by M C Beaton
“I could sue him.”
“You wouldn’t get very far. He suspects everyone.”
The days dragged by. Harrison finally took his leave. Nothing sinister had happened. A FOR SALE board was now outside the hunting lodge. The days were sunny, just the sort of weather that Hamish usually enjoyed. But the dark shadow of unsolved murders plagued him. He was sure Helen Mackenzie was a ruthless murderer.
Charlie and the colonel were sitting one evening in Charlie’s apartment when the colonel said, “I feel Percy Harrison should really be warned about that nurse.”
“We’ve no real proof,” said Charlie. “Helen’s got an aunt in Kinlochbervie. The second sight woman was killed there. She and Gloria were both dating Malky, we think, and no doubt supplying him with drugs, but we’ve no proof. We’ve proof Gloria was doing it but nothing on Helen. We think Helen bumped off Gloria so she could get her job and maybe woo Harrison herself, but she looks like the back of a bus. So surely no hope there.”
“I think I should give him a clear warning,” said the colonel.
Hamish came clattering in wearing his big boots. The colonel looked at him crossly. He didn’t like Hamish interrupting his cosy evenings with Charlie.
“George is thinking of giving Harrison a clear warning about Helen,” said Charlie.
“Is Greta still in residence?” asked Hamish.
“I believe she went south after the funeral,” said the colonel. “You surely don’t suspect her?”
“I think it’s all about money,” said Hamish. “If Harrison dies, then surely Greta inherits.”
“Maybe not.” The colonel brightened. “I could just ask him who he’s leaving his money to now.”
“Oh, keep out of it,” said Hamish wearily.
“I am not taking orders from some useless copper who had the damn cheek to jilt my daughter,” raged the colonel. He got to his feet and stomped off up the stairs.
The colonel set out for the hunting lodge the next day. He asked Harrison to dismiss Helen, saying he wanted to talk to him in private about a serious matter.
The day was sunny and warm and the long windows were open onto the terrace.
“It’s like this, Percy,” began the colonel, and he plunged into a long story about why he suspected Helen of being a murderer. He ended up by saying, “If I were you, I’d put it about you haven’t signed a will. That should keep you safe.”
“I’m leaving Helen money in my will,” said Harrison. “And I’m taking her to Yorkshire with me.”
“Why? You could get any amount of nurses.”
Harrison grinned. “I’m telling you, Percy, Helen does the best hand job in the Highlands.”
“Is that a type of massage?” asked the colonel.
Harrison rocked with laughter and then told him in graphic detail exactly what a hand job was. The colonel turned bright scarlet. “I’ve got to go,” he said hurriedly. He fled from the hunting lodge, followed by the cackle of Harrison’s laughter.
The colonel did a detour to the florist’s in Braikie and bought his wife a dozen red roses, thanking God for his clean life and a decent wife.
Charlie called in at the police station that evening to tell Hamish about the colonel’s adventure. When he had finished, Hamish sighed. “I’m sick o’ the whole business. Let her bump him off in Yorkshire and let the police down there sort it out.”
“Not like you, Hamish. When did you last have a holiday?”
“Can’t quite remember. I don’t usually bother when things are quiet like this. Slope around. Take things easy. Heard anything of Fiona?”
“Not a word.”
“Jimmy’s not come near me, either. I mean, surely they must know now it couldn’t have been Malky. But the way I see it, they got such a bruising in the press that the last thing they want is to open up that can o’ worms again.”
“We could be looking in the wrong place,” said Charlie. “Could ha’ been Juris or Greta.”
“No, it all points to Helen. Damn! I cannae leave it alone. Do you know what I’m going to do? I’m going up there and I’m going to tell Helen I think she committed the murders.”
“She’ll report you to Strathbane. She’ll sue you. You’ll lose your job.”
“So what? I cannae go on in the job wi’ this hanging over me. Something’s got to break.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“No. One of us in trouble is enough. Take the dogs with you for the day.”
