Death of a Policeman

by M C Beaton

  Hamish parked in front of the address in Cockspur Street. Betty Queen lived in a small bungalow on the outskirts of Strathbane.

  He went up and rang the bell. “Is Miss Queen at home?” he asked the small, motherly woman who answered the door.

  “I am Betty Queen. What do you want?”

  “Just a wee chat,” said Hamish.

  “All right. Come in.”

  Hamish reflected that her living room would have delighted Dick. It was clean and comfortable, and the delicious smell of something cooking came from the kitchen. He looked curiously at Betty. She was plump with a round rosy face and brown hair. Her only claim to beauty was a pair of excellent legs.

  “How did you get into the life?” he asked curiously.

  “My husband deserted me, leaving me with a baby girl. I needed money and I had no skills. I was being interviewed for a job as a housekeeper in the bar of the Scotsman Hotel. The woman who was interviewing me said she could not take on a woman with a child and left. I was about to leave when this businessman came up and offered me a drink. I felt I needed a drink and one thing led to another. He began to pay me for services rendered and gave me gifts. Everything was fine until he said he was being moved on, that is, with his wife and family. So I went back to the hotel, picked up another one, and then began to advertise in the Internet.”

  “You advertised prostitution! It’s a miracle the police didn’t close you down.”

  “I advertised home comforts for weary businessmen. A lot of them are frightened of the lovelies imported from Eastern Europe. My daughter’s at Cambridge. Before that, I was able to send her to a good boarding school. Are you here to arrest me?”

  “No. I’m here to ask you about Cyril Sessions.”

  Her small nose wrinkled in disgust. “If we’re going to talk about him, I need some coffee. Wait there.”

  After some time, she came back with the coffee things and a plate of oatcakes spread with cream cheese. “I baked the oatcakes, and the cheese is from Orkney. Help yourself.

  “Now, Cyril was a monster. He wanted freebies and said if I didn’t give him what he wanted, he would report me. I hated him. At last, I phoned the police to report him and some great fat detective called on me. He said if I left Cyril alone then he would make sure Cyril left me alone, and that was the last I saw of Cyril.”

  “So what did he talk about? These oatcakes are great.” Hamish was about to ask for the recipe to give to Dick and then remembered he wanted nothing more to do with the man.

  “Help yourself. I’ve lots more. Cyril bragged a lot. He hinted that he was soon going to be rich. He said he had the goods on someone. As he was already blackmailing me, I assume he had found someone else to put the screws on.”

  “Do you know if that someone was Murdo Bentley?”

  “The racketeer. I read about him in the newspapers. I assumed that was why Cyril was murdered. Why are you staring at me like that?”

  “Did you never think of getting married?”

  “Well, it would be nice, wouldn’t it? I’ve thought about it lately. I’ve enough in the bank and I’m thinking of retiring.”

  “Do your neighbours know you’re on the game?”

  “There’s no one close by. I go to the kirk on Sundays. They think I’m respectable.”

  “If you can think of anything more that might be useful, here is my card. I wonder if I could take some of your baking back with me. I’ll gladly pay you.”

  “Don’t be silly. I’m flattered. Do you know? Talking to you has cheered me up. You look at me as if I’m a real woman. I think I will retire. Wait and I’ll make you up a box.”

  Hamish dropped the box on the kitchen table at the police station and said mildly, “I had to go to headquarters about something and I called in on an old friend o’ mine. She’s a champion baker.”

  Relieved that Hamish was talking to him, Dick opened the box. It contained two plastic containers. One held the oatcakes and another, chocolate muffins.

  Dick bit into an oatcake and then raised his eyes. “Man, there are oatcakes and oatcakes but these come straight from heaven. Did you get the recipe?”

  “You know what these champion cooks are like,” said Hamish. “We’ve got a quiet day. Here’s her address. She’s called Betty Queen. Why don’t you call on her?”

  Dick tried a bit of chocolate muffin. “I’ve just got to find out how she does it.”

