by M C Beaton
They went over all the old ground. Hamish did not have any right to order a citizen to throw a hammer at a helicopter, which had resulted in the death of the owner. Hamish stood and listened, his face impassive.
“I am sorry, Macbeth,” concluded Daviot, “but there is no alternative but to remove you from the force.”
“Wait a minute,” said one of the detectives, raising his hand. “The fact that Ionides was a murderer and a drug runner and a scab on the face of society puts a different complexion on the matter, in my opinion. Had it not been for Macbeth here, we would never have got on to him. There is another factor. The pilot swears blind they had nothing to do with the murder of Angus Ettrik. I cannot see he had any reason to lie. He could well have lied and claimed that Ionides was totally responsible for the murder of Fergus.”
“Maybe he didn’t mind saying he helped in one murder but did not want to say he had assisted in two,” said Daviot.
“I don’t think so. This officer”—the detective pointed a pencil at Hamish—“has had several remarkable successes in the past. I know you don’t like his methods, sir, but nonetheless, I am worried because I think we have an unsolved murder here, and Macbeth knows his territory and the people in it.”
Daviot said, “Would you wait outside, Macbeth?”
Hamish walked stiffly out, his cap under his arm. He sat down in Helen’s chair and swung it to one side and then the other. Then he rose and raided Helen’s cupboard, where he knew the biscuits were kept. He made himself a cup of coffee on her machine. She would be furious, but he would probably never have to see her again.
Time passed. His eyes drooped. He fell asleep with his feet on Helen’s desk.
When Helen came out after an hour to summon him back, she took in the spectacle of the empty coffee cup—her own private best china coffee cup—the plate full of biscuit crumbs and the sleeping constable. Her face flamed with anger. “Officer Macbeth!” she shouted in his ear.
Hamish jerked awake. “Och, it iss yourself, Helen,” he said amiably.
“Get in there!” snarled Helen.
Hamish got lazily to his feet. “My, your colour is awfy bad, Helen. It could be the high blood pressure.”
He smiled at her and walked past her into the room.
“Macbeth,” said Daviot, “as a punishment you will lose your sergeant’s stripes. But you will continue your duties in Lochdubh. You will see Detective Anderson before you leave, and he will brief you. That will be all.”
Hamish went out, feeling dazed and happy. He still had his job and his beloved police station.
He went down to the detectives’ room where he found Jimmy. “So you’re still with us,” said a grinning Jimmy. “Reduced to the ranks.”
“Aye, but I’ve still got my job,” said Hamish happily.
Jimmy handed him two enormous folders. “What’s this?”
“You’ll need to try to find out who murdered Angus. I’ll be over there with Macnab to go over the case with you. In those folders are all the interviews after the death of Angus. Go through them again and see if there’s anything there we can work on. Now, off with you. I’ve got a phone call to make.”
When Hamish had left, Jimmy dialled the number of the pub where he knew Blair to be and asked to speak to him. “This is a great day, Jimmy,” crowed Blair over the phone.
“That it is,” said Jimmy smoothly. “We never like to see one of our own get the push.”
There was a shocked silence. Then Blair roared like a bull in pain, “D’ye mean tae tell me that pillock’s still got his job?”
“Yes, but he isn’t a sergeant anymore.”
“How did he get away with it?”
Jimmy was enjoying himself immensely. “I don’t know. I wasn’t there, but they phoned down and asked me to brief him on the Angus Ettrik case.”
Blair uttered a stream of Anglo-Saxon words and then slammed down the receiver. He went back to his table in the bar. He had gone back to the police canteen for his lunch and, because it was his day off, had returned to the pub through force of habit. A nearly full glass of tonic water winked at him in the flashing lights of the fruit machine next to the table. He picked it up and strode to the bar. “Put a double gin in there,” he shouted. Blair was normally a whisky drinker, but there was no point in wasting good tonic water.
