Death of a Valentine

by M C Beaton

  Pondering the problem of Blair, Daviot wondered what to do. Blair was always attentive to him, and he was a Freemason and a member of the same lodge as Daviot. The detective always remembered Mrs. Daviot’s birthday and sent generous Christmas presents as well. At last he decided it was Hamish’s fault. Hamish should have phoned Blair immediately and voiced his suspicions of Harry before he had even begun the search.

  Blair was lumbering out of headquarters when he saw Josie ahead of him, carrying a box of items she had cleared out of her desk along with a small potted plant. “Hey, you!” he roared. Josie turned round. Her face was streaked with tears.

  “This is all your fault,” said Blair, “and if you ever get your job back, you can rot up in Lochdubh until the end o’ time.”

  Josie forced herself to speak calmly. “I told you what that Gypsy fortune-teller said, sir. I don’t believe in the second sight. And where did Harry’s friends get the dynamite from? One of the policemen told me some of the Gypsies had been working over at the quarry near Alness as few months ago.”

  Blair stared at her, his mind working furiously. Then he said grimly, “Get in the car wi’ me, lassie. We’re going to Alness.”

  When Blair discovered after two days of detective work that two of the Gypsies who had been working at the quarry had sold the dynamite to Harry’s friends, Daviot breathed a sigh of relief. He would not need to get rid of Blair after all. Nonetheless, Blair had ordered an illegal search and the police enquiry dragged on for weeks. Josie was questioned and questioned until she felt she would scream.

  When it was all over, and only a small amount of compensation had been paid to the Gypsies who’d had their caravans raided without a search warrant, she found that Blair had refused to give her any credit whatsoever. She was to be sent back to Lochdubh and consider herself lucky that she still had a job.

  Had Blair been at all nice to her, had he given her any credit, had he asked for her to be returned to Strathbane, her old obsession with Hamish would have vanished like highland mist on a summer’s day.

  But all she could now think of was Hamish’s brilliance in having found Harry Etherington out.

  Hamish looked down at her with a flash of dismay in his hazel eyes. He wanted the village and his work back to himself. He told Josie to go back to checking on the outlying crofts and then got down to repairing loose slates on the police station roof. He expected a quiet winter and shrewdly guessed that Josie would soon grow bored with the long miles she had to put in, and ask for a transfer.

  The winter arrived without much happening and Josie continued to doggedly perform all the dull tasks allotted to her. There seemed to be no chink in Hamish’s armour. The Christmas holidays when she could go back to her mother in Perth came as a relief.

  She poured out her woes to her mother who said comfortably, “There’s bound to be a big case soon and then you’ll be working together.”

  “Nothing ever happens up there,” said Josie bitterly, “and nothing ever will. All Harry and his friends got was a slap on the wrist and community service. Those Gypsies got three months each. Harry and his friends had a top-flight lawyer.”

  Her mother put down the romance she had been reading. “There are aye a lot of blizzards up there in January with folks cut off. You’d be thrown together.” Was that not what had happened to heroine Heather in the book she had been reading? And hadn’t Heather ended up on a sheepskin rug in front of a log fire in the arms of the laird?

  That was all Josie needed to fuel her imagination. When a really massive blizzard roared in, she would struggle along to the police station. They would be snowbound together, talking companionably by the stove. And then…and then…

  But the winter proved to be unusually mild. Patel’s, the local shop, began to show a display of Valentine cards towards the end of January. Josie longed to buy one, but was afraid Hamish would simply ask Patel who had sent it. Finally, she felt completely defeated. She would go to Strathbane and beg for a transfer, but after Valentine’s Day. Maybe Hamish was cool to her because he was hiding a secret passion. Maybe a card would arrive for her.

  Before going on her rounds on Valentine’s Day, she hung around the manse until the post arrived. There was nothing for her. Determined now to get back to Strathbane, Josie bleakly set off on her rounds.

