by M C Beaton
“Yes, but he didn’t use it much. Poor lost soul. He didn’t seem to have that much friends. When we was with the church, he knew some young people, but he gave up the church.”
“May we see his room?”
“It’s up the stairs, first left.”
As Hamish and Josie went up the stairs, the neighbours who had been watching through the front window crowded in again.
The room was unexpectedly neat for a young man’s. It was quite small. There was a narrow bed, neatly made up, with a bedside table and reading lamp. A desk by the window with a hard upright chair in front of it held a pile of comics and film magazines. There was no computer or posters or pictures on the walls, which were covered in an oatmeal patterned wallpaper. A tall, thin wardrobe fronted by a long glass mirror stood against one wall, and a chest of drawers against another.
Hamish put on gloves and so did Josie. “You search the bedside table,” he said, “and I’ll have a look in the wardrobe.”
There were few clothes hanging up: one dark blue suit and black coat, three long-sleeved shirts, a puffa jacket, and a tweed jacket. Underneath the clothes was a pair of black shoes and three pairs of sneakers. He searched in all the pockets but did not find anything. He even ran his gloved fingers along the insides of all the footwear in case anything had been hidden there.
“I’ve got his bank book and phone bill,” said Josie.
Hamish took them from her. Mark had had a post office savings account with fifty pounds in it. The phone bill only listed five numbers. One was to his home; Hamish’s sharp eyes had taken a note of the phone number on the receiver dial when he had been downstairs. The other four were to a Strathbane number. Hamish thought they would probably turn out to be made to the wildlife park. He took out his mobile, dialled directory enquiries, asked for William Freemont’s phone number, and gave the address of the wildlife park. The operator gave him the number. It was the same number as the four on the phone bill.
“Bag them up,” he said to Josie. “That’s the old phone bill. We’ll need to get Strathbane to check with the phone company and find out if he phoned anyone last night. I’ll just look in the chest of drawers.”
The top drawer contained underwear, the second socks, and the third T-shirts. In the bottom drawer, there was a small photo album and a selection of soft porn magazines. Hamish flipped open the photo album. It contained pictures of Annie: Annie as the Lammas queen, Annie at various church functions, and a few of Annie taken when she was leaving her home. Apart from the ones of Annie, there were no family pictures.
“Bag that as well,” said Hamish, handing her the album. “I’m just going to move this chest of drawers in case something’s fallen down the back.”
There was no carpet on the floor, only a sort of spongy linoleum. He heaved the chest of drawers away from the wall. “What’s this?” he exclaimed. He stretched down and brought up a chemistry set. He sat down on the bed and carefully opened it. Most of the chemicals had been used.
“That’s it!” said Josie, leaning over him. “He was the bomber!”
“I think this is too basic to make such a sophisticated bomb,” said Hamish. “It’s probably just an old Christmas present.”
“But there are no other toys or presents in the room,” said Josie. “I mean, you’d think he would have old schoolbooks, or stuffed toys, or model airplanes, or something like that.”
“We’ll bag it up and take it. Let’s see Mrs. Lussie again. It means getting rid of the neighbours.”
Once more, Mrs. Lussie’s sympathisers were told to wait outside. “We found a chemistry set in Mark’s room,” said Hamish. “When did he get that?”
“That was a while ago. A gentleman friend of mine gave it to him. He played with it for a bit and then forgot about it.”
“We’re taking it and some other things,” said Hamish. “Mark didn’t seem to keep anything much in his room. I thought we would find old toys or something like that.”
“It was the church. They were collecting toys for the poor. Mark was told it was his Christian duty to bring everything in.”
Hamish scribbled out a receipt and handed it to her. “Mrs. Lussie, if you can think of anything at all, please call me at the station in Lochdubh.”
“When can I bury my son?”
“I’ll tell the procurator fiscal to get in touch with you. They’ll be calling soon anyway. I’m afraid they will want you to identify the body. Is there no relative who could do the identification instead? Where is your husband?”
“I don’t know. He ran off after Mark was born.”
