Death of a Sweep

by Beaton, M. C.

  When he awoke next morning, he decided he needed a change of clothes. He heard voices in the corridor outside as the guests went down for breakfast. He heard the people in the room next door, talking loudly as they walked away. Wrapped in a towelling robe he had found in the bathroom, he waited until the corridor was silent. He saw a maid coming along with clean sheets and positioned himself outside the door next to his.

  ‘I’m afraid I’ve lost my key,’ he said. He winked at her. ‘I was just … er … visiting a friend.’ The Polish maid giggled. She was new and had just come on duty. She smiled and opened the door with her passkey. She went to the door of the room he had spent the night in.

  ‘Just leave her,’ said Prosser. ‘She wants to sleep until late.’

  He went quickly into the room she had opened for him.

  He opened drawers and took out clean underwear and put it on. It was a little bit large for him. He then opened the wardrobe and selected moleskin trousers, a hunting jacket, and a plaid shirt. He grinned. There was even a deerstalker. He crammed it down on his head.

  Then he saw that the man had left his wallet on the bedside table. He snatched it up. He coolly walked out and down into reception and out into the car park. He got into the nearest car, one the hotel kept for guests, planning to hotwire it, but grinned when he saw the keys in the ignition.

  By producing the driving licence he had found in the stolen wallet, he sailed through the roadblock. It was an old licence, the kind that did not have a photograph. Once the euphoria of escape left him, he realized he was running a temperature and felt very sick indeed. And yet he knew he would have to ditch the car and steal another. Any minute now, the hunt would be on for whoever had stolen the hotel guest’s wallet and clothes along with one of the hotel cars.

  He took the cash out of the wallet and then threw the wallet out of the window. He still had plenty of cash of his own but, he reflected, it was as well to have as much as he could get. He stopped in Dingwall. He felt dizzy and faint. He bought a change of clothes and changed in a public toilet. Leaving the clothes he had stolen in the car, he hotwired a different vehicle he found parked in a far corner where he hoped it would be out of sight of any CCTV cameras.

  He then drove to Inverness airport, where he left the car. He had one fake credit card left. He did not want to use it but knew he would have to risk it. Paying for an air ticket with cash might start alarm bells ringing.

  When he arrived at Edinburgh airport, he felt dizzy with fever. Summoning all his energies, he took a cab to the doctor’s, burning with fever and thoughts of revenge.

  Chapter Twelve

  And come he slow, or come he fast,

  It is but Death who comes at last.

  – SIR WALTER SCOTT

  A month of frantic searching for Prosser followed. Blair, beside himself with rage, tried to blame Hamish Macbeth, and Hamish Macbeth only, for having let the man get away.

  The Currie sisters were not much good as witnesses. Lauded in the press as heroines, they told a story that became ever more elaborate, while their description of Prosser grew more weird and wonderful.

  There was a police guard on Milly’s house for two weeks until impatient Daviot called it off, saying it was a waste of police time.

  Despite frequent visits from Ailsa and other villagers, Milly felt very alone. The long, dark winter nights, and days where one hardly ever saw the sun added to her terror. She felt she should get away but on the other hand, where would she find such loyal friends as she had in Drim?

  Her thoughts turned frequently to Tam. Had he loved her after all? How on earth could she have been so stupid as to nearly marry another bully?

  Then one morning, she heard the sound of a vehicle arriving. She ran to the window and relaxed when she saw the familiar police Land Rover from Lochdubh. Then as the door on the passenger side of the Land Rover opened and the interior light of the vehicle came on, she saw Tam Tamworth getting out. She opened the door. Tam was standing there, looking sheepish. Hamish Macbeth said, ‘Let us in, Milly. We’ve got something to discuss with you.’

  In the kitchen, Hamish took off his hat and placed it on the table. His thick flaming red hair had grown back to its old length.

  ‘It’s like this, Milly,’ began Hamish. ‘Tam here really does love you. You need protection. I have a feeling that Prosser believes the money the captain took from him is still in this house. You didn’t find any sign of anything?’

  ‘No,’ said Milly, standing with her back to him at the kitchen counter and plugging in the kettle.

