Death of a Witch

∨ Death of a Witch ∧

9

The cruellest lies are often told in silence.

– Robert Louis Stevenson

The arrest of Fergus Braid struck the village like a bombshell. Lesley, opening the newspaper the next day, found a photograph of him on the front page and a different story on the inside, HIGHLAND BOBBY ATTACKED BY ARMED POACHERS screamed the headline. There was a photograph of Priscilla laughing as she handed the rifle over. Lesley read the story carefully. There was nothing about why Priscilla was on the scene and why she had a rifle. She did not know Priscilla’s involvement had been suppressed.

Lesley scowled. Priscilla was real competition. All Hamish needed was the support of a strong ambitious woman who could get him out of that village and into the mainstream of police work. For all his intelligence, she suspected he was shy.

She decided she would invite him to her flat in Strathbane for dinner. That way she would be safe from interruptions.

ELSPETH RECEIVED A call from the features editor. “I’m sending up Perry Gaunt.”

“But I’ve done two colour features for you,” complained Elspeth.

“The editor wants to give Perry a break. Book him a room and show him the ropes. He’ll be with you shortly. He set off yesterday. He was planning to spend an overnight in Inverness.”

Elspeth knew it was futile to protest further. Perry Gaunt was an old Etonian, and his father was a close friend of the London editor.

No sooner had she put down the phone in her room than it rang again. It was Mr. Johnson. “There’s a Mr. Gaunt asking for you.”

“I’ll be right down,” said Elspeth.

Perry Gaunt was leaning on the reception desk. He was tall and lean with thick fair hair and a pleasant face. He was wearing an expensive scarlet anorak over a black cashmere sweater, black cords, and sensible boots. As reporters had little to do with features writers and as Perry had only recently joined the paper, Elspeth barely knew him.

“Elspeth,” he said with a smile. “You must be cursing me for moving in on your patch. I read your pieces and they were damn good.”

“It’s all right,” said Elspeth, thawing before that charming smile and noticing his eyes were green. “Mr. Johnson, can you manage a room for Mr. Gaunt?”

“He’s in luck. One of our guests has just checked out. If you’ll just sign these forms, Mr. Gaunt, I’ll show you to your room.”

“I’ll wait down here for you,” said Elspeth, “and then I’ll show you around.”

Elspeth began to feel quite cheerful. The idea that a murderer might be lurking about trying to kill her made her feel uneasy. Hamish Macbeth always seemed to have women around him. Let’s see how he likes me being accompanied by Perry.

Perry came down. “Right,” he said. “Like I said, I’ve read all your stories as well as your features. The trouble is there doesn’t seem to be anything left for me to write about. You seem to have covered it all.”

“I’ll drive you down to the village and introduce you to a few people,” said Elspeth. “Have you had much experience of journalism?”

“I got a degree in journalism from Lander University in Birmingham. They’ll give you a degree in anything. Someone even got a degree in flower arrangement. Before that I got a degree in mediaeval history from Oxford. Before that I was in the army. I’m quite old to be starting out. I’m thirty-three. I haven’t worked on a newspaper before.”

“So how did you land this one?” asked Elspeth, curious to know whether he would admit to his father’s friendship with the editor.

“You’ll hate me for this. My father is a friend of Josh Appleton.” Josh was the London editor. “He spoke to him and next thing I knew was I had the job in Glasgow. Now you’ll despise me for taking it.”

“It’s really no different from what goes on in Glasgow,” said Elspeth. “Sons of printers get jobs in reporting when they’ve got no aptitude whatever.”

“Well, let’s see if I have any talent.”

♦

They were just crossing the forecourt to Elspeth’s car when Priscilla emerged from the gift shop. She was wearing hip-hugging jeans and high boots with a black turtleneck sweater.

“Talking about local colour,” said Perry. “Who the hell is that?”

“That is Priscilla Halburton-Smythe, daughter of the hotel owner.”

