Death of a Valentine

Jimmy called at the police station that evening. “You’ll never get back,” said Hamish. “The snow’s coming down thick and fast.”

“You may as well put me up for the night,” said Jimmy. “I’ve got to be in Braikie first thing in the morning. What a waste of time. We raided the disco. Clean as a whistle.”

“I might go over there myself tomorrow for the lunchtime session,” said Hamish. “I’m looking for someone called Jake.”

“You’ve been on the telly. Everyone will recognise you.”

“I’ll go in disguise.”

“You’ll be poaching on Blair’s territory.”

“Then don’t tell him.”

“So what do you do if you find Jake?”

“Try to find out where he lives and give you the information. I might take McSween.”

“How’s that going, Hamish?”

“I don’t know why that one ever wanted to be a policewoman. She hasn’t a clue. Anyway, help yourself to a dram and I’ll call her.”

Josie had just finished speaking to her mother when her phone rang again. She listened to Hamish’s suggestion that they go to the disco tomorrow if the snow allowed them to travel to Strathbane.

Her eyes were once more full of dreams as she rang off. Her mother had seen Hamish on television and was loud in her praise. Hamish began to appear a heroic figure in Josie’s mind. He had said he would be in disguise but she needn’t bother: just wear something suitable for a disco. They would dance, he would hold her in his arms, he would say…

“Are you finished with that iron?” said Mrs. Wellington, coming into the kitchen.

The countryside looked like an old-fashioned Christmas card when Hamish collected Josie the following day. Blair’s desire to keep Hamish out of every investigation meant that he was not constantly being given orders or monitored.

Josie barely recognised Hamish. He had a false ginger beard and moustache and small John Lennon-type glasses. His flaming hair was hidden under a black wool cap.

She thought he looked awful.

The music blaring from the disco when they arrived was so loud that as they walked towards the club, Hamish was sure he could hear the beat reverberating through his shoes.

Inside the club, Josie took off her enveloping fun-fur coat to reveal that she was wearing a short red leather skirt, fishnet stockings, and a gauzy glittery blouse with a plunging neckline. She took off her boots and slipped on a pair of high-heeled red stilettos. Josie was also heavily made up.

They moved onto the dance floor. Josie was a good dancer but to her dismay, Hamish danced like a demented stork. A young man came up and began to dance with Josie, cutting Hamish out. Hamish gave her a quick nod to say it was all right and made his way to the bar. “I’m looking for Jake,” he shouted to the barman.

“Ower there,” the barman shouted back, pointing to a man in a black leather jacket at the end of the bar.

Hamish approached Jake. He tapped him on the shoulder and flashed a thick wad of what appeared to be fifty-pound notes. Actually it was one fifty-pound note wound round paper. “Come outside,” he said. “I’ve a big deal for ye.”

On the way out, he tried to signal to Josie. But Josie was lost in the music, her eyes closed, her hips swaying.

Outside, Hamish flashed his warrant card and said, “I would like you…”

But that was as far as he got. Jake took to his heels and ran but skidded in the snow and went down heavily. Hamish handcuffed him and hauled him to his feet. He realised if he phoned Jimmy, it would take Jimmy an hour to get from Braikie to Strathbane. He’d just need to take him to police headquarters. Where the hell was Josie? He shrugged. He couldn’t waste time going back for her, and Jake could have friends in the disco who might cause a fight.

Hamish had Jake searched at police headquarters and found he was carrying a good supply of Ecstasy and heroin. He had him put in a cell after being charged with possession. Then he phoned Jimmy.

Blair was sitting in his car, eating a mutton pie, when Jimmy told him the news. Blair let out a string of oaths, ending up by saying he would have Macbeth’s guts for garters for poaching on Strathbane’s beat.

“Maybe,” said Jimmy. “But this Jake Cullen sounds like Annie’s boyfriend, and she did have Ecstasy tablets on her when she was killed.”

To Jimmy’s surprise, Blair said, “I’ve got work to do. Get yourself ower there and keep in touch.”

