∨ Death of a Gentle Lady ∧
7
What bloody man is that?
—William Shakespeare
Back at the castle, Anna met the members of the family. Andrew Gentle was furious. “We have been questioned and questioned. I do not feel like going over it again.”
The drawing room in which the members of the family were gathered was cold. Outside the narrow windows, the sun shone bravely down, but not a ray of it penetrated into the gloom.
Jimmy Anderson said, “We are going to question you all separately again, and not because of the presence of this Russian police inspector, but because of a new development in the case. We will use the study again. Mr. Andrew Gentle, you first.”
Hamish caught Jimmy by the sleeve. “I’d be better off trying to find out something else.”
“Don’t you want to see how they react to the possibility that their mother might have killed Irena?” muttered Jimmy.
“There are enough of you,” said Hamish. “I’ll be off.”
Outside, he took great gulps of fresh air. Anna’s treatment of Blair still upset him.
He decided to go to the hotel and interview the Irishman again. It was nearly lunchtime. His stomach rumbled.
At the hotel, he went round to the kitchen door. Clarry, the chef, hailed him with delight. Like Willie Lamont, Clarry had worked for Hamish during one of the brief times when Hamish had been elevated to sergeant. If he were ever to be given help again, Hamish wondered if that newcomer would also suddenly discover a yen for the catering trade.
“Any hope of a bite to eat?” asked Hamish.
“Sit yourself down, man, at that wee table by the door and keep out o’ the way. I’ve the lunches to get ready. Soup and a sandwich do ye?”
“That would be grand.”
Clarry had three new Polish girls working for him. He complained that the trouble about Poles was that they took any job going, perfected their English, and then moved up the job ladder as quickly as possible – which meant right out of his kitchen.
The soup was cock-a-leekie, warm and nourishing. Hamish turned over the idea of Mrs. Gentle being a murderer in his head. She had very much wanted to appear a grand and charitable lady. He was sure her image had meant a lot to her. He would need to forget about his newfound dislike of Anna and ask her to contact Scotland Yard to get someone to dig into Mrs. Gentle’s background. He thought the Yard might be more likely to want to please her than Strathbane police headquarters.
When he had finished the plate of egg salad sandwiches which had been served with the soup, he thanked Clarry and went into the dining room in search of Patrick Fitzpatrick.
He noticed that Priscilla and Harold were dining together. They seemed to be getting along very well, and that surprised him. He had found Harold a pompous bore, but the man seemed to be entertaining Priscilla nicely.
He realised the other diners were all staring at him as he stood in the doorway. There was no sign of Patrick. He retreated and asked at the desk if Patrick was in the hotel; he was told that the man had taken a packed lunch and gone out walking.
And then he turned and saw Elspeth. She was wearing an Aran sweater and jeans, with her frizzy hair screwed up in a knot on top of her head.
“Get onto those caterers, did you?” he asked her.
“Let’s go outside,” said Elspeth. “It’s a grand day.”
They stood together in the forecourt. “I think they told us pretty much what they had told you,” said Elspeth, “but it was certainly enough to make a story. Most of the other press have left, but I’m sure my story will bring them running back.”
“If she killed Irena,” said Hamish, “it must have been because Irena had found out something that Mrs. Gentle did not want known. I wonder if her husband really did die of a heart attack.”
“I researched that. Seems to have been okay. He was being treated for heart disease. Due for a bypass operation just before he died.”
“Before she met him, she was a hatcheck girl. Find anything about that in your research?”
“No, because she married Byron Gentle before he made his millions. He was a grammar school boy who got a scholarship to Oxford. After leaving Oxford, he passed his stockbroker exams and started work in the City. He seems to have been very gifted. He married her while he was still studying for his exams. Where’s the Russian?”
“Up at the castle wi’ Jimmy, grilling the folks. I’m right off her.”
“Why?”
“Blair got on the wrong side of her, so she took him into the bar here and plied him with so much vodka that he got another attack of alcohol poisoning. She could have killed him.”
“Wouldn’t be any great loss if she had,” said Elspeth. “Lochdubh’s abuzz with another murder.”
“What?”
“The production of Macbeth. They’ve all gone stage-mad. Matthew has even volunteered to play Banquo’s ghost. Of course, there aren’t many parts for women – only the three witches and Lady Macbeth.”
“Angela’s playing Lady Macbeth, I know that. Which ones are playing the three witches?”