“Is her nature as beautiful as she looks?”

Elspeth felt a pang of jealousy. Men, including Hamish, had only to look at Priscilla and they forgot that such a lowly creature as Elspeth Grant even existed.

“She’s actually very kind,” said Elspeth.

“Married?”

“No.”

He adjusted the passenger seat in Elspeth’s car to accommodate his long legs. “I’ve lost interest.”

“Why?”

“If a woman looks like that and is the daughter of a hotel owner and she’s not married, there’s something up.”

“Are you married?”

“No. Divorced. And you?”

“Nearly once. He stood me up.”

“Useless bastard. Let’s go.”

Elspeth drove straight past Priscilla, who looked as if she expected Elspeth to stop the car and introduce her.

“I’ll take you down to Lochdubh,” said Elspeth, “and we’ll call at the police station first.”

“I’m dying to meet the local bobby. He’s featured in quite a number of stories. I looked Lochdubh up before I left.”

Elspeth’s heart really warmed to Perry when he exclaimed over the village of Lochdubh, nestled in front of the loch with the two tall mountains towering behind it. “Why, the place is beautiful!”

Elspeth, for the first time in ages, was conscious of her appearance. She had her frizzy hair scrunched up on top of her head. She was wearing jeans that were old and baggy, and her sweater under her tweed jacket was faded black from too many washings.

“I gather they’ve got someone for one of the murders at least,” said Perry, “so I’d better hurry up and write something before we’re called back.”

Elspeth stopped at the police station, and they got out of the car. As they approached the kitchen door, Hamish came around from the back, an empty feed pail in his hand. He was followed by Lugs and Sonsie.

“A bobby with a pet wild cat!” marvelled Perry. “Now, there’s a bit of colour for a start.”

“No, you don’t,” warned Elspeth. “He doesn’t like people knowing about that cat in case it gets taken away. Actually, it’s quite tame.”

“Elspeth,” said Hamish, joining them. “Did you see Blair or Jimmy?”

“It’s all quiet. The mobile police unit wasn’t on the waterfront and I suppose the press are all down at Strathbane.”

“And why aren’t you there?”

“Because Daviot will make one of his pompous statements and you know what’s really going on.”

“I doubt that,” said Hamish bitterly. “Coffee?”

“Grand. This is Perry Gaunt, a feature writer. And your coffee’s foul.”

“I’ve got round to using the percolator and I’ve got some decent stuff. Should be ready by now.”

Perry followed them into the kitchen. He looked around. There was a smell of peat from the stove and the aroma of fresh coffee. The round kitchen table was covered with a red-and-white gingham cloth, a present from the Italian restaurant, and gingham curtains hung at the window. Outside, the sun shone as if the Highlands had decided to give the residents a brief respite from winter.

Hamish poured mugs of coffee and then set a plate of shortbread on the table.

“I’m glad you’ve got company, Elspeth. I’ve been worried about you not being guarded.”

“Why should she be guarded?” asked Perry.

Hamish told him about the horoscopes. “Now, there’s a story!” exclaimed Perry.

“No, it’s not,” snapped Elspeth. “You should know I’m not supposed to write anything at all, other than for the Bugle. I can’t even translate Euripides in my spare time. Hamish, surely Fergus didn’t kill his wife.”

“The latest is that he sneaked out of work for two hours around the time his wife was killed and he absolutely refused to say where he was. Blair charged him with her murder, but there isn’t a single bit of evidence against him. The forensic team’s up at the back taking his place apart, looking for a weapon. He’s got money from his wife’s insurance so when they eventually allowed him a lawyer, he called in Agnes Dunne from Inverness. She’ll soon have him out on bail. She’s a terror. I wanted to investigate further but Blair found I had a lot of holiday time owing and he found some regulation that I had to take at least a week. I’m losing heart, Elspeth. I’m weary. Let me know if you get any ideas.”