§
Hamish whistled and sang as he drove back to Lochdubh with Lugs beside him. Once clear of Strathbane, he stopped the Land Rover on a grassy verge and let Lugs out. The animal had been cooped up for too long. As he watched Lugs scampering through the heather beside the road, he had a sudden memory of Kirsty Ettrik’s fear when she had seen his dog.
His happiness fled. If Angus had not been murdered by Ionides, then it followed it must have been done by someone in Lochdubh. If Fergus had confided in him about the hotel, might he not have confided in him about the other people he had been blackmailing?
He wondered if Priscilla was back. She had left for London a few days after the death of Ionides. He looked over his shoulder at the two folders. He persuaded himself that he only wanted to see Priscilla again to use her help. She had a logical mind.
He whistled for his dog and then reached over and helped Lugs up onto the high seat. He fastened the seat belt around the dog and then set off again.
Once back at the police station, he fed Lugs and then settled down to pick the sergeant’s stripes off his two police sweaters and then his tunic.
Clarry came in and beamed all over his face when Hamish gave him the good news.
“It couldn’t have come at a better time,” said Clarry. “I’m packing up today and moving in with Martha. We’re getting married next year. Will you be best man?”
“I’d be delighted, Clarry. How are things going on at the hotel?”
“I’ve never been happier, Hamish.”
Clarry had slimmed down and was always clean and fresh looking, a big change from the slob of a constable who had first come to Lochdubh.
“The thing is, Clarry,” said Hamish, “they’ve reopened the investigation into Angus’s murder.”
“That’s daft. It was that Greek, surely.”
“They don’t think so. The pilot’s confessed that Ionides killed Fergus, and he helped to dump the body, but he swears blind that his boss had nothing to do with the murder of Angus.”
“He’d expect leniency for helping solve one murder. If he says Ionides didn’t kill him, then he’s clear of a more serious charge.”
“That’s what I thought. Me and my famous intuition. I ended up concentrating on Ionides, so delighted it wasn’t one of us, that of course I thought Angus’s murder was done by him.”
“Where’ll you start?”
“I’ve got two big folders of printouts of what everyone interviewed said after Angus’s murder, Clarry, gossip to the staff up at the hotel. But keep this under wraps. People at the hotel might gossip a bit more freely if they think the murder solved. People will aye try to protect people, and that’s what always stops me getting at the truth.”
Clarry went off to pack his suitcase, and Hamish settled down and began to go through the folders. Kirsty had said that Angus had believed their troubles to be over. What did that mean? Angus’s bank account had been checked and there was nothing other than an overdraft.
He phoned up Angela, the doctor’s wife. “Is Kirsty up at the croft?”
“I believe so. I saw her the other day in Patel’s. What’s this about?”
“I chust wanted a word with her; see if she’s all right.”
“Are you all right?”
“Yes, I’ve still got my job.”
“Come round for a coffee when you can.”
Hamish buttoned on his tunic, minus the three stripes. He called to Clarry, “I’m going out.”
Clarry appeared in the doorway. “You’ve got nothing for your dinner as usual. Call round at the kitchen. I’ve got some nice braised venison. It’ll do you and Lugs a treat.”
“I heard she might be on her way up.” Clarry drew himself up and said, “I would just like to say that you were the best boss a man ever had. I will never forget your kindness. Furthermore…”
“That’s all right,” said Hamish, turning red with embarrassment. “I’m off.”
“May I give you a hug?”
“Well, no, Clarry. Take care of yourself and stop watching those touchy-feely soaps.”
Hamish drove up to Kirsty’s croft house.
§
She jerked open the door as if she had been waiting, had noticed his arrival.
“How are things, Kirsty?”
“Oh, it’s yourself, Hamish. I’m managing as best I can. Everyone around is giving me help with the sheep until I decide what to do. Come in.”
Hamish walked into the kitchen. It sparkled and shone. Every surface gleamed, and the air smelled strongly of disinfectant.