  “Don’t put your uniform on,” said Hamish. “She might think there’s a death in the family when she opens the door.”

  Betty looked curiously at the small figure of Dick on her doorstep. “I’m a friend of Hamish’s,” said Dick.

  “You’d better come in,” said Betty sadly. She thought that Hamish had sent along one of his friends as a client.

  When they were seated in the living room, she said, “And what can I do for you?” She hoped it was nothing kinky.

  Dick’s eyes shone with an almost religious fervour. “It’s your baking,” he said. “Hamish told me you were a champion baker. I’m good myself, but you’re a genius. Is there any hope of a recipe?”

  Betty’s face lit up. “Come through to the kitchen and I’ll show you how I do it.”

  After three hours of cooking lessons, Dick looked at his watch. “It’s getting late. Tell you what, there’s a grand Italian restaurant over in Lochdubh. Why don’t I take you there for dinner?”

  She smiled at him. “That would be grand.”

  Hamish was strolling along the waterfront with his dog and cat when he saw Dick and Betty seated at a table in the window of the Italian restaurant. He turned to go back to the police station when he saw Hetty’s car coming along the waterfront.

  He went straight into the restaurant. “Move to a table at the back,” he said to Dick. “Evening, Betty. Some woman is pursuing Dick and if she sees you, she’ll join you. Give me your car keys and I’ll move it.”

  “Hetty?” asked Dick.

  “The same.”

  “Let’s move, Betty,” said Dick urgently. “I’ll tell you all about it.”

  After driving Dick’s car round to the back of the restaurant, Hamish returned his keys and then went back out and strolled towards the police station. Hetty was sitting in her parked car. Hamish rapped on the window and she rolled down the glass.

  “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

  “I’ve come to see Dick.”

  “Constable Fraser is visiting his fiancée in Perth,” said Hamish.

  “But he said nothing to me about a fiancée!” exclaimed Hetty.

  “Why should he?” demanded Hamish. “He wasn’t dating you.”

  “He led me on!”

  “Havers! Now, move along, lassie, or I’ll book you for obstructing the entrance to a police station.”

  With a great savage grinding of gears, Hetty did a U-turn and sped off.

  “So things are going well,” said Hamish to Sonsie and Lugs. “But what the hell is going to happen when he finds out she’s a prostitute?”

  Over coffee, Betty said with a sigh, “I did enjoy that. Did Hamish tell you about me?”

  “He said you were a champion baker. Why did he go to see you? I didnae ask.”

  “When I tell you, you won’t want to see me again.”

  “You’d better let me know what it was about.”

  “My husband cleared off and left me with a small child to bring up. I had no skills. I started selling myself. Cyril Sessions discovered me and started blackmailing me for free favours. I reported him and some detective told me he wouldn’t bother me again if I kept quiet. I’m retired. I did my business very quietly. My own daughter knows nothing about it. I boarded her out at an early age. She’s at Cambridge now.”

  A fat tear rolled down her cheek. “And along you come and treat me like a lady and I’ve loved every minute of it.”

  She began to cry in earnest. Dick took out a large clean handkerchief and handed it to her.

  He waited until she had rec
overed and then he said, “Have you seen the new James Bond movie?”

  “No.”

  “Would you like to go tomorrow night?”

  Betty stared at him in amazement. “You’re asking me out on a date?”

  “Another date. This is one.”

  “Oh, I would love to.”

  “It’s showing here in the village hall tomorrow night at seven o’ clock. I’ll pick you up at six.”

  “I’m sorry I had to tell you about my life,” said Betty.

  “Let’s forget about it.”

  When Dick returned to the police station, he said to Hamish, “You should ha’ told me about her.”

  “She’s retired,” said Hamish. “I thought you would enjoy her baking, that’s all.”

  “Well, don’t tie me up the morrow night, I’m taking Betty to the pictures at the village hall. Did you manage to get rid of Hetty?”

