by Gwen Moffat
‘You left out Sunday. If he left his home about ten in the evening, the tide would be ebbing until about three in the morning.’
Miss Pink was silent. When she did speak her mind was elsewhere; she said absently, ‘He wasn’t put in the sea the first night.’ Her eyes glazed. ‘Yes,’ she said at last, ‘he could have been put in the water anywhere on an ebb tide, even from the lighthouse road, and he’d still be found at the mouth of the loch.’ She focused suddenly on Beatrice, ‘I’ll opt for last night,’ she said crisply. ‘There was a risk of his coming back on a rising tide otherwise.’
‘Why are you so sure it wasn’t the first night?’
‘The body was kept on land for over eight hours.’ She explained about post mortem staining. ‘The blood drains downward after death so that, if a body is on its back as this one was, the dorsal parts are stained, but not those parts that are in contact with the ground, like shoulders. After six to eight hours, the blood coagulates and if the body is then moved, the blood can’t disperse, so you know whether a body has been kept elsewhere before discovery.’
‘That’s amazing. Are you saying that the person who strangled Hamish kept the body for two days – in the village?’
‘The village, or a car, a boat, a byre, even a ruin. All traces of where it was kept would have been washed away by the sea. He wasn’t strangled by the way; there were no marks on the throat. He was suffocated.’ Beatrice looked stricken. ‘Sorry,’ Miss Pink muttered absently. After a while she asked, ‘Why would he want to use a telephone?’
Beatrice treated this as rhetorical until the silence seemed to demand an answer. ‘How could I know, Melinda? He had to speak to someone of course, and he needed privacy.’
‘And when did he call?’ Miss Pink asked, and then answered her own question: it was before our visit to Camas Beag – which was on the Saturday. Campbell’s cottage was set on fire Friday night.’ She regarded Beatrice so intently that the older woman began to fidget. ‘Campbell visited you on the Saturday evening,’ she said, ‘and you kept something back...’
‘No –’
‘Campbell recognised Hamish –’
‘He didn’t say –’
‘... as the intruder who ran away from the cottage earlier that evening, the person who knocked him down.’
‘The intruder wore a hood.’
‘But he wasn’t wearing gloves.’
‘He forgot his gloves.’
‘He wore a hood and forgot gloves? Rubbish. How did Campbell know it was a man – or a boy?’
‘The figure,’ Beatrice said wildly. ‘He was slight, like a –’
‘Like a boy. Men aren’t slight. It was Hamish and he wasn’t wearing a hood.’
Beatrice looked so miserable that Miss Pink went to the sitting room and returned with a bottle of Cointreau. ‘Can’t find your brandy,’ she said, pouring a generous measure into a glass. ‘You can’t hurt Hamish now,’ she went on gently. ‘Nor Campbell. In any event, you can tell me.’
‘There’s a problem.’ Beatrice shook her head: an old lady close to the end of her tether. ‘I can tell you what Campbell said, but you know how much reliance can be placed on that.’
‘So that’s it! You didn’t say anything before because you didn’t believe it.’
Beatrice nodded eagerly. ‘Campbell seemed to be acting in character – hysterical, making wild accusations ... Yes, he did say he lied to us about the intruder wearing a hood; that in fact he wasn’t, and that although he was running away so he didn’t see the face, he knew it was Hamish by his figure and his agility. I didn’t put any credence on it. I thought he was accusing someone who was hostile to him – just another example of paranoia – if that was –’
Miss Pink interrupted. ‘Why was Hamish hostile to Campbell?’
Beatrice frowned, trying to remember a conversation four days old. ‘He showed no surprise that Hamish was the intruder, nor that he’d turned violent ... And he was quite sure that Hamish was the arsonist –’
‘Hamish’s speciality was practical jokes,’ Miss Pink mused. ‘He didn’t try heavy breather calls here because Campbell had no phone. Anonymous letters? Somehow Campbell doesn’t seem a suitable target. He might have known something about the police car being put in Anne’s drive ... cars! His cottage was close to the car park; could he have seen Hamish breaking into vehicles back in the summer?’
