Death of a Kingfisher

by M C Beaton

  “It all comes back to Mary Leinster,” said Dick.

  “What does?”

  “Whichever way you look at it, she benefits. Even after all the search for the murderers has died down, people will still be pouring into that glen. I bet she’s already putting it about that old Mrs. Colchester offended the fairies. Her husband and brothers are builders. The two wardens are builders. They could all have combined to kill the old woman.”

  Hamish thought of Mary’s blue eyes and felt saddened. There was an awful logic in what Dick had just said. Then he wondered if Elspeth Grant had been sent back up to report on the latest.

  When the forensic team at last arrived, Hamish whistled for his pets and he and Dick went back to Lochdubh. Dick headed straight for the deck chair in the front garden, and Hamish went into his office to go through his notes.

  The phone rang. It was Jimmy again. “I’m taking Mary Leinster in for questioning.”

  “Why?” asked Hamish with a sinking heart.

  “The day before Mrs. Colchester met her death, she told a Mrs. Vance who works in the environmental department that she, Mary, had just had an attack of the second sight and had seen Mrs. Colchester in the sky, flying up against the moon.”

  “If the woman was guilty, she’d hardly want to advertise a murder,” said Hamish.

  “Some of thae psychos can be very cunning. Anyway, I’m taking her in. Annie’s going to call on you to talk about the children.”

  Hamish hung up and sat frowning.

  Second sight, or Dlama Shealladh as it was called in the Gaelic, was always impossible to prove. There was a superstition that if you talked about any foresight, then you would lose the ability to see things in the future. And the people who did talk, about foreseeing the death of someone for example, always talked about it after the event.

  He heard Dick’s voice from the garden. “Go round to the side door, Annie.”

  He went through to the kitchen to meet her. “I gather you’ve come to talk to me about the children,” he said.

  “Yes, they’ve been bothering me. They’re not normal.”

  “Come in. Sit down. Do you want tea or coffee or something stronger?”

  “I could murder a whisky.”

  Hamish took a bottle down from the cupboard and poured her a measure.

  “So, sit down, lass, and tell me what’s troubling you.”

  “I was worried about them before the murder.” Annie sighed, taking off her cap and leaving it on a chair beside her. “My, but it’s hot. There’s something wrong there. It’s as if something really nasty happened to them. They’re closed in. They rely on each other because they dislike and distrust the whole human race. I wanted them to see a shrink but their parents turned that down flat. After they leave, there’s not much I can do. Maybe there was abuse of some sort at that school they go to.”

  “They seemed anxious enough to get back to it, up to the point of wishing Granny dead,” Hamish pointed out.

  “Maybe you could have a try, Hamish.”

  “I won’t be allowed to speak to them without the parents around.”

  “They didn’t bother about me because they thought I was just playing with them to keep their spirits up.”

  “You mean try the same thing?”

  “The parents have gone off to Strathbane to the lawyer’s today. Mrs. Dunglass and Mrs. McColl, the cleaners, have said they’d keep an eye on them.”

  “Let’s go, then,” said Hamish. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  He left Dick asleep in his chair in the garden and set off for Braikie with Annie following in her car. The weather was still fine but there was a dampness in the air. He glanced up at the sky. Mare’s tails were spreading their long fingers in from the west, harbingers of a change in the weather. There was not a ripple to disturb the mirror surface of Lochdubh. People were standing in groups talking. It was all so peaceful. He had a sudden longing to turn round, go back and join Dick in the garden, and forget about the whole thing.

  But instead, he accelerated out of Lochdubh and up over the moors and hills to Braikie.

  Two policemen on duty opened the gates to the hunting lodge for them as they eased past the assembled members of the press. Not quite so many, he thought. The rest must be down at Strathbane.

  Bertha Dunglass answered the door to them and said the children were in the garden.

  They walked round the side of the building to the back. Olivia and Charles were sitting side by side, staring into space.

