Death of a Maid hm-23

by M C Beaton

  To Hamish’s surprise, Tom Morrison, Heather’s ex-husband, answered the door. “Surprised to see me?” he said with a grin. “We’re back together. We’ll be getting married again next month.”

  “That’s grand,” said Hamish. “Is Heather at home?”

  “Come in. I’ll get her.”

  When Heather appeared, she looked happy. Hamish hoped it would not turn out that she had murdered her mother in a fit of rage. He suddenly wondered why it was when he had been stalking the professor that the neighbours had all noticed his presence and yet had seen no one at all on the day of Mrs. Gillespie’s murder. Could someone have masqueraded as a postman, or as someone the neighbours would expect to see?

  He realised Heather was looking at him with amusement. “I’ve asked you two times if you want tea or coffee,” she said.

  “Sorry, I suddenly thought of something. Nothing for me, thanks. I wondered if you had remembered anything about your stepmother that might be useful.”

  “I don’t think I can. Apart from humiliating me and breaking up my marriage, I don’t really know what else she got up to.”

  “Did she ever hint that she had some sort of power over any of her employers?”

  “No, she was too busy exercising power over me and Dad. I’m glad she’s dead. Dad’s cancer has gone into remission. They say it’s a miracle.”

  “I know you’ve had a lot on your mind, what with the murder of your mother and getting your marriage back together, but when you get a quiet moment, think of anything she might have found out about anyone and let slip.”

  She promised and Hamish left. Now to meet Elspeth and follow the professor.

  ♦

  It was a long and boring day for Hamish and Elspeth. As evening approached, Hamish began to feel irritable because of the attraction Elspeth held for him. He wanted to say something and yet feared a rejection. Also, he knew Elspeth would settle for nothing less than marriage, and he really didn’t feel he wanted to get married.

  Suddenly Elspeth said, “There he goes!” They set off in pursuit of the professor.

  Elspeth was driving. “Keep well back,” Hamish warned her. “The roads are so empty, and we don’t want him catching sight of us.”

  Professor Sander took the Strathbane road, and Hamish groaned. “Maybe that bookshop he visited last time is open late. He’ll buy books and head back home. A whole day wasted.”

  “May as well keep going,” said Elspeth, negotiating a hairpin bend. “I’ll be glad when we get to the straight bit. That way I can keep him in sight from a long way off.”

  As soon as she saw the professor’s car disappear into the town, she accelerated.

  “I’ve lost him,” she mourned.

  “No, you haven’t,” said Hamish. “I just saw him turning into the multi-storey car park.”

  There were two cars now behind the professor looking for parking spaces. Professor Sander parked on the third floor. Elspeth slid her car into a bay a little way away.

  When the professor got out and walked to the lift, they both headed for the stairs and sprinted down.

  The streets were busy, so they were able to follow him easily without being seen.

  Then, to their surprise, their quarry turned into a McDonald’s.

  “We can’t go in there,” said Elspeth. “He’d see us.”

  “Let’s wait across the road. He surely won’t be long. It’s fast food.”

  After only twenty minutes, Sander emerged and headed for the car park.

  “The wee scunner is going home,” complained Hamish.

  “You never know,” said Elspeth. “Let’s get the car and follow.”

  But the professor’s car veered off on a road down to the docks. They followed, hanging well back.

  “Stop here,” said Hamish. “He can’t go much further. This road’s a dead end. Let’s get out and have a look.”

  Keeping in the shadow of dark warehouses, still smelling of soot, they crept forward. The professor’s car had stopped, but the engine was still running.

  Three youths emerged from the shadows. “I hope he isn’t going to be mugged,” muttered Elspeth. “Then we’d have to do something.”

  They saw Professor Sander lower the car window. “Is it drugs?” whispered Elspeth. “Seems to be some sort of deal going on.”

  Then two of the youths melted back into the shadows, and one went round to the passenger side of the car and got in.

  “Not drugs,” said Hamish. “Rent boy. In the front of the car so a quick blow job. Should be over soon.”

  “Are you going to arrest them?”

