Death of a Maid hm-23

by M C Beaton

  “Who are you?” asked Luke.

  “Well, that’s a nice thing. You screw me and then ask who I am?”

  Luke swung his legs out of the bed and clutched his head, which felt as if all the hammers of hell were beating inside his skull.

  Memory came back in bright little cameos. He remembered the stripper. He remembered betting the lads that he could lay her.

  “What’s the time?” he asked groggily.

  “Dunno.”

  He twisted round and found his watch on a bedside table. “Oh, my God, I was due at the church two hours ago.”

  “Then you’d better get there,” said the stripper sulkily.

  “It’s too late. Those relatives of hers will kill me! I’ll get the sack.”

  Luke got dressed. He checked his pocket for his wallet and found it was intact along with a book of traveller’s cheques and two tickets to Barbados.

  His one thought now was escape. He stumbled out onto the balcony and found himself high up in a tower block. He peered over the railing, and stretched out below him was the depressed area of Springburn.

  The lift wasn’t working. He ran down the stairs and down the hill to the Springburn road, where, wonder upon wonders, a cab came cruising along. He hailed it. “Airport,” he said breathlessly. “As fast as you can make it.”

  ♦

  Hamish was irritated that his thoughts kept returning to Elspeth. She was probably married now, he thought crossly. She might even be pregnant.

  He halted in front of St. Mary’s Church. Father McNulty was just leaving the church. He smiled when he saw Hamish.

  “I called to find out if you ever got that money back,” said Hamish.

  “Oh, yes, Miss Creedy sold her shop and paid me back. It was kind of you to keep it quiet.”

  “To tell the truth, Father, I was glad of the horrible winter for one reason – it stopped her haunting me.”

  “I don’t think the lady will be haunting you again. Miss Creedy has moved to Glasgow. I had a letter from her the other day. She seemed very happy and said she had a gentleman friend. I really cannot understand such as Mrs. Gillespie, nor can I understand how she found people with so many guilty secrets in the one area.”

  “We all of us have guilty secrets, Father, and here in the north, people still prize respectability. That, too, was the downfall of our murderess. Maybe she sometimes came across one of her clients out on the London streets with his family and saw the way his eyes averted when he saw her. The irony of it is that maybe one of the wives saw her and thought, I would like to be as beautiful as that, while Crystal was jealously thinking, if only I could get out of the life and be dull and respectable.”

  “She did not look very beautiful to judge from her photograph in the newspapers.”

  “She was once, but she had put on weight and become tweedy and matronly. Tell me, Father, do you sometimes wonder why someone as young as Shona should be so brutally killed?”

  “You mean, why should God let such a thing happen?”

  “Yes.”

  “That way madness lies. The only answer is blind faith. There are children dying all over the world as we speak.”

  Hamish suddenly felt embarrassed. “I’ll be off, then.”

  His next call was on Mr. Gillespie. Although Heather had told him that her father’s cancer was in remission, he wondered whether he was still alive.

  But it was a very cheerful Mr. Gillespie who answered the door to him. “Come in,” he said. “I was just about to put the kettle on.”

  The living room was pleasantly cluttered with newspapers and books. As Mr. Gillespie served coffee, Hamish asked, “How are you?”

  “I can hardly believe it. I’m in remission. They say it’s a miracle.”

  “I’m right glad for you.”

  “I think it might be having an end to years of torment.”

  “You could have reported her.”

  “It’s hard for a man to do that. I didn’t think the police would have believed me.”

  “I would.”

  “I really didn’t know about the blackmail. I really thought her employers were very generous.”

  “I might go up to the hospital and check on Dr. Renfrew,” said Hamish.

  “Oh, he’s left the area. Someone at the hospital told me he had moved to Edinburgh. His wife is still here. She filed for divorce. My daughter told me it was the talk of Braikie. Mrs. Fleming called at her home and told Mrs. Renfrew she had been having an affair with her husband.”

  “How did Heather learn this?”

