by M C Beaton
Hamish was helping Lugs down from the back of the police Land Rover while Sonsie jumped lightly to the ground on her large paws. “Good heavens! The copper’s got a couple of weird animals there,” said Thomas. “A wild cat! And a dog with ears like Dumbo.”
“That policeman,” said Charles Prosser, “looks like the village idiot, but what else can you expect in this arsehole of the world.”
Thomas Bromley shivered as he looked down to the long black finger of the loch and the steep, threatening black mountains that guarded it. “At least the hotel’s civilised. We’ll say something nice to Milly and get going.”
“What about our money?” demanded Ferdinand.
“We’ll wait a day. Call tomorrow and chat. Suggest she honours her husband’s debts.”
News presenter Elspeth Grant was seated in the conference room at the television studios in Glasgow. The head of news and current affairs, Sean Gibb, said, “We’re going to launch this new programme we’ve been discussing called Pandora’s Box. It’s a sort of cold-case files. For the first programme, we want you to take some time up in the Highlands and see what you can dig up about those murders in Drim.”
“It’s not very cold yet,” said Elspeth. “And who does my job of news presenting while I’m away?”
“Dottie McDougal.”
“But Dottie’s only a research assistant!”
“We’ve tried her out and she’ll do great. She’ll only be filling in until you see if you can make something of this idea. It’s prime time, Elspeth.”
Elspeth felt very low. Dottie had blonde hair and cleavage. Dottie giggled and swayed her saucy little bum up and down the corridors. Whoever believed that news presenters weren’t chosen for their appearance? she thought dismally.
“Why call it Pandora’s Box?” she asked.
“Well, the last thing out of the box after all the horrors once Pandora had opened it was Hope. Get it? Captain Davenport’s poor wifie wants closure, and that’s the hope we’re going to give her.”
Elspeth gamely made one last try. “But I’m not a detective.”
“Look at all the cases you’ve been involved in up there. What’s the name of that copper?”
“Hamish Macbeth,” said Elspeth bleakly.
“That’s the fellow. Get alongside him.”
Elspeth repressed a sigh. The last time she saw Hamish was when he had tried to speak to her in Glasgow after she had fled their holiday in Corsica, convinced that he had proposed marriage to the love of his life, Priscilla Halburton-Smythe, whose father owned the Tommel Castle Hotel—and all because she had followed him and heard him asking about engagement rings. But there had been no news of any engagement in the newspapers, and she often wondered if Hamish had meant to propose to her.
Hamish had already phoned the manager, Mr. Johnson, to see if he could beg a room to use for interviews. He was told he could use Colonel Halburton-Smythe’s study as the colonel was away, visiting friends.
He decided to bring the four men in together. They had already been interviewed separately in Surrey.
Hamish sat behind the colonel’s desk, and the four filed in and sat facing him. “I’ll start with you, Mr. Castle,” said Hamish in his lilting highland voice. “I suppose you all met up in the regiment.”
“Yes, we went through some rough times. We were all in the Falklands War, and all of us served in Northern Ireland.”
“And you were all close to Captain Davenport?”
“Yes,” said Charles. “Get on with it. We don’t want to sit here answering questions all night.”
“Ah, Mr. Prosser, what was your rank when you left the army.”
“Colonel.”
“Mr. Bromley?”
“Lieutenant-colonel.”
“Mr. Castle?”
“Major.”
“And Mr. Sanders?”
“Staff Sergeant.”
“Was Captain Davenport a good soldier?”
There was a chorus of agreement. “The best.” Bromley. “Fine fellow.” Castle. “Good fun.” Sanders. “Could always be relied on in a fix.” Prosser.
Hamish looked at them all thoughtfully. Then he said, “Oh, come off it. We have letters from your lawyers, as you know, wanting your money back. I think he fled up here to get away from all the people he had conned. Someone wanted revenge. So let’s get to the truth. Mr. Davenport left the army after long service with only the rank of captain. Why was that?”