Hamish removed his hat and put it on the kitchen table. “I don’t want to distress you, Kirsty, you’ve been through a lot.”
Her eyes widened. “What’s happened? Not another death? I mean, it’s all over. It was that Greek bastard who killed my Angus.”
“Maybe.”
“What d’ye mean, ‘maybe’?” she demanded shrilly.
“At Strathbane, they’re beginning to think that maybe someone else murdered Angus.”
Her face turned white, and she clutched at the table for support.
“Sit down, Kirsty,” said Hamish, in that moment hating his job. “There may be nothing in it.”
“But if it’s possible there’s someone else,” she whispered, “he could be out there, waiting for me, and I’m up here on my own.”
“There, now. We have to examine everything, and there iss no reason why anyone should come after you.”
“But it was all over,” she wailed. “After the funeral, I had to try to put my grief behind me.”
Hamish said quietly, “I’ll need to ask you if he said anything at all that might be of help. Now, I know you were in shock right after the murder. But you said that Angus had said your troubles were over. And he had a phone call from the same box on the waterfront that Fergus got his last call from. Now, he was, I gather, fairly friendly with Fergus. Fergus was attempting to blackmail Ionides. He may have told Angus what he had. And after his death, Angus, desperate not to lose his croft, might have tried the same trick.”
“If he did, he said nothing to me,” said Kirsty.
“I cannae myself believe yet it was anyone else. There’s that phone call. That’s what bothers me.”
“I’m tired of all this.” Kirsty leaned her head on her hand. “I just want to put it all behind me.”
“I’m asking you, however, to think and think hard,” said Hamish. She stayed where she was, silent, and after a few moments, he let himself out.
He then drove to Elspeth MacRae’s croft. “Come in, Hamish,” she said happily. “I was just about to have a cup of tea.”
How relaxed everyone was now that they thought the murders were solved. Hamish went into the stone-flagged kitchen. A peat fire burned in the hearth and an old clock ticked noisily on the wall, the chintz curtains fluttered at the open window: a scene of Highland tranquillity, far removed from murder and mayhem.
“It iss not really the social call,” said Hamish awkwardly to Elspeth’s back as she busied herself pouring boiling water into a teapot. Her back stiffened. She carefully put the lid on the teapot, placed it on a tray along with two mugs, milk, sugar and biscuits, and carried it to the kitchen table.
“I don’t see what it can be,” said Elspeth. “You have my sheep dip papers. Help yourself to sugar and milk.”
“It’s like this,” said Hamish. “It seems there’s a possibility that Angus was murdered by someone else.”
“How can that be?”
“The pilot swears blind that neither he nor Ionides was responsible for that murder. And yet it’s strange. For Angus got that call before he went out, and we traced it to that call box on the waterfront.”
She lowered her eyes quickly. Hamish eyed her sharply. “What iss it? You’ve got to tell me.”
She clasped her hands and said in a low voice, “You’ve known me a long time, Hamish.”
“Yes.”
“You know I’d never hurt a fly.”
“What have you been keeping from me, Elspeth?”
A sheep bleated nearby and a gust of wind blew around the cottage. The clock ticked away, marking out the seconds of her silence.
“Angus was going to sell me his croft house,” she finally said, “and then, having the house, I was going to apply to the Crofting Commission for the tenancy of the land. He had been saying one day he would do it, then the other that he had changed his mind. I was down in the village, and I saw the phone box and decided to call him before I got home and see if he had come to any decision. He sounded excited, happy, said something had come up. He said he would drive over and tell me. I said I was phoning from the village, and I would see him at my place. I went home and waited and waited. And then I heard he’d been murdered.”
“So why didn’t you tell me or any policeman that it wass you that made the call?”
“I was shocked. I didn’t know the call was important. I was shocked, Hamish,” she repeated.
Hamish sighed. “I may need to take a statement from you, Elspeth. You should neffer have held back information like this.”
“But I had nothing to do with the poor man’s murder!”