“Right,” said Elspeth. “I’ll start by taking Perry here over to Braikie.”

“If you dig up anything, let me know.”

♦

Elspeth stopped the car on the shore road outside Braikie. “You see those houses?” she said.

“Yes, all boarded up.”

“The tide’s got higher every year. At high tide, this road is flooded. You can see where it’s being eaten away. A lot of the coastal villages are suffering but no one does anything. You could maybe put in a bit about that. You know the sort of thing – it’s not only a murderer in their midst that the people of Sutherland dread, but another enemy that is taking away their homes yaddity ya.”

“Got it.”

Elspeth drove on to the main street and parked. “I’m hungry. There’s a chippy. We could have fish-and-chips or haggis-and-chips or black-pudding-and-chips or…”

“Deep-fried Mars bars?”

“Of course. And deep-fried pizza, too.”

“You know,” said Perry, “the average life span of a man in Glasgow is now fifty-seven, and they put it down to a diet of the stuff you’ve just mentioned. I want a drink. What about The Highlanders Arms over there?”

“They’ve got meat pies from the bakery that aren’t bad.”

“We’ll try that and you can tell me all about the dead postmistress.”

♦

Perry had been damned in the Glasgow office as a ‘posh git.’ But Elspeth found his manner of listening intently, his light accent, and his very green eyes intriguing. One read a lot about people with green eyes in books, particularly American books. Maybe green eyes weren’t so unusual in the States, but it was rare to see such vivid green in Britain that was not pale or mixed with brown. Her mind turned briefly to Hamish. He blew hot and cold and anytime they seemed to be getting close, he always turned away to some other woman, usually Priscilla.

“Do you really think these murders are connected?” Perry asked.

“I’m not so sure about the one at Bonar Bridge. But the others, yes. Catriona Beldame was hated, Ina probably knew something, and the silly postmistress bragged that she did.”

“Do we still write postmistress or do we have to write postperson?”

“God forbid! Mind you, mere’s probably some new name like post office executive manager, or something. Ellie lived above the shop. Let’s go round there and see if some relative is cleaning up, someone she might have said something to.”

“You’re doing Hamish Macbeth’s job.”

“No, I’m doing my own. I’m a reporter, remember? You haven’t eaten your pie.”

Perry looked round the dismal dirty pub. “I’m frightened to.”

“If this frightens you, some of the places in Glasgow will scare your socks off. Come on.”

♦

Elspeth found the street door leading to Elbe’s flat standing open. They went up the stairs. The flat door was open as well. A small woman was standing in the living room putting stuff into a packing case.

“Excuse me,” said Elspeth.

The woman straightened up. She was wearing a floral pinafore over a dun-coloured sweater and dark blue polyester slacks. She was small and wiry with a pug face and grey hair.

“What do you want?”

“We’re from the Daily Bugle…”

“Sod off.”

Perry moved in front of Elspeth. “I know it must distress you to be approached by the press at such a time. But I think Miss Ellie Macpherson should be remembered not as a murder victim, but as a real, live person.” He gave his charming smile. “More to the point, you seem to have a lot of work and we could help you.”

She looked up at him for a long moment and then to Elspeth’s surprise, she smiled, exposing a set of daz-zlingly white dentures. “I could do with the help. I’m Betty Macpherson, Ellie’s sister. Wouldn’t think so, would you? She was aye a great beanpole o’ a lass.”

“I am Perry Gaunt and this is my colleague, Elspeth Grant. Maybe we could make you a cup of tea. Then you can take a rest and tell us what to do.”

“You’re right kind for an Englishman,” said Betty. “Tea would be nice.”

“I’ll get it,” said Elspeth.

When she returned from the kitchen with the tea things, Perry was on his knees, packing china ornaments. “I don’t want any of her stupid books,” said Betty. “Witch indeed. I don’t want that crystal ball, either.”

