Death of a Nurse

by M C Beaton

“I see the statement from Colonel Halburton-Smythe was made to you, Charlie.”

  Oh, first names, is it? thought Hamish.

  “I’ll go up to the hotel and put his fears at rest,” continued Fiona. “You come with me, Charlie. Macbeth, tomorrow, get back up to those cliffs. You have a reputation for finding out what everyone else misses.”

  “How did you get on with Mr. Harrison?” asked Charlie.

  “He’d got himself a new slab-faced nurse who protects him like a rottweiler. When we approached him, his eyes were closed and the nurse, a Helen Mackenzie, said he had just had one of his turns and to please leave. I was about to insist that we wait until he felt better when she said if Mr. Harrison died because of our harassing him, his son would sue our socks off. He’d already been on to Daviot, so I got a phone call from the super to order me out of there.”

  “The lawyer didn’t block the search team, surely,” said Charlie.

  “No, that went ahead. Couldn’t find a thing.”

  When they had left, Lugs stared up at his master with his odd blue eyes.

  “I hope she disnae find out Charlie’s living at the hotel,” said Hamish. “Oh, to hell with it. Come on. I’m going to the Italian restaurant. I could do wi’ comfort food.”

  Charlie had failed to tell the colonel that his bosses did not know he was living at the hotel. The colonel greeted Charlie warmly and Fiona nervously. “Is there somewhere we can sit?” asked Fiona as they stood in the entrance hall.

  And to Charlie’s horror, he heard the colonel say, “We can use Charlie’s place. I lit the fire.”

  Fiona said nothing until they were in the little apartment and Charlie had arranged chairs for the three of them in front of the fire.

  “Peat fires are supposed to send out a pleasant scent,” said Fiona, “but I always think they smell like old socks. Right, Colonel. According to Charlie here, you are worried about your dinner with the dead woman. But you have a cast-iron alibi.”

  “Gloria kissed me in front of the staff,” mumbled the colonel, staring at the worn hearthrug.

  “The dead woman had a reputation of being a shameless flirt at best and a nymphomaniac and gold digger at the worst. I am not here to interrogate you. I am here to ask you to go upstairs and gather the staff, such as are not on duty, in the reception. I want to ask them questions.”

  “Certainly.” The colonel beamed at Charlie. “Follow me up. I think your best bet is the maids. They have rooms at the top. I would start with them first. The waiters will be serving dinner.”

  The most forthcoming maid was, to Fiona’s relief, Scottish, and prepared to talk freely, unlike the other three who hailed from Eastern Europe. Her name was Elsie Dunbar, a small girl with a mop of black hair and a spotty face.

  “I can tell you about one man,” she said. “It was Mr. Fitzwilliam. He’s left now. I went to clean the room because he was due to leave and it was past the checkout time. I heard an angry voice and a woman shouting.”

  “And you listened at the door?” prompted Charlie.

  She blushed. “Oh, well, I was that curious. I heard a woman shouting, ‘I don’t do this sort of thing for nothing.’ Then I heard the man say nastily, ‘Get out, you slut.’ She came out crying and nearly knocked me over.”

  Fiona turned to the manager, who was listening. “We’ll need Fitzwilliam’s address and phone number. Anyone else, Miss Dunbar?”

  “That’s all I know. The other maids don’t talk much to me, them being foreign.”

  When she left, Charlie suggested, “What about the barman? That’s where she was supposed to pick men up.”

  The barman supplied six names of guests, but they all had left. Mr. Johnson, the manager, went off to check the records for addresses.

  “I think that’s enough for now, and I’m hungry,” said Fiona.

  “Charlie usually joins us for dinner,” said the colonel. “I would be honoured if you would be my guest.”

  Fiona flashed an amused look at Charlie and said, “Lead the way. Most kind of you.”

  The colonel saw to his alarm that his wife was already seated at their usual table. But Fiona began to question Charlie about what he thought about the case so far. Charlie shrugged his broad shoulders. “The suspects seem to be building up,” he said. “It’s going to take a lot of research unless Hamish gets one of his flashes of intuition.”

  “He seems to have a great track record,” said Fiona.