Hamish set out for the hunting lodge. He could feel his fury against Helen mounting. He found Harrison and Helen in the drawing room and told Harrison sharply that he had called on police business and wanted to see Helen Mackenzie alone. Mr. Harrison protested, but Helen said she was sure it would only take a few moments. Harrison shrugged and wheeled himself out of the room.
Helen sat primly on the edge of an armchair and Hamish pulled up a hard chair and sat opposite her.
Helen’s eyes were flat and cold and betrayed neither interest nor curiosity.
Hamish began. “I know you murdered Gloria Dainty, Jessie McGowan, and Andrew Harrison. Maybe you killed Willie Dunne as well. You killed Gloria to get her job so that you could seduce Harrison into either marrying you or leaving you money in his will. When you learned he had left it all to Andrew, then Andrew had to go. If that old fool Harrison does make out a will leaving money to you, he will be next. Here’s what I have found out so far.”
As he talked, she sat there, unmoving, her reddened hands folded on her uniform lap.
When he had finished, she stood up and said coldly, “I am going to report you to your superiors.”
“Please do,” said Hamish, “and tell them exactly what I have said.”
“And I am going to sue you.”
“Grand. The newspapers will have a field day. Hear this: I’ll be watching you every step o’ the way.”
Hamish turned and left the room. As he got to the front door of the hall, he had a feeling of being watched. He swung round but could see no one in the shadows.
He suddenly felt lighter and freer. He had burnt his boats. Now let’s see what she will do.
Two days later, Hamish received a call from Juris. “The nurse has disappeared,” he said. “All her stuff is in her room, but she’s gone.”
“I’ll get over there,” said Hamish. He called Charlie. Then he phoned Jimmy and explained what had happened.
“I can’t say anything about confronting her,” said Hamish as they sped off. “I’ll be hauled over the coals. Damn! Did she run for it? But why leave her belongings behind?”
As if to suit his mood, black rain clouds were being driven in from the west on a rising gale. The gamekeeper was on guard at the gates to keep the press at bay. How did they find out so soon? wondered Hamish. A small huddle of men stood in the now driving rain.
Juris let them in. “We’ll interview you after we’ve seen her room,” said Hamish. “We cannae go in because we’ll need to leave it clear for forensics, but we can stand at the door and look in.”
They followed Juris up the shadowy stone staircase. Outside the wind had risen to an eldritch scream. Lightning flickered across the glass eyes of the stuffed animals, and then came a great roll of thunder. Juris went on up to the second floor and pushed open a stout oak door.
Hamish peered in. He put a handkerchief over his hand and switched on the light. Not much had been changed since the days when it had probably housed a governess. There was a single brass bed against the wall with a side table, holding a Bible. By the opposite wall was a toilet table with an old-fashioned ewer and basin. No wash hand basin with running water. Beside it stood a large Victorian wardrobe, the door standing open to reveal coats, dresses, and skirts. There were no books or pictures. The mullioned windows let in very little light.
“Right, Juris,” said Hamish. “We’ll go down to the study and start the questioning.”
But as they descended the staircase, there came a pounding at the door. Juris hurried
to open it. Blair, Jimmy, several policemen, and a forensic team crowded in.
“We’ll take over,” said Blair. “There’s enough o’ us here. You pair, get back to your station.”
Hamish and Charlie climbed into the Land Rover. Hamish stared moodily out at the pouring rain. “This is all wrong,” he said. “Why should she leave her belongings behind? I didn’t see a handbag in that room. Maybe she took her money and cards and left. Let’s go to the garage. I want to see if her car is there.”
He reached into the back for his oilskins and shrugged into them before getting out into the storm. Followed by Charlie, he made his way to the garages, which had been converted from the old stables.
