Death of Yesterday

by M C Beaton

  “What film?” demanded Jimmy.

  “It’s a DVD I want to watch,” said Hamish.

  “How can you be thinking of your home entertainment at a time like this?” snapped Jimmy. “Elspeth, I won’t keep you, but after we finish up here, we’ll call on you at the hotel to take statements from you and your crew.”

  Dawn was lighting the sky when Hamish and Dick eventually made their weary way back to the police station.

  Hamish tried to sleep, but, exhausted though he was, he was haunted with visions of Heather’s awful death.

  He awoke late in the morning to the sound of the telephone ringing and hammering on the door.

  “It’s the press. Don’t answer any of it,” said Dick coming in with a cup of coffee. “Man, I still feel sick and I can’t seem to get the smell of burning out of my nostrils.”

  “Where are Sonsie and Lugs?” asked Hamish.

  “I took them up to the hotel before I went to bed and got Elspeth to look after them. You don’t want the press getting shots of your wild cat.”

  “You’re a good man, Dick,” said Hamish, suddenly guilty that he had recently been wishing he could get rid of him. “I don’t know what I’d do without you. I’d better get up and get to work. Daviot must be spitting bullets. Heather escaping twice can hardly cover the police in glory. Oh, God, there’ll be investigations and reports required. The whole of the next few months is going to be hell.”

  Once Hamish had finished a long report, he and Dick, noticing that the press had gone, made their way up to the Tommel Castle Hotel. They parked at the side and made their way through the kitchen door, knowing that some of the press were probably trying to get a statement from Angus, while the rest would be over at Strathbane.

  Clarry, the chef, was cooking up liver for Sonsie and Lugs, who were standing at his feet, waiting expectantly.

  “We’ll just nip up the back stairs,” said Hamish.

  “Had your breakfast?” asked Clarry.

  “Haven’t had time to eat anything,” said Hamish.

  “When you come back down, I’ll have something for you.”

  “Do you know which room Elspeth is in?”

  “She’s got the tower suite, her being a celebrity and all.”

  Elspeth answered the door to them. “Thank goodness I know how to operate a camera,” she said. “Peter, the cameraman, went into shock and had to be sedated. I hope I don’t get into trouble with the unions. Got a good interview. Angus is as tough as old boots. I destroyed that film. I don’t suppose anyone wants that as a souvenir. If Strathbane saw that, with all the enquiries going on, they might arrest him out of spite.”

  “Will you be leaving soon?” asked Hamish.

  “No. A lawyer’s being flown up. We’re signing up Angus for an exclusive. I’m bone-weary, Hamish. The police have taken a statement from me, so you don’t need to bother.”

  “I didnae come for that. I came to see you were all right.”

  “It’ll take me a long time. I’m not as hardened as you.”

  “I’m not that hardened.”

  “What about that remark about the smell of roasting Heather? Another journalist would have seized on it.”

  “The worse the situation, the worse the remark. I’ll hae bad dreams for a while.”

  “Angus is the strongest of all of us. He believes in hellfire and in the old Celtic gods. He believes they rode down from the heavens to save him.”

  “Do you think we might have dinner this evening like old times, Elspeth?”

  “All right. If I don’t get too tied up here.”

  “The Italian place at eight?”

  “As long as you’re not hassled by reporters.”

  “We should be all right. Apart from yourself, Willie Lamont doesn’t like the press. He’ll have told them it’s all booked up. Anyway, you know what they’re like. Come evening, they’ll all be in the bar up here, competing to tell the tallest story.”

  Hamish and Dick enjoyed a gourmet lunch in the kitchen that left them realising they were bone-tired and hadn’t had enough sleep. They both went back to the station and to their respective beds. Hamish was sure that Jimmy would not want to contact him. Strathbane would still be coping with answers as to why Heather had escaped a second time.

  In the evening, he put on his one good suit and brushed his fiery hair until it shone.

  A fine drizzle was falling as he walked along to the restaurant.