“Someone did. It looks as if it was you he was going out to see. Wait a minute, I remember Kirsry saying he had told I her to go away somewhere and leave him for a bit. I mean, why would he do that if he was the one that was going out? I’m sorry, but there’s no way I can keep this bit of evidence quiet.”
“Then you can take yourself off,” said Elspeth. “Just get out of my house. If it’s a choice between your friends and the police, you’ll always stick to the police. You’re a fascist!”
“I’m off,” said Hamish. “But I want you down at the police station at ten o’ clock tomorrow morning.”
As he left, he damned the secretiveness of the locals. What other bits of evidence were some of them keeping from him?
He went back to Kirsty. “What is this?” she demanded angrily. “Haven’t you upset me enough for one day?”
“Kirsty, you never told me Angus was thinking of selling to Elspeth.”
“Oh, that. He changed his mind from day to day.”
“But Elspeth was the one who phoned him, and he told her he was going to drive over and see her. He sounded happy. He said something had come up.”
“I didn’t hear any of that. I’m telling you, he told me to make myself scarce. What did Elspeth phone him about? And why did she call from that box?”
“She happened to be in Lochdubh. Evidently Angus was dithering about selling the house to her.”
“He didn’t mean anything by it. He would get frightened by the debt and then say he was going to sell the place, but he could never make up his mind.”
“Kirsty, a lot of people seem to have been holding back bits of information from me that might help. Are you sure there’s nothing you’re not telling me?”
“What else can I tell you?” demanded Kirsty. “My husband’s been murdered. I’ve been coming to terms with my loss, and now you tell me the murderer is still out there! Oh, go away and leave me in peace.”
Hamish looked down at her and shuffled his large police boots. “I’ll be off now. But I’ll be calling on you again.”
He went back to the Land Rover. “It was that dog of yours,” Kirsty shouted after him. “It’s brought evil.”
Hamish drove off. He realised with a heavy heart that he would need to do the rounds of the people Fergus had been blackmailing in case Angus had taken up his role.
§
Josie would be at work in Strathbane, so he headed fo
r the banker’s house. Mrs. McClellan answered the door to him. How welcoming everyone was now and how much fear he was going to bring back into their lives.
“Come in,” she said. “I want to thank you so much for keeping that matter quiet. I can sleep at nights now.” He followed her through to the kitchen at the back. “Take a seat. Coffee?”
“Maybe not now,” said Hamish. “I’ve bad news.”
She stood very still.
“It’s Angus’s murder. It seems there’s a good chance he might have been murdered by someone else.”
She sat down abruptly. “But you have that cutting?”
“You’re safe there, for the moment. I still haven’t reported it. You see, Ionides’s pilot, he says his boss had nothing to do with Angus’s murder, and he’s sticking to it. As you’ve probably read in the papers, it was Ionides who killed Fergus, and the pilot helped him dump the body. But there’s still a big question mark hanging over Angus’s death.”
“And I’m a suspect?”
“I just have to start going over all the old ground. Did you know Angus?”
“Only by sight. Angus and Kirsty. I saw them at socials at the church, that sort of thing. I knew both of them to say hullo, but never anything more than that.”
“And Angus never approached you after Fergus’s death?”
“No.”
He looked at her intently. He was sure she was telling the truth.
“Look, a lot of people in this village know things, but they haven’t been telling me because they don’t want to get involved with the police, or because they think they’re protecting each other. If you can remember anything, or hear anything…”
“I’ll let you know.”
§
Hamish next called on Mrs. Docherty. It was the same thing: the warm welcome changing to distress as he explained the reason for his call.
“Do you still have that dreadful letter?”
“I’m afraid I still have it. I can’t do anything about it until Angus’s murder is cleared up. Have you heard from that man, the travelling salesman?”
“He wrote once more, saying he would be back in Strathbane. I phoned him and told him he had to forget he ever saw me or he would maybe be part of a murder investigation. I haven’t heard from him since.”
