Death of a Witch

by M C Beaton

  “Sleekit. That’s what she was. Sleekit. You would think butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. Yes, Daddy. No, Daddy. When she said she was at the library, studying, I told him I saw her hanging out in the High Street with a group of boys. When he challenged her, she burst into tears and said, ‘I was only talking to a group of school friends.’ And he believed her! I knew if I told any more tales on her, the wedding would be off.”

  “Do you think anyone from the time she lived in Perth would want to kill her?”

  Ruby gave an asthmatic chuckle. “Apart from me? I mind there was this young fellow, Wayne Abercrombie. I was visiting my Horace . . .”

  “Horace being Mr. Burrell?” asked Hamish.

  “Yes. This lad Wayne came hammering at the door demanding to speak to Catriona. Horace said she was out. Wayne said he had to see her to find out whether she meant to go through with the abortion. I thought poor Horace was going to drop dead with a heart attack. He told him to get lost or he’d call the police and he sent me home and waited for Catriona. I phoned him the next day and he wouldn’t speak about it except to say that it was all lies and he didn’t want to hear about it again.

  “Oh, I wanted proof. I wanted something against her to open his eyes to what she was really like. I went in search of Wayne. He was older than Catriona and working at a garage out on the Inverness Road. Well, he tried to deny even having been at the house! Then he said it had all been a joke.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “He married a local lass a whiles back. I remember seeing the wedding in the local paper. He was a motor mechanic so maybe he’s in the same job. I always wonder if he was the one that stole the money.”

  “What money?” asked Elspeth.

  “It was the night of the day that Wayne had come to the house. Someone broke in during the night and stole five hundred pounds that Horace had in his desk. He kept it to pay workmen off the books. I know it sounds bad that a churchman should pay workers off the books but a lot of them, because of the VAT and the health and safety regulations, won’t work unless it’s for cash. The police were called. The lock on the front door had been jemmied open. Horace couldn’t understand why he didn’t wake because he was aye a light sleeper. You know what I think? I think that bitch from hell gave him some sort of sleeping pill and stole the money herself.”

  “Did you tell the police any of this?” asked Hamish. “I don’t remember anything in the report.”

  “No, it was a young female detective wi’ a snippy way about her. I don’t think she wanted to bother listening to me.”

  After they had left her, Hamish said they should start asking at all the garages they could find and see if they could trace Wayne Abercrombie.

  They were lucky the first time. He was still working at the garage out on the Inverness Road.

  He was a tall man with a thick thatch of brown hair and a pleasant tanned face. But on hearing that they wanted to ask him about Catriona, he scowled and said it was all in the past and he had to get on with his work. Only Hamish’s threat to take him down to the police station made him sigh and say, “Let’s get out of here. I’ll tell them I’m taking a break and it’s about a stolen car.”

  He came back shortly and stripped off his oily overalls. “Let’s go over to the pub,” he said.

  Over a pint of beer, he reluctantly began his story. “Catriona was a wild one. I swear to God she seduced me. I mean, she was still a schoolgirl and her father a minister, but she got me fair worked up. Then she told me she was pregnant and I would have to marry her. I didn’t want to. There was something about her that frightened me. But I thought I’d better do the decent thing and call on her and see her father as well because she said if I didn’t marry her she would get an abortion. He wouldn’t believe me and said he’d call the police.

  “The next day, Catriona turns up here and hands me five hundred pounds and tells me to keep my mouth shut and that never to tell anyone we had had sex. I asked about the baby. She sneered and said there wasn’t any baby. She just wanted to get married and get out of that house.”

  “When did you last see her?” asked Hamish.

  He hung his head.

  “Out with it?” said Hamish sharply.

  “A chap came in for repairs, a tourist, and we got to talking. He was an Australian. He said the villages were fascinating and one even had a resident witch. Her name was Catriona Beldame and he had a photo of her. I suddenly wanted to see her. I wanted to know if perhaps she really had been pregnant and had our child. So I went up there.”

  “When?” demanded Hamish sharply.

