by M C Beaton
“Have any of the animal libbers been caught?”
She gave a cynical laugh. “No. I think you lot have enough on your hands what with an escaped hit man and a murder in the cells to bother about a few idiots.”
“What did you think of Annie Fleming?” asked Hamish.
“A right little tart she turned out to be. I suspected there was something going on with Bill. I don’t think she could leave anything in trousers alone.”
“What about a kilt?” asked Josie seriously.
Hamish burst out laughing and Josie blushed. But Jocasta said, “About a month ago, I was walking out to the cages when I saw her up on the main road beside a four-by-four talking to a man in a kilt. He was all dressed up in the full rig like men wear when they’re going to a wedding or an official function.”
“What did he look like?”
“He was too far away. Medium height, dark hair. They saw me watching and he jumped in his vehicle and drove off.
“Then there was a weedy-looking youth hanging around. He kept trying to speak to Annie but she told him to get lost. I think she called him Percy.”
“I know who you mean,” said Hamish. “I think we’ll be having a wee word with that young man again.”
Back at the Land Rover, Hamish phoned police headquarters and asked for Mark Lussie’s mobile phone number. He waited patiently until he got it. Then he said to Josie, “Before we go and see Percy again, I’ve got an idea. Maybe Mark’s murderer threw that phone away in the heather.”
Josie shivered as she bent before the wind and followed Hamish up the brae to the war memorial. Out to sea, dark clouds were massing, and she hoped Hamish would either find the phone or give up before the threatening rain arrived.
Hamish took out his own phone and dialled Mark’s number. He began to walk away from the war memorial down the sloping hill on the other side. At the bottom of the hill was a small grocery shop with rubbish bins parked at the back.
“I wouldnae be surprised if he didnae dump the phone in one o’ thae bins,” he said.
“But the bins would have been cleared by now,” said Josie.
“Aye, and that’s why we’re going to the council tip.”
They reached the Land Rover just as the rain came down in sheets. “I haven’t got a raincoat with me,” said Josie.
“Did you bring your coveralls?” asked Hamish, meaning the plastic suit police wore at a crime scene so that they would not contaminate it.
“Yes, I got them.”
“They’ll do. Suit up when we get to the tip.”
The tip was down at the end of a long lane leading to the sea between Lochdubh and Strathbane. Josie’s heart sank when she saw the acres of rubbish stretched out under a stormy sky full of screeching, diving seagulls.
Hamish went into the office wearing black oilskins. He asked about the rubbish from the grocery and if the man in charge had any idea which part of the acreage it would end up in.
The man said vaguely it might be over to the far left of the dump.
With Josie trailing miserably behind, Hamish went over to the left, took out his phone, and dialled Mark’s number.
The wind dropped and he swore he could hear a faint ringing sound. “Come on, Josie,” he urged. “I think there’s something here under this pile o’ garbage.”
That use of her first name spurred Josie into action. “I won’t dial any more until we’ve dug down a bit,” said Hamish.
He paused occasionally to admire Josie’s diligence. He had been too hard on the lassie, he thought. After they had searched down a certain depth, he dialled again. “Hear that!” he cried triumphantly. He scrabbled down to the ringing sound, tossing filthy rubbish over his shoulder.
“Got it!” he cried at last. “Let’s get back into shelter. This is grand.” He seized hold of Josie and waltzed her round on top of the garbage.
Josie walked back to the Land Rover as if she were walking on air. “We’ll get back to Lochdubh, dry out, and I’ll get you something to eat,” said Hamish once they were in shelter again. “Let me check this phone. What was the last call he made? Here, write this down.”
Josie took out her notebook and wrote down the number. “Right,” said Hamish. “Give it to me. Let’s phone up and see who’s at the other end.”
He dialled and waited. A clear highland voice came on the line. “Town hall, Braikie,” said the voice. “Which department?”
Hamish rang off, his hazel eyes gleaming. “That was the town hall. Maybe young Percy is deeper in this than I thought.” He bagged Mark’s mobile and stripped off his pair of latex gloves.
“I’m afraid we’d better take this over to Strathbane first. I’ll blast the heater and dry us out.”
Jimmy was just about to go out when they arrived. He wrinkled his nose. “You pair smell like hell.”
Hamish held up the evidence bag. “We’ve found Mark Lussie’s mobile at the council tip. The last call he made was to the town hall. So we’re going to grab at bit to eat and get over there. How are you getting on?”
“I’ve barely started,” complained Jimmy. “Questions and questions from the big yins up to interrogate us all about how we managed to let one murder happen and one dangerous killer escape. Barry’s no loss.”
“Who inherits his money?” asked Hamish.
“Probably the state will take most of it like they always do when someone has been profiting from drugs. His only living relative is his sister, a churchy woman, who’s horrified at her brother’s criminal activities. Got to go. Give me that phone and I’ll get it over to forensics.”
* * *
Hamish and Josie drove to a restaurant in Strathbane. A woman at the next table said loudly, “The day when policemen actually took a bath seems to be long over.”
Josie dissolved into giggles.
