Death of a Valentine

by M C Beaton

  “Why didn’t you tell the police any of this?” demanded Hamish. “You’ve been withholding vital evidence.”

  “I wasn’t going to sully her memory until after the funeral.”

  “But you did just that by phoning Mrs. Freemont, and by trying to blacken the girl’s name with her parents. Is there anything more?”

  “No, but I don’t like your attitude. Do remember my husband is a town councillor.”

  “Which means damn all in a murder investigation,” said Hamish, and warned her he would be back to ask her more questions later.

  Outside, he phoned Jimmy. “Any news about the murder?”

  “Nothing. That old woman might have been left there till she died o’ shock and starvation if we hadn’t searched all the flats opposite and found her. She’s in hospital for observation but she’s a game auld bird and I think she’ll survive the shock all right. He never took the balaclava off but she said he was pretty well built and wearing a black sweater and black trousers.”

  “Surely someone saw a man with a rifle running along the street?”

  “From the initial SOCO report, he went down the stairs, out the back way, and over the wall. There’s a lane that runs along the back. Neighbours heard a motorbike roaring off.”

  “If I were you I’d check out those two pubs of Barry’s. See if Blair’s been seen drinking in either of them. He likes his free booze.”

  “Aw, c’mon, Hamish. I don’t like the pillock but this is going a bit too far. Don’t worry. We’re checking up on everything we know about Barry. Talk to you later.”

  Hamish wondered whether to interview the parents and then decided it was a bit early to subject them to more questioning. Blair would already have had a go at them.

  He was about to get into the Land Rover when he heard someone calling, “Officer!”

  He turned round. Mrs. McGirty was standing on her front door step waving to him. He went up to her. “Have they found out who did this terrible thing?” she asked.

  “Not yet.”

  “You must find out. Annie was a saint and a good member o’ the kirk.”

  “Maybe I’ll be having a word with the minister.”

  Josie, meanwhile, was interviewing Annie’s former head teacher, Miss Gallagher.

  “Annie was a very bright pupil,” said Mrs. Gallagher, a small, motherly-looking woman. “I thought she would be going on to university and interviewed her parents but they said that their daughter wanted to be at home and look after them.”

  “Were they ill in any way?” asked Josie.

  “No, that’s what was odd. They are both hale and hearty.”

  “Was Josie well liked at school?”

  Mrs. Gallagher hesitated.

  “I know you don’t like to speak ill of the dead,” said Josie, “but it is a murder enquiry and one of her boyfriends was shot dead this morning outside the sheriff’s court.”

  “This is terrible. Just terrible,” gasped Mrs. Gallagher. “To be honest, Josie did not have many friends amongst the girls. Looking the way she did, she was a great favourite with the boys but then even they began to shun her.”

  “Do you know why?”

  “I’m afraid not. It’s a terrible thing to say about the poor lass, but she almost seemed to enjoy her unpopularity, as if it gave her a certain power, as if she was looking down on all of them. I did send her to the school councillor.”

  “Why?”

  “When a beautiful girl like Annie Fleming goes on the way she was doing, I begin to wonder if there might not be a certain trace of the psychopath there. If you go along the corridor, you’ll find Miss Haggerty’s name on the end door. I will phone her and tell her you are coming.”

  Miss Haggerty was a thin, frail woman with grey hair, spectacles, and a tired face. “Oh, Annie,” she said in reply to Josie’s questions about what she had thought of her. “I could not get anywhere with her. It was during her last year. She said she was looking forward to leaving the school because she found the other pupils too young for her. That was all she would say. She had good marks and seemed cheerful. Bright children often feel isolated, and Annie was very bright.”

  “Did you think she might be a bit of a psychopath?” asked Josie.

  “Oh, no, simply highly intelligent.”

  “Manipulative?”

  “I do not think she could manipulate me in any way.”

  Josie left the school feeling downcast. Her phone rang. It was Hamish. “I’m not getting anywhere,” said Josie.

  “I’m going to see the minister, Mr. Tallent. Like to come?”

  “Where are you?”