  “Someone was passing and witnessed the scene, and soon it was all over the village.”

  “It’s amazing how many people witness things when I don’t need a witness,” said Hamish crossly.

  “What about that man Freddie Ionedes?”

  “He got sent away for a long time. It was understood he helped in a murder some time ago, but they haven’t any real proof, and the police are satisfied that he’s out of society. He left court swearing vengeance on me.”

  “Well, he can’t do anything about that now.”

  “I’m not so sure,” said Hamish. “He was quite an important member of the underworld.”

  “I’m surprised he was able to run a brothel in a place like Knightsbridge.”

  “It was described as a drinking club. Important people used it – members of Parliament, high-ranking police officers, people like that. There will always be a market.”

  “It’s all over now.”

  “I hope so,” said Hamish.

  ♦

  The next few weeks passed pleasantly. The weather was a mixture of showers and sunshine. Hamish drove diligently around his long beat, checking on people in the outlying crofts, drinking tea and gossiping, doing all the things that made him enjoy his job.

  And then one morning as he was raking out the stove, there came a knock on the front door. He wiped a grimy hand over his brow, went through, and shouted, “Come to the side door.”

  He hoped it wasn’t someone from Strathbane, come to interrupt his tranquil life.

  He opened the door. A tall, slim woman stood there, expensively elegant in a well-tailored trouser suit. Masses of auburn hair framed an attractive face. Wide-spaced brown eyes, high cheekbones, and a beautiful mouth.

  “I’m visiting the area,” she said. Her voice was pleasant but held traces of cockney. “I wondered if you could tell me the best places around here to visit.”

  “If you go along to the general store, just inside the door you’ll find a rack of tourist brochures,” said Hamish. “Where are you from?”

  “I’m from London. I read about those murders and saw film of this area on television. It looked so beautiful and I was in need of a holiday, so here I am. I’m staying at the hotel.”

  “Mr. Johnson, the manager, has plenty of tourist information.”

  “May I come in?”

  “Why?” asked Hamish.

  “I’ve never been inside a country police station before.”

  “Just for a minute, then.” Hamish stood aside to let her past.

  She settled herself at the kitchen table. A waft of some subtle perfume emanated from her.

  “Would you like tea or coffee?” asked Hamish reluctantly.

  “Coffee would be nice.”

  “Wait until I finish cleaning out the stove.”

  She sat placidly, seeming perfectly at ease. The cat flap banged, and Lugs followed by Sonsie strolled into the kitchen.

  “Is that a…?”

  “Yes, it’s a wild cat,” said Hamish, “but harmless.”

  She opened her handbag and took out a camera. “Mind if I take a picture?”

  “Yes. They don’t like having their pictures taken.”

  “Oh, well, pity.”

  Hamish finished cleaning the stove and plugged in an electric kettle. He rarely used it, preferring to keep a kettle boiling on the top of the stove, but he thought it would take too long and he wanted rid of her.
He did not want a beautiful woman to upset his placid existence.

  “My name is Tasman Kennedy,” she said.

  “I’m Hamish Macbeth. Where does the Scottish name come from?”

  “My grandfather was Scottish. But I’ve never been in Scotland before. When I drove up, I could hardly believe the emptiness. It’s so crowded in the south. It’s hard to believe there are places like this in the British Isles.”

  “What do you do for a living?” asked Hamish, putting a mug of coffee in front of her. “Help yourself to milk and sugar.”

  “I’m a model. Photographic model mostly, although I go on the catwalk for the collections.”

  “Is it hard work?”

  “It is. And I know it’s a short life. I don’t use drugs like some of the others. Any money I get, I put into property. I may even buy something up here.”

  “I wouldn’t bother. It looks fine at the moment, but the summer is brief and the winters can be hard.”

  “But you like it.”

  “Yes, but I’m a highlander. It makes a difference.”

  She took a sip of her coffee and wrinkled her nose.

  “It was on special at Patel’s,” said Hamish defensively.

