Hamish Macbeth 18 (2002) - Death of a Celebrity

by M C Beaton

He tried to dismiss the whole business from his head, but he felt uneasy.

  Rory MacBain was basking in Crystal’s success. The first two programmes were to run on national TV followed by the subsequent ones. The switchboard had been jammed with angry calls. The mail bag was full of threatening letters. And that was success. Reaction was success. He was disappointed that Crystal kept rejecting his advances, but the praise he was receiving for having thought up the idea more than compensated for any disappointment.

  There would be more money, much more money for the next series. This one had been thought up on the hoof, with less than a week from the idea to the filming. On Monday, the topic was decided. ‘Behind the Lace Curtains’ was to be an exposé of what really went on in Highland villages. Researchers burrowed through old cuttings, digging up scandals that people had hoped were long forgotten.

  Crystal, who had little to do, as the research was all done for her and scripts written for her, although she preferred to put her own comments into them at the last minute, decided to head out from Strathbane and cruise round various villages. Her path was about to cross that of Hamish Macbeth and on the very day he felt his world had come to an end.

  Yesterday morning, he had read his horoscope, Libra, in which Elspeth had written:

  You will receive news on Monday which will make you feel your heart has been broken. But remember, no pain, no gain. This is not the end. This is the beginning of a whole new chapter.

  “Rubbish,” muttered Hamish. He fed his dog, Lugs, and was just getting ready to go out when the phone rang. It was Mrs. Wellington, the minister’s wife. “I don’t suppose you know,” she said. “Do you read the Times?”

  “No,” said Hamish.

  “I thought not. It was in the social column four days ago and it’s all round the village. I said someone’s got to tell Hamish, but then I decided that, as usual, it would have to be me.”

  “Tell me what?” asked Hamish patiently.

  “Priscilla Halburton-Smythe is getting married…Are you there?”

  “Yes.”

  “It was in the social column. She’s marrying someone called Peter Partridge.”

  “Thank you.” Bleakly.

  Hamish put down the receiver and sat staring blindly at the desk. Lugs whimpered and put a large paw on his knee. Priscilla Halburton-Smythe, daughter of the colonel who owned the Tommel Castle Hotel, had at one time been the love of his life. They had even been engaged. She might have told him. He told himself that he had got over her long ago, but he still felt sad and bereft.

  He remembered his horoscope and suddenly got angry. Elspeth would have heard the gossip, Elspeth heard all the gossip. She must have found out the date of his birthday. She must have found it very amusing.

  He patted Lugs on the head and said, “Stay, boy.” He would go out on his rounds as usual, he would work as usual. Life would go on.

  He was just getting into his police Land Rover when a bright green BMW did a U-turn on the harbour and raced along the waterfront, well over the speed limit. He jumped in the Land Rover and with siren blaring and blue light flashing, and holding the speed camera gun that was fortunately on the front seat out of the window with one hand, trained on the fleeing car, he set off in pursuit.

  The BMW stopped abruptly on the humpbacked bridge that led out of Lochdubh. Hamish stopped behind it and climbed down. He leaned down and looked into the BMW and Crystal French looked back.

  TWO

  For in the stems, clerer than is glas,

  Is written, God wool, whoso Koude it rede,

  The deeth of every man.

  —Geoffrey Chaucer

  Now, Hamish had always despised policemen who took out the miseries of their personal life on members of the public, and chances were that, in his usual way, he might have given Crystal a stern caution, but her first words, delivered insolently, were, “Don’t you know who I am?”

  “You are a motorist who has just been speeding at a dangerous rate. Papers, please.”

  “Look, I haven’t got them with me…”

  “Deliver them within a week to your nearest police station—that is, registration of ownership, MOT, and insurance. Driving licence, please.”

  “I am Crystal French.”

  “Thank you for that information, miss. Driving licence, please.”

  She scrabbled in a large leather handbag and then held it out. “Shouldn’t you be out catching criminals, instead of harassing law-abiding citizens?”