  “Outside her house.”

  “Be right with you.”

  Josie hummed a cheerful tune as she drove along. All was not lost. Hamish had obviously forgiven her for poking around his home.

  Chapter Five

  *

  Nobody who has not been in the interior of a family can say what the difficulties of any individual of that family may be.

  – Jane Austen

  “He may have been diddling her,” said Josie as they both got out of the Land Rover at the minister’s home.

  “Who?” demanded Hamish.

  “Her own father.”

  “For heffen’s sakes, lassie, have you lost your wits? You’ve been watching Law and Order Special Victims Unit.”

  “It happens in these backwards places,” said Josie defiantly. “Lots of incest.”

  “Look here, McSween, I don’t want to pull rank on you, but I am going to. When we get in there, keep your mouth shut. In future, address me as ‘sir.’ ”

  Josie went bright red and hung her head, making Hamish feel like a pompous idiot. And yet it was time that Josie started behaving like a policewoman.

  Hamish rang the bell of the manse cottage and waited. It was a two-storeyed Victorian sandstone building fronted by a garden full of laurels and rhododendrons on either side of a brick path. He pressed the bell and waited.

  The door was opened by a squat man wearing black clericals and a dog collar. “I hope you are not here to bother the Flemings,” he said.

  “I didn’t even know they were here,” said Hamish. “It’s you I want to be having a word with.”

  The minister led the way into a dark study, sat down behind a large desk, and indicated with a wave of his hand that they were to be seated in two chairs opposite. Hamish took off his cap and placed it on the desk.

  “Get that thing off my desk!” snapped Mr. Tallent.

  Hamish put his cap on the floor beside his chair. “I don’t want any germs from your head on my desk,” said the minister.

  He had large angry grey eyes framed with thick spectacles. The skin of his face was thick, open-pored, and creased in folds rather than wrinkles. His grey lips were large and fleshy.

  There was little of gentle Jesus meek and mild about the face opposite, thought Hamish cynically. This minister, he judged, probably preached a grand hellfire sermon on Sundays.

  “As you know,” began Hamish, “we are investigating the murder of Annie Fleming. Did you know her very well?”

  “I am a great friend of the family. Annie was a beautiful God-fearing angel. Whoever did this will burn in hell for eternity.”

  “So Mr. and Mrs. Fleming are staying with you?”

  “Yes, they could not possibly go back to that house until the police have finished with it and the kitchen is repaired.”

  “Was Annie particularly friendly with any member of your congregation?”

  “I do not know.”

  “Did you know that Annie had been having a fling with her boss?”

  “What do you mean? Speak plainly.”

  “She’d been having sex with him.”

  “Rubbish. Who is spreading this filth?”

  “Her boss, Bill Freemont, admits to it. A neighbour saw him going in to spend the afternoon with her when she was supposed to be off sick. Annie also frequented a disco over her lunch break.”

&n
bsp; He thumped the desk. “I will not believe it. Annie Fleming was a saint.” His eyes suddenly filled with tears. “Just get out,” he said.

  Hamish and Josie got to their feet and made their way out. They had almost reached the garden gate when a voice from behind a laurel bush whispered, “Psst!”

  “Come out,” ordered Hamish.

  “Father will see me. Walk down the road a bit to the left and I’ll catch up with you.”

  Hamish and Josie walked along to the end of the road. It ended at a scraggy field of gorse and tussocky grass, bordered by a dry-stone wall.

  They were about to turn back again when Hamish saw a slight figure hurrying down the field, slipping and sliding on the frozen snow. A young woman came up to them, looking nervously to left and right. “I’m Martha Tallent.” Martha had obviously come round some back way.

  “The minister’s daughter?”

  “Aye.”

  She had a large nose which dominated her thin face. Her sandy hair was scraped back from her forehead. She was wearing a dark anorak over black corduroy trousers.

  “So, Martha, what do you want to tell us?”