Hamish swung open the door and went into the musty interior, smelling of petrol, oil, and dust. “That’s her car,” said Hamish. He took out a pair of latex gloves and slipped them on. The car was not locked. He flipped open the glove compartment. Nothing but a roll of peppermints. He opened the boot. It was clean and empty. He studied the tyres. There was no sign that the car had been driven recently. In fact, the car looked as if it had been recently washed, inside and out.
“Now, did she get it washed herself or did someone else? Where’s the nearest car wash, Charlie?”
“Nothing till you get to Strathbane,” said Charlie. “Fine Foods supermarket on the outskirts.”
“Let’s try there,” said Hamish.
The whole of the Highlands seemed to be in motion as they drove south to Strathbane. Lightning stabbed down and thunder rolled. At one point, their way was blocked by a fallen tree and they had to bump over the moor to get round the blockage.
As they neared Strathbane, the sky began to clear to the west, and by the time they drove into the supermarket car park a watery sun was shining down.
The manager said they did not take a note of car registrations at the car wash, only entered the type of cleaning required in the books. The cars were all washed by hand by a gang of Eastern Europeans. Hamish asked to see the security tapes for the past two days.
He and Charlie settled down in the manager’s office to go through them. But after hours of searching, there was no sign of Helen’s car.
Charlie scratched his head. “You seem to be thinking something nasty happened to her,” he said. “But she’s the main suspect.”
“It’s the way she left,” fretted Hamish. “Leaving it all behind, even her car. And why was that car so clean inside and out? Is there any other car wash?”
“Not that I know of,” said Charlie. “There’ll be one in Inverness.”
“Too far. It would show some signs of mud by the time it was brought back.”
“Couldn’t she just have asked Juris to clean it for her?”
Hamish phoned the hunting box. When Juris answered, he asked him if he had cleaned the nurse’s car and was told firmly that he had not. “It is not my job to work for the help,” said Juris with all the haughtiness of a stage butler.
“Let’s get something to eat,” said Hamish. “I’m starving and I cannae think on an empty stomach.”
They found a café which sold all-day breakfasts and tucked into fried haggis, black pudding, eggs, bacon, tomatoes, and mushrooms.
“Think the dogs will be all right?” asked Charlie.
“They’ll be fine,” said Hamish. “I left them dog food but Lugs has probably introduced the poodle to the delights of the Italian restaurant’s kitchen. Now let’s think. Just suppose Helen has been murdered. Let’s try that one. Who would murder her and where would they dump the body?”
“Well,” said Charlie slowly, “the only one who might have it in for Helen is Greta. What if she found out that Harrison had changed his will in Helen’s favour?”
Hamish phoned Juris again. When he had rung off, he said, “Greta is in residence. Harrison has refused another nurse and says Greta will look after him. She’s been there for the last week and she’s a powerful woman. Maybe she guessed Helen had bumped off her husband and took her revenge. I hate being out o’ the loop. It’s like detecting in Victorian times, Charlie. They could have found all sort of hairs and DNA and we don’t know about it.”
“If you wait until this evening when all the reports are in,” said Charlie, “I could try my hand at hacking into Blair’s report and the forensic reports.”
“So for now let’s try to figure out where Helen’s body could have been dumped,” said Hamish. “That car bothers me. So clean. Let’s try this way. Someone kills Helen and uses her car to dump the body. It’s a wee Ford, not a four-by-four, so no use for going over the moors. So the body would need to be dumped near a road. And whoever would not want to be away from the hunting lodge for too long.”
“That drug business bothers me,” said Charlie. “I mean, say she was in some drug racket, then someone from Strathbane could have got rid of her.”
“Maybe, but would they use her car and then get it cleaned? Let’s get back up there and start searching.”
They drove back to outside the hunting lodge. “Right or left, I wonder,” said Hamish.
“Let’s try left,” said Charlie. “The instinct would be to veer left away from the road to Braikie.”
The days had drawn out and they knew the evenings would be light and that they had plenty of time for their search.