The owner of Stardust, Barry Fitzcameron, was a friend of Blair’s. Barry also owned a couple of pubs where there were always free drinks for the detective inspector. Blair had tipped him off about the raid. When Jimmy had gone, he decided to find a public phone box and call Barry.

Hamish sat in on the questioning. To his surprise, Jake seemed quite cocky. He denied supplying Annie with drugs and denied having had any relationship with her whatsoever.

Hamish said, “We have witnesses who can testify that you were intimate with Annie Fleming and supplied her with drugs. And don’t tell me the quantity we found on you was for your own use.”

“Look, I’m popular wi’ the lassies,” said Jake. “I may have given her a leg over. There are so many, I can’t remember.”

“Stop havering, laddie,” shouted Jimmy. “Annie Fleming was the most beautiful girl in the Highlands. Nobody could forget her.”

But Jake continued to stonewall until his lawyer was allowed in. He was told to appear in the sheriff’s court in the morning. He was charged with having possession of and supplying drugs, and led away to the cells.

Blair got on the phone in a call box and phoned Barry Fitzcameron. “Thon numptie, Jake, has got himself arrested,” he said.

“Has he now,” said Barry. “Don’t worry about him. I’ll see to him.”

“Where’s your sidekick?” asked Jimmy as he walked Hamish to the door.

“I couldnae hang around waiting for her. Jimmy, do me a favour and get her transferred back.”

“I’ll see what I can do. Oh, there’s the lassie, waiting for you.”

Josie was slumped in a chair in the reception area. Hamish opened his mouth to blast her for having been so absorbed in dancing that she had forgotten her duties, but then decided wearily it was a waste of time.

“I’m sorry,” babbled Josie. “I heard you arrested Jake. I looked round and you’d gone.”

“I’ll take you back, McSween,” said Hamish wearily. “Chust don’t say a word.”

He dropped Josie off at the manse and told her to take the rest of the day off. Looking along the waterfront, he saw the press outside the police station. He guessed they wanted quotes about the lion. He did a U-turn and drove first to the Italian restaurant where he found his pets in the kitchen, collected them, and drove to the Tommel Castle Hotel.

Priscilla was crossing the reception area when he arrived. “Still here?” asked Hamish.

“Leaving tomorrow. I read in the papers about Elspeth getting engaged.”

“Good luck to her,” said Hamish with badly pretended indifference. “I’ve escaped up here to get away from the press. They probably want quotes about thon lion.”

“I should think they’re there to ask you about the murder. Blair killed the lion story. He’s quoted on the radio and television saying the lion was very old, nearly dead, and a child could have rescued it.”

“He doesn’t know he’s done me a favour,” said Hamish. “Too much favourable publicity and Daviot’ll have me off to Strathbane. I’d like to talk about it for a bit. My head’s in a muddle.”

“Mr. Johnson’s away. Come in to the office and have some coffee. Yes, you can fetch the cat and dog in if you want.”

Settled in the office with Sonsie and Lugs at his feet, Hamish told her all he knew about the case. He ended by saying, “I thought it would be easier. But it turns out that Annie was a bit of a goer, to put it politely, and God only knows how many men have got their knickers in a twist over her. I haven’t talked to the parents. Maybe I’ll try them when Blair has finished with them. The father’s awfy strict. I ’member hearing that.”

“You mean God might have told him to bump off his harlot of a daughter?”

“No. He wouldn’t have sent something so elaborate as a letter bomb.”

“Does it take a lot of skill to make a letter bomb?”

“The bomb’s not hard. It’s aluminium powder and iron, I think. But the skill comes in making the fuse and making it all so cleverly that it won’t go off in the post sorting office.”

“So you should be looking for someone with a terrorist background or someone with a good knowledge of chemistry? What about Harry Etherington? His friends knew how to detonate dynamite. Maybe one of them’s got an iffy background. ”

“Nothing showed up on the computer but a few drunk and disorderlies. Anyway, young Harry hadn’t long arrived in the area. He didn’t have the time to make Annie’s acquaintance.”

“What about the wildlife park? What’s it like?”