  “I was listening at the door and I heard what Father said. It’s not true. Annie was a right bitch. She hated the church. She told me. I thought we were friends. There’s this boy who goes to our church and one day he asked me out. I was that excited. We were only going to have a drink in Braikie. I told Annie. She was the only one I told. She told my father and he came raging into that pub and dragged me out in front of everyone. We were only having soft drinks! That boy never turned up in church again. And someone told me he had been seen in a pub in Braikie with Annie. I’m sure she did it to spite me. But Father found out as well. I don’t know who told him. In fact, Father blamed me and claimed I had been introducing his precious Annie to corrupting influences.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Mark Lussie.”

  “And where does he live?”

  “Down in the council estate. Culloden Way, number twelve.”

  “How old are you, Martha?”

  “Nineteen. The same as Mark. Oh, if you see him, could you say how sorry I am?”

  “Yes, I will. The Flemings are staying with you? What are they like?”

  “They’re grief-stricken. They and Mother and Father sit around of an evening talking about how good and beautiful Annie was. I’ve nearly finished my computer course at Braikie College and the minute I get my diploma, I’m going off to Glasgow to look for a job.”

  Hamish glanced along the road. He saw that a car had arrived; Jimmy Anderson was getting out of it, followed by a policewoman. Jimmy saw Hamish’s Land Rover and looked down the road until he spotted him and began to walk towards him. Martha let out a squeak of alarm and scampered back off over the field.

  “Who was that you were talking to?” asked Jimmy.

  “The minister’s daughter. But don’t let on.”

  “Find out anything?”

  “Nothing much except Mr. Tallent thinks Annie was a saint and furthermore, I think he had a crush on her. The daughter had a date in a pub and Annie told the minister and the minister descended on the pub like the wrath of God.”

  “We’ve now got at least a couple of witnesses to testify that Annie was a regular visitor to the disco,” said Jimmy. “Mr. Tallent’s just about to see his idol topple off her pedestal.”

  “What’s happening about the shooting?”

  “Blair’s in charge of that.”

  “Jimmy, I think a leak came from headquarters somehow.”

  “We’re checking. I’d best be off to see the minister. I’ve a feeling it’s going to be nasty. You try your luck with that latest boyfriend.”

  * * *

  Blair was sitting at a corner table in The Clarty Duck with Barry Fitzcameron.

  “I swear I had nothing to do with the shooting o’ Jake,” said Barry. “I’m surprised an old friend like you could think such a thing.”

  “I phoned you and you said you’d take care o’ it,” said Blair. “I didnae mean kill him.”

  Barry raised his hands. “Would I do a thing like that? The silly fool was into drugs. Probably he didn’t pay for the last lot.”

  Blair looked nervously around the bar and inched forward. “If it ever gets out that I tipped you off about the raid, I’m finished.”

  Barry looked the epitome of the successful businessman from his well-tailored suit to his barbered silver hair. “Nobody can find out. I didn’t tell anyone, you didn’t tell anyone, so what’s your problem?”

  “Let’s jist say it’s that lang dreep o’ nothing, Hamish Macbeth.”

  “Oh, the lion tamer. What’s he got to do with anything? Strathbane isn’t his beat and you’re in charge.”

  “He’s sneaky. He poaches on ma territory.”

  “I’m telling you. Don’t worry about it. Have another drink on me. Got to run.”

  Blair watched him go. Surely he had not arranged to have Jake killed. And yet he’d said he would fix it. What if he had Hamish Macbeth killed? A slow smile crossed Blair’s fat features.

  * * *

  Hamish suggested they have something to eat. Josie’s mind flew immediately to a corner table in a shaded restaurant. The balloon of her imagination was pricked when Hamish parked outside a fish-and-chip shop and asked her what she wanted. Josie stared moodily out of the Land Rover window at the large menu on a board: fish and chips, haggis and chips, deep-fried pizza slice and chips, deep-fried Mars bar and chips, chicken and chips, black pudding and chips, and sausage and chips.

  “Fish and chips,” said Josie.

