. Gentle who wanted to fire her suddenly decide to give her a wedding reception and pay her ten thousand pounds?”

“I don’t believe she’s gone,” said Angela. “No woman would leave behind clothes like that, not to mention ten thousand pounds. She’ll turn up.”

“I hope to God I never see her again,” said Hamish bitterly.

“Poor Hamish, you have no luck with women. It’s cold in here. I’ll light the stove for you.”

“No!” yelled Hamish.

Angela, who had half risen to her feet, looked at him in surprise. “I’m sorry,” said Hamish quickly. “It’s been a bad day.”

“I’ll leave you. Don’t get plastered. You’ll only wake up in the morning with a hangover.”

♦

Hamish awoke the next morning with a feeling of bleak emptiness. Never before in his life had he felt such a fool. If there was anything sinister about the disappearance of Ayesha, then he had compromised the investigation by lying about her and hiding that passport. But if the police ever got their hands on that passport and sent it away from the incompetent forensic department at Strathbane to Glasgow, say, some eagle-eyed boffin might recognise Peter’s handiwork. He had been allowed two weeks’ holiday for his honeymoon. Because of Ayesha turning out to be such a blackmailer, he had cancelled any idea of it.

Blackmailer!

Had the girl found out something about Mrs. Gentle and been blackmailing her?

Hamish decided to get out of Lochdubh for the day, away from sympathetic callers. He loaded up the Land Rover with his fishing tackle along with his dog and cat and set off for the River Anstey. He didn’t have a fishing permit but knew that the water bailiff was lazy; he was sure he wouldn’t be discovered.

He returned in the evening with eight trout to find Jimmy Anderson pacing up and down outside the police station.

“Where have you been?” howled Jimmy. “It’s a murder hunt!”

♦

In the kitchen, Jimmy explained what had happened. Mr. Tahir had been located in Turkey, and yes, he had a daughter called Ayesha. But his Ayesha was married and living right there in Izmir. And she wasn’t the girl in the photo that had been wired to him. Mr. Tahir had shown the real Ayesha this picture, and she had recognized the woman.

This was her story. A few years before, the Tahir family had been dining at Istanbul’s Pera Palace Hotel. Ayesha had completed her studies at Istanbul and had just received her visa to go to London for her PhD. She had been celebrating with her family. At the next table was a party of thuggish-looking Russians, along with the girl from Hamish’s photograph. The Tahirs had been sure that these Russians were mafia, and they were sorry for the girl who, said Ayesha, was being treated like dirt. They thought she was a Natasha, the slang name for a Russian or Eastern European prostitute.

When the Tahirs returned to Izmir, Ayesha realised that her passport was not in her handbag. She thought it must have fallen out somewhere, but while applying for a new one and facing up to all the formalities of getting the visa again, she had fallen in love with a local man and decided to get married instead of furthering her education. So she put the passport right out of her mind.

The police now believed that the fake Ayesha had stolen the passport and run away from whoever was keeping her. Because of the Tahirs’ conviction that the men with her back then had looked like Russian mafia and had been talking in Russian, and because she had now left her clothes behind, it looked as if she might have been snatched – or murdered. Her photograph would appear in the local Turkish papers. Istanbul police had a copy and were checking at the Pera Palace Hotel to see if anyone knew anything about the missing girl.

“I think she was blackmailing Mrs. Gentle,” said Hamish.

“Why?”

“Mrs. Gentle gave her ten thousand pounds cash as a wedding present, she said. Now, one minute Ayesha’s sitting here weeping and telling me that Mrs. Gentle has given her notice, and the next minute she’s telling me that Mrs. Gentle is not only giving her money but hosting the reception.”

“Her passport?” asked Jimmy. “Did you find it?”

Hamish rose and took a bottle of whisky down from a cupboard. With his back to Jimmy, he said, “No.”

“You know,” said Jimmy, “I wouldnae mind a black coffee with my whisky.”

“The electric kettle’s broken,” said Hamish.

“You never used it. Light the stove. It’s cold in here.”