  “Overrated,” said the colonel crossly.

  “Now, dear,” his wife put in, “you are only cross because he broke off his engagement with Priscilla. Priscilla is our daughter, Inspector.”

  “I was delighted,” said the colonel. “My only fear is that they might get back together again. I just wish Priscilla would find someone decent, like Charlie here.”

  “I am sure all the local ladies are after Charlie.” Fiona looked amused.

  “I havenae noticed,” protested Charlie.

  Mrs. Halburton-Smythe began to talk about a fund-raiser to start a food bank in Braikie for the poor.

  “The trouble about those food banks,” said Fiona, “is that the elderly who really need help are too proud to go and it is too often the layabouts who want to keep money for what they consider essentials like cigarettes and booze.”

  “Maybe not all,” said Charlie gently. “I’ll help out on my day off, if you like.”

  The colonel and his wife beamed at Charlie. They look on him almost like a son, thought Fiona.

  After a comforting dinner, Hamish strolled back to the station with his pets at his heels. Once inside, he phoned Mr. Johnson at the hotel and received the news that both Fiona and Charlie were dining with the colonel and his wife. He was in the office when he heard the kitchen door opening and then Jimmy Anderson’s voice calling, “Anyone at home?”

  Hamish went through to the kitchen. Jimmy looked tired but sober.

  “What a day. I could do wi’ a dram.”

  “Oh, all right. But just the one.”

  Jimmy sat down at the kitchen table. “Where’s Old Iron Knickers?”

  “Herself is up at the castle, dining with Charlie and the colonel and his missus.”

  “Charlie! But he’s only a constable. What about me? Or at least, you.”

  “She likes Charlie. I often wonder about our Charlie. Women fancy him but he doesnae even bat a hormone.”

  Jimmy took a gulp of whisky. “Probably a virgin.”

  “In this wicked day and age?”

  “Could be. Doesnae fancy you, does he?”

  “Not a bit. I’ve got to search the area up there again. Find anything?”

  “The pathologist said that the tide didn’t reach where she was and maybe she was killed elsewhere and dumped.”

  “Was she strangled with hands or a ligature?”

  “He thinks it could ha’ been done wi’ something like a scarf.”

  “No sign of her luggage?” asked Hamish.

  Jimmy sighed. “Probably at the bottom of a peat bog somewhere.”

  “You’d better stay the night,” said Hamish. “I’ll put clean sheets in the cell.”

  “The mattress in that cell is as hard as buggery. Anyway, how do you know a storm is coming? Heard it on the radio?”

  “Heard it in my bones.”

  “Don’t believe you. I’m off. It’s Hallowe’en on Saturday. Expect any trouble?”

  “Nothing up here,” said Hamish. “Usually just wee kids out guising.”

  Jimmy left by the kitchen door. The station was protected by the tall cliffs at the end of the sea loch. It was only when he was driving along the waterfront that he became aware of the force of the wind. As he moved up onto the moors, the wind shrieked and buffeted at the car. He had just gained the top of a hill when an enormous blast hit the car and blew it over on its side. Jimmy was pinned by the air bag. His car lights were still working, and he saw to his horror that the first flurries of snow were dancing in their beams.

  Jimmy fel
t like crying. He couldn’t reach his pocket to get out his mobile phone.

  Then his car was lit up by an approaching vehicle. It stopped behind him. The next thing he knew Hamish Macbeth appeared on the passenger side, wrenched open the door, leaned over and stuck a knife in the air bag, and slowly and carefully hauled Jimmy out.

  “Thanks,” said Jimmy. “I thought I was a goner. Miracle you turned up.”

  “No miracle,” said Hamish, helping him into the Land Rover. “I realised that wee car of yours might run into trouble. Anything broken?”

  “Don’t think so.”

  “I’ll get the local garage to rescue your car in the morning. Let’s get out o’ here. It’s going to get worse.”

  The world had turned into a blinding white wilderness. Hamish drove through it, leaning forward to make sure he did not go off the road.

  Jimmy gave a gasp of relief as he was once more back in the sanctuary of the station.

  “I could do with a dram as well,” said Hamish. “What a night!”