’It’s a possibility –’
Miss Pink rushed on, ‘You wouldn’t think anyone would murder for that – although children murder for the most trivial motives.’ Beatrice gaped at her. She went on, ‘Someone postulated a gang from outside – Hell’s Angels – but what about a local gang? No, too risky, too many people involved – but someone telephoned from Camas Beag after the fire. The sequence was: fire, telephone call, Campbell killed, Hamish killed. Doesn’t it look as if Campbell was murdered because he knew too much, then Hamish because he could expose Campbell’s killer?’
‘Campbell was murdered just because he knew Hamish had been stealing from cars?’
The question hung between them and they were so absorbed by it that for a moment neither could identify a familiar sound from the passage.
‘Telephone,’ Beatrice murmured. As she stood up, someone pounded the door knocker.
‘I’ll see to that,’ Miss Pink said.
Pagan was on the doorstep. She was annoyed at the interruption. ‘You’re operating alone again. Short-handed?’
Always. May I come in?’
Beatrice nodded a greeting to him as she listened to her caller on the telephone. Miss Pink took him along the passage to the sitting room and offered coffee. He declined, ’I’ll get caffeine poisoning. People are hurt if I refuse, but with you I can be truthful. I can’t take any more coffee.’
‘You’ve had a hard morning?’
He sighed. ‘Did you pass on my warning? Good. And did you learn anything from Miss Dunlop and the nurse?’
‘Not really. Esme Dunlop is convinced Hamish asked for trouble. They’re both concerned that a killer’s on the loose. The nurse is worried about Gordon Knox. Did he say anything about the odd incidents – like the police car in the nurse’s drive?’
‘He suspected Hamish all along but he couldn’t tackle the boy, or was afraid to. He’s not the first officer to sow a wild oat in middle age, but he says he didn’t intend it to become serious. He’s probably speaking the truth. The nurse is a trifle long in the tooth – a bit possessive, if you take my meaning.’
‘Making allowances for the chauvinist attitude, I do. Is that significant, that the relationship was one-sided?’
‘That depends. Would you say that the nurse is unbalanced?’
‘No. Infatuated, perhaps; I’d leave it at that.’
He stood up as Beatrice entered, flustered because he wasn’t taking any refreshment, thinking it had not been offered. Having got that straight, she asked diffidently if he had come for another interview. Pagan said he was just passing, and turned back to Miss Pink. ‘Have you thought of anything I should know?’
She looked meaningly at Beatrice who blinked, refusing her cue. Miss Pink spoke for her. ‘Campbell said he recognised Hamish as the intruder at his cottage.’ Pagan listened without comment as she elaborated, but halfway through the explanation she said petulantly, ‘This doesn’t surprise you.’
‘No, ma’am. We knew enough about the so-called practical jokes and about young Hamish to have him down as a suspect for that fire.’
‘And did you suspect that it was Hamish who broke into Camas Beag to phone an accomplice after the fire – and before Campbell was murdered?’
‘No,’ Pagan said slowly. ‘I hadn’t thought of that. An accomplice – to what?’
‘Well, we were saying,’ Beatrice put in chattily, ‘would Campbell be murdered just because he’d seen Hamish break into a car?’
‘No, but if something more than theft was involved ...’ Pagan left that hanging and reverted to the accomplice. ‘So you reckon
this other person wasn’t in the neighbourhood?’
‘Do we?’ Miss Pink asked. ‘We hadn’t speculated.’
‘He made a telephone call after the fire and before Campbell was killed,’ Pagan repeated. Was he asking for advice – or orders? Or bringing in his accomplice? That boy couldn’t have overpowered a grown man, surely?’
‘Oh, no.’ Beatrice was firm. ‘Campbell didn’t look strong but he was wiry, and much heavier than a boy of course.’
‘He brought in an accomplice from elsewhere,’ Pagan mused. ‘Yet another point in young Alec’s favour.’
They stared at him. Miss Pink laughed. ‘You haven’t been interviewing Alec!’
‘The whole family. It was hard work, but I think we got the picture quicker than if we’d taken them separately. Alec says in all seriousness that he’d intended to kill Hamish but he changed his mind. His mother thinks he’s accusing himself – virtually confessing – and tells a lie every time she speaks, to be contradicted by Alec immediately. The father walked out after five minutes.’
‘Good.’ Miss Pink’s tone was absent. ‘This business is far too sophisticated for Alec.’