“The Currie sisters and Mrs. Wellington.”
“Good casting.”
“You know,” said Elspeth, “it would be interesting to know what the Gentle family talks about when they’re on their own.”
“That’s something we can’t find out.”
“If you get me into the castle, I could hide a tape recorder somewhere.”
“Not on your life. This is becoming a police state. We’ve got more CCTV cameras in Britain than any other country in the world. I think Lochdubh must be one o’ the last places without one.”
“I bet you wish they did have one,” said Elspeth. “Then you might have seen who made that phone call, the one you’ve been asking everyone about.”
“Here’s Mr. Fitzpatrick,” said Hamish as the tall Irishman limped into the forecourt. “I’ve got to ask him a few questions.”
“You again!” said Patrick. “What’s up? I’ve walked too far and want to get these boots off.”
“Just a few more questions. Thanks, Elspeth. I’ll talk to you later. What do you do for a living, Mr. Fitzpatrick?”
“I own a bookshop in Dublin.”
“And you are able to take a holiday from the shop?”
“I left my partner in charge.”
“On the day of the first murder, that would be September twenty-fifth, where were you?”
“I wrote it in my diary. I’ve got it here.” He pulled a fat little leather-bound book out of his anorak pocket and thumbed the pages. “Here we are.”
Went up into the foothills in the morning with my binoculars. Saw a capercailzie. Took a photograph. Ate lunch. Walked further but back downhill and round to the forest opposite the village. Very boring, nothing but miles of evergreens. Walked back to the hotel for tea. Fell asleep in the lounge. Woke up with the noise of the press arriving. Showered and changed. Ate dinner. Watched television. Went to bed.
“There you are.”
Hamish’s highland curiosity overcame him. “That’s all verra boring. Why do you bother to write it down?”
“It’s a sort of aide-memoire. The minute I see those brief notes, I can conjure up the whole day.”
“Have you been near The Folly up near Braikie?”
“No.”
“Can you be giving me your name and address?”
“I’ve got a card here.” Once more he ferreted in the capacious pockets of his anorak until he found a small card case. He extracted one and handed it to Hamish. “Why don’t you arrest Harold Jury?”
“What for?” asked Hamish quickly.
“Being the most arrogant man on the planet. What Miss Halburton-Smythe sees in him is beyond me.”
“Likes him, does she?”
“Well, they’ve always got their heads together.”
Hamish walked into the hotel in a thoroughly bad mood. He found Priscilla in a corner of the lounge, poring over a book, a small frown marring her smooth forehead.
“Studying?” asked Hamish.
“I’m studying Macbeth. I have somehow, I don’t know why, allowed myself to be persuaded into taking the role of Lady Macbeth.”
“But Angela was going to do that!”
“Harold decided she wasn’t tall enough.”
“I’m surprised you should bother.”
“The village is all excited about it. It’ll be good for the schoolchildren.”
“Fond of this Harold Jury, are you?”
“A very interesting and intelligent man.”
“Aw, come on!”
“Hamish, let’s face it, the conversation around here can get a bit tedious. There are only four subjects – sheep, fishing, the weather, and more sheep.”
“And murder,” snapped Hamish, turning and stalking off.
♦
Hamish decided to go back to the castle. He wanted to look in Irena’s room again. If she had been blackmailing someone and it had something to do with the family, she might have hidden something somewhere. It was a faint hope because he had checked the room thoroughly – and the forensic team would then have gone over it.
There were no press waiting outside the gate. He stopped and spoke to the policeman on guard. “Still busy up at the castle?”
“No, they’ve all gone back to Strathbane. The family’s still here.”
“What about the Russian?”
“Herself’s gone back to Lochdubh.”
Hamish drove on. No attempt had been made to put anything in the way of a garden in front of the castle. The locals must have been allowed to graze their sheep on the turf or – most likely – have just driven their sheep in when the castle was empty. The turf of what had once been a lawn was short and springy.
He was met in the hall by Andrew – short, hairy, and truculent Andrew – who glared at him. “What now?” he demanded.
“I’ll just be having a wee keek at Irena’s room again.”
Andrew stared at him for a long moment and then said, “You’re that copper she was going to marry, aren’t you?”
“That’s right.”
“Could you do with a drink?”
“A coffee would be fine.”
“Come into the kitchen. There’s still some in the pot.”
Wondering at this sudden friendliness, Hamish followed Andrew into the kitchen.