  “I got a good look at the boy from the light in the car when he leaned over with the others. He’s over age.”

  “But still…”

  “It goes on the whole time in this dump of a town,” said Hamish wearily. “Prostitutes, rent boys, drugs, the lot. But now I can call on him tomorrow and find out if this is the reason Mrs. Gillespie may have been blackmailing him. I am not going to single the professor out and ruin his life. Can you imagine what Blair would make of this?”

  “I heard Blair had been suspended.”

  “Probably back on the job. The way that man oils up to his superiors is little short of genius. Let’s go.”

  They walked back to Elspeth’s car and got in.

  “I’m beginning to think Braikie is a den of iniquity,” said Elspeth.

  “I’m sure none of us would like our private lives dug into,” said Hamish.

  “Can I come with you to the professor’s tomorrow?”

  “Now, Elspeth, how do I explain bringing the press along? And remember, all this is off the record. Stop the car when we’re clear of the town. I need to feed the beasts, and I’m right hungry myself.”

  ♦

  Back home, Hamish checked his answering machine and was surprised to find there were no messages for him at all. He had been sure that either Blair or Mary Gannon would have been on the phone, demanding to know what he was doing.

  He washed and undressed and got into bed, followed by the dog and cat. “You’d better stay here yourselves tomorrow,” he told them. He suddenly found himself wishing that Elspeth, instead of his animals, were lying beside him. But Elspeth was no longer interested in an affair. It would need to be marriage.

  ♦

  Hamish was prepared to handle the matter of the rent boy delicately – and wished for years afterwards that he had done so – but Professor Sander greeted him with an initial tirade about police harassment and the stupidity of local coppers which he put down to inbreeding.

  So Hamish came right out with it. “What were you doing soliciting a rent boy in Strathbane last night?”

  Hamish had been kept on the doorstep. The professor’s face turned a muddy colour. “Come in,” he said faintly.

  Hamish followed him into his study. Professor Sander sank down into a chair and stared at the floor.

  “Is that what Mrs. Gillespie had on you?” Hamish demanded.

  “I invited one of them back here.” The bluster had left the professor, and Hamish had to strain to hear what he was saying. “We got drunk and he stayed the night. When I came down in the morning, I found him in the kitchen with Mrs. Gillespie. It was after that the blackmailing started.”

  “What did she ask for?”

  “Money, of course. But also, she treated me like a servant. If she wanted to go to Inverness, say, I had to drive her. One time, I had to buy her an expensive new television and DVD player. I couldn’t go to the police.”

  “Did you kill her?”

  “No, I did not. When I saw her dead, all I felt was relief.” Then some of his old bluster came back. “You must have been following me,” he said. “That’s harassment. You bring me down, and I’ll have you out of a job. I have powerful friends.”

  So instead of reassuring him that he would keep the matter quiet, Hamish said, “You’ll need your powerful friends. You’ll be hearing from me again.”

  He drove to t
he Tommel Castle Hotel, where Elspeth had told him she would be waiting to hear how he had got on.

  She listened carefully and then turned those odd silver eyes of hers on him. “Did you not tell him you wouldn’t be reporting him?”

  “I was going to, Elspeth, but he began to get all pompous again, and I wanted him to sweat a little. What is this? You were all for me reporting him.”

  “I’ve got a bad feeling,” said Elspeth. “I know he’s a pompous prick, but look at it this way. All that investigation into his book must have put him under a lot of strain. He’s probably been behaving himself for quite a bit. Then when he thinks he’s safe, he heads off to Strathbane to – er – celebrate. He’s probably now thinking of headlines in the papers.”

  “A man picking up a rent boy doesn’t make a story these days.”

  “But frightened people always think they’ll be top of the news. Hamish, I’m begging you. Go and tell the man you’re going to keep it quiet.”

  “Elspeth, when I left him, he seemed quite recovered. Oh, okay, I’ll go back and put his mind at rest.”

  She followed him out to the car park. “You may be too late. Look at the sky!”

  Black clouds like long fingers were trailing in from the Atlantic.

  “It chust means the rain’s coming,” said Hamish angrily.