But they could find no trace of anything. “Let’s call on Dick,” said Hamish. “He might have some ideas.”
Dick gave them a warm welcome, but to Hamish’s disappointment, the beautiful Anka said she had orders on the computer to work on and left them to it.
Over excellent mugs of coffee and scones, Hamish told Dick all he knew.
“There’s a car wash here now,” said Dick. “At that wee garage. Couple o’ Poles. You could try there. Do me a favour. At the bottom of the stairs, there’s a big bag o’ cans. Could you dump them at the recycling unit? You know where it is, Hamish. Out on the Lochdubh road before you get to the new seawall.”
They thanked him for the coffee and made their way to the garage. But it was shut up for the night and no one around could tell them where the Poles lived.
“I’m weary,” said Hamish. “Let’s get rid o’ Dick’s rubbish and start again tomorrow.”
The recycling unit was considered a disgrace because it was rarely cleared. Great mounds of cans, bottles, and newspapers reared up against the evening sky.
Seagulls swooped and dived. Two seagulls fought over a hamburger wrapper. Silly birds, thought Hamish. No food there. He dumped the sack of cans on top of a pile of others.
A seagull shat on his regulation sweater and he shook his fist at it. He made to turn away. Something was bothering him although it was hard to think with all the noise of the waves crashing on the shore and the wheeling, screaming birds. He turned slowly round, looking to right and left. A supermarket trolley had been dumped at the far end of the unit. It was overflowing with cans and plastic bottles. Nothing sinister there apart from one black shoe.
Hamish unhitched his torch from his belt and walked forward. One black regulation shoe. He began to claw at the cans and bottles, sending them flying.
Stuffed in the very bottom of the trolley was the dead body of Helen Mackenzie.
Her empty eye sockets stared up at him.
The seagulls had had her eyes.
Chapter Twelve
How often have I said to you that when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.
—Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
Blair was furious. Had Daviot not been on the scene, he would have suspended Hamish from duty for destroying valuable evidence by throwing the cans and bottles which had covered the body all over the place.
“Why is it,” Daviot asked Jimmy, “that one highland policeman can find out what we have missed?”
“Maybe it’s old-fashioned policing,” said Jimmy. “Hamish doesn’t have any of the benefits of forensic science and so he has to use his brain.”
A crowd had ga
thered outside the recycling unit, their faces avid with curiosity in the lights of the halogen lamps which had been erected.
Helen’s body and the supermarket trolley were now shielded inside a tent. “She’s been strangled,” whispered Hamish to Charlie. “Bruises on her neck and her poor face black. I wish these seagulls would go away. I hate them.”
“I think they’ll be here when we’re all gone,” said Charlie. “I mean, that’s the creepy thing about Sutherland when you’re out on your own under the stars. You feel like an intruder. But the birds belong.”
Jimmy came up and demanded a full report. He listened carefully to Hamish’s story about the car. “Get back into Braikie,” he ordered, “and see if you can find where that garage owner lives and then find those Poles.”
They found the garage owner lived in the bottom half of a house near the garage. He was sleepy and cross at being woken up, but he volunteered that the Poles lived in a bed-and-breakfast at the back of the garage.
The door of the B&B was opened by a small woman wrapped in a tatty dressing gown and with her hair in rollers. The minute she saw their uniforms, she began to shriek that she kept a respectable house. Charlie told her in a soothing voice that they simply wanted to speak to her Polish residents.
“First floor left,” she said sulkily. They made their way past her and up the stairs. The car washers turned out to be two brothers. They were not Polish but Lithuanian and their English was not very good. But with patient questioning and showing them a photo of Helen’s car, which Hamish had snapped on his phone, they volunteered that a man had driven it in two days ago. They described him as being tall and dark and dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. He had been wearing a baseball cap pulled down over his eyes.
“That doesn’t sound like anyone we’ve come across so far,” said Charlie gloomily as they left.