The kitchen was half modernised with gleaming fittings along one wall, but the old kitchen range still dominated the other, and the floor was stone-flagged and cold. In fact, the whole kitchen was cold.
Hamish asked for a black coffee. “Sit down at the table,” said Andrew. “This is a bad business.”
“I’m sure the police will soon decide they have questioned you enough,” said Hamish, “and then you can all leave. Will you sell this place?”
“I honestly can’t think anyone would want it. Why did you want to marry Irena?”
“She came to me in great distress. Mrs. Gentle had fired her. She was worried about her visa and what she would do when it ran out. I know it sounds silly now, but she was so upset that I decided to marry her. That way she could stay. I don’t want to distress you, but you must have heard by now that Mrs. Gentle, or someone who was helping her, may have killed Irena.”
“That’s ridiculous. Think of the difference in size alone. Irena was a great big strapping girl, and my mother was old and frail.”
“I don’t think she was exactly frail. Irena was killed by a sharp blow to the head. Given enough time and peace and quiet, your mother could well have dragged her over and tipped her into the trunk.”
“I still can’t believe it. Did Irena confide in you much?” asked Andrew.
“No. It stands to reason,” said Hamish. “I thought I was helping a Turkish girl called Ayesha, not a top-flight Russian hooker.”
“I’ll leave you to finish your coffee,” said Andrew abruptly, and rose and left the room.
Hamish stared after him. Now, there’s someone worried that Irena told me something the family don’t want me to know. He was suddenly hungry. There was a loaf of bread on the counter. He cut two slices, then opened the fridge, took out a packet of butter and one of ham, and made himself a couple of sandwiches. He poured another cup of coffee and sat down at the table.
He was interrupted by daughter Sarah. “What do you think you are doing?” she demanded.
“Mr. Andrew Gentle kindly offered me coffee and told me to take my time finishing it,” said Hamish blandly. “I brought my sandwiches with me,” he added, hoping that Sarah would not notice the loaf was now missing two slices.
She sat down suddenly next to him and ran her fingers through her hair. “This is awful.”
“It should be over soon.”
She clutched his arm. “You know?”
“I simply meant you should be able to leave very soon. Do you think it possible that your mother could have killed Irena?”
“I confess I found my mother pretty cruel. But murder! No, it’s ridiculous. She liked power over people, you know. She often wondered out loud why Irena put up with it, and wondered whether she were an illegal alien. If only my mother hadn’t been murdered after Irena was killed, I might have thought Irena had done it.”
“At the family party, could Irena have possibly overheard anything that might lead her to blackmail your mother? I mean, why should Mrs. Gentle, after having treated her so badly, suddenly decide to give her a wedding reception and ten thousand pounds?”
“Nothing I can think of. There was a lot of friction because Mark was stirring things up, oiling to Mother and being poisonous to all of us behind her back.”
“He must be delighted that he benefits from the will and Mrs. Gentle didn’t have time to change it.”
“He should be the prime suspect, but it appears he has a cast-iron alibi.”
“Do you all have alibis?”
“Yes, of course. But the police seem determined to try to break them. That’s why we’re still all here. That Russian inspector is the worst. She raps out question after question.”
John Gentle, Sarah’s nephew, drifted into the kitchen. “Consorting with the enemy, Sarah?”
“I think he’s on our side,” said Sarah with a measured look at Hamish. “After all, Irena nearly tricked him into marriage.”
John smiled maliciously as he settled himself into a chair opposite Hamish. “She was trying to hook a bigger fish,” he said.
“What? Who?” demanded Hamish.
“Our dear Mark, that’s who. She was flirting with him like mad. They went out for a walk together. When they came back, I heard them in the hall. Irena was crying quite prettily and saying, “You must help me. I don’t want to marry this policeman.” She must have overheard Mark goading us by saying he was going to inherit. You should have seen his face when Grandmother told us she was going to change her will and cut Mark out. Irena was hovering in the background. She wouldn’t even look at Mark after that.”
“What is Mark’s alibi again?” asked Hamish.
“Why, that he was working in Peckham in that garage of his, and his two mechanics will swear to it.”
He could have made them swear to it with the threat of losing their jobs, thought Hamish.
He rose to his feet. “I’m just going to have another look at Irena’s room.”
“Help yourself,” said John laconically.