  Hamish eyed her suspiciously. If ever a back could lie, he thought, it was Milly’s.

  ‘If you do find the money,’ he said, ‘you must turn it over to the authorities and get Tam here to write up the story. Prosser will see it and he will no longer have any reason to come after you.’

  ‘I’ll let you know if I find anything’ said Milly. ‘Coffee?’

  ‘Grand. Now, I think you should let Tam move in here. He’s got holiday owing and he’s prepared to spend it looking after you. What do you say?’

  Milly placed a jug of coffee on the table and then three cups. ‘Yes,’ she said in a low voice. ‘That would be fine. Is there no news at all of Giles?’

  ‘Not a thing. It’s my belief Prosser waylaid him, wanting him out of the way. I’ve asked again and again for the tarns and bogs to be searched but every time, they turn me down. Hasn’t he any family? I think the police asked you that and you said you didn’t know but no one has come forward asking for him. He hadn’t been married and his parents are dead. We can find no record of brothers or sisters.’

  ‘I had begun to get the feeling he wasn’t very popular,’ said Milly. ‘He was always running down people in his old regiment.’

  ‘I’ll get my suitcase,’ said Tam cheerfully.

  When he had gone, Hamish said severely, ‘I’m warning you, Milly. If you find that money, you must tell me immediately. That way you will be safe.’

  They heard Tam come back in and dump his suitcase in the hall.

  ‘I’m off,’ said Hamish. ‘Any sight or sound of anyone, call the police immediately.’

  Tam came in as Hamish left.

  ‘Oh, Tam!’ cried Milly, tears running down her face. ‘I’ve been so miserable. There’s something I’ve got to tell you.’

  He came and sat beside her and took her hands in his. ‘What’s that?’

  Milly dried her tears. She was about to tell him about the money but something stopped her. Tam would no doubt tell her to give it to the police, and he would write a story about it. One thing she knew about Tam: he lived for the next good story.

  ‘I’m a bit shy about … well … sex. Do you mind waiting? I’m so afraid of Prosser coming back that I feel all cold and frightened.’

  ‘I’ll wait, pet, don’t worry about it. But you could do with more security. You could do with security lights, front and back. I’ll fix it.’

  Milly took off Giles’s engagement ring and placed it on the table. ‘I should throw this away.’

  ‘Sell it,’ said the ever-practical Tam.

  Aweek later, on a rare beautiful sunny day, two schoolboys from Drim, Wayne and Dexter Mackay, were playing truant. They had got on to the school bus that morning and waved goodbye to their parents. It was still dark when the bus stopped at an outlying croft to pick up another boy. While the boy’s mother was talking to the driver, who had got down from the bus, Wayne and Dexter had crept quietly away, hiding behind a wall until the bus drove off.

  In Wayne’s bag was half a bottle of sweet sherry he had stolen from his parents’ sideboard. As the sun came up, it turned into an unusually mild and still day. Dexter had a collapsible fishing rod in his bag. ‘We’ll gang up tae that tarn. There’s said to be a muckle great fish in the water.’

  As the sun rose higher in the sky and the air smelled of wild thyme, they scampered up to the tarn. They lay down by the lip, swigged the sherry, and ate the contents of their lunch
boxes. Then Dexter assembled his fishing rod.

  ‘Let’s lean over and see if we can see thon fish.’

  They lay on their stomachs and peered down into the glassy waters of the tarn.

  Then they straightened up and looked at each other in alarm. ‘There’s a car down there,’ whispered Dexter, ‘and I think there’s someone in it. What’ll we do?’

  ‘We’ll say we got off the bus and went to stretch our legs and he drove off without us,’ said Wayne. ‘Chuck that sherry bottle. No, dinnae chuck it in the tarn. Pit it in the heather on the road back.’

  Milly had gone for a walk down to the village with Tam. When they returned, they saw police cars outside the house. The press were just arriving.

  ‘Maybe Prosser has been caught,’ said Tam.

  Blair was waiting for them. He glared at Tam. ‘You, get lost. No reporters.’

  Milly took Tam’s arm. ‘Mr Tamworth is my fiancé and he’s not going anywhere.’