  Annie Fleming, the Lammas beauty queen, did not go to work on Valentine’s Day. She usually went to work as a secretary at a wildlife park outside Strathbane. She considered it a mangy park with only a few animals. It was the brainchild of an earnest English woman and her Scottish husband. It was the first job that had come her way and, as she was desperate to avoid working for her father who owned a bottle-producing factory, and to gain at least a little independence, she had taken it. On previous Valentine’s Days, her father had insisted on examining her cards, demanding to know who had sent them. Annie had a pretty good idea who had mailed each card but, fortunately, the tradition of not signing cards was a blessing and so she had told her father she hadn’t a clue.

  But there was one she was longing for. A disco club in Strathbane had started lunchtime sessions. It was there that Annie had met Jake Cullen, he of the black leather outfit and supply of Ecstasy pills. In all her restricted life, she had never met someone more exciting. The drinks he plied her with and the drugs he gave her made her feel strong and confident.

  She parked in a back lane in Braikie that afforded a view down to the main road. She waited until she saw her father with her mother in the passenger seat drive past and then drove home again and waited eagerly for the post. She knew her bosses were down in Edinburgh and that she was supposed to open up the wildlife park, but she persuaded herself that she would not be very late.

  The doorbell rang. Annie swore under her breath. She had not wanted the postman to know she was at home. But there could be a really big valentine for her that could not fit into the letter box. She opened the door.

  “Grand morning, Annie,” said the postman, Bill Comrie. “Aren’t you at work?”

  “I think I’m coming down with something,” said Annie.

  “I’ve a rare bit o’ post for you, and a package. You’re popular wi’ the fellows.”

  “Thanks.” Annie snatched the post from him and shut the door firmly in his face.

  The package was addressed to her. It looked exciting somehow. She decided to leave it until last. She had six valentines. Five were the usual soppy kind, but the sixth held a peculiar typewritten rhyme.

  Roses are red, violets are blue

  You’ll get in the face,

  Just what’s coming to you.

  Nutcase, thought Annie, putting it down with the others beside that mysterious package. Before she opened it, she went to the sideboard in the living room and took out a bottle of gin. She poured a stiff measure into a glass, carried the gin bottle into the kitchen, topped it up with water, and returned it to the sideboard. Back in the kitchen, she unpicked a little of the hem at the bottom of her jacket and picked out an Ecstasy pill. She swallowed the pill down with a gulp of gin.

  Now for that parcel.

  There was a tab at the side to rip to get the parcel open. She tore it across. A terrific explosion tore apart the kitchen. Ball bearings and nails, the latter viciously sharpened, tore into her face and body as flames engulfed her. Perhaps it was a mercy that one of the nails pierced her brain, killing her outright, before the flames really took hold.

  Mrs. McGirty, an elderly lady who lived in the next cottage, heard the loud explosion just as she was about to enter her own home. She seized a fire extinguisher she kept in her car and ran to the Flemings’ house and round to the back where she knew the kitchen was. She thought it was a gas explosion. The kitchen door was lying on its hinges. Screaming with fear, she plied the fire extinguisher over the horrible mess that had once been the beauty of the Highlands and over the flaming kitchen table. Then, white as paper, on shaking legs, she went to her own home and phoned Hamish Macbeth.

 
Hamish phoned Josie before setting out for Braikie. He did not expect her to arrive until later because she was supposed to be up in the northwest of the county. But Josie had become weary of home visits and so she had been parked quite near Lochdubh, up on a hilltop, reading a romance, when she received the call.

  Hamish stood in the doorway of the kitchen and grimly surveyed the body. He heard a car driving outside and went out. Josie had arrived. “A murder!” she cried excitedly. “Where’s the body?”

  “In the kitchen.”

  “Can I have a look?”

  “Go to the kitchen doorway but don’t go in and don’t touch anything. Suit up before you go in.” Hamish was wearing blue plastic coveralls with blue plastic covering his boots.

  Josie went back to her car and eagerly climbed into a similar outfit. Hamish stared after her, his eyes hard, as Josie went into the house. She was back out a minute later and vomited into a flower bed.

  “Go and sit in your car,” ordered Hamish, “and pull yourself together. I’m going to see Mrs. McGirty next door. It’s thanks to her the place didn’t burn down.”

