Hamish Macbeth 22 (2006) - Death of a Dreamer

by M C Beaton

  They sat back at the kitchen table with glasses of whisky.

  “Look at the cat!” said Elspeth.

  Sonsie was standing at the entrance to the kitchen, fur straight on end, eyes blazing.

  “What’s up with the beast?” said Hamish. He half rose from the table just as the kitchen door crashed open and Betty Barnard stood there, a gun in her hand, her eyes glittering with anger.

  She had dyed her hair blonde and cut it short and was wearing a pair of dark glasses, but Hamish knew it was Betty.

  “You bastard,” she spat at Hamish. “I’m taking you with me.”

  “Where?”

  “The grave.”

  She levelled the pistol and took aim.

  With one fluid motion, the cat sprang straight at her face. The cat was heavy, and the force of the spring knocked Betty backwards. Lugs came running in and sank his teeth into her leg. Hamish stamped on Betty’s wrist and bent down and grabbed the gun.

  “Off, Sonsie,” said Hamish.

  “Get it away from me!” screamed Betty. Sonsie was crouched on Betty’s chest, staring into her eyes. The cat drew back her lips in a long hiss.

  Hamish bent down and moved the cat. He twisted Betty round and, grabbing a pair of handcuffs from the dresser, handcuffed her hands behind her back.

  She was now babbling with fear. “Keep the cat away from me. Keep it away!”

  Hamish took off his belt and bound her ankles. He went through to the office and phoned Strathbane.

  When he came back, he hoisted Betty upright and placed her on a chair. Elspeth left the room, muttering, “Got to phone.”

  Hamish looked at Betty sadly. “Why?”

  “Mind your own business,” she snarled, and refused to say another word.

  It was half an hour before Hamish heard the welcome sound of sirens in the distance. The wait had felt like days.

  Elspeth had come back into the kitchen. She stood in a corner, staring at Betty.

  Just as Hamish heard the police cars draw up outside, the phone in the office rang. He went through and answered it. It was Liddesdale. “Mr. Macbeth, Elspeth has filed an extraordinary story about Betty Barnard trying to kill you.”

  “It’s all true,” snapped Hamish. “Print the damn thing.”

  He went back just as Jimmy came into the kitchen.

  “She was going to kill us,” said Hamish. “That’s the gun on the table.” .—…

  Jimmy charged Betty and told the police to take her to Strathbane. “You two had better come along as well,” said Jimmy. “I’ll need your statements. I’d think you’d want to be in on the questioning, Hamish.”

  At Stradibane, Jimmy sat in an interview room, flanked by Daviot himself. Hamish sat quietly in one corner. Once the interview tape was put into the machine, Jimmy began the questioning.

  “We have you for the murder of Hal Addenfest and the attempted murder of PC Hamish Macbeth and Miss Elspeth Grant, so you may as well start by telling us why you killed Effie Garrard.”

  There was a long silence. Then she said harshly, “May I smoke?”

  Jimmy nodded and slid a packet of cigarettes and lighter over to her. She lit one, blew smoke, and leaned back. “Funny,” she said, “I gave these cancer sticks up years ago. Oh, why not?

  “Jock and I had an affair. He said he loved me, and at that time, he was telling the truth. Then he began to cool. I told him unless he divorced Dora, I wouldn’t represent him any more. Furthermore, I had lent him money for his gambling debts, and I said I would demand repayment. So he divorced Dora, but he kept making excuses. But the affair continued.” Her voice suddenly trembled. “I was so terribly in love with him.

  “Then I heard that Effie Garrard had flipped and was saying that Jock was going to marry her. I went to see her. I told her he wanted nothing to do with her. She told me he loved her and he’d had an affair with her. I knew Jock had passing affairs, but it was when she said she was pregnant that I believed her. I knew she was a bit long in the tooth to get pregnant, but these days women have babies even in their fifties. I’d an awful feeling it might be true and Jock might feel obliged to marry her.