Elspeth poured tea into mugs. Then she picked up the crystal ball and gazed into it. “Someone would pay you for this,” she said. Suddenly she was engulfed with a wave of hate, fear, and anger. She dropped the ball on the carpet, where it rolled over to Perry. He looked curiously at Elspeth’s white face. “What is it?”

Elspeth shook her head as if to clear it. “Nothing. I felt queasy. Must have been that pie.”

He picked up the ball and put it back on the table.

Elspeth wished she had brought the photographer. The crystal ball had been the murder weapon. She had her own camera in her bag, but she dreaded picking up the ball again. She wondered why forensics had released it. She thought they kept murder weapons forever.

“I’m surprised they gave that thing back to you,” she said, pointing to the ball.

“Oh, that’s not the murder weapon,” said Betty. “I wouldn’t have such a thing around. She must have had the two. If you think I could get any money for it, pack it up.”

“I hope this is not too painful for you,” said Elspeth, “but did your sister tell you anything that might lead you to suspect she knew the murderer?”

“We didnae talk much. We were aye like chalk and cheese. I think Ellie should have gone on the stage and got it out of her system. She would tell any lie to get attention. I mind when she was just a wee lass, her opening the fridge door and standing there in the light from the fridge, graciously inclining her head as if accepting an award. This is what comes of her lies.” A tear rolled down Betty’s cheek.

“Drink your tea,” said Perry, “and I’ll get on with packing things up.”

Now that there seemed nothing further to find out, Elspeth could only marvel at Perry’s patience as he deftly wrapped kitchen stuff and other odds and ends and put them into packing cases.

When they eventually left, Perry said, “Now I really am starving.”

“Let’s go back to the hotel,” said Elspeth. “Clarry, the chef, will rustle something up for you.”

♦

Hamish was sitting in the lounge with Priscilla when Elspeth and Perry entered. Elspeth’s face was flushed and her eyes were shining. Her face fell when she saw Priscilla. She waited for the inevitable. Perry would forget all about her and be fascinated by Priscilla.

She introduced Perry to Priscilla and said, “Perry’s desperate for something to eat.”

Priscilla rose to her feet. “What about soup and a plate of sandwiches?”

“That would be great.”

“I’ll tell Clarry.”

When Priscilla had left, Elspeth said, “I thought you’d be out trying to find out where Fergus really was.”

“We were just going over my notes,” said Hamish defensively. Perry and Elspeth sat down.

“Could he have been with a woman?” asked Elspeth. “He wouldn’t want to say so, would he? I mean with his wife just dead.”

Hamish stared at her for a long moment. “The brothel,” he said. “What if Fergus was one of Fiona McNulty’s clients? He wouldn’t have the time to go all the way over to Bonar Bridge. And she was still in Cnothan when Ina was murdered. Maybe he went to Cnothan where she used to be. I’ll get down to the newspaper and get a photograph of him from Matthew and see if anyone over there saw him.”

He almost expected Elspeth to volunteer to go with him, but she said ‘Good idea’ and settled back in her chair.

♦

Having secured a photograph, Hamish was driving towards Cnothan when his mobile phone rang. He stopped at the side of the road and answered it. It was Lesley. “This is short notice, Hamish,” she said. “I wonder whether you would like to come over to my place tonight for dinner?”

Hamish thought rapidly. Priscilla was as cool as ever, and Elspeth seemed enamoured of the feature writer. “What time?” he asked.

“Eight o’ clock. Here’s the address.”

Hamish wrote it down. “See you then,” he said, and rang off.

He drove up to where the mobile home used to be and once more called at the croft where the gnome-like man lived. He showed him Fergus’s photograph but the man shook his head.

Hamish tried several of the other outlying crofts but without success. The trouble was, he thought, that to get to the mobile home, Fergus would not have needed to go through the town.

Then he had an idea. If Fergus had been in the habit of visiting Fiona, would he have known that she would have a supply of condoms, or, on his first visit, would he call in at the chemist in Cnothan to get a packet?