Hamish blushed. “Can’t. The chimney’s blocked. The sweep’s coming the morrow. Help yourself to whisky. I’ll chust put some o’ these trout out in the freezer. You’ll stay for dinner?”

“No, I’d best be getting back.”

Hamish went out to the shed where he kept the chest freezer. As soon as he had gone, Jimmy took the cleat and lifted the lid of the stove. He felt inside. His hand touched something. He lifted it out. Ayesha’s passport. “Oh, Hamish,” he muttered. “What have you done?”

Hamish came back and stiffened when he saw the passport lying on the table.

“Sit down, laddie,” said Jimmy grimly, “and spit it out. No lies this time.”

Suddenly weary and ashamed, Hamish sat down at the table and began to tell his story, leaving nothing out.

“You see,” he said finally, “they’ll examine that visa and check with the authorities. They’ll realise it’s a forgery and start looking around for highland forgers. They’ll get to Peter, and he’ll sing like a canary to shorten his prison sentence. Not only will my police station go, but my job as well.”

“But why, Hamish? Why did you do it?”

“It was a quixotic gesture. She was so beautiful that all I could think about besides saving my home and animals was letting folk know I wasn’t a failure in love. What a mess. I suppose you’d better do your duty.”

Jimmy took a gulp of whisky.

Then he rose and took the passport. He lifted the lid of the stove and dropped it in. He picked up a packet of firelighters, extracted one, ignited it with his lighter, and dropped it in on top of the passport.

“Now we’re partners in crime.”

“Thanks, Jimmy. I don’t know how…”

“Forget it. Let’s suppose she had something on Ma Gentle. So Gentle kills the girl. What does she do with the body? Ayesha, or whoever she is, is a great big girl. Mrs. Gentle is a wee old woman. Say she hit her hard. With the reception and the house full of people, it would need to be down in the cellar or in one of the upper rooms. Look, I’m off-duty tomorrow. Put me up for the night and we’ll go over, all innocent like, and ask if we can see her room. Mrs. Gentle can hardly refuse. If she follows us around and looks nervous, say, we might get an idea she’s guilty of something.”

♦

Mrs. Gentle opened the door to them the next morning, looking flustered. “What is it? You can’t come in. I’ve got some women from Braikie clearing up the mess.”

“We’ve found out that Ayesha had stolen someone’s identity,” said Jimmy. “We would just like to look in her room to see if we can find any clues to who she really is.”

“Oh, very well. Follow me.” The sounds of energetic cleaning met their ears. “I’ll be glad when the house is clean again. I spent all day yesterday recruiting women to do the job.” Mrs. Gentle walked up the stairs ahead of them, her back erect. A faint smell of lavender perfume drifted back to them.

Mrs. Gentle pushed open a door at the top of the house. “This was her room,” she said.

“Was?” repeated Hamish. “Do you think she’s dead?”

“Of course not. If you remember, she was to leave here for good on the day of her wedding.”

Hamish and Jimmy walked in. Jimmy turned round to where Mrs. Gentle was hovering in the doorway. “You can leave us,” he said.

She hesitated a moment and then went slowly away down the stairs.

It was a turret room. Very little furniture. A narrow bed stood against one wall, an old-fashioned wardrobe against another. There was a round table at the window with three hard-backed chairs; on the table was a small television set. No books, no pictures, and no framed photographs.

Hamish opened the wardrobe. There was only one garment, a black fur coat. “Jimmy, is this mink, would ye say?”

Jimmy felt the fur. “Aye, it is that. Imagine leaving that…maybe she was frightened of animal rights people.”

“We don’t get them up here,” said Hamish. There were three drawers at the foot of the wardrobe. He knelt down and opened them. In one he found three sweaters and in another silk underwear, not of the sexy type but knitted silk, the kind used by sportsmen and -women when they were out shooting on the moors. The bottom drawer was empty. “It probably got cold up here,” he said. “I noticed that there isn’t any central heating. She’s got money, our Mrs. Gentle, but it’d take an awful lot to get central heating into this folly. The fireplace is blocked up.