♦
Once in Irena’s room, Hamish stood in the middle of it and looked around, trying to see if there was any hiding place he might have missed. Then he thought that if Irena had some incriminating evidence, she might not hide it in her room – which could be searched. The room was at the top of the tower, but there must be plenty of empty rooms where the servants had once slept. He went out and down the stone steps to the floor below and began to push open doors. What had obviously been the servants’ rooms and a nursery were now filled with furniture which had probably been in the castle when Mrs. Gentle had bought it; she must have put it in these rooms for storage. In the old nursery, he saw a dusty bottle of beer and a glass sitting on a table by the window. The room had a fireplace which had not been blocked off. Beside the fireplace was a scuttle full of peat. He bent down and studied the grate. He was sure it had been used, and possibly recently. Perhaps Irena had come here to keep warm.
He began to search in the cupboards, taking out old toys and children’s books and setting them aside. If Irena had found anything incriminating, it might have been in the form of a letter. He sat down on the floor and began to shake out all the books. Nothing.
He turned his attention to the toys: jigsaw puzzles, Monopoly, stuffed toys, and a complete Hornby train set in its original boxes. He opened up the boxes and began to lift out the engine and carriages bit by bit. He wondered as he searched if Mrs. Gentle had known just how valuable a set like this was. He opened the door of the guard’s van. Something gleamed black. He inserted his fingers and pulled it out. It was a miniature tape recorder.
He sat cross-legged on the floor and switched it on. Irena’s voice: “But it is dreadful that she should cut you out of her will.” And then Mark’s voice, loud and clear: “I’ll kill that old bitch. She’s doing it out of sheer spite. Well, I’ll spite her. She’ll be dead as a doornail before she changes that will.”
Irena again: “But you would not do anything silly, my darling?”
Mark: “Just you wait and see! Shut up. Someone’s coming.”
Then there was nothing but a long hiss. Hamish switched it off, pulled out his phone, and called Jimmy. “You’d better get up to the castle right away,” he said, then described what he had found. He finished by saying, “Ask to be shown up to the old nursery.”
♦
Not only Jimmy arrived but also his sidekick, Andy MacNab, Superintendent Daviot, and Anna.
“You’d better stay in the doorway in case you want this room searched further,” said Hamish. “Listen to this. I found it in the guard’s van of the toy train.” He switched it on.
“Got him!” cried Jimmy. “Those mechanics of his are from Eastern Europe. He probably told them they would lose their jobs if they didn’t back him up. Let’s go pick him up. Come along, Hamish. We’ll seal off this room for now.”
Hamish stood for a long moment. He looked lost in a daze. Then he shook himself like a dog and followed them downstairs while policemen sealed the door of the nursery.
Outside the castle, he paused again as Mark was being dragged to a police car, protesting his innocence.
“That was good work,” said Daviot. “Would you like to come with us to Strathbane?”
Hamish saw Anna sitting in the leading car.
“I’ll just be off to my station,” he said mildly. “I’ve been neglecting my other chores.”
♦
A mist was descending as he drove to Lochdubh, and when he arrived at the police station Elspeth emerged from the swirling fog. “Get ower to Strathbane,” said Hamish. “They’ve arrested someone. I’m not authorised to tell you anything more.”
Elspeth fled into the mist. Hamish went inside to a welcome from his pets. He lit the stove and made himself a cup of coffee, then sat down at the table and began to worry. Mark’s voice on the tape had not actually confessed to the murder. Certainly it sounded like intention to murder. But then Mark must have been in a foul temper at the news he was to be cut out of the will. People threatened to kill in the heat of the moment. Still, if he had been lying about his alibi and that were proved, then it would seem to cinch the matter.
What about that female in the phone box? Did Mark have an accomplice? Kylie Gentle was tall and thin.
He decided to go to the Tommel Castle Hotel and talk it over with Priscilla. Her cool common sense usually put things in proportion.
He took his cat and dog and left them in the hotel kitchen, where he knew they would be pampered and fed.
Mr. Johnson told him that Priscilla was in the lounge with Harold Jury. Hamish strode in and without preamble said, “I would like a word with you, Priscilla.”
“Do you mind?” demanded Harold. “We were just going through her part.”
“I need a break,” said Priscilla, getting to her feet. “I’ll get back to it later.”
“If you go on like this,” said Harold, “I’ll need to find someone else for Lady Macbeth.”
“Do that very thing,” said Priscilla coldly.