  “It’s nearly lunchtime,” she said. “Why don’t I take you for lunch at the hotel?”

  Hamish stared at her for a long moment, his eyes blank. Then he said, “That would be nice. I’m supposed to be on duty. I’ll need to put my uniform on in case someone from headquarters sees me.”

  ♦

  During the meal, Hamish’s suspicions grew. He had wondered how long it would be before Freddie Ionedes from his prison cell would arrange something horrible for him. He had certainly pulled out all the stops with this one. Tasman was amusing and charming. She told funny stories about her appearances on the catwalk.

  Hamish played along, wondering all the while what was in store for him.

  And although he smiled and chatted, he could feel himself getting angrier and angrier. No one this beautiful could be interested in such as Hamish Macbeth.

  He had an idea. He was not going to go along with it. He was not going to be a sitting duck. What had they planned for him this time? Were they going to take him out to sea in a boat and throw him over? Take him up to a peat bog and drop him in?

  Towards the end of the meal, Hamish thanked her with every appearance of warmth and then said, “You didn’t get a proper look at the police station. Why not come back with me and I’ll show you round.”

  “I’d like that. But not your coffee. Let’s have it here and then we’ll go.”

  ♦

  Tasman followed Hamish to the police station in her car. He courteously helped her out. The sun was sparkling on the loch. Seagulls sailed overhead. A beautiful schooner cruised out to sea under full sail. No one is going to spoil this for me again, he vowed.

  Hamish ushered her inside. “Now you’ve seen the kitchen. I actually have a cell. Would you like to see it?”

  “Yes. Do you lock many people up?”

  “Usually only one of the locals who’s drunk too much. I lock the man up and let him out in the morning when he’s slept it off. Here it is.”

  She gave a charming laugh. “It looks quite cosy.”

  Hamish put a hand in the small of her back and pushed her in. “Take a good look at it from the inside.” She staggered forward into the cell, and he banged the door shut and locked it.

  She hammered on the door. “Let me out, you maniac!”

  Hamish ignored her and went through to the computer. Time to check the police files before he phoned Strathbane.

  But before he could get to the office, the Currie sisters walked in. “Where is she?” asked Nessie eagerly.

  “Is she,” echoed Jessie. “Is that her screaming, screaming?”

  “What are you talking about?” demanded Hamish.

  “We’ve only seen her on the telly and in the magazines,” said Jessie. “We’ve never seen a famous model close up.”

  Colour flooded Hamish’s face. “Famous model?” he echoed.

  “Yes, the whole village is that excited.”

  Hamish all but pushed them out the door. “Come back later.” He slammed the kitchen door on their startled faces and locked it. Then he went and unlocked the cell.

  “I should have known better than to spend time with the village idiot,” raged Tasman.

  “Before you do that,” pleaded Hamish, “let me tell you a story.”

  “What? About the little people, you inbred moron?”

  “Come into the kitchen and sit down,” said Hamish soothingly. “I’m not mad. But I must tell you why I locked you up.”

  “I think you do owe me an explanation, but be quick about it!”

  They sat at the kitchen table, and Hamish began. He told her all about the threats of Freddie Ionedes, and then he told her how Crystal had tried to lure him to his death.

  When he finished, she looked half-angry, half-amused. “So you thought I was a hooker?”

  The answer to that was ‘yes,’ but Hamish was not going to make matters worse.

  “Look at it from my point of view,” he said. “A beautifull woman such as yourself appears from nowhere and invites me to lunch. It all seemed so strange. I thought it was entrapment. I thought you were supposed to lure me somewhere where friends of Freddie could finish me off. I am so very sorry.”

  She looked at him suspiciously. “Is all this true?”

  “Come into the office, and I’ll get my official statement about the attempt on my life up on the computer.”

  She waited in the office until he found his statement, then he rose and said, “Sit down and read it. It’s all there.”

  She read it very carefully, and then to his immeasurable relief, she smiled up at him. “You’re forgiven.”

  “Can I make it up to you? The Falls of Anstey are very beautiful. I could run you up there.”