“Hard to tell now that the animal libbers have let all the creatures out of the cages, but if the lion’s anything to go by, I think the whole sorry place was a desert of mange and mud. Owners are Jocasta and Bill Freemont. Jocasta is posh and overworked. Bill is lower down the social scale.”

“Bit of a rough?”

“Not that low down. A chancer and, I guess, a fantasist. I think he sold poor Jocasta some dream of the Highlands that only the lowland Scots on the tartan lunatic fringe know how to do.”

Priscilla frowned. “Do you think this Bill…how old is he?”

“Older than her. Maybe getting on for fifty.”

“I wonder if he or his father or anyone in his family were ever associated with the militant side of Scottish nationalism.”

“There’s a point. I think I’ll pay them an evening visit.” Hamish stood up and lingered by the office door. “I suppose I’d better say goodbye-again.”

“ ’Fraid so.”

He moved a little forward as if to kiss her. Priscilla sat down abruptly behind the desk and began to shuffle papers. Hamish trailed out with his dog and his cat behind him.

He stopped on a rise on the road before the wildlife park and let the dog and cat out. He knew they liked playing in the snow and they needed to run off some of the fat they had gained by mooching in the kitchen of the Italian restaurant.

It was a bright moonlit frosty night. He smiled indulgently as Sonsie and Lugs tore through the snow.

It was on nights like this that Sutherland became a fairy county, all black and white, the silhouettes of the mountains rising up to a sky blazing with stars. He wished this murder could be quickly solved. Then he would concentrate on getting rid of Josie.

He called his pets, helped them into the back of the car, and drove to the park. He could see the lights were on in the office. Something made him switch off the engine and the headlights and cruise gently down the slope towards the office with the window open.

He slowly got down from the car and pressed his ear to the wall of the office. He heard Jocasta’s voice. “I’m telling you. She said she saw you at Annie’s house. It was one day a month ago when Annie said she was ill and you said you were going into Strathbane. She says you were in there for two hours!”

“If you’re going to believe every malicious auld biddy in Braikie, you’re dafter than I thought.”

“Yes, daft enough to sink my money into this failure. I’m leaving you.”

“Oh, come here, darlin’,” wheedled Bill. “You know I’d be lost without you.”

“But you went to her house!”

“I swear to God I never went near her.”

Hamish thought he had heard enough. If one of the neighbours had seen Bill, why hadn’t they told the police? Was it Mrs. McGirty? Or Cora Baxter?

He knocked loudly on the office door. Jocasta opened it. Her eyes were red with weeping.

“Have I come at a bad time?” asked Hamish.

“No, no, don’t worry about me. I haven’t been crying. Just some sort of allergy.”

Hamish followed her into the office. There was a flash of fear in Bill’s eyes, quickly masked.

“What kind of person was Annie Fleming?” asked Hamish.

“Ask Bill,” said Jocasta. “I’m going up to the house. Good night.”

Hamish waited until the door had closed behind her and then repeated his question.

“She was all right,” said Bill.

“Did you have an affair with her?”

“What a question tae ask!” spluttered Bill. “And me a happily married man.”

“Come off it. You were seen spending an afternoon at her house by the neighbours.”

“I went to discuss the business wi’ her. She’s my secretary.”

“Maybe you’ll just be calling your wife to confirm that.”

Bill crumpled. “Don’t do that. Look, it wasnae me that seduced her. It was the other way around. I couldnae believe my luck, and that’s a fact. It was just the one afternoon, that’s all. Then she went on as if nothing had happened.”

“When was this?”

“About a month ago. Please don’t tell the wife.”

“That I cannae promise. Do you have any training at all in chemistry?”

“Not a bit. Lousy at school all round.”

“You’ll need to stand by for more questioning. Don’t go to bed.”

Hamish went out to the Land Rover and called Jimmy. “What is it now?” groaned Jimmy.

“You’d best get out to the wildlife park and pull Bill Freemont in for questioning. He spent at least the one afternoon in bed wi’ Annie Fleming.”