“I didn’t mean…,” Harold began to babble, but Priscilla was already walking off with Hamish.
“Can we go somewhere quiet?” asked Hamish.
“I still have my sitting room. My parents always keep my rooms in the hope I’ll come back.”
“And will you?”
“It’s all right for a bit and then I just want to get to London again.”
Why? wondered Hamish. Who’s there to pull you back?
But he said nothing, only following her into her small, pleasant sitting room.
“I suppose you want coffee,” said Priscilla.
“That would be grand. And maybe a sandwich?”
She picked up the phone and gave the order. “Now,” she asked, “what’s all this about?”
Priscilla was wearing a blue cashmere sweater over a blue cashmere skirt. Her hair was as smooth and golden as ever. Hamish wondered whether she had started to tint it and hoped she had. He felt he would feel more comfortable with a slightly flawed Priscilla.
He told her what had happened, only breaking off when the coffee and sandwiches arrived, and then continuing on.
“So what is troubling you?” asked Priscilla.
“First, the woman in the phone box. Mark is not tall and slim. Second, he may have said all that in the heat of the moment. People do, you know. If his alibi is broken, then they will definitely charge him with murder.”
“What you are trying to say,” said Priscilla as Hamish reached out the long arm of the law for another sandwich, “is that it doesn’t feel right. You think that if Mark had really committed the murder, then you would feel relief.”
“That’s it,” said Hamish eagerly. “I think that if it’s not him, then we’ll still have a murderer on the loose.”
“If Irena taped that bit of conversation and tried to blackmail Mark, then it looks as if Mark might have killed Irena. There might be two murderers. And why just that little bit of tape? She must have had something on Mrs. Gentle to make her pay for the reception and ten thousand pounds as well.”
“There was no wedding car to take her to Inverness, and none ordered,” said Hamish.
“So,” said Priscilla, “if Irena taped that little bit from Mark, doesn’t it stand to reason she might have had something on Mrs. Gentle?”
“Probably. But then, once Mrs. Gentle paid up, she would get the evidence back.”
“Maybe not.”
“Why?”
“It’s not like a blackmailer to let whoever it was she or he was blackmailing off the hook. Hamish, what on earth came over you? It’s not like you to be so taken in.”
“She was beautiful and genuinely seemed to be in distress,” said Hamish. “I thought I was doing a good thing. I thought, here I am still unmarried. She said she was a lesbian.”
“Oh, Hamish!”
“I planned to marry her and then we’d get a divorce later. I suppose she wasn’t even a lesbian. She could have been lying about that. But the real reason was that I knew if I told Daviot I was to be married, he would let me keep my police station. That really was what blinded me to her.”
“Lochdubh is all very well,” said Priscilla. “But it can get very claustrophobic in the winter.”
“Lochdubh has everything a body could want,” said Hamish defensively.
“Ah, well, that’s the difference between us.”
“I wish…,” began Hamish, and then hurriedly crammed another sandwich in his mouth.
Priscilla waited until he had finished eating. “Wish what?”
“Oh, that? I wish I could figure a way to get back into that nursery for another search.”
“You’ll think of something.”
“Are you going back to rehearse with Harold?”
“I’ll leave it. He’s got a rehearsal in the village hall tonight, and I’ll go to that. It’s quite fun, really.”
♦
Hamish collected his pets and went back to the police station through the ever-thickening mist.
He did a few chores around his croft, returned to the police station, and checked for messages. There were none.
He was just sitting having a cup of tea and wondering how soon he could get back into that nursery when the phone rang. It was Jimmy. He was exultant. “We’ve got the bastard!” he said. “His employees cracked and said they’d been paid to say he was there all the time. He was actually away for the time covering everything from the family reunion to the death of Irena and the murder of Mrs. Gentle.”
“And does he confess to murdering Mrs. Gentle?”
“Not a bit of it. We finally let him get a lawyer.”
“Jimmy, are you really sure he did it?”
“Oh, don’t start, Hamish. We’ve got our man.” When he had rung off, Hamish sat, thinking hard. He knew why he had proposed to Irena, but other people might think that they had been close, and that she’d perhaps confided something dangerous to him. If he spread that around, the murderer might come after him! But he would need to find a good excuse for sitting on any supposed evidence this long.
He decided to go to that rehearsal and spread the word that he did not think Mark Gentle was the killer – and something Irena had told him had made him suddenly realise it.