  “I had a spare bottle of antifreeze in my car. I went into the hotel bar. It was empty that evening. I asked the barman to help me see if I had dropped my car keys in the car park. When he started to go towards the door, I took a bottle of sweet wine from the bar and put it behind a chair. Then I ran after him and said I’d found the keys. I went back to the bar widi him and ordered a martini. While he was busy mixing it, I got the bottle, took off my jacket, and covered the bottle with it. I drank that martini in one gulp.

  “I ran into Jock on the road out. He said he’d spoken to Effie and told her he was off to Geordie’s Cleft in the morning. I asked him where it was, and he told me. I said did Effie know where it was? He said sheepishly rfiat he’d told her and no doubt she’d be climbing up the mountain in the morning to haunt him.

  “I wrote a note supposed to come from Jock saying he loved her and asking her to bring the wine up to Geordie’s Cleft at midnight and they’d celebrate their engagement. ‘You can start without me,’ I wrote. ‘I’ve already had a swig of it.’ I opened the wine and poured most of it out and then poured in the antifreeze and screwed the cork back in. I left the bottle and note outside her door. Then on the road back to the hotel, I threw the antifreeze into the River Anstey.

  “I climbed up to Geordie’s Cleft the next night. I almost hoped to find she wasn’t there, but she was dead and wearing that engagement ring. I took out my penknife and sawed it off and threw the ring in the heather on my way back. I put the suicide note in her pocket. I felt nothing. I felt I had really had nothing to do with it. Then that American came up to me with his notebook. ‘I have it all here,’ he said. ‘I was looking in the window of the bar, and I saw you steal that bottle of wine. I think the police would be very interested.’

  “I asked him what he wanted. He amazed me by saying he wanted to get married, that he was tired of living alone. He said he was lonely and he couldn’t understand why nobody liked him.

  “I said I’d meet him on the beach the following night at midnight and let him know my decision. I never thought he’d fall for it, but he did. Maybe because I said I was lonely, too, and that I’d like him to be a bit more romantic and the beach at midnight would be romantic.

  “I flew down to Glasgow and got my diving gear, came back up, and hid it in the boot of my car. I drove over to the forest on the far side of the loch. I dived in and swam underwater across the loch.

  “I saw him standing there like a bloody garden gnome staring up at the road. I crept up, picking up a rock as I went, and hammered him on the head. He fell backwards. I took the notebook. I dragged him by the ankles. I was going to take him with me into the loch. There’s a sort of shelf down there, and I was going to lodge the body under it. Then I heard those two schoolboys. So I left him, waded in, and dived. I knew the police would be searching the rooms, and I thought of filling my diving suit with stones and sinking it down into the loch, but it was expensive gear. I knew about the storeroom because the porter had told me about the people who hadn’t paid their bill and how their luggage was down there. I searched around the outside of the hotel with a torch until I found the right window. I shone the torch on that notebook and went through it. There was nothing about me stealing the wine.”

  Hamish’s quiet voice interrupted her. “Why was I hit on the head in Glasgow? How did you know I was there? What was so important about that letter from Brighton?”

  “I was always wary of you,” she said. “I followed you when you left for Glasgow. I had to hang well behind before you got on to the busier roads. I saw you take the Glasgow plane. It was crowded. I bought myself a hat and dark glasses at the shop at the airport, bought a ticket, and took a chance. You never even noticed me. I followed you while you talked to people. Then I followed you back to Jock’s flat. I was worried what you would find. I stood inside the door and w
atched you take diat letter from Brighton out. Jock and I went to Brighton for a weekend once. I stayed behind. I wrote him a passionate love letter. Jock kept a baseball bat by the door. I whacked you with that and took the letter, went to the airport, and got the next plane back to Inverness.”

  “When Jock was in Brighton, he managed to have a one·night stand with Caro Garrard. How did he manage that?”

  “He couldn’t have…He wouldn’t.”

  “Okay, maybe he met her and went back to Brighton later. But did you know Jock was still having sex with his wife?”

  “Liar. Not possible. He told me he was sick of her and she’d only followed him up here to get more money out of him.”

  “We have forensic proof that he did,” said Hamish. “He said something about her having certain tricks.”

