Death of a Liar

by M C Beaton

“Sit down, Beryl,” said Hamish. “Now, there’s nothing to worry about. I just want some information. It concerns this woman.”

  Beryl was plump, her uniform strained across large breasts. She had a round pasty face and pale-grey eyes. She looked at the photograph of Lizzie and nodded. “That’s her.”

  “I am not interested in drugs,” said Hamish, “only in this woman. Did you ever talk to her?”

  “Just the once. I was feeling low and I’m always on a diet, see, and someone said that uppers made you lively and you would lose a lot of weight. You’re not going to arrest me!”

  “No. Go on. You are being very helpful.”

  “A lad told me you could get drugs in the toilets so I went to the ladies’ and waited. Liz came in and asked what I wanted and I told her. She gave me some pills and told me if I ever said something to anyone, they’d come after me. Well, Liz had become a bit of a joke with all her lies and she was acting as if she was some mafia moll. I told her to stuff her drugs up her fat arse.”

  “I would like you to make a statement.”

  “I cannae!” wailed Beryl. “What will my mum say?”

  “Look, all I want you to say is you went to the toilet and Liz offered you drugs and you told her to get lost. Can you do that?”

  “I s’ppose so.”

  “Get your coat and tell your boss you are off on important police business.”

  When the statement was secured, Hamish drove her back to the supermarket. “It’s a bad storm,” said Beryl. “I hope they close early.”

  Hamish left her at the door of the supermarket and drove off. His pets shifted restlessly in the back. He knew if he let them out for a run, it would mean wasting time picking snowballs off their fur at the police station, a job that Dick would have performed. He wondered how Dick was getting on and envied him being up there with the gorgeous Anka.

  “Well, we shifted last night’s baking just in time,” said Dick. “But is there any point in doing anything for tomorrow? The roads will be blocked.”

  “We can bake a few things for the locals,” said Anka.

  They were sitting in Liz Bentley’s house after having searched it thoroughly without finding anything of interest.

  “Do you ever get tired of policing?” asked Anka.

  “Sometimes,” said Dick. “I know Hamish wants the police station to himself.”

  “Why?”

  “He hopes to get married and he thinks I queer his pitch.”

  “Queer?”

  “I mean, he thinks I get in the way.”

  Anka laughed. “He is worried the ladies prefer you to him.”

  “What woman would prefer me to Hamish?” said Dick gloomily.

  “Quite a lot, I should think. Kindness and decency are very important.”

  Dick blushed. Then he said, “Maybe I’m not cut out for police work. Police work means I’m lazy. I don’t like asking people questions and often getting doors slammed in my face.”

  “Have you ever thought of becoming a baker?”

  “No’ really. I’m too old to change.”

  “One is never too old,” said Anka. “Now, my dream would be to open a bakery in Inverness. Think of it, Dick. We could be famous.”

  “We?”

  “Why not? I have some money left to me by an aunt. I have never touched it.”

  The wind screeched round the cottage. The trouble with being a policeman, thought Dick, was that you ended up not trusting anyone. Why on earth would this beautiful woman want to go into business with him?

  “Why me?” he asked.

  “Because like me, you have baking in the blood,” said Anka. “And because we have become very dear friends.”

  Outside, the storm raged on, but somewhere deep inside Dick there was a warm glow, like sunshine.

  “Just maybe it might work,” he said cautiously. “I’ve got a fair bit of money put by. I’ve earned a lot with television quizzes over the years. The last time I won a new car and sold it and kept using my old one.”

  “Let’s go to my place where it is warm,” said Anka.

  At the mobile police unit in Lochdubh, Hamish handed Jimmy a copy of Beryl’s statement, glad that Blair was nowhere in sight.

  “So that’s the tie-up,” said Jimmy. “Say Brough or whatever he calls himself managed to get the drugs out of Canada for some gang with the help of the Southerns, and the gang starts to come after them all.”

  “I think Peter Gaunt, alias Brough, must be the kingpin,” said Hamish, “or he would be dead by now.”