  “No point in you searching for clues tomorrow,” said Jimmy, seizing the whisky bottle and pouring out a couple of stiff drams.

  “It’ll be melted by then,” said Hamish. “Listen! The gale’s moved round to the west.”

  “How the hell you opt to live in this scary part o’ the world is beyond me,” said Jimmy.

  “According to the Herring woman,” said Hamish, “Harrison got a lawyer, had a faint fit, and they couldnae talk to him. Didnae they point out that you cannae get a lawyer in Scotland unless the police let you have one?”

  “I think that applies after you’ve been charged. Tell you what,” said Jimmy. “Let’s have a crack at the auld scunner ourselves. That’d be one in the eye for Iron Knickers.”

  As they set out the next morning, Jimmy was amazed to see the snow had melted and only a light breeze danced over the glittering waves on the loch.

  “How disabled is old Harrison?” asked Jimmy. “When folk start calling lawyers, it’s usually a sign they’re as guilty as hell.”

  “I thought of that,” said Hamish. “I’d like a keek at his medical records. Have you thought of sending a search team to look over the hotel?”

  “That would be stepping on Herring’s toes. Anyway, there wouldnae be any traces of blood. She was strangled.”

  “I was thinking that there might have been some sort of a struggle. Furniture kicked. That sort of thing.”

  “I’ll put it to her.” Jimmy phoned the hotel to find that Fiona and Charlie had left to go to Strathbane to study any reports on the guests that might already have come in. He phoned Fiona at police headquarters and told her his idea.

  “Your idea, Jimmy?”

  “Och, Hamish, I need all the kudos I can get. You don’t want promotion. I want Blair’s job. He cannae go on knocking back the booze forever.”

  Hamish drove up the drive towards the hunting box. “Michty me!” exclaimed Jimmy. “When folk say box you expect a square building. Now I see it in daylight, it looks as if it belongs to the Addams family.”

  Juris answered the door. To Jimmy’s request, he shrugged and said, “I’ll try.”

  They waited in the gloom of the hall. “This place is so creepy,” said Jimmy, “wi’ all those stags heads on the wall that you expect to see something awful up there, like a human head.”

  Juris came back. “He will see you,” he said. “Come this way.”

  He led them into the room where Gloria had taken Hamish. Mr. Harrison was in his motorised wheelchair, covered in a tartan rug. Behind him as if on guard stood his new nurse, Helen Mackenzie. She was wearing a uniform consisting of a dark-blue dress with a white collar, thick stockings, and clumpy black shoes. She had thick grey hair under a plain white cap. She had small, very green eyes under heavy brows and a nose that any Roman emperor would have been proud of. Hamish never damned any woman as being plain or ugly because he knew that often they had charming characters. But Helen opened her mouth and said in a harsh, bullying voice, “Five minutes. That’s all.”

  “May we sit down?” asked Jimmy.

  “You won’t be here long enough for that,” said Helen, folding muscular arms across her flat chest.

  “Get them chairs, for God’s sake,” growled Mr. Harrison.

  Jimmy waited until he and Hamish were seated opposite Mr. Harrison. “How did you come to be crippled?” asked Hamish before Jimmy could speak.

  “Five years. Came off my horse and broke my back.”

  “Where did you live before you came up here?” asked Jimmy.

  “Outside Ripon in Yorkshire.”

  Hamish opened his mouth to ask if Mr. Harrison had originally hailed from the East End of London, because under his posh voice were undertones of Cockney, but Jimmy scowled at him as a signal to keep quiet.

  “Now, after Miss Dainty disappeared,” said Jimmy, “you are reported to have said, ‘Good riddance.’ Had you had a quarrel?”

  “I had an anonymous letter saying that Gloria had been chatting up men at that hotel. I challenged her with it. She said it was all lies. I told her to get lost. When I heard she had gone out, I was still furious, but now I miss her like hell.”

  “How did she get to the hotel?”

  “Juris usually ran her over.”

  Jimmy turned to the nurse. “Get Juris in here.”

  When Juris came in, Jimmy said, “According to you, Gloria had gone out for a walk.”