  Hamish returned with fish and chips for himself and Josie, fish for Sonsie, and sausage and chips for Lugs. He put the animals’ food in their bowls at the back and then climbed in the front and gave a greasy package to Josie. He had also bought a bottle of Irn Bru, that famous Scottish fizzy drink which once had the slogan, “Made from Girders.” It was an amazing success in Russia where it was advertised as a hangover cure. Hamish produced two paper cups and poured Josie a drink of it.

  “I’ll get spots…sir,” said Josie gloomily.

  “These are the best fish and chips for miles around,” said Hamish. “Eat up and then we’ll go and see this Mark Lussie.”

  When they had finished, Hamish collected up all the papers, put them in a bin outside the shop, and got into the Land Rover after wiping his greasy hands on his trousers. If only he’d let me cook for him, thought Josie. I’d show him what good food really tastes like.

  Hamish whistled “The Road to the Isles” as he drove to the council estate. The day was clear and sparkling and for once, the dreaded gales of Sutherland had decided to leave the county alone.

  A tired-looking woman with a squalling baby at her hip answered the door. She said she was Mark’s mother and Mark was at work at the bakery. Hamish reassured her that Mark was not in trouble, then headed back into the centre of Braikie and parked at the bakery.

  He asked for Mark at the counter. The baker looked alarmed. “I hope he hasnae been up to anything. He’s a good worker.”

  “No, no. Just a few questions,” said Hamish soothingly.

  The baker went into the back shop. A few moments later, Mark emerged wearing white overalls and a white cap. He looked much younger than his nineteen years. He had a very white face and pale green eyes. He was small in stature, and his shoulders were stooped.

  “Would you mind stepping outside?” asked Hamish. “Just a few questions.”

  “Is it about Annie?”

  “Yes, I believe you were dating her.”

  Josie decided the time had come to show Hamish Macbeth that she was a real policewoman. “Did you kill her?” she demanded.

  Before Mark could say anything, Hamish rounded on her. “Please go and sit in the Land Rover, McSween.”

  “But…”

  “Just go!”

  He waited until Josie had left and then said, “No one is accusing you of anything
, Mark. McSween is new to the job. Let’s begin again. I gather you were dating her.”

  “Aye. I couldnae believe ma luck. It was after Bible class one Sunday afternoon. She asked me if I’d like to meet her on the Monday evening for a drink. I said all right and she said she would meet me in the Red Lion. She started to drink vodka doubles wi’ Red Bull. I’d never drunk alcohol before and what wi’ her being such a beauty, I decided to start drinking vodka as well.

  “I dinnae ken what idiot said that vodka didn’t smell because my mother smelt it the minute I got home. But I didnae care because she had promised tae meet me the next night. We had just got sat down when her father burst into the pub and starts howling and cursing. Says I led his daughter astray. She didnae say one word to defend me. ‘Forget it, Da,’ says she. ‘He’s not worth bothering about. He’s just some little fellow from the Bible class.’ And that was that. I’m frightened to go back to the church in case the auld scunner accuses me of her murder.”

  Hamish left the bakery and got into the Land Rover. He looked wearily at Josie. “Policing in the Highlands,” he said, “is not like a hard-cop American TV series. You deal gently wi’ people and you’ll get more out of them.” He let in the clutch. “We’re going back to the Flemings’ house. Maybe something from the blast ended up in the garden and SOCO might have missed it.”

  Josie felt near to tears. It seemed she couldn’t do anything right. She sat in brooding silence until they reached the Flemings’ home.

  It was still cordoned off with police tape. They both got out. “We’ll go round the back,” said Hamish. “As the blast was in the kitchen, there might be something blown outside.”

  The back garden consisted of a drying green with tattered washing still hanging on the line. There were a few bushes in the narrow flower beds that formed an edging around the green.

  Hamish began to search carefully in the bushes by the kitchen door, and Josie began to look through the bushes on the left-hand side. As she worked her way round the garden, she grew cold and bored. The sun shone on the tattered washing. One of the items not too damaged was a serviceable pair of knickers. Josie suddenly noticed that there was something stuck inside the knickers. She went over to the washing line. The clothes were just beginning to thaw out. She unpegged the knickers. Hamish came over to her. “Found something?”