Hamish Macbeth 19 (2003) - Death of a Village

by M C Beaton

  Mrs. Docherty gave a resigned shrug and told him all about her suspicions about the nursing home. She ended with “I feel I’ve made an awful mistake.”

  “I don’t think so. I smell villainy. It takes one to know one.”

  He was a small, spry man with brown hair and a small brown moustache; both were probably dyed, thought Mrs. Docherty. He had large ill-fitting false teeth and his ears stuck out from his head. He suddenly cocked that head to one side. “Listen. They’re coming for us.”

  “These woods are large. Chances are they won’t find us.”

  “The dogs will.”

  “Dogs!”

  “Shhh. Do your dumb act and I’ll say I saw you wandering off and followed you. And,” he added hurriedly, “don’t take any pills. It’s my belief half of them in there aren’t as daft as they look. I think they’re tranquillised up to their old eyeballs.”

  “I flushed them down the loo. Do you think…?”

  Mrs. Docherty broke off as the trainer, Jerry Andrews, appeared through the trees with two bloodhounds straining at the leash.

  “Up you get, Mother,” said Mr. Jefferson, putting on his ‘posh’ voice. “Shouldn’t go wandering off.” He beamed at the trainer. “Here we are. Saw her tottering off and thought I’d better go after her.”

  Jerry’s plastic-looking face was impassive. “We don’t like patients wandering in the grounds. They could get hurt. Bring her along and follow me.”

  Mrs. Docherty began to feel frightened and was glad of Mr. Jefferson’s strong grip on her arm. She babbled incoherently as she was led back to the house.

  “Don’t go to your rooms,” ordered Jerry. “Take Mrs. Docherty into the recreation room and I’ll let you know when her room is ready.”

  Mrs. Docherty, once in the recreation room, slumped down in an armchair.

  “What’s your name?” whispered Mr. Jefferson.

  “Mrs. Docherty.”

  “Your first name?”

  “Annie.”

  “Okay, Annie. I’m Charlie. We’d better pretend to go to sleep. Makes us look like no threat at all.”

  Mrs. Docherty did fall asleep, tired from the walk and the fright of seeing Jerry with the dogs. She at last awoke to find a nurse bending over her.

  “Come on, Annie,” said the nurse, a powerful-looking woman. “Rest time.”

  I’ve just had a nap, thought Mrs. Docherty crossly. But, dithering and muttering incoherent complaints, she allowed herself to be led back to her room.

  Mrs. Docherty was a tall woman, but the nurse manoeuvred her onto the bed with ease. She held out a glass of water and two white pills. “Take your vitamins, dear.”

  Mrs. Docherty held the pills in her mouth until the nurse had left and then rose and spat them out in the wash-stand basin in the corner of the room. It was only when turning round that she realised bars had been fixed across her window. She fought down a surge of panic and went to try the door to her room. It was locked.

  Suddenly feeling very old and weak, she sat down on the bed and placed her hands firmly on her knees to try to stop them from shaking.

  The door handle began to turn slowly and she let out a whimper of fright. Charlie Jefferson slid in. “How did you get the door open?” gasped Annie.

  He dangled a ring of skeleton keys in front of her. “So they’ve barred your window,” he said. “That’s good.”

  “What’s good about it?”

  “They are up to something. Chasing people with dogs. Barring the window.”

  “I wish I could get those papers back, the ones I signed, giving them my cottage.”

  He pulled a half bottle of whisky out of his pocket. There were two glasses on the washstand. He poured two measures of whisky and handed one to Mrs. Docherty. “Have a dram, as you say in these foreign parts.”

  They sat side by side on the bed, sipping whisky.

  “I’ve a proposition to put to you,” he said.

  Emboldened by the whisky, Mrs. Docherty grinned. “This is so sudden.”

  “Listen. If I get those papers back for you, can I come and live with you?”

  “What!”

  “Here. Have another drink. How old are you?”

  “A year older than you.”

  “Right. We could look after each other. I wouldn’t get in your way.”

  “I like being on my own!”