  “He may be dead for all we know,” said Jimmy. “There’s not much any of us can do until this storm is over.”

  “Well, I’ve got to get on my snowshoes and see everyone in the outlying crofts is all right. Coming with me?”

  “You must be mad! The funeral’s in a couple of days’ time.”

  “They’ve released Liz’s body?”

  “Aye. She’s being burnt at the crematorium in Strathbane. Her brother’s furious, but Liz left instructions in her will.”

  “Odd thing for a fantasist like her,” commented Hamish. “I would have thought she would want the telly-type funeral with the churchyard and all that.”

  “No, it’s ashes to ashes for our Liz.”

  Hamish looked out the window of the mobile home. “It’s easing off. I barely made it here from Strathbane.”

  Hamish returned to the police station and found to his relief that the phones were working. They often went out of order during a storm. He was therefore able to phone every­one he could think of who might be at risk instead of having to go and visit them.

  The police station was cold. He switched on the central heating and lit the stove in the kitchen. As he was cooking up food for Sonsie and Lugs, he reflected that all these little chores were usually done by Dick. When he had fed the animals, he made himself a ham sandwich and a cup of coffee and went through to the living room. The fire was full of cold ashes, and there was a thin layer of dust on the furniture. He retreated to the kitchen and sat down at the table.

  He took out his mobile phone and called Jimmy. “I forgot to ask you,” said Hamish, “but is there any chance any of the villagers saw or heard anything?”

  “Not a thing. They all say that the wind was so awful, it would block out any noise. I’ve just had a bollocking from Blair and I am told to keep you out of Strathbane in future.”

  “That man’s a right misery. He’ll probably confront Beryl and Ellie and shout at them so much they’ll clam up completely. I suppose it’s all right if I turn up at the funeral?” said Hamish.

  “I don’t see that Blair can object. Liz was murdered on your patch. If Dick hasn’t got anything, call him back. The minute the roads are clear, you’ll both need to go round the village again just in case someone forgot to tell us something.”

  After he had finished the call to Jimmy, Hamish phoned Dick at the doctor’s house. The cleaner answered and said, “He’s ower at the Polish woman’s.”

  Hamish found Anka’s phone number and rang her. “Is Dick there?” he asked.

  “Yes, I’ll get him,” said Anka. “Dick, my dear, it’s for you.”

  My dear, thought Hamish with a stab of jealousy.

  When Dick came on the phone, he said, “The storm was so bad I had to spend the night here.”

  “Lucky you,” said Hamish tartly. “As soon as the road’s clear, you’re to come back here.” He told Dick about the attempt on Christine’s life and what they had found out about the real identities of Brough and the Leighs.

  Dick rang off and said to Anka, “I’ve been called back.”

  “The roads haven’t been gritted yet,” said Anka, looking at his downcast face.

  “The snow’s stopped,” said Dick, “and it’s melting. I suppose it’s back to the real world.”

  “Why?” asked Anka. “What if we pool our resources and open a bakery somewhere. Inverness is expensive. What about Braikie?”

  “You mean…you an
d me?”

  “Why not?”

  “There is already a bakery in Braikie,” said Dick. “It was bought last year by some woman who’s made a bad job of it. Maybe she’d be glad to sell.”

  “As soon as we can leave,” said Anka, “we will go to Braikie and see what we can find out.”

  “But even if I hand in my notice,” said Dick, “it’ll take at least a month until I get my freedom.”

  “You are ill, that’s it!” cried Anka. “I know, I will appeal to Dr. Williams for a certificate.”

  “You’ll be asking the man to lie?”

  “Why not? He issues sick notes every Monday to the locals complaining of bad backs when he knows there is nothing up with them.”

  Hamish was just wondering if his budget would run to a meal at the Italian restaurant when the kitchen door opened and Priscilla Halburton-Smythe walked in.

  The first thing she said was, “I see Dick isn’t around.”

  “Obviously,” said Hamish.