“We really must smell something awful,” said Hamish. “After this, we’ll get back to Lochdubh and clean up. I’ve got an old uniform I can use. What about you?”
“I’ve got a spare recently,” said Josie.
They had a pleasant meal. Hamish was in high good humour. He felt the case was beginning to break at last.
Josie thought about her mad dream of drugging him. What a silly idea!
At the town hall, Hamish asked to be directed to wherever the switchboard was. He was grateful that the town hall was old-fashioned and didn’t go in for a phone tree-press one for so-and-so, press two for someone else, and so on.
The young girl at the switchboard seemed vaguely familiar. “Police,” he said. “Just a few questions. What is your name?”
“ Iona Sinclair.”
“Have we met? I am Police Constable Hamish Macbeth.”
“I saw you last year at the crowning of the Lammas queen. It was promised to me because Annie had been queen the year before, but she got it again which wasn’t fair.”
Iona was a tall girl in her late teens with hair as red as Hamish’s own, green eyes, and freckled skin. She had the lilting accent of the Outer Hebrides.
“We’re interested in a call that came through here to the switchboard on the evening Mark Lussie was murdered,” said Hamish.
“Well, we close at five o’clock. There were a lot of calls before then. People ask for various departments.”
“Did anyone ask for waste disposal?”
“We get a lot of those. People are always girning on about the evil dustmen, persecuting them because the waste isn’t in the proper bins.”
“Did you know Annie Fleming well?”
“I was at school with her, but she wasn’t popular with the girls. She was too busy chatting up the teachers.”
“Anyone in particular?”
“Harry Massie, the English teacher.”
“Is he still teaching at the school?”
“Last I heard.”
Outside the town hall, Hamish sighed. “Another suspect. Let’s see this English teacher.”
“What about Iona?” asked Josie. “She must ha
ve borne a grudge against Annie.”
“I haven’t forgotten her,” said Hamish. “But she doesnae seem the type to know how to put together a sophisticated bomb.”
Harry Massie was a tall, rangy man in his late thirties. He had thick brown hair, a beaky nose, and a small mouth. He was wearing corduroy trousers and a well-worn Harris tweed jacket over a checked shirt open at the neck.
“We want to ask you about Annie Fleming,” said Hamish.
Josie got an inner glow. Hamish was beginning to say we.
“Poor girl. Any idea who did it?”
“Not as yet. I must ask you this: Did Annie Fleming make a pass at you?”
“By all that’s holy, someone who doesn’t think she was a saint. Yes, she did.”
“Explain what happened.”
The classroom smelled of chalk, sweat, and dust. Outside the wind howled and screeched.
Harry leaned on his desk. “Annie was very good at English. Then she started waiting in the classroom until the others had left, asking me questions. I began to feel uneasy because other members of the staff began to tease me about being seen alone with Annie. So I told her that if she had any questions, to put them in writing and leave them on my desk and not to stay behind in the classroom. I was very firm with her. I held the door open for her and she…she stuck her tongue in my ear.
“I told her I would report her and she laughed and said who would ever believe me and if I didn’t keep my mouth shut she would report me for having tried to rape her. I felt nothing but relief when she left the school for good.”
“Who’s the chemistry teacher here?”
“Sol Queen. But I hardly think…”
“Where can we find him?” asked Hamish.
Harry glanced at his watch. “He’ll be in the staff room having a break. I’ll take you along.”
Various teachers were standing at an open window in the staff room, smoking and braving the gale that was blowing in.
“Sol,” said Harry. “The police want a word with you.”
An elderly teacher turned around. He had sparse grey hair and thick glasses. “We can’t talk here,” he said. “Come outside.”
Josie and Hamish followed him into the corridor. “What is it?” he asked, peering myopically up at Hamish. Hamish thought that Annie could hardly have made a pass at this elderly gentleman, so he asked instead, “Is there anyone you can think of who might have the expertise to make a letter bomb?”
“Funnily enough, I’ve thought of that. But I cannot think of anyone at all-apart from me. I mean, I would know which chemicals to use, but I would not know how to install the fuse. That takes a lot of sophisticated knowledge.”
Hamish had a sudden idea. “Do you have computer classes in the school?”
“No. We were supposed to get them, but there is so much else needing to be done here. The roof’s in need of repair and it would mean finding extra money over the cost of the computers to hire another teacher.”
Hamish thanked him and then, as they walked towards the entrance, he phoned Jimmy. “Did forensics go through Annie’s computer?”
“She didnae have one,” said Jimmy. “Her father says that computers are the instruments o’ the devil. They searched the one at the wildlife place but nothing but business on it.”
Hamish rang off. “I can’t think of any young person who didn’t use the Internet,” he said. “There’s that new Internet café, just off the main street. Let’s try there.”
* * *
The Internet café was run by a Pole, Lech Nowak, and the place was full of Polish accents as other immigrants e-mailed home.
Hamish asked whether Annie Fleming had ever used the café. “The girl that was murdered? No, she never came in here,” said Lech.
Another possible lead gone, thought Hamish gloomily.
The café sold snacks, so Hamish suggested they should both eat something. He hoped his pets were all right back at the police station. He was worried that the hit man might call back to finish the job and shoot the animals.