  Hamish went over with Annie and sat on the grass next to them. There was a long silence. Then Hamish decided to take a gamble. “Tell me,” he said softly, “why were you so anxious to go back to a school where you were both so badly treated?”

  They looked at him, shocked expressions on their faces. “How did you find out?” asked Charles in a choked voice.

  “Well, Annie here, she thinks something bad happened to you afore you came up here and it has nothing to do with the murder. What is the name of your school?”

  “Billhead Hall, in Barnet,” said Olivia, her voice barely above a whisper.

  “And it’s sort of progressive, which means not much discipline. Now, in my experience,” said Hamish in his soft lilting highland voice, “that can lead to lack of supervision, and that leads to bullying and all kinds of nastiness. Now, Olivia, answer me and remember I’ll believe every word you say. Were you raped?”

  “Charles stopped it in time,” she said, her face whiter than ever.

  “Go on.”

  “It’s the art teacher, Mr. Smithers. He was always asking me to wait after class and stroking my hair. I got nervous. Charles hid in a cupboard in the art room. Smithers had me against the desk and was forcing me back, he had a hand up my skirt. Charles jumped out of the cupboard and struck him in the head with a vase. The police were called in. No one would believe us. I had a nasty medical examination. Nothing was found. Mr. Smithers said he wouldn’t charge us. We were sent for sessions with the school shrink who told us that children of our age had vivid imaginations. It was like a nightmare. Even our own parents didn’t believe us.”

  “When did all this take place?” asked Hamish.

  “Near the end of last term.”

  “So why were you so reluctant to go to a comprehensive? You’d have been away from that awful school.”

  Charles said in a flat voice, “We were going back to kill him.”

  “I didn’t hear that,” said Hamish quickly. “If that gets out, they’ll start thinking you murdered Granny. Why didn’t your parents listen to you?”

  “Mum’s snobbish,” said Olivia. “A lot of titled people send their kids there. They board them and then forget about them.”

  “What is Smithers’s first name?"

  “Jeffrey.”

  “With a J?”

  “Right.”

  “Do you have a photograph of him?”

  “Yes,” said Charles. “There’s one in the school brochure.”

  “And do you have it with you?”

  “It’s in my room. I’ll get it.”

  They waited until he came back. “Now, I’m going to tell you this,” said Hamish. “I believe you and I’m going to fix this. When are your parents due back?”

  “They said they would not be back until this evening. They want to avoid the press,” said Olivia. Hamish felt a sudden surge of hatred for such parents who could leave their children alone when they needed support the most.

  “I want you to sit tight. I will fix this for you and that includes Smithers.”

  They looked at him with a gleam of hope in their usually flat eyes.

  “Annie, I want you to take them out of here, down to a movie in Strathbane, anywhere to cheer them up. Leave all this to me.”

  Elspeth Grant had come back north to cover the story. Hamish sped back to Lochdubh, where he phoned her. “Get over here to Lochdubh,” he said. “I might be having the big story for you.”

  Elspeth walked into
the police station to find Hamish in front of his computer, a school brochure spread out in front of him. He rapidly filled her in on the story. “I’m trawling through the pictures of sex offenders. Maybe that art teacher changed his name.”

  “You’re putting yourself at risk, Hamish,” said Elspeth anxiously. He swung round and found her silvery Gypsy eyes surveying him.

  “Why?”

  “Just a feeling.”

  “Oh, you and your feelings. Let me get on with this.”

  Elspeth pulled up a chair next to his. “There!” she said suddenly.

  “How can you tell? He’s got a beard. Smithers is clean-shaven.”

  “Use your imagination, Hamish. The eyes are the same. See how the left eye droops at the corner. Real name, Frederick Styles, charged with the rape of a nine-year-old girl ten years ago. Got eight years and out in six.”

  “Right. I’ll report to Jimmy and get the wheels in motion. Those precious parents went down to Strathbane to see the lawyer. You might catch them there. If not, look for the most expensive restaurant in town. Don’t tell anyone I tipped you off.”