  Elspeth’s hair was once more smooth. She was wearing a grey cashmere sweater and jeans. But her silver Gypsy eyes surveyed him, giving his heart a lurch. No matter how sophisticated she looked, Hamish realised she would always be the Elspeth of the Highlands for him.

  “I’m tired,” said Elspeth. “It’s been a long day. Just a salad for me, Willie.”

  “Aye, that’ll be because of your weight,” said Willie. “You television ladies have aye got to starve yourselves.”

  “I don’t put on weight,” snapped Elspeth. “I’m just too tired to eat much.”

  Willie sniggered. “If you say so. But the everdupeas is a sore point for…”

  “What the hell’s he talking about?” demanded Elspeth.

  “He means avoirdupois,” said Hamish. “I’ll have the lasagne and buzz off, Willie, or I’ll put your head in the pizza oven.”

  “So is Angus all signed up?”

  “Signed and sealed. He drives a hard bargain. The other press don’t know yet so there won’t be any spoiling pieces about him tomorrow, and by that time he’ll be a hero. I gather the whole business about the factory is a legal muddle.”

  “I’ve been asleep this afternoon,” said Hamish, “and I forgot to find out if they arrested people for the fire.”

  “Not one. The whole village clammed up. Police did a house-to-house search but couldn’t find anything. Not even a smell of petrol on anyone.”

  “Well, all’s well that ends so messily,” said Hamish. “Back to the quiet life. What about you? Plan to go on forever?”

  “I’m a woman. I can’t. You won’t see any old female presenters. Men can go on getting grey hair and wrinkles, but women are out as soon as they show signs of age. I like the fame and the money, but occasionally I just want to chuck the lot up. It would be nice to leave while I’m at the top.”

  “How’s Barry Dalrymple?”

  “Not romancing any of the competition that I know of. Talking of competition…oh, here’s our food.”

  She waited until Willie had left. She lifted a forkful of salad to her mouth and put it down again. “Hamish, did you sleep with Hannah Fleming? She said you did.”

  Hamish wanted to lie. He found himself going red under her steady gaze. He sighed. “It’s like this, Elspeth. She seemed such a beauty. I neffer even listened to the lassie. I’m that ashamed. It was worse when I found everything about her seemed to be false—hair, eyelashes, breasts, teeth, you name it.”

  “I wonder that didn’t put Barry off,” said Elspeth. “He swore he hadn’t slept with her. He thought she was holding out for marriage.”

  Hamish poked dismally at his food.

  “Don’t look sad, Hamish. You were just behaving like any other man.”

  “I thought I was different,” mourned Hamish.

  She leaned across and took his hand in a warm clasp. “Let’s forget about it. It’s over and done with.”

  He looked into those Gypsy eyes, those silvery eyes, and grasped her hand tightly.

  “Marry me, Elspeth.”

  “What?”

  “Why don’t we get married?”

  “But what about Dick?”

  “He’ll need to find somewhere else.”

  “What about my career? Would you move to Glasgow?”

  “No, I belong up here and so do you. Why don’t we chust get engaged and take it from there?”

  “We’d need to keep quiet about it for a bit,” said Elspeth, although her eyes were shining. “If I announce I’m getting married, believe me, they’ll
start looking for a replacement right away.”

  “Is that a yes?”

  “Yes.”

  Hamish leaned across the table and kissed her full on the mouth. Then he sat back, feeling happy and elated.

  “Let’s go and tell Dick when we’ve finished our meal.”

  Dick was lounging on the sofa with the dog and the cat beside him when Hamish and Elspeth walked in. He took one look at their glowing faces and his heart sank.

  “You’ve got to keep quiet about this, Dick,” said Hamish. “Be the first to congratulate us. We’re going to get married.”

  Dick got slowly to his feet. “That’s just great. Will I get some drinks?”

  “No, I’m taking Elspeth back to the hotel.”

  “Good luck to both of you.”

  Hamish and Elspeth went off.

  Dick sank slowly back on the sofa and patted the cat’s large head. He looked sadly around at what he had come to think of as his little kingdom. His fingers tightened on the cat’s fur, and Sonsie gave a warning hiss.