  Mrs. McGirty answered the door. Her old eyes had the blind look of shock.

  “I’ll phone the doctor for you,” said Hamish. “Go in and sit down and I’ll make you a cup of tea.”

  He found his way to the kitchen, made a cup of milky tea with a lot of sugar, and took it to her. “Now you be drinking that,” he said gently. “What’s the name and number of your doctor?” When she told him, Hamish phoned her doctor and asked him to come along immediately. Then he said, “Tell me what happened.”

  In a quavering voice, Mrs. McGirty told how she had heard a bang and then seen smoke pouring out from next door. The kitchen was at the back of the house but the smoke was curling up over the roof. She had run in and plied the fire extinguisher.

  “You are a verra brave woman,” said Hamish. “If it hadn’t been for you, possibly a lot of useful forensic evidence would have been lost.”

  There was a ring at the doorbell. Hamish answered it. He recognised another neighbour, Cora Baxter, wife of Councillor Jamie Baxter.

  “Is she all right?” asked Cora. “Ruby? Mrs. McGirty?”

  “She’s in there. Could you sit with her until the doctor arrives?”

  “I’ll do that. Poor, poor Annie.”

  “How did you learn it was her?”

  “Thon wee policewoman outside.”

  Josie should not be gossiping, thought Hamish.

  When he went outside, the area had been cordoned off. The army bomb squad were just going into the house. The scenes of crimes operatives were suiting up. Jimmy Anderson approached Hamish. “They’re saying it was Annie.”

  “From what was left o’ the body, it looked like her,” said Hamish.

  “Who on earth could ha’ done this?” said Jimmy. “I was talking to some folk at the edge of the crowd and by all accounts, they’re a churchgoing, God-fearing family and Annie is prim and proper and a right innocent. And why wasn’t she at work? The parents have been phoned. The mother works with the father. They said at first it couldn’t be their daughter because she left this morning for work, but we got on to the postie on his mobile and he said he delivered the post to Annie. Said there were valentines and a package, all addressed to Annie.”

  “That’s why she waited for the post,” said Hamish. “She wanted to see her cards. Now, if she was that keen, there must have been a card she was really hoping for. Look, Jimmy, she worked over at that wildlife centre. I’ll get over there and find out what I can. There’s nothing I can do here until all the bomb and forensic evidence is collected. Where’s Blair?”

  “Got the flu. What about your sidekick?”

  “I’d better take her with me.”

  * * *

  If Josie had been a friend, thought Hamish, he could have sent her back to the police station to look after his dog and cat. Angela had rebelled at taking care of them any more. Certainly there was a large cat flap in the kitchen door, large enough to allow both of them to come and go, but left to their own devises they were apt to go along to the kitchen door of the Italian restaurant and beg. Then they got fat and he had to put both on a diet and then they both sulked.

  “Are you all right now?” he asked Josie as he drove her out onto the Strathbane Road in the police Land Rover. He had told her to leave her car behind.

  “It was a horrible sight,” said Josie with a shudder.

  “What did you expect? She was blown to bits.”

  “I’ve never seen a dead body before,” said Josie.

  “You get used to it,” said Hamish callously. “Once they’re dead, it’s just clay.”

  “What do you expect to find at this wildlife park?” asked Josie.

  “I want to dig into the character of Annie Fleming. Her parents were very strict. Maybe she’d begun to rebel. Maybe she’d got into bad company.”

  Hamish turned up the muddy road leading to the park. A sign hung crookedly at the entrance. Hamish slowed to a stop and read the board. It said WILDLIFE PARK, PROPS, JOCASTA AND BILL FREEMONT.

  They drove in past empty cages towards a hut with a sign saying OFFICE.

  A woman came out to meet them. She was in her mid-thirties with two wings of fair hair hanging on either side of a thin face. She was wearing a shabby navy sweater over a grey shirt and jeans tucked into Wellington boots.

  “Mrs. Freemont?” asked Hamish.