  “All right. Where’s the bathroom? I need to repair my make-up.”

  ♦

  When they left the police station together, they were faced not only by the residents but by Matthew, the local reporter, all snapping pictures.

  “Get out of it!” shouted Hamish, but Tasman put a hand on his arm. “Smile,” she said, “I’m used to it.”

  “Can we take your car?” asked Hamish. “I’m not really allowed to take civilians in the Land Rover unless I’m arresting them.”

  As she drove off, he asked, “What’s it like to be so famous?”

  “I take it as part of my job,” she said. “I’m used to it. I’m making the most of it while I’ve still got my looks.”

  ♦

  After inspecting the waterfall, they sat on a flat rock in the sun a little away from the noise of the tumbling water.

  “Why did you never marry?” she asked. “You haven’t been married, have you?”

  Hamish found himself telling her all about Elspeth.

  “But it seems to me,” said Tasman, “that you had plenty of opportunities to ask her in the past. You shouldn’t get married just for the sake of getting married.”

  “What about you?” asked Hamish.

  “Maybe I will eventually if I meet someone. A lot of men like me as arm candy. I get to a lot of first nights and good restaurants.” She put an arm round his shoulders. “Don’t worry, Hamish. There’s someone out there for both of us. Now, I’d better drop you back at the police station and then go to the hotel and pack.”

  “You’re leaving! Why?”

  “Because one of those photographs will appear in some newspaper. The local television stations will call on me, and then the nationals will chase me, hoping to catch me in an off moment.”

  ♦

  Later that day, the photo editor on the Daily Bugle approached Elspeth. “Don’t you know that highland copper Hamish Macbeth?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  He slid a photo in front of her. “Good shot, eh?”

  The photo showed Hamish in uniform
, sitting on a rock with Tasman. She had her arm round his shoulders and was smiling into his eyes. “We thought we’d caption it, “In the Arms of the Law.””

  “Very neat,” said Elspeth with pretended indifference.

  After he had gone, Elspeth felt miserable as all the memories of the fiasco of her wedding came flooding back. Luke had never come back to the newspaper. Nor had he written one word of apology. And here was Hamish Macbeth consorting with one of the world’s most beautiful models. No one wanted her. She felt like crying.

  ♦

  The next day, Hamish angrily confronted Matthew Campbell in the local newspaper office. “Was that you who followed me and took that photograph?”

  “It was, Hamish. Come on. It was very flattering. Think of all the men in Britain who would like to be in your shoes.”

  “She’s packed up and left because of it. I feel like punching you.”

  “Don’t. Did you ever hear what happened to Elspeth?”

  “No. What? Is she married?”

  “I was talking to someone at the Bugle, and he gave me the whole story.”

  Hamish listened to the humiliation of Elspeth. “Poor lassie,” he said. He thought of that sparkling ring locked in his safe. “Maybe I’ll phone her.”

  But the days dragged on into high summer, and still he did not phone because he did not know quite what to say.

  ♦

  At the end of June, Hamish was on duty at the Highland Games in Braikie. The weather was fine, a rare treat for Braikie, because usually it poured with rain.

  He wandered about, watching the events – the tossing the caber and swinging the hammer.

  He bought himself an ice cream and was just considering strolling over to where the ferret racing was about to take place when he had an odd feeling of danger. He looked right and left. Fiona Fleming was there, walking on the arm of a wealthy-looking businessman. Mrs. Styles was selling jams and cakes at a church stall.

  There was a police mobile unit set up to advise people on security. Sitting on the step was Pat Constable. She brightened when she saw him. “I was getting bored,” she said. “No one seems to want to know about security.”

  “Want to come and watch the ferret racing?”

  “I can’t leave here. We never had that dinner. What about this evening?”

  “There’s a good Italian restaurant in Lochdubh,” said Hamish. “I’ll meet you there at eight. This event starts to close down at five o’clock. Have you seen anyone suspicious around? I keep getting a bad feeling.”