He drove into town and went to the chemist. The pharmacist, Mr. Hepworth, was standing behind the counter with a young female assistant. Hamish showed them the photograph of Fergus and asked if they could remember him ever buying condoms.

Mr. Hepworth shook his head but the girl giggled and said, “Oh, I mind him.”

“Tell me about it,” urged Hamish.

“He looked around for a long time. Then he bought toothpaste. Then he wandered around again. The condoms are right here on the counter. He kept staring at them as he was paying for the toothpaste and his face was bright red and he was sweating although it was a cold day. I took pity on him so I picked up a packet and said, “Can I wrap this for you as well?” He said, “Aye,” paid for them, and fairly fled out of the shop. I mind it well ‘cos I had a good laugh about it with my friends that evening.”

“When was this?” asked Hamish.

“Last September. I can’t remember the exact day.”

Hamish took a note of her name and address and then left, deep in thought.

Fergus had been in the habit of visiting Fiona. That was where he might have been on the afternoon his wife was being murdered.

He went back to the police station, collected Sonsie and Lugs, and drove to Strathbane.

He stopped in the car park and phoned Jimmy. “What is it?” asked Jimmy. “I’ve finished for the day and I want to get to the pub.”

“I’ll meet you there.”

♦

In the pub, Jimmy listened carefully and then said bitterly, “Trust you to throw a spanner in the works. If you want to make my life even more miserable, talk to her.”

He pointed to a woman at a corner table who was working on a laptop. “That’s Fergus’s lawyer, Agnes Dunne. She’s all set to get him out on bail. I’ll just stay here and get drunk.”

Hamish approached Agnes Dunne. She was a hatchet-faced woman in her forties wearing a power suit.

“Yes?” she demanded.

Hamish sat down opposite her and told her about Fergus’s visits to Fiona. “Get him to say that’s where he was and if he told anyone at work where he was going and if he maybe went into the town afterwards and might have been seen in one of the shops.”

She switched off her laptop and closed it down. “Come with me,” she said, “although I hope they don’t try to pin the murder at Bonar Bridge on him now.”

♦

Jimmy swallowed his drink and went with them. To Hamish’s relief, Blair was nowhere in sight. The duty officer led the way down to the cells in the basement.

Fergus was sitting with his head in his hands. He looked up when they entered.

Hamish sat down on the bed and faced him.

“You’re a right fool, Fergus. Why didn’t you just tell the truth? I now know you were visiting Fiona McNulty.”

“You cannae tell anyone, Hamish,” exclaimed Fergus. “Oh, man, the shame o’ it. They’ll never let me inside the kirk again.”

“Listen to me, Fergus. You have been charged with the murder of your wife. I am sure they are trying to pin the other murders on you as well. You’ll spend the rest of your life in prison if you don’t speak up now. Now, on the day of Ina’s murder, did you go to Fiona?”

“Aye,” he mumbled.

“Now, think very carefully. Did you go into the village?”

“Aye, I did that. I’ll never forget it. I thocht she might say something.”

“Who? Where?”

“It was after…you know…I went into that café on the main street and I ordered a mutton pie and peas and some tea.” He looked at Hamish with a sort of bewildered innocence. “It makes ye hungry.”

“Sex?”

“Aye. That lassie, Sky – stupit name – herself was serving. She says, “My dad says you’re getting to be a regular around these parts.” I was that feart, I leapt to my feet and knocked the teapot onto the floor. I threw some money on the table and ran for it.”

“You see how simple it is?” said Hamish. “I’ll get over there right now and check it out.”

♦

Lesley looked with pride at her dinner table. It was set with her finest china and a bottle of good claret nestled in its basket, ready to pour. She had brushed her red-gold hair until it shone. She was wearing a white silk blouse with a low neckline and her late mother’s pearls. Pearl drops hung from her small ears. A black velvet skirt went to ankle length, just showing a pair of high-heeled black patent shoes with thin straps. She was wearing a scarlet thong and wriggled a little with the discomfort of it.