  “I mean, no smells of cooking or sounds of television. Dishes in the sink instead of the dishwasher. You look like a man whose wife has just walked out on him.”

  “And to think for a moment I was glad to see you,” said Hamish. “I gather the road is clear.”

  “Yes, and the snow is melting.”

  “How long are you up here for?” asked Hamish.

  “Just a few days. Have you eaten yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  “I’ll treat you to a meal at the Italians’.”

  Over dinner, Hamish rediscovered that Priscilla was a good listener. He was able to go over the case in detail.

  When he had finished, Priscilla said, “Why try to kill Christine?”

  “If this man, Gaunt, is behind it all, then he probably was afraid there was still some incriminating clue in that house that she might find.”

  “It would have been more sensible to shoot you. Surely you have proved to be more of a danger at finding out things.”

  “Someone may have seen the lights in the schoolhouse and thought it was me. Something Gaunt or someone else wants badly is hidden and they still don’t know where.”

  “What about this Polish woman, Anka? Don’t you think it odd that she should choose to hide herself away in Cromish?”

  “I did at first, but she’s been checked and double-checked. Dick is still in Cromish, but he’ll be back tomorrow.”

  “You must miss all the home comforts.”

  “I wish I could get rid of the man,” said Hamish. “I want my police station back.”

  “So what is your next move?” asked Priscilla.

  How beautiful she looked, with the golden bell of her hair shining in the candlelight, thought Hamish. And how contained and passionless.

  He said, “I had better go back to Strathbane whether Jimmy likes it or not, and talk to those two girls who used to go to the church. If Liz had claimed to be engaged and it wasn’t to Gaunt, who else was hanging around there?”

  Hamish’s phone rang. To his surprise, the caller was Anka. “I am afraid Dick will not be able to travel,” she said. “He has a severe cold. I am taking him to the doctor tomorrow.”

  Hamish felt a pang of unease. What did he really know of Anka?

  “I’ll get up there tomorrow to see him,” said Hamish.

  “That will not be necessary,” said Anka and rang off.

  “That’s odd,” said Hamish, tucking his phone back into his pocket. “Anka has just told me that Dick is not well enough to travel. I said I’d go up there, and she told me sharply that it wouldn’t be necessary. I don’t like this one bit. I’ll get up there first thing tomorrow.”

  “Do you want me to come with you?”

  “It’s not allowed. You know that.”

  “We could go in my car,” said Priscilla.

  “All right, then. I’d be glad of the company.”

  Hamish reflected, the next morning, that it was comfortable that he no longer lusted after Priscilla. Of course, it was hard to have any passionate feelings for a woman who did not put out one little vibe.

  It was a dismal day with a greasy drizzle smearing the windscreen. Priscilla’s Range Rover splashed through lakes of melting snow.

  By the time they reached Cromish, a gusty wind had started to blow and the sky was clearing to the west.

  “What a noisy place,” commented Priscilla when they got down from the car outside Anka’s cottage. “There must be more seagulls here than anywhere else in the northwest.”

  “It’s the waves as well,” said Hamish. “The Atlantic waves get higher and stronger every year.”

  He rang the doorbell.

  “The curtains are closed,” said Priscilla. “Maybe she’s still asleep.”

  Hamish tried the door. “It’s open,” he said. He walked in, calling, “Anka!”

  He opened the door to the living room. The first thing he saw was Dick asleep on the sofa.

  “Don’t wake him!” said an imperious voice behind him. Hamish swung round. Anka was standing there in men’s pyjamas. “And who is this?” she said, turning round to confront Priscilla, who had just entered the room behind her.

  Hamish made the introductions. Then he said, “Dick doesn’t look ill.”

  “He has seen the doctor this morning and we have a certificate to show you.”

  What on earth is going on here, wondered Hamish. Has she drugged him?

  He stepped forward and shook Dick awake.

  Dick blinked owlishly up at Hamish. “I’m sick,” he said.

  “You don’t look it.” Hamish put a hand on Dick’s forehead. “You don’t even have a temperature.”