“I’ll get out there. What if he denies the whole thing?”

“I’ve got it on tape,” said Hamish.

“Have you really? Or is that just one of your convenient lies?”

“No, I’ve got it all right. I’m off. I don’t want to be caught poaching on Strathbane’s territory. I’ll wait for you at the top of the road.”

Hamish waited patiently for what seemed like a long time before Jimmy turned up with Andy MacNab and two policemen following in another car.

“Right, Hamish, where’s the tape?” said Jimmy. Hamish took a small, powerful tape recorder out of his pocket and handed it to Jimmy.

“Odd that,” said Jimmy. “I never think of you as being high-tech. I wouldn’t have been surprised if you’d written your notes up in the snow. Come on, lads. I’ll keep you posted, Hamish.”

The more she landed in disgrace with Hamish, the more Josie’s obsession with him grew. As he was making his way back to Lochdubh, Josie sat in her room at the manse in front of the peat fire and dreamt of becoming his wife. In her mind, she remodelled the police station. There would need to be room for a nursery for the three children she planned to have.

It was only when she awoke in the morning with a hangover that she conjured up one sensible idea. If she worked hard investigating and maybe solved this case, Hamish would admire her. He would want her company instead of looking at her flat-eyed.

Hamish was relieved and surprised when Josie reported to the police station and suggested that she should do some investigative work in Braikie and go round the town and try to ferret out more of Annie’s friends. Hamish filled her in with what he had found out about Bill Freemont.

Josie looked so neat and efficient in her newly sponged and pressed uniform that he offered her a coffee. Josie sat down happily at the kitchen table and looked around. It was a very small kitchen but could be extended. That old-fashioned stove would have to go. And the other thing that would have to go, she thought, eyeing the dog and cat who were slumbering together in front of the stove, was those wretched animals of his. She would get pregnant quickly and tell Hamish that his pets would cause allergies.

Hamish handed her a mug of coffee. “It’s odd, isn’t it?” he said in his lilting highland voice. “At first it seemed as if this murder was the work of some maniac. Now it turns out Annie was what Scotland Yard would call a murderee, someone who works people up so much that she’s bound to get bumped off sooner or later.”

“Or maybe it has something to do with drugs,” said Josie. “I mean, Stardust, the disco owned by Barry Fitzcameron. He owns a couple of pubs as well. He plays the part of the good citizen, gives a lot to charity, that sort of thing. But when I was waiting for you at headquarters, I heard one of the policemen complaining about that raid on the disco. He said they couldn’t even find an underaged drinker, let alone any drugs, and he thought Barry had been tipped off. Because one thing I did notice in that disco was that some of the drinkers were definitely underaged.”

Hamish looked at her thoughtfully. He wondered why Blair hadn’t jumped at the idea of being there at the raid. “Which pubs does he own?” he asked.

“The Clarty Duck and The Stag.”

“Interesting.”

The phone in the office rang. “I wonder if I should answer that,” said Hamish. “It’s after nine and we should be at work. Better leave it.” He cocked an ear as his answering machine picked up a message. “Hamish, this is Jimmy. Jake Cullen made bail. He was shot dead on the steps of the sheriff’s court.” Hamish rushed into the office and snatched up the phone. “You still there? It’s me, Hamish.”

“Did you get that?” asked Jimmy.

“Yes, any witnesses?”

“Only the one. Some poor auld granny has a flat opposite the court. A masked gunman came in the night before and told her to shut up or he’d kill her. He tied her to the bed. Then she said he just sat there, smoking and waiting. She thought he was going to kill her. Then she fell asleep. She said she was exhausted with fear. She awoke to the sound of the shot. Then he just ran out. It seems he set up at the window with a rifle-maybe a deer rifle-and shot Jake. It smells of a professional hit. And that screams at me that our oh-so-clean and worthy citizen Barry Fitzcameron might be behind it. We’re going to be tied up here for a good bit. You and McSween get over to Braikie and see what you can dig up.”

“On our way,” said Hamish. He went back into the kitchen. Josie wasn’t there. He walked into his living room. Josie wheeled around and blushed.