  “That’s what I was told. I had work to do so I left her to it. When my wife found her belongings missing the next day, we thought she’d decided to leave altogether.”

  Jimmy turned back to Mr. Harrison. “So you employed Miss Mackenzie here.”

  “Lucky to get her,” said Harrison. “At first, no one at that agency in Strathbane wanted to bury themselves up here, but Miss Mackenzie took the job.”

  “What is the name of the agency?”

  “Private Nursing. Juris will get you the address.”

  “How does one get out of here apart from the front door?” asked Hamish.

  Juris said, “There’s the kitchen door and beside that, the old tradesman’s entrance. Then, often the windows in this room aren’t locked because often Mr. Harrison likes to sit out on the terrace.”

  Jimmy continued the questioning, asking Mr. Harrison for his previous address in Ripon, his age, and full name. “I am seventy-two and my full name is Percival Danby Harrison.”

  “With your permission, sir, we’d like to take a look around.”

  “Knock yourself out,” said Mr. Harrison.

  “Pity he’s so crippled,” said Jimmy as they started to walk around the outside of the building, “or he might have strangled her in a rage.”

  “That’s a powerful motorised wheelchair,” said Hamish. “Let’s look in the garages. Might have an invalid car.”

  Juris followed them and unlocked the door of one of the two garages. “Now, that’s a pretty good invalid car,” Jimmy said.

  “Mr. Harrison doesn’t use it,” said Juris. “He prefers to be driven. Your team of searchers went over it. Found nothing.”

  Jimmy’s phone rang and Hamish listened patiently as Jimmy said, “Yes, ma’am,” and “No, ma’am.”

  When Jimmy finally rang off, Hamish said, “What was that all about?”

  “She says you’re to get back to where the body was found and look around. I’m to go back to headquarters. Checked on Juris’s previous employment. Impeccable record.”

  “What about Gloria’s background?”

  “Did her training in Glasgow, worked a bit at Strathbane Hospital, but decided to go in for private nursing. Harrison was her second job. Found her sister, Joyce, who’s on her road up. Charlie’s coming up to join you.”

  “So Herring has let him loose.”

  “Seems like that. You’ll need to take me back to see if they’ve got my car in working order.”

  Apart from needing a new air bag, Jimmy’s car was pronounced roadworthy. Charlie w
as waiting at the station.

  “How are you getting on wi’ the new boss?” asked Hamish.

  “Grand. Blair is furious. All the time we were going through the stuff on the guests, he paced up and down behind us until she complained.”

  “Blair can be dangerous when crossed,” said Hamish. “He’s probably planning something nasty for her. Let’s get going. We’ll take the animals.”

  They were driving along the waterfront when the tweedy figure of Mrs. Wellington, the minister’s wife, waved them down.

  “What is it?” asked Hamish.

  “Your constable has not been to church,” she boomed.

  “There’s a murder enquiry going on,” said Hamish. “Charlie hasnae had time to go to the kirk.”

  “If you do not ask the Good Lord for help, you will never solve it,” said Mrs. Wellington.

  “I’ll get in touch right away,” said Hamish, letting in the clutch and speeding off.

  Outside Kinlochbervie, he parked outside the café and he and Charlie made their way along to where the body had been found. “I’m hungry,” said Charlie.

  “We’ll get a bite in a minute,” said Hamish. “Now, if Dick Fraser were here, he’d have the table and stove out and be cooking up a full meal. Maybe we had better get up to the top of the cliffs. If she was thrown over, there would be nothing down here. Oh, hell, let’s eat first.”

  After bacon baps and strong tea and cans of animal food for Lugs and Sonsie, they climbed up to the top of the cliffs. “That storm might have wiped out anything useful,” said Charlie. “And the trouble with heather is that any vehicle wouldn’t leave tracks.”

  “Let’s walk back towards the road,” said Hamish. “I would like to get my hands on her luggage. I don’t think those guests, or Harrison or Juris, would know about peat bogs, and there aren’t any around here. Say I’m the murderer. Unless I am some sort of serial killer, this is my first. I chuck the dead body over. I’ve got the cases in the back. What would I do with them?”

  “Throw them in the sea,” said Charlie.