Willie was there, scrubbing the floor. The delight of Willie’s life was cleaning.
‘It’s yourself, Hamish,’ he said, throwing the scrubbing brush into a pail of soapy water.
‘Have you heard about Crystal French’s death?’
‘Aye, a bad business. I mean, no one’ll miss her, but it’s bad she had to choose Lochdubh to commit suicide in.’
‘I’m told you usually walk your dog up the back road. Did you see anything or anybody?’
‘Fact is, I didnae take the beast a walk this morning. Just let it out into the garden.’
‘Why was that?’
Willie looked uncomfortable. Then he said sheepishly, ‘I’m a Scorpio.’
‘You mean that rubbish about not going out of the house?’
‘There could have been something in it.’
‘I’m surprised you even turned up for work!’
‘Lucia made me go.’ Lucia was his Italian wife and a relative of the owner. ‘She said it was a lot of rubbish. But I’ll bet thon Crystal was Scorpio.’
‘Let me know if you hear anything, Willie. I’m going back up there.’
‘Blair handling the case?’
‘No. Thank God the scunner is away, although I think his replacement is going to be every bit as nasty.’
That evening, Detective Chief Inspector Carson was studying Hamish’s reports. He sent for Jimmy Anderson. ‘Tell me about this Hamish Macbeth,’ he said, tapping the reports.
‘Oh, he’s a clever one is Hamish,’ said Jimmy. ‘Matter of fact, I was just about to go over to see him. He picks up things the ordinary copper misses.’
‘I want to think this was suicide,’ said Carson. ‘But Macbeth said she had a lump on the back of her head. He seems to think someone stunned her unconscious and then faked the suicide.’
‘Aye, that’s Hamish for you. Always pointing out something no one wants to believe, and it always turns out to be right.’
‘I haven’t had the pathologist’s report yet.’ Carson sat frowning. ‘Did Macbeth get on well with Blair?’
‘Not always. Hamish’s methods are a bit unorthodox.’
‘I’ve a feeling we might need an unorthodox mind on this one. Go over and have a chat with him and find out what else he knows.’
‘It might have been someone she knew,’ said Hamish that evening, pouring Jimmy a generous measure of whisky.
‘How d’ye figure that out?’
‘Of course someone could have hidden in the back-seat of her car, waiting for the right moment. But it’s more likely she gave a lift to someone.’
‘But if she was slugged on the back of the head, it would need to be someone behind her. I mean, if she gave a lift to someone, then that someone would surely sit in the passenger seat.’
‘True. But wait a bit. I wish we had that pathologist’s report. She could have been socked on the head somewhere else and driven to a quiet spot, like that back road.’
‘She left Strathbane Television in the morning, so it wasn’t done in the dark,’ said Jimmy. ‘I mean, it’s taking an awfy risk, to set up a suicide in broad daylight. Anyone might have come along.’
‘Willie Lamont often walks his dog there, but he was too feart to go out.’
Jimmy’s foxy face was a study. ‘Why?’
‘He read his horoscope in the newspapers, warning Scorpios not to go out.’
Hamish bit his lip and wished he had said nothing about the horoscope. Elspeth had tried to do him a favour.
But Jimmy’s blue eyes were surveying him. ‘I don’t suppose our Crystal was a Scorpio?’
‘As a matter of fact she was.’
‘Now, there’s a thing. Got that horoscope?’
Hamish wanted to say he had thrown the paper away, but Jimmy would simply go and buy one. The damage had been done.
He reached a long arm behind him and handed the newspaper to Jimmy.
The detective flipped through the newspaper and then read aloud. ‘“All the trouble you have caused will come back to haunt you and violently, too. Don’t leave home on Monday. Lock the doors and close the curtains and do not even answer the phone. If you go out, then something terrible will happen to you.”’
Jimmy put down the newspaper. ‘Who wrote this?’
‘Lassie called Elspeth Grant.’
‘Did you ask her why she wrote this? There was nothing in your report.’
‘Look, don’t tell Carson. She was trying to help me.’