  “Yes. Have a word with Shona. I think something should be done about her. I think the woman is deranged.”

  “I’ll take a run over tomorrow. What will you be doing?”

  “I’m going to stalk Beryl. I feel sure she knows where the Campbell brothers are.”

  The following morning, Hamish phoned the Tommel Castle Hotel to be told that Elspeth had been called back to Glasgow.

  He felt a pang of disappointment. He went along to Angela’s and asked to borrow her car. He didn’t want Beryl to see the police Land Rover.

  Hamish found a parking place outside her rental office and settled down to wait. She had two girls working for her. He waited until he saw one of the girls leaving for her lunch hour, got out of the car, and followed her.

  She went into a Burger King. Hamish stood behind her while she placed her order, then collected a container of coffee for himself and followed her to her table. Fortunately, the place was crowded. “May I join you?” he asked.

  She nodded. She was small, just about five feet high, with brown hair streaked with blonde, a nose ring, and a spotty face.

  “Cold day,” ventured Hamish. “Might get snow.”

  “Jings!” she said. “That a fact?”

  “Working hard?”

  “Och, it’s aye slow in the winter.”

  “Good boss?”

  “Bitch frae hell, but jobs are hard to come by.”

  “I saw in the papers that the police were looking for a couple of men who used to work for her.”

  “Oh, them. That was afore my time. What do you do?”

  “I’m a crofter,” said Hamish.

  “Sheep and a’ that?”

  “Yes. Healthy life.”

  “Wouldnae suit me. I’m going to be on telly one o’ thae days.”

  “And how do you manage that?”

  She looked at him coyly. “The Strathbane Telly folk hang out at the Scotsman. I go there some evenings with my pals. I saw one o’ them looking at me. I’ll be discovered.”

  Uncovered, more likely, in a hotel room and put down as an easy lay, thought Hamish cynically.

  He realised she could not have any useful information. “Got to go,” he said. “Sheep to see, people to do.”

  When he returned to his car, he suddenly felt he was wasting time. If Beryl had any contact with the brothers, it would be under cover of darkness.

  Dick waited until he saw Shona leave for her lunch and followed her into the café.

  “Why, Dick!” said Shona. “Grand to see you.”

  Dick congratulated her on her engagement and then said, “We’re getting right worried about Hetty. She’s started stalking me and we’re sure she’s gone mad. Hamish suggests you have a word wi’ the library board.”

  “I couldn’t do that,” said Shona. “I don’t have any proof. I mean, in the library, she does her job just fine.”

  “Go carefully. She’s beginning to scare me,” said Dick.

  They talked about Shona’s forthcoming wedding, Dick finding to his amazement that now he just looked on her as a young friend.

  The girl Hamish had met in Burger King was chatting about the crofter she had met at lunchtime. “He was asking about the Campbell brothers,” she said.

  “What did he look like?” asked Beryl.

  “Great big loon wi’ bright red hair.”

  “Get on with your work,” snapped Beryl. She retreated to her inner office to make a phone call.

  Chapter Ten

  I have no relish for the country; it is a kind of healthy grave.

  —Sydney Smith

  Two frustrating weeks went by for Hamish Macbeth. At night, he hid in the shrubbery at Beryl’s place, hoping for some clue, without success.

  Dick was out most evenings, visiting Betty and giving Hamish pangs of conscience. What hope did his romance have? If they were seen together and Betty recognised for what she was, or rather had been recently, then Dick would be in trouble.

  Then Hamish got a call late one evening from Strathbane. A report of a burglary had come in. He was given an address of a cottage on the moors before Strathbane. He was told a Mrs. McLeigh had called for help. He asked Dick if he could use his car, as there was something up with the Land Rover. Deciding not to waste time putting on his uniform, he slipped a small tape recorder inside his pocket before he set off. He found its records useful when writing up his notes.

  He arrived at the cottage. The door was standing open and light was streaming out over the heather.