  “It must have been the week afore she was murdered. She was very bitter.”

  “In what way?”

  “She blamed everyone, starting with her father. Then she blamed me for seducing a schoolgirl. I pointed out she had seduced me and that’s when she got furious and started screaming at me to get out. That’s all. I swear I had nothing to do with her murder.”

  Hamish took him through the other three murders but he had cast-iron alibis for all of them.

  “Will this need to come out?” he asked. “I don’t want the wife to know.”

  “I’ll try to keep it quiet,” said Hamish.

  “So what do you think of what we’ve got so far?” asked Elspeth over lunch.

  “Not much,” said Hamish gloomily. “I had great hopes of Wayne.”

  “Might be him after all.”

  “I’m sure not. I don’t want to alert Jimmy to the fact that I’m in Perth where he told me not to go.”

  “That Niçoise salad of yours is going to wilt if you don’t eat it, Hamish.”

  “I keep thinking I ought to eat more healthy food and yet when I get it, my appetite goes away.”

  “I can put you on my expenses. Send it back and order a steak.”

  “It’s a waste.”

  “I’m only having salad, so I can eat two.” Elspeth called over the waiter and ordered Hamish a T-bone steak and chips.

  “If only Catriona had been a nice person like Ina Braid. So many people must have wanted to murder her,” mourned Hamish.

  “Now, there’s a thing. What about Ina Braid? Surely the only reason she was murdered was because she knew something. She must have said something to her husband. Let’s go back and see him.”

  “I’ve just remembered,” said Hamish. “Ina’s funeral is this afternoon. I’ll ask for a doggy bag and take the steak with me. We’ve got to be there.”

  “It’s only on the TV that murderers turn up at funerals, Hamish.”

  “I’d still like to be there.”

  When they arrived, the church service was over and everyone was at the graveside. The whole village had turned out.

  “Are you coming to the village hall afterwards?” asked Angela, appearing beside them. “The women decided that Fergus couldn’t cope with the entertaining and so they’re organising the funeral baked meats for him.”

  “We’ll take a look in. I’d better contribute some whisky if Patel has any left. How’s Fergus coping?”

  “He’s pretty shattered. It all seems to have finally hit him hard.”

  When the graveside ceremony was over, Elspeth and Hamish bought a bottle of whisky and followed the black-clad figures to the hall. At other funerals, people might now turn up in colours, but Lochdubh kept to the tradition of funereal black.

  At the hall, Tilly Framont came up to Hamish, her eyes wet with tears. “I’ve lost my best friend,” she said.

  “Did Ina not tell you something about the murder of Catriona?” asked Hamish.

  “No, all she said was ‘good riddance.’ And she wasn’t a secretive woman.”

  Tilly moved away.

  Nessie Currie then approached them. Jessie was over at the buffet, loading up a plate with sandwiches.

  She glared at Elspeth. “Thon was a really stupid set of horoscopes,” she said.

  Was it Hamish’s imagination, or was there not a sudden silence all around? People were
still talking but he had an uneasy feeling that someone close by had been shocked by what Nessie had said.

  “Sorry about that,” said Elspeth, “but Angus was off sick and I did the best I could.”

  “You should be ashamed of yourself, meddling with people’s star signs. I’m a Scorpio.”

  “You are that,” said Hamish and led Elspeth off to the buffet.

  “How long is this guard of yours to go on?” asked Elspeth.

  “I’ll try to look after you for as long as possible, but for my sake and your own, try to get off to Glasgow soon.”

  A splash of colour appeared in the doorway of the hall. “Oh, look, it’s your girlfriend,” said Elspeth. “I’m off to circulate. I’ll have to report on this. I see my photographer’s got a glass in his hand. I’d better find out whether he got some decent pictures before he gets too drunk.”

  Lesley, wearing a cherry-red coat, joined Hamish. “What are you doing here?” asked Hamish.

  “I came to see you. I thought you might like to know the latest developments.”

  “There are a couple of empty chairs over in the corner,” said Hamish. “Let’s go over there.”