‘You mean get you out of the interview?’
‘Aye. She knew Crystal was a Scorpio and she knew Crystal believed in horoscopes. Forget about her for the moment, Jimmy. Did Crystal tread on any toes at Strathbane Television?’
‘A lot, I should think. But for the moment, they’re all saying what a darling she was, including Felicity Pearson.’
‘Why do you mention her?’
‘She was producer of the Countryside programme. It was bumped to make way for Crystal’s show and she was reduced to researching for Crystal.’
‘There’s also the husbands,’ said Hamish.
‘Husbands?’
‘I put that in the report.’
‘I just skimmed over it.’
‘Crystal was having affairs with Callum Bissett, managing director, and head of features, Rory MacBain, and both men are married.’
‘Could be true. Could be spite.’
‘I don’t think so. Felicity was badly shaken. I suppose she and the cameraman, the director, and the sound man have been interviewed as to their movements.’
‘Harry Jury and Tom Betts, camera and director, John Leslie, sound. Well, Felicity came on her own. She was supposed to go around looking for a villager who would criticize you and she couldn’t find one. Sound, camera and director all came over in time for two o’clock in the television van.’
‘And where was Felicity just before two o’clock?’
‘There’s a whole list of villagers she visited. I’ve got it back at the station. At twelve noon, she finished talking to Mary Hendry. Who’s she?’
‘Widow. Keeps a craft shop. Highland stuff. Tommel Castle is not pleased. They feel she’s taking trade away from their gift shop.’
‘Newcomer to the village?’
‘No, she’s been in the village for as long as I can remember. She just started up the business last year. Her husband died two years ago. He’d been tight with money. Crofter and ghillie. But he must have scrimped and saved all his life, for he left her a good bit of money.’
‘How did her husband die?’
‘Fell in the river, drunk. Went over the waterfall and was bashed to pieces on the rocks. Anyway, she confirms Felicity was with her until noon. Then Felicity went to the Italian restaurant, ate and read a book right up until two o’clock. But I’m telling you this, Hamish, I’ve a feeling we’ll have too many suspects. There’s that crofter, Barry McSween, for starters. He isn’t popular.’
‘No, he is not,’ said Hamish, ‘and a lot of the locals would be pleased he made a fool of himself on television.’
‘Aye, and there was an anonymous call saying that Barry had been heard threatening to kill her. Then there’s Mrs Harrison.’
‘What about her?’
‘She was heard the other day telling the customers that something really nasty was going to happen to Crystal.’
Hamish groaned. ‘I wish I knew where to start.’
‘I think you’re going to have more freedom on this one than Blair would have given you. Carson was impressed with your reports. I’m going to interview the errant husbands at Strathbane Television in the morning. Care to come along?’
Hamish brightened. ‘Wouldn’t Carson mind? It’s out o’ my territory.’
‘I’ll square it with him. I’ll see you outside the television building at ten in the morning. But I’ll be talking to that astrologer friend of yours. By the way, what does Angus Macdonald think of the competition on his patch?’
‘I don’t know,’ said
Hamish thoughtfully. Angus Macdonald was the local seer. ‘But I think I’ll pay him a late visit and find out.’
Angus Macdonald lived in a small, whitewashed cottage above the village with a long winding path leading up through green fields to it. It looked from a distance like a cottage illustrated in a fairy story. Hamish left the Land Rover at the foot of the path.
He knew it must be nearly eleven o’clock at night and hoped the seer was still awake. As he approached, the cottage door opened and Angus stood there, looking as usual like one of the minor prophets with his shaggy grey hair and long beard.
‘It iss yourself, Hamish,’ he said. ‘Bad business.’
‘It is that. How’s yourself, Angus?’
‘Fair to middling. What have you brought me?’
‘I havenae brought you anything,’ said Hamish crossly. ‘You can’t expect folks to bring you presents the whole time.’
‘It helps the spirits,’ said Angus portentously.
‘The only spirits that help you, you auld moocher, are the ones that come in bottles, and I don’t mean genies either.’