‘What business?’ Beatrice asked.
Miss Pink looked at Pagan. ‘Well, what is it? What’s the crime behind the murders, the motive for them? You must have considered possibilities, however remote.’
’I’ll leave that to you ladies.’ He was trying to sound gallant. ‘Your minds are fertile enough. Me, I’m working from the other end. I’ve got two bodies; I’m trying to discover who struck the final blows to each, and where Hamish’s body was kept until it was put in the sea last night, on an ebb tide. At any other time, it would have come back.’
The ladies refrained from looking at each other. ‘When do you expect the results of the second autopsy?’ Miss Pink asked.
‘Soon, ma’am; a preliminary report, anyway. The body was flown out from Morvern. But I’m not expecting a lot from that direction. A rough time of death possibly; we know he had a hamburger at nine o’clock, but as for where the body was kept between whiles, I doubt those rough seas will have washed away every trace.’
After he’d gone, they stood on the gravelled sweep enjoying the bliss of soft air and sunshine after the gales.
‘Lovely walking weather,’ Beatrice said wistfully.
‘Why not?’ Miss Pink was suddenly forceful. ‘There can’t be any risk in broad daylight with two of us. Let’s stroll along the lighthouse road.’
‘Lovely. We have time. That was Coline on the telephone. She wants us to eat there tonight; a council of war, she says.’
‘What’s she got in mind?’
‘Obviously the same subject as all of us, but it will be interesting to have a fresh light on it. You’re looking doubtful. Oh, I see; we shall be out after dark.’
‘I hadn’t got that far; what I was thinking is that we still have no idea who killed Hamish.’
‘He could be here, in Sgoradale – still?’
Miss Pink sighed at such innocence. ‘He could be at the lodge.’
‘That’s in poor taste, Melinda.’
‘So were the murders.’
Before those faded old eyes Miss Pink conceded defeat, ’I’ll pick you up and bring you home,’ she said. ‘And we’ll drive with locked doors. Even Pagan can’t object to that.’
* * *
That afternoon the sky was clear of clouds and the sun was warm. ‘We’ll have a frost tonight,’ Beatrice said as they crossed the bridge.
Miss Pink sniffed the air and agreed. They entered the North Wood, which was curiously light now that the storms had stripped much of the foliage. Sky showed through slim trunks of birch and ash and as they reached the first little house, hens were scratching for worms on the muddy verge. A plume of smoke rose from a chimney. It was all refreshingly pastoral, a blessed relief after the violence – human and elemental – of the last few days. Beyond the house they heard laughter and, looking up, saw two riders dashing across the wooded slope. A man shouted, there was a shriek; in quick succession the horses leapt an unseen obstacle and raced on.
Miss Pink was astonished. ‘They’re on a track,’ Beatrice said.
‘That has to be Flora, but who’s the man?’ it’s certainly not Ranald; he can’t ride like that.’
Are there guests at the lodge?’
‘Coline didn’t say so. Could it be one of those reporters?’
’It could be. Flora’s capable of fraternising with anyone.’
It wasn’t a reporter, but the police. Towards the end of the afternoon they were returning from the lighthouse when they heard the beat of hooves approaching fast, and they spun round to halt as the riders bore down on them. They pulled up, holding their excited horses with ease: Flora and Detective Sergeant Steer.
Miss Pink was totally at a loss. Beatrice said, ‘How nice to see you home again, Flora. And you’ve got Mr Steer to help you with the exercising.’
‘He’s investigating,’ Flora said. ‘He has to go all over the place; we’ve been to Lone, Fair Point, all the ruins, and now it’s Camas Beag. I’m his guide; he couldn’t get to those places without a horse, and couldn’t find them without me.’ She glanced at Steer, then studied his mount. ‘We’ll have to go slow,’ she said. ‘We’re getting close to home and he’s sweating like a pig.’
Steer nodded, watching her, ignoring the ladies.
‘Where did you learn to ride?’ Miss Pink asked.
He switched his attention with an effort. ‘My dad was a stud groom, ma’am. We lived on the premises. I was brought up with horses.’