“If you want to examine my home again,” said Hamish severely, “ask! Now let’s get going. You find out what you can about her friends. Start off with the school. Maybe her messing about started there. I’ll check back with the neighbours.”

“I’m sorry,” whispered Josie. “It’s just I’ve never properly seen all round a highland police station before.”

And never will again, thought Hamish. He ushered her out and then went out to his Land Rover followed by his dog and cat.

Josie drove miserably in the direction of Braikie. Before Hamish had caught her, she had opened the door of the spare room which led off the living room and had blinked in amazement at the amount of rusty junk. And he had just been beginning to thaw towards her. She was determined to work hard all day and not give up until she came up with just one clue.

Hamish followed her, his mind turning over thoughts about Blair. Then he mentally shrugged. It need not have been anyone as high up as Blair. It could have been anyone at police headquarters, down to the cleaners. If Josie was right, and there was underaged drinking usually at the disco, then it stood to reason that Barry had been tipped off.

The day was fine and cold. He slowed down on the shore road. Men were working on the seawall. The tide was out. They were working hard. He stopped and rolled down the window. “Got your funds?” he called to the foreman.

“Aye, but we can only work when the tide’s out, otherwise we get battered wi’ the waves.”

Hamish drove on until he reached the quiet street where Annie had lived. He decided to call on Cora Baxter first. The councillor’s wife answered the door. “Oh, it’s you,” she said. “Come in.”

Hamish wondered at first if everything in the living room was new and decided he was looking at terrifying housekeeping. The sun shone through the glittering windows onto a glass coffee table where magazines were arranged in exact precision to line up with the edges of the table. The three-piece suite was in red leather, and the hair-cord brown fitted carpet was covered in hooked rugs. Hamish reflected she had probably made them herself. He had seen many like them at church sales. One bar was lit in an electric heater in front of the fireplace. The mantel was covered in little glass figures: he noticed a Bambi and a Snow White along with the Seven Dwarfs.

On a round table by the window was a cut-glass vase full of silk flowers. To one side of the fireplace was a large flat-screen television.

Hamish removed his cap and sat down on the sofa. The leather made an embarrassing fart noise. Cora stood in front of the fireplace. She was a stocky woman with bright blonde hair set in tight curls over a pugnacious face. She had small blue suspicious-looking eyes.

“Well, Constable?” she demanded.

Hamish repressed a sigh. From his experience councillors like Jamie Baxter, no matter how easy-going, often had wives who considered themselves a cut above the local community.

He stood up and approached her, looming over her. It had the desired effect.

“Oh, do sit down,” said Cora. Hamish went back to the sofa, which welcomed his bottom with a loud raspberry. Cora sat in one of the leather armchairs, but the chair, no doubt knowing what was due to her dignity, did not make a sound.

Hamish opened his notebook. “I am making enquiries about Annie Fleming.”

“Yes?”

“Did you phone Mrs. Freemont and tell her that her husband had been seen going into Annie Fleming’s house to spend the afternoon with her? I must remind you that phone calls can be checked.”

“Well, I felt it my duty,” said Cora truculently.

“Do you know if this happened more than once?”

“I only saw him the one time.”

“And when was this?”

“About a month ago.”

“Any other men?”

“Just once. An unsavoury-looking character. He had gelled hair and one of those black leather jackets. I would say he was around thirty years old.”

Jake, thought Hamish bitterly. That’s a dead end in every sense.

“What did you think of Annie?” asked Hamish. “And did you tell any of this to her parents?”

“First, I did mention both visits to her parents. Her father was furious with me. He said his daughter was pure and I was a malicious woman who would burn in hellfire. Annie wouldn’t burn anywhere, she was as cold as ice-butter wouldn’t have melted in that girl’s mouth. I saw them going off to the kirk a few Sundays before she died. Mr. and Mrs. Fleming put their noses in the air. But Annie turned round and gave me a nasty little smile before she walked on. I thought she was a devious tart.”