  He drove off slowly, aware of Elspeth watching him go. Rubbish, he thought. He realised he hadn’t had any breakfast, so instead he went to the police station and fried sausage, bacon, and eggs and ate leisurely. Then he fed the dog and cat and let them out for a walk before driving off reluctantly in the direction of Braikie. The wind was strengthening, and the sky above was black.

  There was a flash of lightning followed by a tremendous crack of thunder. Damn Elspeth and her fancies, he thought. The rain came down, whipping across the landscape.

  He was glad the tide was out as he reached the shore road, but out in the Atlantic, huge waves lit by flashes of lightning were rearing up. It seemed like the end of the world, as though the sea were coming back to claim its own, to claim all the glens it had flooded of old. There was something about Sutherland on a bad day, thought Hamish, that made the human race feel like temporary inhabitants of an increasingly angry planet.

  He got out of the Land Rover in front of the professor’s house and ran up the short drive. He had forgotten to wear his oilskin, and his regulation sweater and trousers were soaked by the time he reached the shelter of the porch.

  He rang the bell. No answer. The professor’s car was in the drive. He tried the door handle. The door was not locked.

  Probably drinking himself silly, thought Hamish. “Professor Sander!” he shouted.

  The thunder rolled, but further away.

  Hamish went into the study. Maybe gone to bed. He went upstairs, located the professor’s bedroom, but it, too, was empty.

  Hamish began to feel more cheerful. Elspeth and her thoughts! The man had probably decided to walk to the shops and had got caught in the rain.

  But why didn’t he lock the door? asked a little voice in his head.

  He shrugged and decided to make a thorough search so that he could report to Elspeth that all was well. The sitting room was empty.

  He opened the kitchen door, looked in, and then froze.

  From a meat hook in the ceiling hung the lifeless body of Professor Sander.

  What have I done? thought Hamish. He took out his phone and called police headquarters.

  There was a sealed envelope on the kitchen table addressed to the procurator fiscal. He longed to open it. What did it say? Did it say it’s because of Hamish Macbeth that I can’t live any longer?

  He retreated to the hall and sat down on a hard chair by the door and waited.

  ♦

  Blair arrived, followed by Jimmy Anderson, two policemen, and the pathologist. It would have to be Blair, thought Hamish.

  “In the kitchen,” said Hamish bleakly.

  “Stay where you are,” growled Blair.

  So Hamish stayed. The forensic team arrived.

  “So,” said Blair, confronting Hamish, “what were you doing here?”

  Hamish thought quickly. “It was believed that Professor Sander had plagiarised his book on Byron. Some student had been accusing him of pinching his work. I had just received proof that this was not true and called to tell the professor. I found him dead.”

  “Get to your feet when you’re talking to a senior officer. Well, it wraps those murders up.”

  “How?” asked Hamish.

  “Oh, get back to yer sheep, laddie, and leave things to the experts.”

  Behind Blair’s fat back, Jimmy held up a piece of paper saying, “See you later.”

  ♦

  Back at the police station, Hamish phoned Elspeth and told her the news. “I’d better get a police statement, Hamish. I’ll get over to Braikie right now. Luke had better come with me.”

  Luke, thought Hamish after he had rung off. I’d forgotten all about him. He experienced a sudden sharp pang of jealousy.

  He did his various crofting chores during the rest of the day. The storm had rolled away to the east, and the day was bright and chilly.

  As the first evening star twinkled in the sky, he found his thoughts turning to Elspeth. But a nasty little cautioning voice in his brain asked him whether he would be so interested if she had not arrived with Luke. He tried not to pay any attention to it. He could just see Elspeth living at the police station. It could be fun. He would have company during the long, dark winter months. She would not like to be idle, but she could surely get her old job on the local paper back again. Then it would be rather grand to have a son. Would she want a big wedding? If she didn’t, his mother would.

  His happy thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Jimmy. “Well, that’s that,” said Jimmy. “Are you going to stand out here looking at your hens with a silly smile on your face all night, or can we go inside?”

  Hamish led the way into the kitchen and took down a bottle of whisky and glasses from the cupboard.