  “I’ll say one thing for you. You’re quick,” said Mrs. Jocasta Freemont. “I just phoned ten minutes ago.” Her voice was upper-class.

  Hamish turned and surveyed the cages. “Someone let them all out?”

  “Exactly. Damn animal libbers.”

  “You say you’ve just discovered the vandalism,” said Hamish. “Didn’t you notice first thing this morning?”

  “I’ve just got back from Edinburgh with Bill. That secretary of ours was supposed to open up.”

  “I’m afraid I didn’t get your call,” said Hamish. “Annie Fleming has been murdered.”

  “What! You’d better come into the office.” She went ahead of them, shouting, “Bill! Something awful has happened.”

  A small man with a shock of grey hair was sitting at a desk. He rose when they all walked in. He was quite small in stature and wearing a grey flannel suit, silk shirt, and blue silk tie. Hamish wondered cynically whether the trip to Edinburgh had been to see some bank manager. He wondered why Jocasta was wearing working clothes.

  “What’s up?” he asked. “I mean, what’s mair awful than some loons robbing us?”

  “Annie’s been murdered,” said Jocasta.

  “She can’t be!” said Bill. “Who’d want to murder Annie? How did it happen?”

  “A letter bomb,” said Hamish. “I’ve a few questions to ask you but we’ll concentrate on your missing beasts first. What did you have?”

  “We hadn’t much because we were really just starting up. Let me see, a pair of minks, a snowy owl, two parrots, a lion-”

  “A lion!” exclaimed Hamish. “What on earth were you doing with a lion?”

  “I got it from a circus. It was old. I think it’ll come back round for food.”

  “What else?”

  Bill gave a dismal little catalogue. Then he said, “I’m waiting for the SSPCA, and the zoo in Strathbane is sending some people up wi’ tranquilliser guns.”

  “Look,” said Hamish, “we’ll need to put out a warning that a lion’s on the loose.”

  He went outside and phoned Daviot. “I’ll mobilise some men,” said Daviot, “and tell the newspapers and television.”

  “Thank you, sir. I’d best get back to the Annie Fleming investigation.”

  Hamish hesitated before going back into the hut. It was an odd marriage, surely. Jocasta looked as if she came from a moneyed background whereas Bill was definitely lower down the scale and, from his accent, came from the south of Scotland. He wondered whether it was Jocasta’s money that had set up this disma
l excuse for a wildlife park. It was not on his beat-being covered by Strathbane-but despite the missing wildlife, he was sure the air of failure that hung over the place had been there from the start.

  The sky above had turned a bleached white colour heralding rain to come.

  There came a screech of tyres. First on the scene were officers from the Scottish Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. They’ll never get their park back, thought Hamish. Even if all the beasts were found, those officers would take one look at the mangy cramped cages and shut the place down.

  Then came Detective Sergeant Andy MacNab with two policemen. “I’ll take over, Hamish,” he said.

  “I’d like to ask them about Annie Fleming.”

  “It’ll need to wait, Hamish. Daviot’s got his knickers in a twist about thon lion.”

  Hamish called Josie out of the office. “We can’t do anything more here today. We’d best be getting back to Braikie.”

  He drove up the drive and turned off on the road leading back towards Braikie.

  Josie felt hungry. “Could we stop somewhere for lunch?” she asked.

  “We’ll get something in Braikie. Heffens above!”

  He screeched to a halt and Josie let out a scream of terror. A lion was standing in the middle of the road.

  “I’ll chust see if I can be talking to it,” said Hamish.

  “Are you mad!”

  Hamish got out and went to the back of the Land Rover, where he had a haunch of venison given to him by a keeper the evening before. It was wrapped in sacking. He took it out and waved it at the lion. The great beast approached cautiously. Hamish tossed the haunch into the back of the Land Rover. The lion jumped in and Hamish slammed the back doors.

  He climbed back in the front. “We’ll chust be taking the lion to that zoo in Strathbane. I am not having the beastie returned to that dreadful park.”

  Josie wrenched open the passenger door and jumped out on the road. “It’ll kill us.”