“Name?”
“Sam Lussie.”
“What did he do for a living?”
“Nothing much,” she said bleakly. “He was on the dole.”
“Is there anyone who could identify the body other than yourself?”
“I’ll do it,” she said tearfully. “I want a last look at my son.”
Outside, Hamish phoned Jimmy. He said he was sending Police Sergeant Southern to collect Mrs. Lussie and take her to the procurator fiscal’s office. Hamish told him about finding the chemistry set but added that it looked like too amateur a kit to have made the bomb. Jimmy said he was still up at the war memorial and if Hamish brought the chemistry set up to him, he would take it over to the forensic lab in Lochdubh. They would start by checking with the phone company as well.
The wind was screaming around the war memorial when they arrived. Above them, the black bronze statue of a Boer War soldier stared out across Braikie to the heaving sea.
“Can’t find a thing what with this heather all about,” complained Jimmy. “Oh, here comes our lord and master. Afternoon, sir, has Roger said anything yet?”
“Not a thing,” said Blair, lumbering up to them, the cold wind raising red patches on his groggy face. “What have ye got?”
“Macbeth’s just found a chemistry set in Mark Lussie’s room,” said Jimmy.
Blair visibly brightened. “That’s it. Case closed.”
“Not really, sir. The chemistry set looks like a kid’s one. And we’ve still got to find out who murdered Mark.”
“You,” said Blair in a sudden fury, glaring at Hamish, “take your wee sidekick and get down there to thae houses and see if anyone saw anything.”
Hamish repressed a sigh. As he looked down the hill, he could see police officers going door to door, but he said meekly, “Yes, sir.”
He walked down the hill to where his Land Rover was parked. “Get in,” he said to Josie.
“Aren’t we going to…?”
“No. Waste of time. That ground’s being covered. We’re going back to Lochdubh. I’ve got to think.”
Once back at the police station, Josie followed him quietly in, not wanting him to be too aware of her presence and send her away.
Hamish went straight to the police office. Josie was glad the dog and cat were nowhere around. They came and went by a large cat flap on the kitchen door. Hamish sat down at his desk, and Josie pulled a chair up next to him.
“What I want to do,” said Hamish, taking a notebook out of his desk, “is to make a list of all the suspects, and then we start somehow to check up and see if there is anything in any of their backgrounds to show they had the knowledge to make a bomb.”
“Shall I make some coffee, sir?” asked Josie.
“Yes, that would be grand.”
Josie went happily off to the kitchen where she was soon lost in a rosy dream of being Hamish’s wife.
When she came back with two mugs of coffee and a plate of biscuits, Hamish was checking down a list he had made.
“I can’t leave out Jake Cullen,” he said. “I know he’s dead but he might have murdered her before that. Maybe Annie knew something about drugs at that club and had threatened to tell the police. Now, I can’t forget Bill Freemont.”
“He seemed a stupid man,” said Josie.
“He could have got someone to do it for him. I wonder if he has any criminal connectio
ns? Or Jocasta, his wife? No, scrub that one. I should think she’s been too out o’ love wi’ him for a while to get jealous enough.”
“Is your coffee all right?” asked Josie.
“Yes, chust fine. Don’t sit so close to me. You’re crowding me.”
Josie blushed and drew her chair back.
“Then there’s Jessie Cormack. Annie took her boyfriend away-and that boyfriend, Percy Stane, had better be on the list as well. I may as well put the minister, Mr. Tallent, down as well. I’ll swear he was in love with Annie.
“But right at the moment, my main suspect is Barry Fitzcameron. He’s the spider in the middle o’ the web.”
The phone rang. It was Jimmy. “You’ll never believe this, Hamish. Blair went up the brae a bit for a nip o’ whisky out o’ his flask. A great gust o’ wind caught him and sent him tumbling down the brae right onto the crime scene and he banged his head on the plinth o’ the memorial and went out cold. Daviot’s here and he’s furious. Blair’s been taken to Braikie hospital.”