  As Elspeth shot out of the police station, she nearly bumped into Dick, who was wiping the sleep from his eyes. Dick strolled into the station. “Don’t suppose anything’s been happening,” he said. “Anything to eat?”

  Elspeth was in luck. Ralph and Fern Palfour were just emerging from the lawyers’ offices when Elspeth approached them, microphone at the ready, filming already begun.

  “We have just discovered,” said Elspeth, “that your daughter was sexually attacked by her art master, a registered sex offender, and was only saved from rape by her brother. The man’s real name is Frederick Styles. Why did you do nothing to protect your children?”

  Fern burst into tears. Ralph tried to punch the cameraman who stepped nimbly out of the reach of his fist. “I’ll sue you for this!” he howled.

  “Please do,” said Elspeth. “In the meantime, have you considered removing your children from that school?”

  But Ralph and Fern had got into their car and roared off.

  Hamish was later to wonder if all the resultant fuss had slowed down the investigation into Mrs. Colchester’s death. Frederick Styles had disappeared and the police were searching for him. The Palfours were at one point in danger of having their children taken away from them. But a psychiatrist recommended that they should attend the local school in Braikie and try to lead normal lives while receiving counselling from him every week. Ralph and Fern Palfour were told that they were to stay in the Highlands until the police gave them permission to leave.

  Mary Leinster had not been arrested. She insisted she had the second sight and that was that. On the evening of the murder, she said she had been at home with her husband.

  Elspeth called on Hamish before heading south to thank him for the story. “It seems the sort of awful school where parents board difficult children just to get them out of the way. When I finally got to speak to Fern Palfour, all she would say was, ‘But Lady Firthing sends her children there!’”

  “I’m still puzzled by the violence and intricacy of the murder,” said Hamish.

  “Have you thought that it might have been done that way as a warning?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve a feeling,” said Elspeth, “that someone out there knows something and has to be frightened into silence. And what makes it worse, someone enjoyed planning this murder. And what about Mary Leinster?”

  “What about her?” demanded Hamish sharply. “There’s no proof against her.”

  “If she didn’t commit the murder,” said Elspeth, “and I can’t see her having the expertise, then she may be at risk. Either you believe in the second sight, either Mary was just showing off by saying she had a foresight of the murder, or she knows something and the murderer or murderers might consider she’s a risk.”

  “You often have flashes of something verra like the second sight,” said Hamish.

  “I don’t think it’s that,” said Elspeth slowly. “I think my brain gathers up all the knowledge and then gives me a feeling of something about to happen. Have you visited our famous seer?”

  “Angus Macdonald. No. Why?”

  “I’ll bet Mary’s been to see him at some point. He might be worth a visit.”

  Dick came into the kitchen carrying a shopping bag. “I’ve got some nice lamb chops here,” he said. “Is it just you and me for supper or will Miss Grant be joining us?”

  “Not me,” said Elspeth. “I’ve got to be going. Be careful, Hamish.”

  “That’s a grand lass,” said Dick when Elspeth had left. “I’ll just be popping these chops on the stove.”

  “Give me about another hour, Dick. I’ve got someone to see.”

  Hamish found a box of cigars he had bought on a trip to Spain in his bedside drawer, and with the box tucked under his arm he went off to see Angus. The seer always expected a present. Hamish did not believe for a moment that the seer had any magical powers. He thought Angus relied on his wits and gossip.

  A light drizzle was falling as he walked up the brae to Angus’s cottage. The seer, shaggily bearded and wearing a ratty dressing gown, answered the door. He accepted the cigars and tucked them into his dressing gown pocket.

  When they were seated in front of the smoking peat fire in Angus’s living room, Hamish asked, “Have you had a visit from Mary Leinster?”

  “Aye?”

  “What did she want?”

  Angus grinned, showing yellow nicotine-stained teeth. “Herself wanted to build me a grotto in the Fairy Glen. I was to sit there and say wise things to the tourists. I told her my arthritis wouldn’t hear of it.”