  “Think about it.”

  “I’ll think about it. We’re both getting to the age when we’ll soon need help. But, I mean, I don’t even know you and you’re a crook.”

  “An ex-crook.”

  “There’s another thing,” said Mrs. Docherty. “If there’s something going on here, if they’re bumping people off, then I should try to get some evidence. Let me put it this way: if you help me to get evidence, I’ll seriously consider you moving in with me.”

  “You’re on. What I need to do is to get up to those offices and go through the files, find out who else signed their house over and keep an eye on them.”

  “Don’t get caught. They may have infrared alarms or something.”

  “I doubt it. Who have they ever had to fear? God, someone’s coming.”

  They sat, rigid. Footsteps came along the corridor, hesitated outside the door, and then went on.

  “I’d better go,” he whispered. He deftly screwed the cap back on the bottle. He rinsed out both glasses and put them back on the washstand, and then put an arm through the bars and opened the window. “Get the smell of whisky out,” he said. “Close it when I’ve gone.”

  He slid silently out of the room and then she heard the click of the lock.

  Mrs. Docherty checked her watch. Still half an hour to go until the rest hour was over. She closed the window, forced the pills she had spat out down the plughole, and took out her mobile phone and rang the police station at Lochdubh.

  Hamish Macbeth listened in alarm as she told him about Mr. Jefferson and the happenings of the day.

  “I should never ha’ agreed to it,” he mourned. “I want you out o’ there—fast!”

  “Not without my cottage.”

  “I’ll send Elspeth up to see you.”

  “Won’t do much good. I think they’ll watch me closely for a bit. I have to keep up my gaga act.”

  “I’m sending her anyway.”

  Elspeth was now as worried as Hamish. She had taken down the For Sale sign outside Mrs. Docherty’s cottage and had hidden it in the back garden. When she got to The Pines, she was shown into the recreation room. A nurse was on duty, listening to every word, so Elspeth had to keep up the act of being concerned for her ‘aunt,’ while poor Mrs. Docherty pretended not to understand anything she said.

  At last in desperation, she asked the nurse, “May I take Auntie for a walk?”

  “I’m afraid we cannot allow that,” said the nurse smoothly. “Your aunt was found wandering in the grounds. We do not want any harm to come to her.”

  “But I would take care of her!”

  “No, I am afraid that is not possible.”

  So Elspeth left feeling every bit as frustrated and guilty as Hamish Macbeth.

  When Angela Brodie called half an hour after Elspeth’s visit, she was unable to get a word of sense out of Mrs. Docherty either.

  That night, Mrs. Docherty wondered how Charlie Jefferson was getting on. She had to admit it was reassuring to have an ally, for the very silence of the place was scary and her door had been locked again. The nurse had given her pills but had not waited this time to see whether she had taken them, so Mrs. Docherty put them in her handbag, wrapped in a tissue, planning to give them to Elspeth on her next visit so that the girl could get them analysed. She had been told they were vitamin pills but Mrs. Docherty was sure that they were at least sleeping pills. That would account for the night-time silence of the nursing home.

  The nights never really get dark in the north of Scotland and grey light filtered through the drawn curtains. She pulled them back and then sat in an armchair by the w
indow to wait for Charlie.

  She was just beginning to nod off towards four in the morning when she heard the click of the lock and sat up straight. Mr. Jefferson slid round the door and then locked it behind him.

  “There’s enough light in here. If we switch on the light, they might see it. I wouldn’t put it past them to have someone patrolling the grounds.”

  “What have you got?” she asked eagerly.

  “Well, I can get your deeds back anytime and the papers you signed. But we’ll leave that for the moment. We’ve got two names at the moment, apart from you. There’s Mrs. Hague and Mrs. Prescott. I’ve actually spoken to Mrs. Prescott. She’s got all her wits. She had a big house in Perthshire, worth a lot. I think she’s the one to watch.”

  “What does she look like?”

  “Black hair, very thin, dyed. Very small and stooped. She was wearing a cotton dress with big red roses on it.”