  Hamish entered cautiously. “Mrs. McLeigh,” he called.

  A heavy blow struck him on the back of the head and he slumped to the ground.

  He slowly recovered consciousness some time later. He was feeling dizzy and sick, but some instinct told him to keep his eyes closed. A man’s voice said, “Well, Andy, here we are at the bog, but it’s still dug up.”

  The Campbell brothers at last, thought Hamish. He could tell that his wrists and feet were bound tightly because of the pain.

  “Let’s search him first,” said what must be the other brother, Davy. “Maybe he’s got some money on him.”

  “I saw a wallet in his back pocket. Roll him over,” said Andy.

  Hamish was thrust on his face. Then came Andy’s shocked voice. “That bitch never told us it was the polis. She just said some fellow would arrive at the cottage, to knock him out and bury him in the bog. But to kill a polis!”

  Came Davy’s voice, “Aye but she’s got our passports in that safe of hers. She said after this, she would let us have them and money to get abroad.”

  “This is Hamish Macbeth, him that’s often in the papers. There’ll be an international manhunt.”

  There was a long silence. Then Andy said, “We could leave him here, get back to Beryl’s, make her open the safe, top her, and get the hell out o’ the country. I tell you, murder this polis and she’ll have her claws even deeper into us. She’s promised to let us go time after time and nothing happened. Cut the polis loose and let’s get the hell out o’ here. He’s still breathing. Let’s hope he doesn’t croak.”

  Hamish felt his bonds slashed. He lay very still until he heard the sound of a vehicle fading in the distance.

  He rolled over and felt in his pockets. The tape recorder was still there and running. They had not even taken his mobile phone. He phoned Strathbane and rapidly told them the situation, asking them to get to Beryl’s house as fast as possible and send a car to pick him up at the bog.

  Beryl opened the door to the Campbell brothers. “All done?” she asked. “That was quick.”

  Andy went round behind her and seized her in a strong grip. “Get the ropes, Davy,” he shouted.

  Beryl fought and screamed but to no avail. Soon she was tied to a chair.

  “Gie us the combination to the safe,” said Davy.

  “No!” said Beryl.

  “Go ahead,” said Davy to his brother.

  Andy took a can of petrol, opened it, and splashed the contents all over Beryl. Then he flicked open a lighter and held it up. “The combination, lassie, or you burn.”<
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  Beryl closed her eyes and gave them the combination.

  They went through and opened the safe. They took out their passports and wads of money.

  “This’ll get us out o’ the country,” said Andy.

  They returned to the living room and surveyed Beryl.

  “What do we do with her?” asked Davy.

  “This,” said Andy. He flicked open the lighter and threw it onto Beryl’s lap.

  She went up like a torch. “Let’s beat it,” said Andy. “She screamed enough to wake the dead.”

  They walked out of the villa to be faced with a squad of armed police. They turned to run, but the villa was in flames.

  “Get down on the ground,” shouted a policeman through a megaphone, “or we’ll shoot.”

  Hamish arrived in time to see them being led away. A fire engine came roaring up, and soon hoses were being played on the burning building.

  Hamish approached Jimmy. “I’ve got what they said at the bog on tape. If they shut the safe behind them, you may find stuff in there that she hid when we searched the house.”

  “You’d better get to the hospital,” said Jimmy. “You’re as white as a sheet. If you’ve got bleeding from the brain, you’ll be dead by the morning.”

  Hamish phoned Dick from the hospital the next morning and told him about his adventures.

  “Nobody phoned me,” said Dick. “Where’s my car?”

  “I’ll get them to search for it.”

  “I’ll come over with Betty and see you.”

  “Not Betty,” said Hamish. “They’ll be in to take a statement from me, and Blair might be hanging around.”

  “Oh, right.”

  What on earth was Dick going to do about Betty, wondered Hamish.

  Jimmy called later and waited while a policeman took a full statement. Then he said, “The safe survived the fire. I’m waiting until forensics are finished.”