“Hang on a minute, Jimmy.” Hamish turned to Josie. “You may as well take the rest of the day off, what’s left of it. Run along.”
He waited until Josie had left and then spoke urgently. “Jimmy, raid that disco tomorrow.”
“You mean…?”
“I don’t want to think Blair was the informant, but do you think you could do it?”
“I’ll tell Daviot I’ve had a tip-off.”
“Just make sure Daviot doesn’t go visiting Blair!”
“I’ll tell him he’s not allowed visitors for the next forty-eight hours.”
Mrs. Wellington greeted Josie. “I’ve a nice venison casserole. You can have some of that. Sit down at the table. How’s Hamish?”
“As usual,” said Josie. “I’m thinking of getting a transfer back to Strathbane.”
Mrs. Wellington was alarmed. The money she received for housing Josie had come in very handy.
“You haven’t been having much fun here,” she said. “You should go to the dance in the hall this Saturday.”
“I don’t want to go on my own,” said Josie.
“Get Hamish to take you. That man needs a good woman.”
“He won’t want to go,” said Josie.
“Oh, he will,” said Mrs. Wellington. “I’ll make him.”
Mrs. Wellington thought that a nice clean girl like Josie McSween was just the kind to sort Hamish Macbeth out. That evening, her eyes gleaming with matchmaking, she made her way along to the police station.
“Come ben,” said Hamish reluctantly.
Mrs. Wellington followed Hamish into his living room and looked around in disapproval. There were two dirty coffee mugs beside his armchair and sheets of notes spread out on the floor. The dog and cat lay sleeping in front of a smoky peat fire.
Yes, Josie was just what this lazy policeman needed in his life. “I want you to take Josie to the dance on Saturday,” boomed Mrs. Wellington.
“I’m following up more than one murder,” protested Hamish. “And it iss not the thing at all to be socialising with my policewoman.”
Mrs. Wellington sank down in the little-used armchair opposite Hamish, sending up a cloud of dust.
“You must make an exception,” she said. “That young girl has had no social life at all since she came here. One evening won’t hurt you.”
“But-”
“No buts, young man. I expect to see you there. There’s been talk in the village about how lonely Josie must feel.”
Hamish suddenly just wanted to get rid of her. “Oh, all right,” he said ungraciously.
Josie was elated at the news. She escaped to her room and poured herself a large glass of whisky to celebrate. But then she began to wonder what would happen if Hamish Macbeth either did not dance or danced with her only once and then disappeared back to his station.
She drank more whisky and wondered what to do. She felt she wouldn’t get any sleep that night. Then she remembered that hidden in her luggage, she had a packet of Mandrax tablets. They had been part of a drug raid when she was in Strathbane. She had not been on the drug raid but had been given various drugs and told by Jimmy to take them down to the evidence lockers. It was only when she returned that she had found the packet in her pocket. Not wanting to get into trouble, she had taken them home with her. The missing tablets had not been noticed during the court case.
Mandrax, known as quaaludes in the States, was a banned drug. It was a powerfully addictive sleeping pill with dangerous side effects. Now, if she ground down some of the tablets and slipped it into Hamish’s drink, he would start to get dizzy. She could help him back to the police station, get him into bed after undressing him, and then undress herself and climb into bed with him. When he woke up, she could say they had had sex. He would feel obliged to marry her.
The mad idea fuelled by more whisky began to seem perfectly feasible.
Hamish was awakened two mornings later by the ringing of the telephone. He struggled out of bed, glancing at the clock in alarm, realising he had slept in, and rushed to answer it. It was Jimmy. “Och, man,” he said. “You’ll never believe what’s happened.”
“What?”
“Roger Burton’s escaped, but before he did he got into Barry’s cell and killed him.”
“How the hell did that happen?”
“Roger knocked out the copper who took him his breakfast. He dressed himself in the copper’s clothes, put his own clothes on the policeman, and put the policeman in the bed in the cell wi’ a blanket over him. He took his keys and found Barry’s cell. He stabbed him to death.”
“What with?”