John Sanders began to bluster. “Who can explain the ways of the army? I was only a sergeant, and—”
Charles Prosser cut in. “May as well tell him. Nothing was ever proved but it left a nasty smell. It was when we were billeted in Northern Ireland. Someone sent an anonymous letter to the authorities saying that John here and Henry Davenport were selling arms to the IRA. Nonsense, of course. But mud sticks.”
Another problem, thought Hamish wearily. If it was true, and the captain had maybe taken money from the IRA and then not delivered, he would be a marked man. “When was this supposed to have taken place?” he asked.
“Can’t quite remember,” said John.
“Oh, tell the truth,” snapped Hamish, “before I start digging up your records in Northern Ireland.”
“Nineteen eighty-six, I think,” said John sulkily. That pretty much rules out the IRA, thought Hamish. Davenport, before he fled north, had been living openly in Guildford. They’d have shot him by now.
“You all seem to have alibis for the time of Davenport’s death, but can you think of any other old army buddy he might have conned out of money?”
General shaking of heads. “We five were always close,” said Charles. “Now, look here, Officer, we’ve had a long journey and we’re tired and want dinner.”
“I’ll be seeing you again.”
As Hamish went out to the car park, he saw with a jolt at his heart the familiar figure of Elspeth getting out of a television van while a soundman and cameraman unloaded stuff from the back. A small anxious-looking girl was dithering about.
“What’s this?” exclaimed Hamish. “Never say they’ve put you back to reporting.”
“Take me inside and buy me a drink and I’ll give you the whole sad story. I’m weary. I’ve been travelling all night,” said Elspeth.
“I’d better see if my animals are all right.”
“For heaven’s sake, Hamish. Can’t they look after themselves for a moment?”
“No,” said Hamish curtly. He checked on Sonsie and Lugs, then walked with Elspeth into the hotel bar.
Hamish listened to Elspeth as she poured out her worries about the new programme, Pandora’s Box, and her fears that the blonde would take away her news presenting job.
“I wish you could solve this one quickly, Hamish,” she said.
“It’s going to be difficult. There are four men here, friends of Captain Davenport, and they all have alibis.”
“Tell me about the case.”
Hamish settled back in his chair, gathered his thoughts, and told her everything he knew.
“Look,” said Elspeth, “it’s bound to be one of those four.” Her odd silver eyes gleamed with excitement.
“Why?”
“They must have hated him for diddling them out of their money and yet they turn up for his funeral.”
“I’ve thought of that. I’m going over to Drim early to wait. If I’m not mistaken, they’ll wait until they think Mrs. Davenport is alone and then tell her she owes them the money. When she says she hasn’t got it, they’ll tell her to sell the house and divide up the proceeds amongst them.”
“Would they be so hardhearted, right after the funeral?”
“I think so. I want to go back to the police station and go over their alibis. Jimmy has sent them over. There might be something there. If only I could go to Guildford and snoop around.”
“I might go to Guildford for you. But for now, I’ll go with you to Drim. Two sets of eyes are better than one.”
Hamish shifte
d awkwardly. “Like old times. Look, Elspeth, about Corsica…”
“Oh, never mind that. Let’s go.”
In the police station, Hamish printed off the alibis. “I’ll take Castle and Bromley and you take Sanders and Prosser.”
Ferdinand Castle, he read, ran a small electronics firm which he had inherited on the death of his father. He had been seen by staff all day in his office; in the evening, he and his wife had dined at a local restaurant. Loads of witnesses.
In fact all of them had dined at the restaurant. Thomas Bromley and his wife had invited John Sanders and his wife, Charles Prosser and Mrs. Prosser, along with the Castles, for dinner on the evening of the day of the murder. Thomas Bromley ran a chain of men’s clothing stores, John Sanders repaired computers, and Charles Prosser ran a chain of supermarkets.
“Read about the dinner party?” he asked Elspeth. “They could be covering for one another.”
“Yes, I thought of that, but John Sanders’s neighbours reported all the comings and goings.”