  “I went back over the mobile home myself,” said Lesley, “and I found one thread—a dark blue thread, which might have come off a tweed coat or jacket. It was a lucky find because whoever murdered Fiona vacuumed up afterwards and took away the vacuum bag. I thought you might want to look around for someone with a jacket or coat like that.”

  “Thanks. That’s a good tip,” said Hamish, thinking Lesley looked pretty with her large eyes and red-gold hair.

  “I couldn’t find you today,” said Lesley. “Where were you?”

  “I’ve been babysitting my reporter friend. She wrote the horoscope programme in the local paper implying she knew the identity of the murderer.”

  “That’s odd.”

  “What is?”

  “Getting you to babysit. That should be a job for a policewoman.”

  “Elspeth has helped out in cases in the past. I think Jimmy hoped she would come up with something. Oh, here’s the lord and master.”

  Blair pushed his way through the throng. “I’ve just learned you’ve been wasting your time squiring around your girlfriend. I gave Anderson a rocket. These journalists are hard-boiled and don’t need protection. Get up to Braikie and start asking folks all over again. Someone must ha’ seen something.”

  “I’ll tell her,” said Hamish.

  Blair saw the trays of whisky being carried around, and his eyes gleamed. “No, laddie, I’ll tell her. Get off with you.”

  Lesley walked out with him. “Maybe you’ll be free for dinner tonight?” said Hamish. “I owe you one.”

  “I would like that.”

  “The Italian place at eight?”

  “Fine.”

  Hamish felt the rest of the day was a waste of time. No one in Braikie had seen anything. Even the ones who said they had, the ones who had made up colourful stories, had nothing now to say.

  When he got to the restaurant that evening, Lesley was the only customer. From the village hall came the sound of the accordion and fiddle. The wake would go on all night as usual, he guessed.

  Lesley was wearing a low-cut blue dress revealing a deep cleavage. Hamish felt the first stirrings of desire. Elspeth had been cool and business-like and had put out no vibes at all. Her very style of dress seemed to say keep off.

  Lesley found Hamish more attractive than ever. The fact that here was a man who didn’t seem to want to drag her off to bed had piqued her curiosity about him, and his friendship with Elspeth had roused her competitive instincts.

  They talked over the murder cases and drank quite a lot of wine. Hamish, just before the coffee was served, reached across the table and took her hand.

  “Lesley,” he began, when a familiar voice said, “Gosh I’m beat. Am I in time for coffee?”

  Elspeth pulled up a chair and sat down. Hamish drew back his hand as if he had been scalded.

  “Find out anything?” he asked.

  “Nothing. But I’ve arranged I should call on Fergus tomorrow.”

  “You shouldnae have done that without checking with me first.”

  Elspeth looked from Hamish to Lesley. “Dear me, it seems as if I am not welcome here.”

  “Who’s not welcome?” said a cool, amused voice.

  Hamish stumbled to his feet, his face flaming. “Priscilla! When did you arrive?”

  “Today. May I join you? Hullo, Elspeth. Who’s this?”

  Hamish introduced Priscilla to Lesley, aware the whole time of the malicious amusement in Elspeth’s silver eyes.

  Lesley’s heart sank. Who on earth was this classy vision, impeccably dressed, serene and beautiful? Her face was perfect, as was the smooth bell of her blonde hair. Lesley had drunk a lot so that she would have the excuse of asking Hamish for a bed for the night. It was still worth a try.

  “I’m afraid I’m not in a fit condition to drive this evening,” she said.

  “Don’t worry about it,” said Priscilla. “I’ll put you up at the hotel as my guest.”

  All Lesley could do was to say dismally, “Very kind of you.”

  Priscilla wanted to know all about the murders.

  Lesley felt forgotten as Hamish described all the murders and Priscilla listened intently.

  “Look,” she interrupted at last, “I really think I’m fit to drive home.”

  “How rude of me to ignore you like this,” said Priscilla. “Hamish, I’ll catch up with you tomorrow.”