  “Over my dead body,” said Dick. “Hear that, fellows? Over my dead body.”

  Epilogue

  Thou tyrant, tyrant Jealousy,

  Thou tyrant of the mind!

  —John Dryden

  After two days, Elspeth returned to Glasgow after bidding a passionate farewell to Hamish.

  Once she was back in her old environment and back to her usual work, Lochdubh and Hamish seemed very far away. She wondered if she could get him to change his mind and come to live in Glasgow. That would mean the dog and cat as well. Hamish would not leave them behind. And in the smart riverside block of flats in which she lived, pets were forbidden.

  She went out one evening with some of her colleagues. They laughed and talked shop and all got mildly drunk. How on earth would Hamish fit in?

  On the other hand, she could get out of it all and go back to her old reporting job on the Highland Times. But her mind cringed away from the thought of reporting things like school concerts, flower shows, and council meetings.

  At the Tommel Castle Hotel, the manager, Mr. Johnson, felt uneasy. His loyalty was to the hotel and that meant to Priscilla. Like all good hotel managers, he knew who was sleeping with whom, and Hamish had spent two nights with Elspeth Grant. She had not been wearing an engagement ring, but when she had leaned forward to put her debit card in the machine in the manager’s office, her neckline had dipped and Mr. Johnston had clearly seen what looked like a diamond engagement ring worn on a thin chain around her neck.

  A week after Elspeth had left, he was down at Patel’s grocery shop to buy the thin cigars that Mr. Patel kept for him when he saw Dick Fraser entering the shop.

  He paid for his cigars and waylaid Dick.

  “Come outside. I want a word with you.”

  Somehow, Mr. Johnson knew that if he asked if Hamish and Elspeth were engaged, then Dick might deny it outright, so instead he said, “What’s all this about Hamish going to marry Elspeth Grant?”

  Taken aback, Dick said, “How did you hear about it?”

  “Little bird told me.”

  “Keep quiet about it!”

  “Sure. But I wonder what our Priscilla would think about it? Don’t worry. I won’t breathe a word.”

  Priscilla, thought Dick, forgetting about shopping and staring for a long time over the loch. Now, there was a thing. Priscilla would be a beautiful spanner to throw in the works.

  He had arranged with Hamish that when the couple were married, he would put a caravan up on the back field and move there. He felt that the police station was now more his than Hamish’s. Hadn’t he cleaned and polished and furnished until it was his little palace?

  He was sure that deep down in Hamish, there was a part that had never got over Priscilla. He did not know what had gone wrong to end their engagement.

  What would Priscilla do if she found out?

  He got into his battered car, drove to the hotel, and walked into the manager’s office.

  “I’ve been thinking about Priscilla,” said Dick, settling into a chair on the other side of the manager’s desk. “Maybe you feel she ought to be told, but that might be a bad idea. I was a wee bit worried that your loyalty to the Halburton-Smythe family might make you want to tell her.”

  “I really don’t think Hamish means anything to her any more,” said Mr. Johnson.

  “Oh, that’s all right, then,” said Dick blithely. “And here’s me worried that the lassie would mind.”

  “She hardly comes up here any more,” said Mr. Johnson, half to himself. “Probably wouldn’t bother her at all. What would bother her is the news was being kept from her.”

  Dick folded his chubby hands over his stomach and smiled. “Just what I was beginning to think.”

  “Coffee?”

  “No, I’d better get back. Not a word to Hamish. Mind!”

  Hamish opened his newspaper. The death of Heather and the subsequent investigations had gone from the front page. But on one of the inside pages was a photograph of Freda Crichton, along with photographs of models wearing her creations and the news that she had secured a job with the Jacques Desonet fashion house in Paris.

  He found Freda’s number and phoned her to congratulate her, saying that he had been worried all her designs had gone up in smoke.

  “The best ones were down in Inverness for the fashion show,” said Freda. “And I had kept my best sketches at home. I’ve got that publicist, Joan Friend, to thank for all this.”

  Hamish wished her luck and rang off, glad that some good news had come out of the disaster.