Lesley went into the bathroom and sprayed herself with Givenchy’s Hot. Eight o’clock came and went. She began to pace up and down. She was just about to phone Hamish when the doorbell rang.

She opened the door and stared at Hamish. He was wearing his uniform, and his dog and cat were at his feet.

“What are they doing here?” she demanded, pointing at the animals.

“I’m right sorry, Lesley. I didn’t have time to take them home. They’re right hungry and they need some water. If you wouldnae mind…”

She slammed the door in his face, rushed into the bathroom, and glared in fury at her reflection in the mirror.

“The man’s a hick!” she screamed. Now she felt she knew why this man had avoided promotion. He was nothing more than a highland peasant. She had gone to all this trouble. Not only had he turned up in his shabby uniform but he’d had the cheek to bring along his weird pets and expect her to feed them!

♦

Hamish stood outside the door. He wondered whether to knock again and ask her what on earth was up with her. Then he shrugged. He was tired and hungry. He helped Sonsie and Lugs into the Land Rover. “Don’t you worry,” he said. “We’ll find a chippy.”

He was pleased with the day’s work. Sky had remembered the incident and had also remembered the day because that had been the day of her birthday. Fergus was a lucky man. Strathbane might consider themselves back to square one but Hamish had the advantage of never having believed Fergus guilty in the first place.

He bought Sonsie a fish supper at the chip shop, and as a treat he bought Lugs a black pudding supper. Lugs was partial to black pudding. He also bought two bottles of mineral water. He settled for a haggis supper for himself.

He drove up out of Strathbane and stopped on the moors. He poured the mineral water into bowls for his pets before eating his deep-fried slice of haggis and his chips.

He was too tired to really worry about what was up with Lesley. As he drove off again, he saw flakes of snow beginning to dance in front of the windscreen. At first they swirled down hypnotically, but as he gained the bridge into Lochdubh, the snow was blowing horizontally on a screaming gale.

He was glad to be home. He lit the stove and settled down at the kitchen table with a glass of whisky. He decided that in the morning, he would go over all the reports and see if there was anything he had missed.

♦

Elspeth twisted and turned that night, unable to get to sleep. She felt she was falling in love with Perry. She knew in her Gypsy soul that one can always pull back before it is too late and yet her very interest in Perry had freed her from any thoughts about Hamish Macbeth – and it was great to be free of that. Let the poor idiot remain enraptured by Pris-cilla until the end of his days. She just didn’t care anymore.

The gale screamed around the hotel. She was in one of the turret rooms, and it appeared to be getting the main force of the wind.

Elspeth decided to try to read herself to sleep. She switched on the bedside light. It was covered by a dainty rose-coloured fringed shade and did not give much illumination. She thought it would be a good idea to get out of bed and switch on the overhead light.

Then she stared at the door. Her heart started to beat fast. She could swear someone was slowly turning the handle.

She picked up the phone. The line was dead. She knew she had locked the door, but what if someone was prepared to break it open or had found a passkey?

Elspeth scrambled out of bed and searched in her handbag for her mobile. She switched it on. The little screen said no signal. The storm must have damaged reception from the local mobile phone tower.

There was only one thing for it. Elspeth screamed and screamed, hoping her screams might be heard above the roar of the storm.

A sound of running feet. A banging at the door. Perry’s blessed voice shouting, “Are you all right?”

Elspeth hurtled to the door and opened it. “Thank God!” she cried and threw herself into Perry’s arms.

“What the matter?” he asked.

“I saw the door handle turn and thought the murderer had come for me!”

“Let’s phone the police.”

“The phones are down and Hamish would never get up here in this blizzard.”