‘He’s mad,’ Flora said. ‘He thinks he’s on a hunter. He’d be jumping walls if I didn’t stop him.’ Steer blinked lazily. ‘Wouldn’t you?’ she pressed. His lips moved, sketching a smile. Flora held the look a moment longer and said casually but with a sigh, as if they were children obeying the grown-ups’ orders, ‘So now it’s Camas Beag. Hamish called me one night when I was in Edinburgh and I reckon he made the call from there.’
‘Called you?’ Miss Pink repeated stupidly. ‘Well, he couldn’t tell anyone else, was how he put it. He’d fired the keeper’s cottage. Talk about going over the top!’
‘You didn’t mention this when I brought you home from Buffy MacLean’s place.’
‘I didn’t know, did I? All I knew was he’d been caught red-handed, left his prints behind and had had to burn the place down. I wasn’t going to shop him. Now he’s been murdered, so there’s no more point in protecting him. Might as well tell the fuzz, make a clean breast of it.’ She looked defiantly at Steer. ‘Wouldn’t have told you in the ordinary way.’
Steer grinned weakly. Miss Pink stared at him.
‘Why did Hamish turn to you?’ Beatrice asked Flora.
‘He needed someone to intercede with Mum, I guess – and I was by way of being his employer.’
‘How did he find your telephone number?’ Miss Pink asked.
‘He knew who I was staying with. Neil Fleming’s a famous criminal lawyer and everyone knows I went to school with his daughter.’
Steer glanced at his watch. ‘We’d better get on to this cottage,’ he said uneasily.
‘Ride on,’ Flora directed, ‘I’ll catch you up.’ When he was out of earshot Miss Pink said, ‘You’ve seduced that poor fellow.’
‘In a manner of speaking,’ Beatrice added. Flora looked after him, wrinkling her nose. ‘He’s a bit rough, but there’s room for improvement. Did I say something I shouldn’t? Of course, I know Pagan sent him with me so’s he could pump me. Did I give anything away?’
‘Go on as you are,’ Miss Pink said. ‘You’re doing fine. By the way, how long had you known that Hamish was the car thief?’
‘Not till he phoned me; didn’t I say? I don’t think it ever crossed my mind that it could be him. He didn’t need the money; there’s nothing to spend it on in Sgoradale and he never went anywhere. Perhaps he was saving up for something.’ She gathered her reins. ‘Are you coming to
our place tonight? Mum said something.’
‘Flora!’ She checked as Miss Pink stepped forward. ‘What’s Steer been doing this afternoon?’
‘“Following the victim’s movements,” he says. And trying to find out where the body was kept.’ Flora looked across the loch with a face like flint. ‘I’m interested in that too.’ The pony leapt away down the grass verge, flying over drainage ditches – Flora sitting like a centaur, collecting Steer as she went.
‘She’ll bring them home steaming,’ Beatrice said with disapproval. ‘That young man’s head over heels in love. Isn’t that an odd thing to happen?’
‘Policemen are human. Look at Knox – and Flora is in a different league from Anne Wallace.’
‘But Steer is supposed to be investigating a murder.’
‘Violent death can be an aphrodisiac, or so I’ve heard.’ They were walking again, Miss Pink staring at the ground. After a few minutes Beatrice asked what she was thinking.
‘I was wondering if she was speaking the truth when she implied that Hamish wanted her to intercede with her mother. It seems more likely he’d be asking her for something tangible, like money.’ She was silent for a few moments and when she spoke again she had changed gear. ‘I wonder if he could have killed Campbell on his own after all? Although we mustn’t forget that the fact that he wasn’t phoning an accomplice from Camas Beag doesn’t mean he didn’t have one.’
‘If he did, why didn’t he confide in that person instead of phoning Flora?’
‘Because Flora had money, or access to money? Because his accomplice didn’t have any, or wouldn’t part with it?’
‘Why should Flora part with it?’
‘You mean, why should he think Flora would let him have money?’
‘All that is hypothetical. Flora didn’t mention money.’
‘You’re enjoying this,’ Miss Pink said, smiling. ‘You’re getting involved.’
‘Only intellectually. I find it stimulating.’
‘Then keep your eyes and ears open tonight. We might, as the lawyers say, hear something to our advantage.’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
By six o’clock the sun had set and the sky beyond the mouth of the loch held a pearly sheen smudged with rose. Across the shimmering water a line of cormorants hurried to their roosts on the islands.