  “I know the one. She’s mobile. Do you know, the gym and the swimming pool are never mentioned? We’re supposed to get massage as well.”

  “They run the gym classes and water aerobics for outsiders,” said Mr. Jefferson. “Can’t be bothered wasting time on us old fogies.”

  “I wonder who signed the death certificate for Mrs. Price.”

  “Hamish said there was something about it in the papers. There’s supposed to be a doctor here. I can’t remember his name. Anyway, let’s stick close to Mrs. Prescott.”

  “Easy for you. I’m supposed to be gaga, remember? If I start talking to her, they’ll get suspicious.”

  “Let’s try anyway.”

  In the recreation room next morning, Mr. Jefferson sat down next to Mrs. Prescott. “I get awfully tired of nothing but television, don’t you?” he began.

  “They don’t seem to offer anything else. It’s nothing but pills, which make me feel when I wake up that I’ve got a hangover,” she complained.

  “Why did you choose here?”

  “I was running out of money. The house was too big for me to manage any more. I heard about their offer of care for the rest of my life if I signed over my house. Seemed like a good idea. I was beginning to dread all the bills. Last winter was hard and my heating bill was enormous. It’s nice not to have to worry about paying for food or care.”

  She broke off as her body was racked with a sudden spasm of coughing. When she had recovered, she said ruefully, “I’ve got emphysema. Comes from a lifetime of smoking. I still crave cigarettes. They caught me smoking out of the window yesterday and I got a rollicking. The doctor says he can give me an injection which will stop my craving.”

  “What doctor?”

  “Dr. Nash. He’s the resident doctor.”

  “It’s odd. I’ve heard of people getting acupuncture, or nicotine patches, or hypnotism. I’ve never heard of an injection.”

  “Well, they’re the experts. They should know.”

  “And when are you getting this injection?”

  “At three o’clock. In the surgery.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “It’s along that corridor between the gym and the swimming pool.”

  Mr. Jefferson chewed his false teeth nervously. If he told her not to go, she would ask why. And if there was nothing sinister about that injection, then he would have no chance of finding out anything at all.

  The rest period started at two o’clock. Once they had all been escorted along to their rooms, he waited for half an hour and then visited Mrs. Docherty. She listened while he told her about the injection.

  “What can we do?” she asked.

  “I’ve already been all round the building. I know now where the surgery is. If we go out of my window and walk round without being seen, we can look in the window of the surgery. They’ve stopped locking you in. Must have decided you’re harmless.”

  Mrs. Docherty looked at him curiously. “Don’t you worry about your own safety?”

  “You forget. My stuffy banister son checked me in and he’s paying. They can’t get a house out of me. Let’s go.”

  As they crept out, into Mr. Jefferson’s room and out of his window, Mrs. Docherty could feel her heart beating with excitement and hoped she wouldn’t drop dead from it before they found out what was really going on. They had to crawl on their hands and knees past all the windows. “I’m too old for this,” she panted at one point.

  “It’s all right,” he hissed. “We’re here at last. It’s just coming up to three o’clock.”

  They peered in at the bottom of the window. A man in a white coat who must be Dr. Nash was talking to the Indian-looking nurse. Mrs. Docherty and Mr. Jefferson heard the murmur of voices but could not make out what was being said. Then Mrs. Prescott was led in by another nurse. There was some conversation and then she was laid down on a bed. Talking all the while, Dr. Nash lifted a syringe. The Indian-looking nurse rolled up the sleeve of Mrs. Prescott’s cotton dress. The syringe was inserted. Dr. Nash went on talking. Mrs. Prescott’s eyes closed. The two nurses and the doctor stood watching her. Then Dr. Nash felt her pulse and nodded and all three left the room.

  “I think she’s dead,” whispered Mrs. Docherty. “What’ll we do?”

  “We wait until dinnertime and I’ll ask where she is. If she’s dead, you phone that policeman and get a police pathologist over to do a proper autopsy.”

  “The police will want to interview us,” said Mrs. Docherty as they began to crawl back, “and this lot may kill us.”