“I tell you, Jimmy, it’s weird. There’s nothing personal either here or in her suitcases. I mean, no letters, no jewellery, no photographs.”

“If she turns out to be some sort of Russian tart,” said Jimmy, “it stands to reason she wouldnae have anything like that.”

“But even tarts have friends, family, someone,” said Hamish. A buffet of wind rattled the windowpanes. He crossed to the window and looked down. “It must have been like an icebox up here last winter,” he said. “Why did she stay? Why wasn’t she down in one of the cities looking for a rich protector?”

“Probably because of that stolen passport,” said Jimmy. “And if she was a dolly for the Russian mafia, she might have been scared of a dose of radiation in her tea.”

“I shouldnae think they’d bother,” said Hamish moodily. “Whoever her protector was, he’d just move on to the next good-looking girl. Now, if anyone wanted to get rid of a body around this castle, where would they dump it?”

“Easy. Over the cliff she goes.”

“I was afraid you’d say that. I’d best get back and pick up my climbing gear.”

♦

As they drove back, Jimmy said, “You shouldnae be hoping to find a body, my friend.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know what’s happened to your wits these days. You’d be first suspect.”

“Not me. I was with you and then at the registry office in Inverness.”

“Aye, but if the procurator fiscal got evidence that she’d been killed during the night, where would that leave you?”

“Maybe Mrs. Gentle got rid of her. There’s something not right about that woman.”

“Havers! That wee woman?”

“Do you know, I ran her name through the police computer. Nothing. I wonder what her maiden name is.”

“Can you see an elderly lady taking on a big strapping Russian lassie? And then getting the body out of the castle and over the cliffs?”

“Look at it this way. Maybe our Russian went out for a walk and was standing on the cliffs. What with the noise of the sea and the wind, she wouldn’t hear anyone creeping up behind her. One good shove and down she goes.”

♦

Later when Hamish was stowing his climbing gear in the Land Rover along with his dog and cat, Jimmy complained, “Do you need to take thae beasties with ye? That wild cat of yours fair gives me the creeps.”

“She’s harmless,” said Hamish. Sonsie had been found injured up on the moors, and Hamish had adopted the animal. Despite dire predictions that a wild cat could not be domesticated, she had settled in and, even stranger, formed a bond with Hamish’s dog.

Jimmy sat on the top of the cliffs as Hamish began his slow descent. He looked over once and then shrank back. He pulled a flask out of his pocket and took a swig of whisky. Seagulls sailed overhead, screeching and diving.

A few puffins, like fussy little men in tailcoats, came out of their burrows and stared at him.

At last, Hamish came back. “It’s high tide,” he said. “I’ll wait for low tide and go back down.”

“And when’s low tide?”

“Two hours’ time.”

“I hope you don’t except me to sit here on this draughty hilltop for four hours.”

“We’ll go into Braikie and get something to eat.”

♦

In Braikie, Jimmy looked around The Highlanders Arms in amazement. “It’s the spirit o’ John Knox,” he said. “If you’re going to drink, you are not going to enjoy yourself. I didnae know places like this still existed.”

It was a dimly lit establishment with tables scarred with old cigarette burns. The floor was covered in dark green greasy linoleum. The bar and the shelves behind looked as if they had not been cleaned in a long time.

“Eat your pie and peas.”

“I might get salmonella.”

“The pies come from the bakery. They’re all right.”

“I still don’t know how you let yourself nearly get trapped into marriage,” said Jimmy.

“I told you,” said Hamish huffily. “I thought I was going to have to leave the force in order to keep my dog and cat. I thought I was doing a grand thing. Anyway, she told me she was a lesbian.”

“That figures. A lot of tarts are. She could hae been lying, of course. Didn’t fancy you.”

“Oh, shut up.”

♦

When they arrived back at the clifftop, Jimmy elected to stay in the Land Rover. The rising wind buffeted the car. His eyes began to droop, and soon he was fast asleep.

He awoke with a start. Hamish had wrenched open the door. “I’ve got to phone air-sea rescue,” he shouted. “Body at the foot of the cliffs.”

“Is it her?”

“No. It’s Mrs. Gentle.”