  “It is no use,” said Anka. “We had better tell them. Let us all go into the kitchen and have coffee.”

  “It’s like this,” said Dick. “I am leaving the police. Anka and me are going to start our own bakery, maybe in Braikie.”

  Hamish stared at him. Here was the news he had longed for. But Dick and Anka. He shot a covert look at Anka from under his long lashes. Even in those pyjamas, she looked seductive from her tousled hair to her bare feet. Such a woman could have any man she wanted. Why Dick? Money, that must be it. She wanted her own bakery, and no doubt Dick had money in the bank.

  “Who’s going to pay for all this?” demanded Hamish.

  “I have my own money and Dick will help out,” said Anka. “We are a team. We are superb bakers.” She put an arm around Dick, who was sitting next to her. “This man is an angel.”

  Dick smiled at her. He looked radiant.

  “We have so many plans to make,” said Anka. “Please give Dick two more days. We have so many things to do.”

  “If I could just be having a wee word with Dick in private,” said Hamish stiffly.

  “We’ll go ben,” said Dick.

  In the living room, Hamish confronted Dick. “Look, are you sure she isn’t just using you?”

  “It might be hard for you to understand,” said Dick, “but we are a match when it comes to the baking. This is a dream. Because she’s beautiful, you think she can’t fancy me. Well, she does. You can’t stop me.”

  “Dick, I’m only worried about you.”

  “You’ve been trying to get rid of me for ages,” said Dick. “So shove off and enjoy your own company.”

  “There’s no need to be rude. And you are speaking to a superior officer.”

  “Shove off, sir,” said Dick.

  They glared at each other and then Hamish began to laugh.

  “I swear to God I’m jealous,” he said. “You’ve always been more interested in the kitchen than any police work. You can start right away. I’ll swear blind you’ve had a breakdown and tell them that the accommodating doctor has given you a sick note.”

  “Well,” said Priscilla on the road back. “Doesn’t that make you feel warm all over?”

  “It worries me a bit. She’s glamorous enough to break Dick’s heart.”

  “Oh, Dick’s attractive.”
/>   “Dick!”

  “Yes, he’s sort of cuddly.”

  Hamish experienced that nasty stab of jealousy again. For the cool Priscilla to find Dick attractive was really annoying.

  He dropped Priscilla at the hotel, almost relieved to see her go. She seemed to epitomise his failure to find a lasting relationship.

  Hamish attended the funeral at the crematorium in Strathbane.

  The Reverend Donald Bentley gave a frosty eulogy and hoped his sister would be forgiven for her many sins.

  There was no one else to say anything about the dear departed.

  The crematorium was run by two elderly brothers, Kenneth and Robert Wright. They were identical twins. Both were in their early eighties.

  After the last dreary hymn was over, Hamish went to talk to Kenneth Wright.

  “Did you know Miss Bentley?” he asked.

  “I met her the once,” said Kenneth. “That man from that peculiar church brought her along to a service.”

  “Who was being cremated?”

  “A Mrs. Jessica Andrews. It was a most undignified service, I thought. Everyone clapping and stamping to songs I had never heard before. Jesus is your buddy, that sort of thing.”

  “Could you find an address for Mrs. Andrews?”

  “Come into the office.”

  The office was dark and bleak. A shelf of urns stood against the window.

  “I hope those aren’t full,” said Hamish.

  “No, no, no,” said Kenneth. “We keep them there as an example of what can be bought.”

  “You should dust them,” said Hamish. “They look a bit dingy, and that one of the left has a sair dunt in it.”

  “Do you want this address or not?” snapped Kenneth. “I haven’t got all day.”

  “Right,” said Hamish. “Didn’t mean to offend you.”

  No computer for the Wright brothers, thought Hamish, as Kenneth opened an old-fashioned ledger.

  “Ah, here it is. Number five, Loan Road, Beauly.”

  “Thanks. Are you all right? You look worried.”

  “I am very well, thank you. Now, if there is nothing else?”