  “Speeding is breaking the law.” He checked her licence and handed it back. “Please step out of the car.”

  “Why?”

  “I am going to breathalyse you.”

  “Don’t be so silly.” Crystal switched on the engine.

  “If you drive off without taking a breathalyser test then you must follow me to Dr. Brodie’s and allow a blood sample to be taken.”

  Crystal thrust open the door of the car with such violence that Hamish had to jump back to avoid his legs being hit. She glared up at the policeman with the flaming red hair and snapped, “Well, get on with it.”

  He breathalysed her and found with some regret that she had not been drinking. “Wait here,” he said.

  He went back to the Land Rover and checked the speed camera. Then he came back. “You already have six points on your licence for speeding,” he said. “The camera shows that you were driving at sixty-five miles per hour in a thirty-mile area.”

  Crystal stared at him in dismay. She knew she would more than likely be banned from driving for three years. She changed tack and smiled at him. “Look, Officer…what is your name?”

  “Hamish Macbeth.”

  “I am sure we could find something better to do than stand here arguing.” She moistened her lips and put her hand on his arm.

  He picked her hand off as if it were an insect. “You will hear shortly when you are to appear in court,” said Hamish evenly.

  Crystal was beginning to feel desperate. The BMW was a new purchase and she adored driving around in it. She reached into the car and brought out her handbag. She opened it and took out her wallet, opened the wallet and riffled through the notes. “You can’t earn much as a village bobby,” she said, smiling slyly at him.

  “Nonetheless, I do not take bribes and unless you want a further charge, I would advise you to put that wallet away.”

  Crystal lost her temper. “I wasn’t trying to bribe you, you village idiot.”

  And Hamish lost his temper as well. “Just because you are a television celebrity and go around making people’s lives a misery doesn’t mean you can risk the lives of the villagers of Lochdubh by reckless driving.” Women, damn them, thought Hamish as his voice rose. “Chust get the hell out o’ here.”

  “What is going on?” asked a cool voice.

  Hamish swung round. Elspeth was standing there. She was wearing a ragged T·shirt under a baggy cardigan, corduroy trousers, and sneakers. “I represent the Highland Times,” said Elspeth to Crystal. “You are the famous Crystal French. My, you are every bit as beautiful in real life as you are on television.”

  Hamish surveyed them both with disgust. “See you in court,” he said to Crystal. He climbed into the Land Rover and drove off to the police station where he sent a report to Strathbane.

  Then he resisted driving up to Tommel Castle Hotel to find out more news about Priscilla. It was over. It was done.

  He put Lugs on his leash instead and went to visit Angela Brodie, the doctor’s wife.

  “Come in,” said Angela, her thin face lighting up with pleasure. “Will Lugs bother my cats?”

  “He’s too lazy,” said Hamish, and sure enough Lugs padded into the kitchen, ignored the cats, and slumped down in a corner and closed his eyes, his odd large ears spread out like wings.

  “So what’s new?” asked Angela.

  Only to Angela would Hamish talk about Priscilla. “Mrs. Wellington phoned me with the news about Priscilla’s engagement,” he said.

  “I sho
uld have told you myself,” said Angela sadly. “It was all round the village. Then I heard Mrs. Wellington say to Elspeth Grant that she was going to tell you herself in a few days’ time if no one else did and Elspeth asked when your birthday was.”

  “I thought that was the reason for my horoscope,” said Hamish.

  “So how do you feel? Devastated?”

  “I was hurt and upset. Right now, I don’t know what I feel. She might have told me herself. Anyway, I went and lost my temper with that awful woman Crystal French.” He told her the story of Crystal’s speeding.

  “Bet you’re asked to drop it,” said Angela.

  “Why?”

  “Callum Bissett is a Freemason. He’s the managing director of Strathbane Television.”

  “So?”

  “Well, so is Peter Daviot, your boss.”

  “Come on, now. They wouldn’t dare.”