  “So we’ll get the hell out of here tonight and the police can interview us at our place. I’ll get your deeds. They won’t interview us until after the autopsy.”

  Back in her room, Mrs. Docherty was so exhausted that she slept nearly until dinnertime. When she awoke, it all seemed like a bad dream. Surely they had let their imaginations run away with them. Mrs. Prescott would be sitting there as usual.

  Mrs. Docherty’s knees ached terribly after all the crawling. She washed and changed because the dress she had been wearing was all grass stains. It was only on her way to the dining room that she realised they might be getting suspicious of her. Gaga old ladies did not normally change their clothes or appear promptly for meals.

  Her heart sank as soon as she entered the dining room. Mrs. Prescott’s place was empty. Mr. Jefferson was shaking out his napkin. “Where’s Mrs. Prescott?” he asked the waitress.

  “Oh, sir, she took a turn and she’s dead.”

  “Elsie!” shouted a nurse from the door. “No gossiping with the patients!”

  Mrs. Docherty shuffled the food around on her plate. She could not eat. The evening seemed endless. She had to wait until dinner was over, wait until the evening’s television was over, and wait until the nurse took her to her room. Her eyes fell on the pile of books beside her bed. How could she be so stupid as to bring books and a computer? Maybe they thought Elspeth had brought them. She remembered that Elspeth had told them that her ‘aunt’ occasionally had lucid days.

  She added the pills to the ones she had already saved and then took out her mobile phone and called Hamish Macbeth. He listened carefully and then said urgently, “Don’t say I connived at getting you to go there. Just sit tight.”

  “We’re getting out of here tonight.”

  “How?”

  She told him about Mr. Jefferson.

  “If Strathbane ever finds out I’ve encouraged burglary, I’ll be finished. Make sure he doesn’t leave any fingerprints.”

  “I’m sure he won’t. Tell Elspeth to get my stuff out of storage tomorrow.”

  Hamish sat for a moment, frowning, after Mrs. Docherty had rung off. Then he phoned Superintendent Daviot at home and explained the whole thing.

  “We’ll send a police pathologist and a squad right away. Are you sure this Mrs. Docherty isn’t making the whole thing up?”

  Hamish patiently told him again about the deal where patients could sign over their houses to the nursing home and about how five had died and Mrs. Prescott made a sixth.

  “
This is terrible. I’d better come myself as well.”

  “See you there, sir,” said Hamish, then prayed that his suspicions would be proved correct.

  Mrs. Docherty had a suitcase packed. She felt she had waited so long that something might have happened to Mr. Jefferson. Then she heard a slight noise outside her window and looked out. Mr. Jefferson was just getting out of a long, low sports car.

  “Go into my room,” he whispered, “and out the window.”

  Her heart was thudding like a drum as she carried her suitcase into his room and then her books and computer and handed them through the open window.

  “Hurry up!” he urged.

  She climbed out and got into the car, closing the door quietly behind her.

  “Now I’ve got to hot-wire this thing,” he muttered.

  “How did you get it here?”

  “It’s on a slope. I just released the brake and it rolled down.”

  Suddenly a square of light lit up the car. The Indian-looking nurse appeared at Mrs. Docherty’s window.

  “Come on,” hissed Mr. Jefferson desperately.

  The car sprang into life with a roar. He reversed up the hill just as the main door burst open and the trainer with his dogs rushed out.

  Mrs. Docherty clung on desperately as Mr. Jefferson sent the car hurtling around the bends of the drive.

  “Did you get my deeds and the papers I signed?” she shouted above the roar of the engine.

  “Yes! Hang on. I’d forgotten about those electronically controlled gates.”

  “They’re closing. We’ll never escape!”

  “Hang on, Annie. Here we go!”

  He jammed his foot down on the accelerator, and as the car hurtled through the closing gates, they heard the terrible sound of tearing metal from either side.

  “Done it!” he said, screeching round the road. “The bastard’s car’s taken a beating and it serves the murdering prick right!”

  “Whose car?”

  “Dr. Nash.”