“Why didn’t you tell the police any of this?” demanded Hamish. “You’ve been withholding vital evidence.”

“I wasn’t going to sully her memory until after the funeral.”

“But you did just that by phoning Mrs. Freemont, and by trying to blacken the girl’s name with her parents. Is there anything more?”

“No, but I don’t like your attitude. Do remember my husband is a town councillor.”

“Which means damn all in a murder investigation,” said Hamish, and warned her he would be back to ask her more questions later.

Outside, he phoned Jimmy. “Any news about the murder?”

“Nothing. That old woman might have been left there till she died o’ shock and starvation if we hadn’t searched all the flats opposite and found her. She’s in hospital for observation but she’s a game auld bird and I think she’ll survive the shock all right. He never took the balaclava off but she said he was pretty well built and wearing a black sweater and black trousers.”

“Surely someone saw a man with a rifle running along the street?”

“From the initial SOCO report, he went down the stairs, out the back way, and over the wall. There’s a lane that runs along the back. Neighbours heard a motorbike roaring off.”

“If I were you I’d check out those two pubs of Barry’s. See if Blair’s been seen drinking in either of them. He likes his free booze.”

“Aw, c’mon, Hamish. I don’t like the pillock but this is going a bit too far. Don’t worry. We’re checking up on everything we know about Barry. Talk to you later.”

Hamish wondered whether to interview the parents and then decided it was a bit early to subject them to more questioning. Blair would already have had a go at them.

He was about to get into the Land Rover when he heard someone calling, “Officer!”

He turned round. Mrs. McGirty was standing on her front door step waving to him. He went up to her. “Have they found out who did this terrible thing?” she asked.

“Not yet.”

“You must find out. Annie was a saint and a good member o’ the kirk.”

“Maybe I’ll be having a word with the minister.”

Josie, meanwhile, was interviewing Annie’s former head teacher, Miss Gallagher.

“Annie was a very bright pupil,” said Mrs. Gallagher, a small, motherly-looking woman. “I thought she would be going on to university and interviewed her parents but they said that their daughter wanted to be at home and look after them.”

“Were they ill in any way?” asked Josie.

“No, that’s what was odd. They are both hale and hearty.”

“Was Josie well liked at school?”

Mrs. Gallagher hesitated.

“I know you don’t like to speak ill of the dead,” said Josie, “but it is a murder enquiry and one of her boyfriends was shot dead this morning outside the sheriff’s court.”

“This is terrible. Just terrible,” gasped Mrs. Gallagher. “To be honest, Josie did not have many friends amongst the girls. Looking the way she did, she was a great favourite with the boys but then even they began to shun her.”

“Do you know why?”

“I’m afraid not. It’s a terrible thing to say about the poor lass, but she almost seemed to enjoy her unpopularity, as if it gave her a certain power, as if she was looking down on all of them. I did send her to the school councillor.”

“Why?”

“When a beautiful girl like Annie Fleming goes on the way she was doing, I begin to wonder if there might not be a certain trace of the psychopath there. If you go along the corridor, you’ll find Miss Haggerty’s name on the end door. I will phone her and tell her you are coming.”

Miss Haggerty was a thin, frail woman with grey hair, spectacles, and a tired face. “Oh, Annie,” she said in reply to Josie’s questions about what she had thought of her. “I could not get anywhere with her. It was during her last year. She said she was looking forward to leaving the school because she found the other pupils too young for her. That was all she would say. She had good marks and seemed cheerful. Bright children often feel isolated, and Annie was very bright.”

“Did you think she might be a bit of a psychopath?” asked Josie.

“Oh, no, simply highly intelligent.”

“Manipulative?”

“I do not think she could manipulate me in any way.”

Josie left the school feeling downcast. Her phone rang. It was Hamish. “I’m not getting anywhere,” said Josie.

“I’m going to see the minister, Mr. Tallent. Like to come?”

“Where are you?”

“Outside her house.”

“Be right with you.”

Josie hummed a cheerful tune as she drove along. All was not lost. Hamish had obviously forgiven her for poking around his home.