  “They might try when Strathbane Television’s lawyers get on to them.”

  Sure enough, Hamish got a call from Peter Daviot that afternoon. “I wish you had just let her go,” said Daviot. “I’ve had Callum Bissett on the phone asking me to drop the case. You say you recorded her on a speed camera?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Oh, well, you’ll have to go through with it. But this is bad, very bad.”

  “It’s a straightforward case of speeding through a built-up area.”

  “It’s not just that. Crystal French is to do an in-depth report on policing in the Highlands, finishing with an interview with you.”

  “I do not need to agree.”

  “Oh, yes you do,” snapped Daviot. “And that’s an order. We must show we have nothing to hide.”

  “Very well,” said Hamish reluctantly. He had been demoted twice from sergeant and he knew that Crystal’s researchers would dig up every detail they could to use against him.

  “The interview is to take place at two o’clock next Monday afternoon.”

  “Must I?”

  “Must I, what?”

  “I mean do I have to, sir!”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know, she attempted to come on to me and when that didnae work, she attempted to bribe me?”

  “Any witnesses?”

  “No.”

  “Well, there you are. Just get on with it.”

  After he had rung off, Hamish sat staring at the phone. Maybe Elspeth had witnessed something. How long had she been standing there? He picked up the phone and dialled the number of the Highland Times and asked to speak to Elspeth, only to be told by Sam that Elspeth was covering the Highland Games at Braikie.

  Hamish put Lugs in the Land Rover and set off for Braikie. He was due there on duty in the afternoon anyway.

  The Highland Games at Braikie was a small affair, not like the big ones at Drumnadrochit or Balmoral. But an Indian summer was holding well and mellow sunlight shone down on the events and sideshows.

  Hamish had thought somehow it would be easy to find Elspeth. He had vaguely assumed that she was telling fortunes in one of the booths. Then he remembered that Sam had said she was reporting on the games. He headed for the press tent. He recognised a couple of the local reporters, drinking beer at one of the rickety tables.

  “Anyone seen Elspeth Grant?” he asked.

  “She’s just left,” said one. “Caber tossing.”

  Hamish headed for the main ring where the caber tossing was in progress. A burly man was staggering around, trying to throw the huge caber. “He shoudnae even ha’ tried,” said one disgusted spectator. Hamish looked around the crowd. There was no special section for the press but he knew they usually herded together to compare notes. He saw a television camera and went in that direction. At first he did not recognise Elspeth because she was wearing a grimy baseball hat with her hair tucked up under it. But she turned and looked back and he saw those odd eyes of hers.

  She smiled at him and he called, “A word with you.”

  Elspeth joined him. “How long had you been standing there when I was talking to Crystal French?” asked Hamish.

  “Less than a minute.”

  Hamish was disappointed. “So you didn’t see her trying to bribe me.”

  “No, but I’ll say so if it’ll help.”

  “You are not going to lie for me!”

  She shrugged. “The offer’s open. You might need it.”

  “By the way, that was a nasty trick you played on me.”

  “What?”

  “Thon horoscope,” said Hamish angrily. “You found out my birthday, you found out about Priscilla’s engagement and that Mrs. Wellington was going to tell me, so you put in that rubbish about no pain, no gain.”

  “Why would I do that? Libra horoscopes are not just for you.”

  “You know I’m Libra. You found out because you asked Angela Brodie when my birthday was.”

  “Do you mind?” Elspeth turned back to the games. “I’m supposed to be reporting this. Fascinating watching men chucking tree trunks around.”

  “Chust stay away from me,” said Hamish furiously.

  She turned back. “You approached me, I didn’t approach you.”

  Hamish stalked off like an outraged cat.

  As he officially reported for duty at the police caravan and then toured the show, he found he was worrying about the forthcoming court case where Crystal had been charged with speeding. He had the evidence on camera. Surely there was nothing to worry about. But he kept feeling that because of his upset, he had slipped up somewhere.