  When they had gone Elspeth asked, “Feeling smug?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Our forensic expert is after you.”

  Hamish looked uncomfortable. “I think maybe she’s just keen on her job. Look, I’ll come with you to see Fergus. Has anyone come forward to claim Catriona’s body for burial?”

  “Not that I’ve heard. I believe Mrs. Wellington was trying to get the villagers to raise money for her funeral but the general opinion is that a stake through the heart is all that’s needed. But I suppose the responsibility will fall on the husband.”

  “I gather Fergus is still off work?”

  “He’s thinking of going back soon.”

  “I forgot to ask Jimmy whether Ina was insured.”

  “We’ll ask tomorrow.”

  Hamish sighed. “I’d better escort you to the hotel. Remember to lock your door and don’t answer without checking downstairs first.”

  Fergus answered the door to them the following morning. He looked a wreck. His eyes were bloodshot and his shoulders stooped. “Come ben,” he said.

  What had happened to Ina’s impeccable housekeeping? Empty beer cans lay on the floor along with the remains of TV dinners. The furniture was covered in a thin layer of dust.

  “You’re not looking very well,” commented Hamish.

  “Ina looked after me real well. I can’t cook. I hate shopping. Och, man, I wish she was back.” Fergus began to cry.

  “Wheesht, now,” said Hamish. “You’ll just need to get used to the fact that she’s gone.”

  “I’ll make a cup of tea,” said Elspeth, and she disappeared into the kitchen.

  “Are you all right financially?” asked Hamish.

  “Oh, aye.” Fergus gave a great gulping sob and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Her life was insured.”

  “How much?”

  “Seventy-five thousand pounds. Thon creature Blair was trying to make me admit I murdered her for the money but he can’t prove otherwise.”

  “Maybe you should take a holiday,” said Elspeth. “Get right away.”

  “I can’t. Hamish, you’ve just got to find out who killed my Ina.”

  “Fergus, I think she knew something about the killer,” said Hamish. “Didn’t she even give you a hint about who it might be?”

  “No, but we didnae talk all that much come to think of it. I watched the telly of an evening and herself would knit or go out to one of th
ose women’s meetings at the kirk.”

  “I want you to keep thinking about it all the same,” said Hamish earnestly. “Anything at all she might have said.”

  “Now what?” asked Elspeth when they were outside. The day was still and misty, and little pearls of moisture glinted in her frizzy hair.

  “I think I’ll get back ower to Bonar Bridge. Maybe I might pick up something there.”

  “Want me to come with you?”

  “No, just be careful.”

  Hamish wanted rid of her because he wanted to see Priscilla. He wondered if the old longing for her would ever go away.

  He returned to the police station to collect his dog and cat, making sure first that no members of the press were lurking about, and then drove to the hotel.

  The Tommel Castle Hotel had once been the home of the Halburton-Smythes. It was one of those mock Gothic castles that had sprung up in the Highlands in Victoria’s reign when landowners wanted to copy Balmoral. Colonel Halburton-Smythe had fallen on hard times, and it was Hamish who had suggested he turn his home into a hotel. The establishment had flourished, and the colonel was fond of bragging that it had all been his own idea.

  He asked for Priscilla and was told she was over in the gift shop helping the new Polish girl with the stock. Hamish uneasily remembered talking to Elspeth in the lounge and looking up and seeing that Polish maid. Had she said anything about Elspeth writing the horoscopes? Then he reflected dismally that even if she hadn’t, the gossip grapevine of Lochdubh had probably found out already. Nessie Currie would have seen to that.

  He wondered if any of the villagers were protecting someone. He desperately didn’t want it to be anyone from the village.

  He opened the door of the gift shop and went in. Priscilla and a Polish girl were sorting out a box of Shetland wool shawls, all of them as fine as gossamer.

  “I’m just about finished here,” said Priscilla. “Want to talk?”

  “Yes,” said Hamish. “If you can spare the time.”

  She smiled. “I’ve always got time for you.”