After they had finished eating, Hamish said, “I’m going back to that minister’s. I know the parents have probably been interrogated but I want to speak to them myself. But I would like you to go back to the town hall and have a talk with Percy Stane. Make a friend of him. Sympathise. See if you can get anything more out of him and in a roundabout way, see if he got any phone calls from Mark.”
Hamish was not looking forward to interviewing the Flemings. What sort of parents had produced such a manipulative drug-taking daughter?
Chapter Seven
In for a penny, in for a pound-
It’s Love that makes the world go round!
– W. S. Gilbert
Josie didn’t get much out of Percy. He protested that he had never even met Mark Lussie, nor had he received any phone call. Josie tried to trick him by lying and saying she knew he had received a call from Mark Lussie, whereupon the usually rabbit-like Percy had rallied, telling her that she was lying and he would put in an immediate complaint about police harassment. Alarmed, Josie protested that perhaps she had received false information, but Percy simply held the office door open for her and told her to go.
The early northern night had fallen, and the wind whipped clouds across a cold little moon overhead.
Josie suddenly had an idea. She would get a taxi, go back to Lochdubh, clean up the police station, and have a hot supper waiting for Hamish when he returned.
* * *
Hamish, meanwhile, was facing Mr. and Mrs. Fleming. He had expected to confront a pair of parental tyrants but found Annie’s mother and father to be decent, ordinary, and grief-stricken.
“I believe, if you don’t mind my saying so,” said Hamish, “that you appear to have been rather strict with your daughter.”
“We only did it for her own good,” said Mr. Fleming. “She never protested. She was a good girl. I won’t believe all those nasty stories that folk are circulating about her.”
“Annie did have drugs on her body,” said Hamish.
“Someone must have tricked her. We brought her up to fear the Lord and do the right thing.”
Hamish turned his attention to Mrs. Fleming. She was in her late fifties, and he judged she must have had a baby later in life than most mothers. Her face had the drained, exhausted look of someone who has been crying for days.
“Mrs. Fleming,” asked Hamish, “do you know of any particular friends she might have had?”
“No, she didn’t socialise much with the young people from the church. She seemed happier with our friends when we had them round for tea.” Hamish guessed that tea meant high tea, still served in the north in a lot of households instead of dinner.
“May I have the names of your friends?”
“Well, there’s the Baxters.”
“That would be your neighbours-Cora and Jamie Baxter?”
“That’s right. And also old Mrs. McGirty. Mr. and Mrs. Tallent, of course. We all got on very well and Annie appeared to enjoy their company.”
“The minister seemed to have been fond of Annie.”
“He was so good. He pointed out the dangers a young person in this day and age could be subjected to. He even gave Annie private religious instruction.”
“How often?”
“Sometimes twice a week in the evenings.”
“And did this go on until her death?”
“No. Mr. Tallent said he had to give up the instruction because of the weight of parish duties.”
Hamish made notes and asked several more questions. Then he asked, “Is Mr. Tallent at home?”
“I believe he is at the church,” said Mr. Fleming.
Hamish walked to the low stone church next door. He opened the door and went in. It was a small kirk with pine pews and a stone-flagged floor. It was very cold. He remembered hearing that this was one of the stricter churches. It did not have an organ but made do with a chanter, a man who struck a tuning fork against one of the pews to intro
duce the hymn singing. He saw the huddled figure of the minister in a front pew. He was seated with his head buried in his hands.
Hamish went up to him. Although Mr. Tallent must have heard the sound Hamish’s boots made on the stone floor, he did not move.
Hamish laid a hand on his shoulder and said quietly, “I need to be having another word with you, Minister. It’s about that private religious instruction you were giving Annie.”
Mr. Tallent raised his head. “I tried to protect Annie from this sinful world but she must have been corrupted by that creature Jake.”
“I think Annie was quite good at corrupting people herself. Did she come on to you?” asked Hamish.
“What a disgusting suggestion!” raged the minister.
Hamish sat down beside him in the pew. “Look here,” he said gently, “Annie was verra manipulative and she liked power. I think she made you fall in love with her. I think your conscience got the better o’ ye and you stopped the lessons.”
“She confessed to an admiration for me,” said Mr. Tallent after a long silence. “I was sinfully flattered. I became impatient with my wife. I nearly lost my faith. Yes, I stopped the classes and said I would only see her in the kirk. She shrugged. Then she laughed at me and called me a silly old goat.” Tears began to run unchecked down his cheeks. “I went a bit mad. I even thought of killing her. But I didn’t. Believe me, Sergeant, I wouldn’t know how to begin to make a letter bomb.
“Does any of this have to come out? It would devastate my wife and daughter. And the scandal!”
“Chust so long as I don’t find any proof linking you with the murder, I’ll keep quiet,” said Hamish, feeling embarrassed faced with the man’s grief and shame.
When he got out of the Land Rover in front of the police station, he found Willie Lamont waiting for him with the dog and cat at his heels. Willie had once been a policeman, working for Hamish, but he had fallen in love and married the beautiful daughter of the owner of the Italian restaurant and had gone happily into the catering trade.