“I wonder about that dinner party. I wonder if they got another old army buddy who looks like one of them to stand in. Now, apart from Castle, one of the others could have taken a flight up to Glasgow, hired a car, and driven up there, then back again late the next day. That’s what’s missing. What were they all doing the day after? Whoever it was would need time to cover his tracks.”
“I was promised unlimited expenses to get this show on the road,” said Elspeth. “What if I take my team over after I see them leave the hotel and film them coming out? Then I could go down to Guildford and start to dig.”
“Elspeth! That could be verra dangerous. One of them or all of them are psychopaths. If Davenport had just been shot… but to stuff him up his own chimney and then attack the poor sweep.”
“It’s very hard to get at me with a big television van, a soundman, a cameraman, and a wee researcher.”
“You have a researcher! She could be a help.”
“Betty Close is a wimp. She works hard but never seems to come up with anything useful. She’ll need to come with us.”
“Maybe she can do some foot slogging. Send her out to the regiment’s headquarters and see if she can dig up anything out there.”
“Maybe. Drive me back to the hotel, Hamish. I could do with a rest.”
“Could you tip me off when you see them leave?”
“Will do.”
“Oh, Elspeth, I’ve been meaning to explain about Corsica…”
“Another time. I’m too weary.”
She went out and shut the door behind her.
At least I’m not that attracted to her now, thought Hamish with a feeling of relief. But he remembered Elspeth when she used to work on the Highland Times: Elspeth with her thrift shop clothes and frizzy hair and those big grey eyes which turned silver, Gypsy eyes, and he felt a little pang. The new Elspeth was sophisticated, and there was a hardness about her.
Chapter Four
I would like to be there, were it but to see how the cat jumps.
—Sir Walter Scott
The following morning, Hamish drove to Drim. Milly nervously called through the door, “Who is it?”
“Hamish Macbeth.”
He had to wait until locks were opened and a chain removed.
“You’re getting well protected,” he said, taking off his cap and following her into the kitchen.
“The villagers are so kind. There’s a retired locksmith here and he came and put new locks all over the place, even on the windows.”
“Grand. Now, the reason I am here is because I think those four men will be back this morning, seeing if they can get any money out of you.”
“Right after the funerals! Surely not.”
“We’ll see. Could you take them into the drawing room and then I’ll listen at the door to make sure you’re all right?”
“I’ve known them all before,” said Milly, “and their wives. We were all such friends.”
“Nonetheless, it’s better to be safe. I hear the sound of a car. I’ll wait in here until they’re all safely in the drawing room.”
There was a knock at the door. Hamish listened hard. He could hear Milly welcoming the men. He waited until the voices went into the drawing room and he heard Milly shut the door. Then he nipped across the hall and pressed his ear to the panels.
They sat around at first, murmuring the usual platitudes about how sad and peculiar the death of Captain Davenport had been.
Then Thomas Bromley said in a coaxing voice: “The sad thing is, Milly, that Henry owed us all money. We are sure you are going to honour your dead husband’s debts.”
“It’s an awful lot of money,” quavered Milly, “and I don’t have that much left.”
“Then you’ll need to sell this house,” said John Sanders. “I am sure you would not want people to think badly of your husband.”
Enough, thought Hamish. He pushed open the door and went in. “Good morning, gentlemen,” he said. “What is the reason for this call?”
“Just to give the lady our condolences.”
“It’s too soon after all the shocks for Mrs. Davenport to be disturbed. I’ll just be seeing you out.”
Hamish suddenly sensed evil in the room, but he did not know which one of them was emanating it.
He held the drawing room door wide. “Good day to you.”
Charles Prosser said haughtily, “We’ll be back to see you when this interfering policeman is not around.”
“No you won’t,” said Milly, getting to her feet. “I’ve had enough. Don’t come back. I haven’t any money.”
“What’s this?” asked Hamish. “Have you been harassing Mrs. Davenport for money at such a time?”