  Mr. Johnson phoned Priscilla. “Just to bring you up to date with the news,” he said. “Hamish Macbeth is getting married.”

  Priscilla laughed. “If he gets to the altar this time, it’ll be a miracle. First it was that immigrant he thought he was saving from deportation, then it was that conniving drunk. Elspeth saved him from the last one.”

  “Well, it seems like the real thing this time around. Priscilla! Are you still there?”

  “Yes, who is he marrying.”

  “Elspeth Grant.”

  “Oh.” Another long silence. Then, “Thank you for telling me,” and Priscilla rang off.

  Elspeth was due to arrive at the weekend. On the Saturday morning, Dick went out for a walk with Sonsie and Lugs as Hamish pottered about, putting clean sheets on his bed and flowers on the kitchen table.

  Hamish heard a car drive up and stop outside the station. He flung open the door, a glad smile of welcome on his face.

  The smile faded as Priscilla walked towards him, carrying a large box.

  Feeling irrationally guilty, Hamish said, “Grand to see you. What’s in the box?”

  “It’s an engagement present for you,” said Priscilla.

  “How did you know I was engaged?”

  “Mr. Johnson told me.”

  “It’s supposed to be a secret,” said Hamish angrily. “How the hell did he know?”

  “It leaks like a sieve up here,” said Priscilla. “Aren’t you going to ask me in?”

  “Of course.” Hamish took the box from her and stood aside to let her past.

  Priscilla put the box on the kitchen table. She was wearing a pale blue sweater, as blue as her eyes. Her golden hair shone in the sunlight streaming through the kitchen window.

  “Aren’t you going to open it?” she asked.

  Hamish got a knife and slit the Scotch tape sealing the box. He unwrapped one tissue-wrapped object. It was a beautiful cut-crystal whisky glass.

  “There are six of them,” said Priscilla. “You don’t need to unwrap them all now.”

  The phone in the office rang. Hamish went to answer it.

  Elspeth’s voice came on the line. “There’s a terrible massacre in Libya,” she said. “I have to be here to do all the reports coming in. I’m so sorry. I’ll be up next weekend.” A voice in the background could be heard calling her. “Got to go. Sorry.”

  Hamish slowly p
ut down the receiver.

  Then he dialled the Tommel Castle Hotel. When he got the manager, he asked, “Do you know how Priscilla got to hear of my engagement?”

  “It was me. She was on the phone and I happened to mention it.”

  “And who told you?”

  “Nobody. I noticed Elspeth was wearing an engagement ring around her neck and put two and two together.”

  “Did Dick tell you?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “When I’m investigating a crime,” complained Hamish, “no one up here seems to have seen or heard anything, but when it comes to my private business, I may as well put a neon sign on the hotel roof. Have you told anyone else?”

  “Not a soul.”

  “Well, don’t!” Hamish slammed down the phone and returned to the kitchen.

  “I heard all that,” said Priscilla. “Why such a secret?”

  “Elspeth’s frightened that if her boss hears about it, he’ll start looking for a replacement.”

  “If she’s keeping her job, how will that work out?”

  “Probably commute at the weekends until we figure something out. Sit down. Want coffee?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Dick’s got some ready.”

  “What about Dick? What happens to him?”

  “He’s going to get a caravan and put it up on the field at the back.”

  “Poor Dick. It’ll be like getting a divorce.”

  “Cut that out, Priscilla. I’m not married to the man. Here’s your coffee and some shortbread.

  “I havenae thanked you for the present,” Hamish continued gruffly. “Verra kind of you.”

  Realising from the strength of Hamish’s highland accent that he was thoroughly upset, Priscilla said gently, “Would you like me to leave?”

  “Yes…no. As a matter of fact, I booked a table for lunch. Care to join me?”

  “That would be nice.”

  Angus, the seer, had done several television interviews at the studios in Glasgow and had now been run north with a crew for a final take of him standing on the waterfront at Lochdubh, looking nobly out over the loch and pontificating on all the times his amazing insight had helped the police.