‘I do not like your attitude,’ said Angus loftily, ‘and you will not be enjoying the hospitality of my house.’
Hamish sighed and caved in. ‘I’ve a nice Dundee cake at home that Mrs Wellington gave me. You can have it.’
‘Then go and get it,’ said Angus and slammed the door.
Hamish was tempted to forget about him, and yet he knew Angus heard and noticed a lot more than other people. He went home and collected the cake and returned.
‘Come in, come in,’ said Angus cheerfully, taking the cake and going on as if it were the first time he had seen Hamish that day.
Hamish ducked his head and walked in. He always thought Angus kept his cottage looking as antique as possible to impress visitors. A peat fire smouldered on the hearth with an old blackened kettle hung on a chain over it. Angus went through to the kitchen in the back and placed the cake on a shelf, already stacked with groceries.
He returned. ‘You’ll be having a wee dram?’
‘No, Angus, I’ve had enough and I’m driving. Let’s get down to business. You hear and see things. I’m desperate to find out if this Crystal woman was murdered or whether it was suicide.’
Angus gave him an evil look. ‘So why don’t you ask your wee friend, the astrologer, to look in her stars?’
‘Come off it, Angus. You know she makes it up.’
‘Aye, but that one has the sight and one day it iss going to surprise her.’ By the sight, Angus meant the second sight, a gift that meant whoever had it could sometimes tell the future.
‘It’s not the future I’m interested in,’ said Hamish, ‘but the past.’
Angus put one bony finger on his forehead, like a Tenniel illustration of the Dodo in Alice in Wonderland. Then he shook his head.
‘I havenae got a thing.’
‘That’s unlike you, Angus. I mean, even if you don’t know anything, you usually make something up.’
‘I tell you what, Hamish, I will ferret around and work night and day for ye.’
‘And what do you want in return?’ asked Hamish suspiciously.
‘Your dog.’
‘No, neffer, absolutely and finally, not. Why did you even ask?’
‘I haff neffer seen a wee dog wi’ thae blue eyes afore.’
From that, Hamish surmised that Angus thought Lugs would be an added attraction.
‘No,’ he said again.
‘Then,’ said the seer waspishly, ‘I suggest you go to Elspeth Grant for help. She probably did it herself.’
Hamish rose and made for the door. ‘Why?’ he asked over his shoulder.
‘Her predictions are so daft, she decided to commit murder to make one o’ them come true,’ said Angus spitefully.
What a waste of time, thought Hamish grumpily, as he strode down the hill to his Land Rover.
There was nothing more he could do that night. Tomorrow, he would go to Strathbane Television and see what he could find out.
Chapter Four
Tempt not the stars, young man, thou canst not play
With the severity of fate.
– John Ford
When Hamish met Jimmy outside Strathbane Television, the detective said, ‘Carson’s already in there. They’ve given us a room for the interviews. He says you can sit in on the questioning.’
‘Makes a change from Blair.’
‘He’s ambitious. He thinks you might have brains. He don’t know you like I do.’
Hamish followed Jimmy into the building and through long corridors and then up two flights of stairs. Jimmy pushed open the door.
Detective Chief Inspector Carson rose to meet them. ‘Sit yourself over in that corner, Macbeth,’ he said. ‘I just want you to observe.’ Then he turned to a policewoman who had been making coffee and said, ‘Show in our first. Let me see. That will be the managing director, Mr Bissett.’
Hamish studied the executive as he came in. He looked in his middle forties, dressed in a charcoal-grey business suit, silk tie and striped shirt. He had a fleshy face and thick lips, small brown eyes, and an open-pored large nose. His brown hair was flecked with grey.
Callum Bissett sat down and said, ‘Let’s get this over with. I’ve got a lot to do.’
‘And so have we,’ said Carson. ‘I have the preliminary pathologist’s report. Miss French died of carbon monoxide poisoning.’
‘Poor girl,’ said Callum, shaking his head. ‘She had everything to live for.’