“If it was someone, and if Hamish can’t get up here, then whoever it was can’t get away. Come on. Let’s get downstairs.”

Elspeth put on a dressing gown and slippers. She thought illogically, Why am I wearing a pair of striped pyjamas and this ratty old dressing gown? I ought to be wearing something from Victoria’s Secret.

Perry took her hand in a warm clasp and they hurried down the stairs. The night porter was asleep at the desk.

“Wake up!” said Perry, shaking him. “Someone’s tried to attack Miss Grant and that person might still be in the hotel. Hit the fire alarm. Get everyone down here.”

Mr. Johnson and Priscilla were the first to arrive. Priscilla was wearing a long pale green silk dressing gown that seemed to have been moulded to her figure. She did not have a hair out of place. Perry quickly explained what was wrong.

Other guests gathered in the hall and then some hun-gover reporters and photographers and the few members of the staff who lived in.

“Someone tried to get into Miss Grant’s room,” said Mr. Johnson. “I want you all to search the hotel to see if you can find a stranger. Also keep looking out of the upper windows in case someone is trying to escape through the snow.”

The hotel was searched from top to bottom. It took a long time because the old building was full of unexpected nooks and cupboards and storerooms.

Everyone ended up in the hall again, weary and cross, some reporters saying loudly that it was probably Perry trying to get into Elspeth’s knickers.

“You better share my room for the rest of the night,” said Perry. “It’s got twin beds.”

“It’s all right,” said Priscilla. “There’s a free room next to mine.”

I really am beginning to hate you, thought Elspeth, but she smiled and said, “Perry and I have stories to discuss. I’ll share his room.”

♦

When Elspeth settled into the twin bed in Perry’s room, she said in a small voice, “Do you think I was imagining things?”

“I heard one of the maids say you were psychic. Did you sense anything?”

“No. I get strange feelings from time to time but I can’t seem to conjure them up when I need them.”

“It’ll be all right. We’ll try to get to the police station in the morning. Go to sleep.”

If this were a romance, thought Elspeth, he would take me in his arms and say he would protect me for the rest of his life. A few minutes later, Perry let out a gentle snore. So much for romance! Elspeth turned on her side and drifted down into a dream where a dark figure was chasing her along endless corridors.

♦

Priscilla was thinking of Perry. He was so attractive and so suitable. He was everything Hamish Macbeth was not. She wondered if there was anything going on with Elspeth. Elspeth often looked as if she bought her clothes exclusively in the cheapest type of thrift shop, but there was no denying that men did seem to be attracted to her. I’ll need to think up some way to have him to myself, thought Priscilla. Elspeth’s bound to go off on her own sometime or other.

♦

Lesley sighed with relief when she reached the forensic lab the following morning. She’d had to walk because the streets of Strathbane had not yet been cleared. Bruce, the head of the lab, was the only other person there.

“The lazy sods are using the snow as an excuse not to come to work,” he complained as Lesley pulled off her boots and put on a pair of dry flat shoes. “Well, that’s Fergus Braid off the hook.”

“What?”

“I was in the pub last night. Blair was furious, trying to say Macbeth made it up.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Last evening Macbeth found a witness over in Cnothan who had seen Fergus at the time of his wife’s murder.”

“Did you say yesterday evening?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Just wondered.” Lesley bit her lip in vexation. So that was why he had still been in uniform and had brought those wretched animals with him. He must be furious with her. She decided to phone him.

“The phones aren’t working and in case you haven’t noticed, we haven’t any electricity, either,” said Bruce.

“There’s nothing we can do until the power comes on.”

“Haven’t we got a generator?”

“No,” lied Bruce, who had in fact borrowed it for his home during an earlier power cut and forgotten to bring it back.

♦

On the same clear and very cold morning, Elspeth and Perry borrowed skis and managed to make their way to the police station.