  Her eyes grew wider and wider, and then she began to scream and scream.

  “Take her away,” said Jimmy. “That’s enough for now.”

  After she had gone, Hamish said, “Just as well she didn’t know, or we’d have another dead body.”

  “Have you and your lady friend made your statements?” asked Daviot.

  “She is not my lady friend, but yes, we have made our statements.”

  “I think the least we can do,” said Daviot, “is to put you and Miss Grant up in a hotel for the night.”

  “Thank you, sir, but we should be getting back. Her luggage is there, and I have to look after my animals. The cat saved my life.”

  “The medical officer treated that bite your dog gave her,” said Jimmy. “Okay, off you go. You’re looking very white again, Hamish. Sure you’re up to driving back?”

  “I’ll be okay.”

  Hamish and Elspeth drove back in silence for most of the way. Then Hamish said, “I plan to do absolutely nothing tomorrow. You?”

  “I’ll do a follow-up piece in the morning. You know the stuff—the shadow of murder leaves Lochdubh and yackety-yak.”

  “At least with the attempt on our lives, I’ve got a good excuse for not giving Matthew the story. I promised him first bite. I think we should go out to the Italian’s tomorrow and celebrate the end of all this.”

  “You’re on.” Elspeth grinned in the darkness. “And for once in your life, you’ve got the money to pay for it.”

  Although he was exhausted, Hamish did not fall asleep right away. He now knew that Betty had been nice to him only to throw him off the scent. Had he become such a pathetic bachelor that he could not see what lay behind her attractive appearance?

  Sonsie stretched out beside him and gave a rumbling purr. He patted the cat’s silky coat and slowly drifted off into tortured dreams in which Betty was dragging him down into the black depths of the lake.

  Hamish awoke late the next morning to find Elspeth had gone out. He washed and shaved and decided not to put on his uniform but to take the day off. He had just finished dressing when the phone rang. It was Jimmy.

  “Betty Barnard is asking to see you, Hamish. You don’t need to.”

  “I’ll drop over. Is she still at police headquarters?”

  “Until this afternoon. We’re transferring her to the women’s prison to await trial.”

  Hamish drove off, taking Sonsie and Lugs with him. He could let them out for a run in the heather on the road back.

  The day was grey and misty. As the Land Rover mounted a rise above Strathbane, he looked down on the place he loathed most. He always thought the town a scar on the beauty of the Highlands.

  He parked outside police headquarters and went up to the detectives’ room where Jimmy was waiting. “I’ll take you down to the cells,” said Jimmy. “Daviot is thrilled to bits. He’s about to hold a press conference.”

  “I hope you took all the credit,” said Hamish uneasily.

  “You’re still frightened of promotion in case they take you out of that backwater called Lochdubh. Relax. I did a Blair. I took all the credit.”

  Hamish was led to Betty’s cell. The door was left open, and a policewoman stood on duty outside.

  Betty was sitting on the cell’s narrow bed. She looked up when he came in.

  “I just wanted to say goodbye,” she said.

  “Why?” Hamish sat down on the bed next to her.

  “We were friends, believe it or not. I even began to think at one time that it might be nice to be married to someone like you.”

  “Why did you have to go and murder two people and ruin your life?” asked Hamish.

  “Passion,” she said. “Have you ever really been in love, Hamish? Deep, all-consuming love? It tricks the mind. Jock always had some excuse. ‘We’ll get married next I year, or when I’ve had the next exhibition,’ and I believed him because love had driven me mad.

  “I’ve asked my lawyer to contact Jock and tell him to come and see me. Even now I can’t let go.”

  There were voices outside, and then the policewoman came in and handed Betty a letter. She opened it up and I glanced at the signature. “It’s from Jock,” she said.

  She read the letter while her face grew stiff with pain. Then she numbly handed it to Hamish. Jock had written:

  Dear Betty,

  I am not coming to see you and I will never forgive you for what you’ve done. I never really wanted to marry you but you’d lent me money I couldn’t pay back and you were such a good agent I thought I’d string you along. Don’t contact me again.