‘There is one difficulty,’ went on Carson. ‘She had been struck a blow on the back of the head prior to her death. In our opinion, she could have been stunned and a suicide faked.’
Callum’s face registered shock. ‘Are you sure? I mean, she might have hit her head on something at home.’
‘That might be the answer,’ said Carson, ‘but until we can be sure, we’ll need to go on and ask questions. What were your relations with Miss French?’
‘I hardly knew her. I mean, it was Rory MacBain’s idea to bring her up from Edinburgh. Of course, I called her in after the success of the first show to congratulate her and tell her it was going national.’
‘Did she ask for more money?’
Callum looked shifty. ‘Well, let’s say she didn’t have to. I offered.’
Carson’s cold eyes bored into those of the managing director. ‘Did she have any leverage on you?’
‘What are you talking about?’ Callum blustered.
‘There is a rumour that you were having sexual relations with Miss French.’
‘Bollocks! I’m a married man.’
Carson shuffled his notes. Callum took out a handkerchief and mopped his brow.
‘Ah, here we are,’ said Carson. ‘Miss French’s flat is opposite an all-night garage. My men are currently studying the videos. The security cameras sweep the forecourt of the garage and also cover the entrance to the building where Miss French had a flat. Do you want to tell us anything now, or do you want to wait until we have viewed all the film on the security cameras? I must warn you, if you are found to have been lying to the police, then we can charge you with obstruction.’
Callum gave a very false, expansive smile. Wouldn’t ever have qualified for a job on the other side of the camera, thought Hamish. ‘I did visit her at her flat several times,’ he said. ‘I know it looks bad, but I merely went along to discuss business and have a quiet drink.’
‘I hope for your sake that is true. Our forensic team is still going over her flat. But I can tell you they found a vase with a dozen red roses and on the florist’s card that came with it is a message. It reads, “To my blonde goddess from your devoted Callum.”’
Callum leaned forward and looked earnest and sincere. Going to tell a real whopper, thought Hamish.
‘I see I must explain the world of show business to you,’ said Callum. ‘We’re the luvvies. We pay each other exaggerated compliments.’ He spread his hands. ‘Okay
I did butter her up. I gave her flowers and champagne. And why not?’
‘We’ll leave it for the moment,’ said Carson. ‘Now, as to her state of mind: How did you judge it?’
‘I must admit I was worried about her. She was very strung up, very nervous. I wondered at one point whether she might be on drugs – speed or something like that.’
‘Indeed? We’ll look into that.’
‘Is there anything else? I really need to get to work.’
‘Not for the moment. Send Rory MacBain in.’
Callum put his head round the door of Rory’s office. ‘Your turn with the fuzz. Look, tell them the damn woman was on the verge of a breakdown.’
‘Why should I do that?’
‘Like working here?’
‘Of course, I –’
‘Then tell them. If you ask me, it was straightforward suicide and now they’re sniffing around a murder. And guess who they’ll have their eye on?’
‘Who?’
‘You, of course. You brought her up from Edinburgh. You were diddling her.’
‘Who told you that?’
‘She did. Now get along there and do your bit.’
When Rory walked into the interviewing room, Hamish thought he looked a bit like his boss; heavy-set, well-groomed, paunchy and fleshy, but with thin mousy hair combed over a pink scalp.
Carson started right away. ‘Sit down, Mr MacBain. Describe your relations with Crystal French.’
‘We met at a television conference in Edinburgh . . .’
‘When?’
‘Last year. At the Edinburgh Festival.’
‘Which hotel?’
‘The George.’ A bright little memory flashed across Rory’s frightened brain, that of leading Crystal out of the bar and up to his room. But there had been no staff in the corridor outside. Play it cool.
‘Did you have sexual relations with her?’
‘How dare you!’ shouted Rory. ‘I’m a married man.’
Carson turned to the pathologist’s report. ‘There are two disturbing things here. It appears she may have been stunned with a blow to the head and then a suicide faked. Secondly, she had sexual intercourse recently. We will be taking DNA samples.’
Death of a Celebrity Page 4