“A sharpened toothbrush.”
“What on earth was left in his cell to sharpen the damn thing?”
“Didn’t need a knife. There’s rough concrete on that ledge by the window. He just rubbed it and rubbed it down to a point.”
“So you’d arrested Barry?”
“Aye, I forgot to tell you. We’d raided thon disco yesterday and found the stash o’ drugs. Oh, God, we’re all in deep crap here, right up to our oxters. Daviot is screaming blue murder and says if Blair had been around it wouldnae have happened. I tried to say that maybe we’d got Barry because Blair wasn’t around and Daviot says I cannot defend myself by libelling a good officer.”
“Any clue as to where Roger Burton is?”
“By the time they found out the fellow in the bed wasn’t Roger, he’d long gone.”
“What about the barman at the disco? He must know something.”
“It gets worse. He was bailed and now he’s disappeared as well. You’re on your own wi’ that valentine case. Getting anywhere?”
“Not so far. I’ve interviewed all my suspects again.”
“Keep at it. Daviot’s rampaging around. The duty officer’s been suspended, poor bastard, although it had nothing to do with him. We’ve got the press baying outside for blood and Daviot baying inside.”
When Hamish rang off, he thought that Blair must be thrilled to bits. If there was a connection to Barry, it would be hard to find it now.
There was a knock at the kitchen door. He opened it. Josie stood there, smiling up at him.
“I’m late,” said Hamish. “I was interviewing people until late last night.”
“You should have let me help you, sir,” said Josie.
“Get the coffee on and I’ll be ready in a minute.”
When Hamish finally appeared, dressed and shaved, Josie said, “It’s kind of you to offer to take me to the dance tomorrow.”
“I didn’t offer,” said Hamish, helping himself to coffee. “I was bullied into it.”
He waited for Josie to say something like, Oh, well, in that case, I’ll go myself, but she merely hung her head and looked miserable.
Hamish was suddenly sorry for her. “Don’t worry, Josie,” he said. “We’ll probably have a good time.”
He’d called her Josie! All Josie’s dreams flooded into her brain. But she said, “
Where are we going today?”
“I want to try to get Jocasta on her own. If I’m right, she’s fed up with the marriage and might talk a bit freely if we can get her without her husband around.”
* * *
The first thing they saw as they drove up to the wildlife park was a large FOR SALE sign. “Now, that is very interesting,” said Hamish. “The marriage must be breaking up. Bill would never have let her sell.”
He drove down the muddy slope to the office.
Jocasta was found poring over accounts books. “Oh, it’s you,” she said curtly. “Find a chair. I’ll be with you in a minute.”
They sat waiting patiently while Jocasta turned pages, muttering, “Bastard!” and “Unbelievable.”
At last she sat back in her chair and said, “What?”
“Where is your husband?” asked Hamish.
“I neither know nor care. I’m filing for divorce. Bill ripping me off is one thing, but Annie Fleming was raiding the petty cash.”
“You’re sure of that?”
“Quite sure.”
“And you really don’t know where your husband is?” said Josie.
“No. We had a row. I said I was filing for divorce and he took off after I said I was selling the place. This folly is fortunately in my name. I told him I was going to sell the place to a builder. You should have seen his face! The idiot considers himself an environmentalist. Oh, he’ll catch some other poor woman the way he caught me. I met him at one of those save-the-planet get-togethers in Edinburgh and he courted me and as soon as we were married, he sweet-talked me into this piece of rubbish. I used to be concerned about things like my carbon footprint. Now I don’t give a damn if it’s a carbon hobnailed boot. I want out.”
“It is very hard to get building permission,” said Hamish.
“I’ve got a loophole. I got building permission for this ratty office and the house and believe me that’s going to cover a multitude of sins, meaning a few rows of nasty little bungalows.”
“Have any of the creatures been returned to you?”
“Not a one. They were all, apart from the minks and the lion, from the local countryside. They’re all probably happy in their natural habitat. And they hadn’t been in the cages long enough to get used to being fed.”