  “Would you say she had the second sight?”

  “I would say that one could see round corners. Cunning, she is.”

  “Come on, Angus. She’s a pleasant woman who’s bringing a lot of trade into Braikie.”

  “Set her cap at ye, has she?”

  Hamish blushed. “Nothing like that.”

  “Aye, well, chust so long as she doesn’t give you that auld chestnut about an unhappy marriage and so there’s hope for one red-haired copper getting that cuddly body into bed.”

  “Whateffer gave you such a nasty idea?” said Hamish stiffly.

  “You aye let the good ones get away, that’s why.”

  Hamish’s highland accent was pronounced. “I do not know what you are talking about. Chust mind your ain business in future.”

  “You came up here to make it my business,” said Angus.

  “I’m off!” Hamish headed for the door.

  “Look out for the fairies,” cackled Angus as Hamish slammed the door and set off down the brae.

  He was taken aback to find Mary Leinster waiting for him in the kitchen, being served tea by Dick.

  “Oh, Hamish!” she cried, when she saw him. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

  “What’s the matter?” demanded Hamish sharply. “Not another murder?”

  As Mary gulped and sobbed, Dick explained. “Some residents of Braikie say that the glen was left to the public of Braikie. Nothing was ever said about charging admission. They are threatening to take Mary to court.”

  Hamish hung his peaked cap on a hook behind the door and sat down next to Mary. “Does the late Lord Growther’s will say anything about not charging anyone?”

  Mary shook her head. “But some of the townspeople are beginning to say we’re greedy.”

  “There is one way round it,” said Hamish. “Bus tours and car parties of people from outside the area pay the usual fee. The townspeople do not pay. That should settle the matter.”

  Mary took out a lace-edged handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. “How clever you are!” she exclaimed. But there was a flash of something in those large blue eyes, gone in a minute. Hamish was suddenly reminded of the kingfisher.

  “So,” said Mary, “that’s settled. I’ll tell the council tomorrow and get a broadcast on the local radio. I o
we you dinner, Sergeant Macbeth.”

  Hamish hesitated. She looked at him, those magnificent eyes soft with appeal. He reflected dizzily that it was not often one saw a rounded, attractive woman these days. The fashion was for skinny muscular figures and high cheekbones. Mary was wearing a thin blue cashmere dress and small sapphire earrings.

  Why not, he thought, suddenly angry with Elspeth and the seer for putting nasty thoughts about her in his head. “Grand,” he said.

  “I’ll just hae the lamb chops and give the beasties some,” said Dick cheerfully.

  But as Mary preceded Hamish to the kitchen door, she found the wild cat, Sonsie, blocking her way, eyes yellow with hate and fur raised. Mary gave a cry of fright and backed against Hamish.

  “Get lost, Sonsie!” shouted Hamish. “Out!”

  The cat turned and slid out through the large cat flap. “Sorry about that,” said Hamish. “I swear that animal gets jealous.”

  Mary took his arm as they walked outside, and dimpled up at him. “I can understand that.”

  The cat had joined the dog, Lugs, by the waterfront wall. They both turned and stared at Hamish and Mary.

  “What…what unusual animals,” gasped Mary. “I mean, a wild cat! And a dog with blue eyes!”

  “They’re grand beasts,” said Hamish defensively, “and they’ve both saved my life on some occasions.”

  “How exciting! You must tell me about it.”

  Priscilla Halburton-Smythe, Hamish’s ex-fiancée, arrived at the Tommel Castle Hotel for a brief visit. Her parents owned the hotel. The manager, Mr. Johnson, welcomed her, and Priscilla asked him about the murder which had been in all the newspapers.

  When he had finished giving her all the gossip, Priscilla asked, “Where is Hamish this evening?”

  “He’s in the Italian restaurant right at this moment being bewitched, bothered, and bewildered by Mary Leinster.”