  Jock

  Hamish sat in an awkward silence. Then he said, “Well, that’s that. You’ll chust need to get on with life.”

  “In prison?”

  “Why not? No death penalty. It didn’t come out at the interview, but it was you that defaced the portrait of Priscilla, wasn’t it?”

  “I got sick of him raving on about her beauty. Oh, God, help me! I don’t know what to do.”

  Hamish stood up. “There’s nothing you can do but take your punishment. Have you no remorse for killing these two people?”

  “No. I despised them both.”

  Hamish left the cell, and the policewoman slammed and locked the cell door behind him.

  Epilogue

  Never give all the hart, for love

  Will hardly seem worth thinking of

  To passionate women if it seem

  Certain, and they never dream

  That it Jades out from kiss to kiss.

  —W. B. Yeats

  As he drove back down into Lochdubh, Hamish saw the mobile-unit being towed away.

  He found he was looking forward to hisevening widi Elspeth.

  She was in the badbroom when he enteredthe police station. “Is that you, Hamish?” she called nervously.

  “Only me. Bettys locked up tight. Don’t use all the hot water.”

  “Ialready have. You’d better stoke up the fire.”

  Hamish lifted the lid of the stove andadded kindling and peat to the dying fire.

  It was grand to have Elspeth for company, he thought. They’d been through a lot together. Her psychic abilities were better than the seer’s any day. He felt like going up to Angus and demanding his fish back.

  The phone rang. What now? He went into the office. Jimmy’s voice sounded down the line, harsh and upset.

  “She’s hanged herself, Hamish.”

  “What? How?”

  “With her tights on the bars of her cell.”

  “I thought they would take anything like that away from her.”

  “There’s going to be an enquiry, and that means statements and forms and bureaucracy by the mile. You’d better come over tomorrow and make a statement about her condition when you saw her last.”

  “I’ll send it over, Jimmy. I’m heartsick about the whole business.”

  “Well, it’ll save the state a trial.”

  “Did she leave a note?”

  “She wrote on the back of a letter from Jock Fleming. It simply said, “You’ve killed me, Jock.””

  Hamish felt a sudden burst of anger. “I’m going over to see that bastard to
morrow. If he hadn’t been stringing her along, these murders might never have taken place.”

  “Don’t punch him,” said Jimmy wearily, “or he’ll charge you with assault and you’ll lose your job.”

  “I’ll keep my hands behind my back.”

  “Good man.”

  “How’s Blair?”

  “Who cares? As far as I know, he’s back home convalescing. See you.”

  Elspeth came out of the bathroom. She was made-up and wearing a filmy gown of green silk chiffon and high heels.

  “You look a picture,” said Hamish. He bent and kissed her cheek. “I’ll put on my best suit.”

  “You mean your only suit,” said Elspeth.

  He went off into the bathroom to shower and then into the bedroom to dress.

  Elspeth smiled to herself as she heard him whistling. Everything was going to be all right.

  The phone rang. Hamish went into the office.

  “Hamish?” said Priscilla’s voice.—

  “Who else?” said Hamish coldly.

  “Hamish, I saw the story in the newspapers, and I think I should explain.”

  “Explain what?”

  “I was on my way to see you when I met Betty Barnard. She asked me where I was going, and I said I was going to see you because Angela Brodie had phoned me to say you had a concussion. Betty said, “Don’t worry. As his future wife, I think I should be the one to take care of him.” I now realise she was probably lying.”

  “Why did you believe her?”

  “I had seen the pair of you together. I thought you were in love with her, Hamish.”

  Hamish gripped the receiver hard. “Tell me, Priscilla, if at the time you believed Betty, why should you care? You’re engaged to be married.”

  “Was engaged to be married.”

  Hamish could feel his heart beating hard. “Was?”

  “Yes. I broke it off as soon as I got back. It wasn’t working out. I’m tired of London. I’m thinking of coming back and working at the hotel. I miss my home.”

  “That’ll be grand. When?”

  “I’ll need to give a month’s notice. After that, I suppose.”