  Blair’s piggy eyes gleamed. Here was a woman who had lost one husband and one fiancé and now she was engaged to ‘the pig’. Hamish Macbeth had Prosser on the brain. Blair was out to prove that Milly had something to do with both murders.

  Hamish arrived but was told by a policeman on guard that Blair had given instructions that he was to wait outside the house. Tam came out and drew him aside.

  ‘Hamish, he’s making Milly cry. He’s all but accusing her of the murders.’

  Hamish phoned the Tommel Castle Hotel and asked if Priscilla was by any chance making one of her rare visits. When her cool voice came on the phone, he told her what was happening and then asked, ‘Could you get on to Daviot and complain? He’s such a snob, say jump and he’ll ask “how high?”’

  ‘All right,’ said Priscilla. ‘After I phone, I’ll come over and claim Milly as a friend. Let’s hope she plays along.’

  Hamish waited. He wondered why Priscilla had not been in touch with him. Maybe she had only just arrived.

  Milly was in the depths of despair. The car had been lifted out of the tarn and the decomposing body of Giles Brandon had been found. Blair was bullying and threatening and the questions went on and on. Then the door opened and a beautiful vision walked in. ‘Mr Blair,’ said Priscilla, ‘I have a message from Superintendent Daviot. You’re to phone him right away.’

  Blair glared at her but stomped out of the room. Priscilla bent over Milly. ‘We’re dear friends, right?’

  Milly gave a startled nod.

  ‘We’ll just wait until he goes away and then I’ll make you some tea.’

  Milly waited anxiously. Then they heard cars driving off. Jimmy Anderson came in with a grin on his foxy face. ‘We’re off, Mrs Davenport. Hamish is to take over the questioning.’

  ‘Let’s get that tea,’ said Priscilla.

  In the kitchen, Hamish carefully took Milly over the events of the day when Giles had disappeared. There was nothing new. He’d gone off to Lochdubh and had never returned.

  Priscilla had been introduced to Milly. Milly covertly studied her, remembering from village gossip that she had once been engaged to Hamish.

  When Hamish put away his notebook, Milly asked plaintively, ‘But why Giles? Prosser never knew him, I’ll swear.’

  ‘Prosser wants you on your own so he can search for the money. I warn you again that if you find it, you must phone me right away and get Tam here to write a story about it.’

  There was a knock at the door. ‘That’ll be my photographer,’ said Tam.

  ‘You mean you’re going to write a story?’ asked Milly.

  ‘Look, dear, I’m a reporter and I can’t sit on this when all the press’ll be around soon. Just a picture of you and then I’ll write it up. I’ll keep the rest o’ the press away from you.’

  ‘Good idea,’ said Hamish. ‘I hope you’ve got enough groceries in because you’ll be under siege for the rest of the day.’

  Hamish and Priscilla went outside. ‘Thanks,’ said Hamish. ‘The least I can do is buy you dinner tonight.’

  ‘The Italian? Eight o’clock?’

  ‘Grand.’

  Ignoring the reporters, they climbed into their respective vehicles and drove off.

  Back at the police station, Hamish began to worry again about his dog and cat. He had a feeling that Prosser was still going to come after him. Sonsie and Lugs were greedy, and if anyone left out poisoned meat for them, he was sure they would gobble it down. But he couldn’t keep moving them out, as some time had now passed and he didn’t know when any attack might come.

  He put them in the Land Rover and then drove up round the outlying crofts, asking if any stranger had been seen, but no one had spotted anything. Every guest at the hotel had been thoroughly checked through the police computer.

  He returned in the evening, changed into his best suit, and brushed his red hair until it shone. Leaving the dog and cat behind, he walked along to the restaurant, wondering why he should feel so excited at the prospect of dinner with Priscilla. Again, he decided it was like the cigarettes he often craved. Addictions never quite went entirely away.

  Halfway to the restaurant, he had an uneasy feeling of being watched. He swung round several times but the waterfront was empty.

  In the ruins of the hotel which stood by the harbour, Prosser watched him go. He had disguised himself with a moustache and beard and had a false driving licence and passport.