Hamish listened intently. He knew Elspeth well enough not to accuse her of imagining things. When Elspeth and Perry had finished talking, he said, “I can’t understand how someone would get up to the hotel in a raging blizzard unless it was one of the guests. Which guests who were here at the murder of Catriona are still at the hotel?”

“I don’t know,” said Elspeth.

“But I do,” said Priscilla from the doorway. Elspeth scowled. He saw the way Priscilla looked at Perry. Couldn’t that damn female leave her just one man?

“Who are they?” asked Hamish.

“Just the one. A Mr. Garry.”

“We checked on him.” Hamish had piles of papers spread out in front of him on the table.

“Ah, here we are! Mr. Dominic Garry. Stockbroker. Likes hill walking. Fifty-five years old. He’s pretty fit?”

“Yes. He’s tall and thin. Does a lot of walking. We borrowed the last of the skis so I don’t suppose he’ll be going anywhere today.”

“I’ll get up to the hotel and have a word with him.”

“We’d better get started on your colour piece, Perry,” said Elspeth. “We’ll go along to the Highland Times and use a desk there.”

“I heard the snow plough going past,” said Priscilla. “You might be able to get up there in the Land Rover, Hamish. I’ll come with you.”

As they arrived at the hotel forecourt, Priscilla said, “That’s Mr. Garry. Just leaving.” Hamish jumped down from the Land Rover and called out, “Mr. Garry! A word with you!”

Garry was wearing an expensive anorak over thick knee breeches and sturdy boots.

“I was just going out for a walk,” he said. “Isn’t it beautiful in the snow?”

“If you wouldn’t mind coming back into the hotel. It won’t take long,” said Hamish.

When they were seated in a corner of the lounge, Hamish waited until Garry had shrugged off his anorak and said, “As you will have heard, Mr. Garry, there have been murders committed.”

“And what’s that got to do with me?”

“I am just asking everyone around if they might have see anything,” said Hamish soothingly. “Now, I see from my notes that you are a stockbroker from London. I am curious as to why you are up here on such a long holiday. This hotel is expensive.”

“Do I have to tell you?” Hamish’s eyes sharpened. “Of course.”

“I had a nervous breakdown. You can check with my psychiatrist. I’ll give you his number. He suggested I take a long break as far away from London as possible. I have plenty of money, and this has been a very healing experience.”

“What caused the breakdown?”

“I was wrongly accused of insider trading. By the time my name was cleared and I was settling down, my wife asked for a divorce. Come up to my room. I am going to give you phone numbers to check my story and then will you please leave me alone? I will also telephone my psychiatrist and give him permission to speak to you. I gather the phones are working again.”

♦

Hamish, when he got back to the police station, telephoned the psychiatrist. As he listened, his heart sank. He had been hoping that it would turn out some crazed outsider had been responsible. But the psychiatrist confirmed that Garry had indeed had a nervous breakdown. He said that in his opinion, Garry was a gentle man, not suited for the cutthroat life of the City. The divorce had been the final straw. He had private means. He warned Hamish not to upset him.

Hamish gloomily went back to studying his notes. Surely somewhere in the middle of all this information was something he had missed.

His eyes fell on the statement he had taken from Timmy Teviot. The man hadn’t been lying about the poachers, but there had been something else he hadn’t been saying. There had been something at the back of his eyes, and Hamish was suddenly sure he knew about the brothel.

Timmy wouldn’t be working today. The road right round the loch wouldn’t be cleared yet, but he decided to put his skis on and call on Timmy.

The phone rang. It was Lesley. “Hamish, I am very sorry…,” she was beginning.

“Talk to you later,” said Hamish. “Got to rush,” and put the phone down.

The phone immediately rang again.

“I told you…,” Hamish was beginning when Elspeth’s voice came down the line.

“It’s me, Elspeth. Hamish, while Perry was writing his piece, I’ve been thinking and thinking about the murders. The one thing that seems to tie them all together is sex.”

“Sex!”

“Think about it.”