  Three days passed by and he was beginning to relax. He had just locked up his hens for the evening when, as he was approaching the kitchen door, he saw Elspeth strolling towards him. To his surprise, she was wearing a smart business suit and high heels. “Been to see the bank manager?” he asked.

  “I’ve been down at Strathbane Television, doing a profile on Crystal French.”

  “I’m surprised she agreed to see you after you trashed her show in your paper.”

  “She hadn’t read it…fortunately.”

  “Well, I’m going to get my supper and I haven’t forgiven you for that horoscope. So be on your way.”

  “What a prickly sort of man you are! I came to tell you about the speeding case.”

  “What about it?”

  “What about inviting me in?”

  Hamish hesitated. But that little worry at the back of his brain was still there.

  “All right. Come in.”

  She followed him into the kitchen. Hamish took down the whisky bottle from the kitchen cupboard along with two glasses and set them on the table. “Will you be having a dram?”

  “A small one, yes, but no water. Just straight.”

  He poured two measures and they sat down. “Now what is it?”

  “Crystal’s got some hotshot lawyer to trash you in court.”

  “What on earth can he do? The woman was speeding and I’ve got the record on speed camera.”

  “That’s the problem. The speed camera.”

  “What about it?”

  “You drove with one hand and held the speed camera out of the window with the other, stretching across the front seat and holding it?”

  “Yes, so what?”

  “You don’t read as many newspapers as I do, Hamish. There have been cases of people arrested because they’ve taken one hand off the wheel to use a mobile phone. One woman was even charged for taking out her powder compact and dusting her nose while waiting at traffic lights. You see what he’s going to say. You are going to be held up as a danger to the public, not her.”

  “But that’s daft.”

  “Nonetheless, that’s their case. And just to put the frights into the judiciary, Crystal has announced that she is going to do a programme on Scottish sheriff courts, and the sheriff at Strathbane is a rabbit of a man.”

  “Damn.” Hamish took a drink of whisky. “Wait a minute. She’s coming to interview me next Monday and I’ve been ordered to give her the interview. She shouldn’t be
seeing me if we’re going to be in court.”

  “I gather she can get round that. You don’t talk about the speeding case and neither does she. She’s still insisting on the interview. And she’s put off the ‘Behind the Lace Curtains’ show to do it.”

  “I’ll have my own lawyer,” said Hamish.

  “A good lawyer might run rings around her, but you’re police and you’ll be represented by Boozy Burroughs.”

  “Oh.”

  “Oh, exactly. If he’s even awake, it’ll be a miracle. So I’m here to tell you, I’m prepared to go into court and say I saw her trying to bribe you.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “I’ve suddenly remembered I did.”

  “No, I cannae be having that. I can get witnesses among the locals to say they saw her speeding, but someone might come forward and say you didn’t come up to us until the last minute.”

  “You might get a witness to say they saw her trying to bribe you.”

  Hamish ran his fingers through his thick red hair. “She took out her wallet and riffled through the notes and said something like I couldn’t earn much money as a village policeman. But no one was close enough to hear that. She could simply say she was looking through her wallet for car papers.”

  Elspeth drained her glass of whisky and stood up. “Maybe she’ll die.”

  “Maybe pigs will fly.”

  “Oh, someone will kill that one, sooner or later.”

  He looked sharply at her, but those odd eyes of hers were unreadable.

  “She’s a Scorpio, which is no surprise to me,” said Elspeth, heading for the door.

  “You surely don’t believe that rubbish.”

  “Oh, I do. See you.”

  When she had gone, Hamish decided to phone Peter Daviot at home. Crystal would not mention the speeding case during the interview, but he knew she would try to make him look like an officious fool. And she would certainly try to get him to betray his dislike of her.

  He did not mention anything about the speed camera to Daviot but outlined the dangers of an interview with Crystal before the court case. But Daviot would not be moved. “It’s just a television interview,” he said, “and if we refuse her, she’ll think we’ve got something to hide.”