“We’ll be on our way,” said Bromley. They pushed past Hamish and left.
Milly sobbed quietly while the sound of their car died away. “Look here,” said Hamish, “that money was got from them by fraud. You are not responsible.”
“I was thinking of selling the house,” said Milly, drying her eyes. “But the village people are so kind. I’ve never really had friends of my own since I got married. To tell the truth, I didn’t like their wives, but Henry insisted they were my best friends.”
“Will your sister-in-law have left you anything in her will?”
“I very much doubt it.”
Hamish took out his phone. “I think I’ll just be calling in a few favours from a couple of men on the Forestry Commission. As soon as all the shrubbery is taken away, you’ll get a clear view of who’s approaching the house.”
There was a knock at the door, and Milly winced. Hamish went to answer it. But it was Ailsa and Edie bearing a cake. “We thought a bit o’ cake might cheer her up.”
Milly appeared behind Hamish. “How kind of you. Let’s go into the kitchen. The drawing room is cold.”
Hamish returned to his phone call. “Two forestry men’ll be along this afternoon,” he said.
“What do I pay them?” asked Milly.
“Nothing. Like I said, they’ll take away the wood as payment.”
When Hamish arrived back at his police station, he phoned the hotel and found to his dismay that none of the four had checked out. For once he would have welcomed Detective Inspector Blair with his bullying ways. Why wasn’t he up at the hotel grilling them?
He phoned Jimmy and asked. “I’m on my road over,” said Jimmy. “Blair smells that this is a case that’ll never be solved. He’s got a glowing report on all four men from the regiment. He says I’ve got to concentrate on the villagers in Drim. He says they’re probably all inbred and daft. He says some lunatic stuffed the captain up the chimney. He says we cannot go around annoying brave soldiers.”
“Ex-soldiers,” corrected Hamish, “and they were up at Drim this morning, trying to get money out o’ Milly.”
“Where are they now?”
“Tommel Castle.”
“I’ll just be having a wee word wi’ them.”
“Drop
in here first. I’ve got an idea.”
When Jimmy arrived, demanding whisky as usual, Hamish said, “Has anyone looked into how their businesses are doing?”
“Don’t think so.”
“All of them or one of them must be desperate for money or they wouldn’t go to such lengths.”
“I’ll use your phone and get on to it. Where’s Elspeth? I heard she’d been spotted.”
“Down in Surrey, trying to get some background.”
“Good luck to her. But believe me, the police down there have been thorough. Wait! I’ll use your phone and get on to them and see if one of the four has a failing business.”
Hamish waited. The wind was rising like a bad omen. It had a peculiar keening sound, heralding worse to come.
Ailsa, Edie, and Milly were eating cake and drinking coffee when someone knocked at the door. “I’ll go,” said Ailsa.
After a few minutes, she called, “It’s that reporter, Tam Tamworth.”
“Oh, show him in,” said Milly.
“Are you sure you want to be speaking to the press?” asked Ailsa.
“Tam swears he won’t publish anything until the murders are solved. And he’s kind.”
Ailsa ushered Tam into the kitchen. He was carrying a bunch of yellow roses, which he presented to Milly. “How lovely, Tam. I’ll put these in water.”
Ailsa winked at Edie, and both women rose to their feet. “We’ll leave you to it, Milly. Phone if there’s anything you want.”
After they had gone, Tam nervously cleared his throat and said, “It’s my day off.”
“Then how nice of you to come to see me.”
“I wondered if you felt like a trip to Strathbane this evening for dinner.”
“Oh… I don’t know. Wouldn’t it look odd so soon after the funeral?”
“I don’t think anyone will notice us. It just crossed my mind that it might be a wee bit o’ a tonic to get out o’ here. And you did want to see a movie.”
“Oh, it would. Coffee?”
“I’ll be on my way and pick ye up at seven o’clock.”
Jimmy came back from his phone call. “Dead end. Yes, they investigated their finances and all are well off.”