  The moment of reckoning had come at last, he thought. He would pick the lock on the police station, shoot those damn animals, and then wait for Macbeth.

  Priscilla was as cool and elegant as ever. She was wearing a smoky blue cashmere twin set over fitted dark blue corduroy trousers and high-heeled black leather boots.

  Hamish’s pleasure at seeing her was dimmed slightly. He had that old longing to say or do something which would break through that calm veneer. Wasn’t it her very lack of any passion whatsoever that had made him break off the engagement?

  But she was always interested in his work and it helped him to go over the cases and to speculate if and when Prosser would arrive.

  ‘Surely he’s out of the country by now,’ said Priscilla. ‘It would be madness to come back here.’

  ‘He is mad. Only a psychopath goes around killing people the way he does, and he has all the extreme vanity of the psychopath. Oh, well, I’ve got a more immediate worry: they’ve decided to billet another constable on me and I’ve got to put the stuff back in to the spare room.’

  Prosser picked the lock on the police-station front door, not knowing it was hardly ever used; Hamish and the villagers used the kitchen door. He pushed and strained and finally got it open. He looked up and down. No one around. He entered the room and fell over several piles of junk on the floor. Hamish had dumped some of the stuff from the spare room on to the living-room floor. Where were these damn animals?

  He went into the kitchen and risked switching on the light. Lugs stood glaring at him out of his blue eyes.

  ‘Goodbye, doggy,’ said Prosser with a grin and raised his revolver.

  Where the cat came from, he did not know. Sonsie flew straight at him. She was a big wild cat and the onslaught knocked him off-balance and he fell backwards on to the floor. He screamed as the cat bit into his neck, right into the carotid artery. He tried to seize the cat but she leapt back. Blood was pumping out of the wound on his neck. He staggered to his feet, looking for his gun, but the dog sank his teeth into his leg. The cat jumped on his back and began clawing at his head.

  His eyes grew dim and he fell to the floor, blood pumping from his neck.

  Hamish and Priscilla were just finishing their meal when Willie Lamont, the waiter, approached the table, looking worried.

  ‘Sonsie and Lugs are outside and Sonsie’s covered in blood.’

  Hamish, followed by Priscilla, rushed out of the restaurant. Hamish knelt down by his cat. Sonsie gave a deep throaty purr. ‘Get me a sponge and water,’ he shouted over his shoulder to Willie, who had followed them out.
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  When Willie reappeared with a sponge and a bowl of water, Hamish gently sponged the cat’s fur and heaved a sigh of relief. ‘She’s not injured. I’d better get back to the station.’

  ‘Maybe you’ve got rats,’ suggested Willie.

  ‘I’ll see,’ said Hamish, thinking, Not with that amount of blood.

  He and Priscilla quickly walked to the police station. Hamish unlocked the door, noticing that the kitchen light was on. ‘Stay back,’ he said to Priscilla. ‘It might be Prosser.’

  He went to the henhouse where he had hidden a rifle and brought it out, following by the startled clucking of his hens.

  ‘Wait here,’ said Hamish. He swung open the kitchen door.

  A man was lying there in a large pool of blood. Hamish felt for a pulse and found none. He bent down and ripped off the beard and moustache. Prosser.

  He went out to Priscilla. ‘It’s Prosser. He’s dead.’

  She walked into the kitchen and turned white at the sight that met her eyes.

  ‘Better phone Strathbane,’ she said.

  ‘No!’ shouted Hamish. ‘I can’t do that.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because they’ll soon find out my cat killed him and they’ll have Sonsie put down.’

  ‘What? For getting rid of a serial murderer?’

  ‘Blair will see to it. Damn. I’ve got to move this body. He’s bound to have a stolen car. I’ve got to get rid of it as well. I don’t want it found near the police station. You guard the body and don’t let anyone in.’ Hamish went into the office and came back wearing a pair of latex gloves. He gingerly searched in Prosser’s pockets until he found a set of car keys.

  When he had gone, Priscilla felt she could not bear the sight of the body and found a travel rug in Hamish’s bedroom and threw it over the horrible sight that was Prosser’s body.