  “What’s what?” he asked.

  “That letter Sander left. He said…wait a bit. I’ve taken a note of it.” He fished out a battered notebook and thumbed through the leaves. “Ah, here it is. “I am sorry for everything. Yes, I am guilty. I cannot bear to live with the shame. I would not survive in prison.” It’s signed with his name. So that’s that. We’re still trying to figure out why he killed Mrs. Gillespie except that the blackmailing old trout must have had something on him that Shona found out. Daviot’s thrilled to bits. Gave a press conference. All the press are going away. You’ll be glad of that.”

  Hamish slowly poured two measures of whisky. “He didn’t do those murders, Jimmy.”

  “Man, he as good as said so!”

  Hamish told Jimmy about the rent boy and about how Mrs. Gillespie had been blackmailing him. “I should have told the professor I wasnae going to do anything about it. But he was so pompous that I decided to let him sweat for a little. God, I’ve as good as killed him.”

  “Nasty wee man. No great loss,” said Jimmy heartlessly. “This whisky is foul, Hamish. What’s it called? Dream o’ the Glens. Probably made in Japan.”

  “It wass on special offer. If you don’t like it, don’t drink it. Don’t you see the problem? If I tell Blair what I know, he may get me suspended or even fired. They’ll all be that furious that their precious case isnae wrapped up.”

  “Hamish, I can’t really sit on this information. I mean, you don’t want a murderer getting off scot-free.”

  “Could you give me a couple of days?”

  “Hamish, this isn’t the telly where the senior officer says, “You have twenty-four hours.” And it’ll be worse for you if it looks as if you’ve been sitting on this information. Look, I tell you what I’ll do. I’ll try to get hold of the rent boy who spent the night with the prof and got caught by Mrs. Gillespie. I’ll put in a report about that and suggest it might be the real reason for
his suicide. I’ll hint that the rent boy was about to blow the gaff. They’ll hate me for it.”

  “Thanks, Jimmy. There iss something nagging at the back of my mind.”

  “He could have done it, Hamish.”

  “Let me think about it. I wass surprised not to see Inspector Gannon at the scene.”

  “She’s been transferred to Inverness. Blair, who, as you must have gathered, did not stay suspended long, was heard saying that they wanted none of that feminist crap in Strathbane. Daviot was furious with her for causing what he called ‘an unnecessary ruckus.’ Sad day for women’s lib. The few women police who hoped to rise in the ranks are furious as well, thinking that she’s ruined their chances of promotion.”

  ♦

  That night, Hamish lay in bed but could not sleep. All the people he had interviewed kept swirling around in his head. Then he suddenly sat bolt upright. Mrs. Gillespie had recognised Dr. Renfrew from a television show. A blackmailer would immediately slot in a video or DVD to record the rest of it. Probably a video. But she had a DVD player. The professor said she had made him buy her one.

  Maybe it was before that. He phoned the stepdaughter, Heather. Tom Morrison’s sleepy voice came on the line. “What do you want?” he asked sharply. “It’s two in the morning.”

  “It’s urgent,” said Hamish. “I need to speak to Heather.”

  He could hear a lot of grumbling, and then Heather’s voice came on the line.

  “Did Mrs. Gillespie tape a lot of television shows?”

  “You got me up in the middle of the night to ask that!”

  “It’s important. Think!”

  “Well, yes, but only a few. In fact I was going over to my dad’s today to throw out a lot of old stuff. There’s a box of videos in the attic.”

  “What about DVDs?”

  “Not them. She couldn’t get the hang of how to record them.”

  “I’ll meet you at your father’s at seven in the morning.”

  “Have a heart!”

  “Well, make it eight.”

  Hamish rang off. She liked the Trant Television’s reality shows. Maybe, just maybe, she had taped another show because there was someone she recognised. But wouldn’t that be too much of a coincidence? On the other hand, often in the past people had moved to the far north of Scotland to escape from something. How long, for example, had Fiona Fleming been living in Braikie? And the impeccable Mrs. Styles had been a gorgeous-looking girl in her youth from what he remembered of the photograph he had seen.