by M C Beaton
At the police station, he fed Towser, locked up the hens for what was left of the night, and started to make himself some supper. And then the bell at the police station door sounded.
He walked up to it and shouted, “No comment!” through the letter box.
“It’s me, Donati,” said a voice.
Hamish opened the door.
Donati walked past him and into the police office. “I’ll need your notes, Macbeth. Was it a lucky guess?”
“No, I hae proof.” Hamish fished in his pocket and brought out the statement by the owner of the scrap yard along with the photographs. Then he outlined what he had found out about Mrs. Todd’s background.
“I should say ‘good work,’” said Donati crisply, “but we could have found all this out much sooner if you had confided in me.”
“But I only got the proof this evening,” said Hamish.
“So you say. Well, type up your notes and let me have them along with this statement and the photographs. I shall be at the hotel until lunchtime tomorrow.”
“Very well,” said Hamish.
“Very well, what?”
“Very well, sir,” said Hamish, resisting a longing to tell Donati exactly what he thought of him. But Donati might make things hot for him at headquarters in Strathbane and they might close down the police station again.
After Donati had left, he typed up his notes and put everything in an envelope.
The next morning, Donati simply took the envelope without a word of thanks. “We are now leaving for Strathbane,” said Donati. “They will be raising that mini today. The divers will be along, but Anderson here will be in charge of that so there is nothing to take you away from your village duties.”
Jimmy Anderson gave Hamish a sympathetic wink.
Hamish left the hotel and walked along the waterfront. The day was sunny and mild. Terror and murder had left the village. Mrs. Todd had been among them all for so long and yet none of them had realised she was unbalanced. But there were so many oddities in any village and no one ever stopped to wonder overmuch about them. There were at least four religious maniacs in Lochdubh apart from Mrs. Todd, and that was a small number for the Highlands where old–fashioned Calvinists still abounded and nothing moved on a Sunday for fear of incurring the wrath of God.
He took a deck chair out into the garden, stretched out in the sun, and fell asleep.
P.C. Macbeth had returned to his normal village duties.
∨ Death of a Hussy ∧
9
Poverty is an anomaly to rich people. It is very difficult to make out why people who want dinner do not ring the bell.
—WALTER BAGEHOT
AS THE SHADOWS OF VIOLENT MURDER WITHDREW FROM THE village of Lochdubh, the weather took a turn for the better and long, lazy, hot days sent mist curling up from the sea loch and the mountains stood out stark and awesome against the bluest of skies. Purple heather blazed in all its glory on the hillsides and moorland and children collected wild raspberries from the hedgerows. The whole world seemed to have slowed almost to a halt as the sleepy village sank into a sunlit torpor.
Hamish was happy. Two whole weeks had passed since the murder and already it was fading from his mind. He had heard that Crispin and James had left the bungalow but that Peter Jenkins had stayed on, which explained, thought Hamish, why he had not been pestered by Alison. He had caught a fleeting glimpse of her when Peter had driven her through the village. He would have expected Alison to have bought another car, but perhaps the obsession for motoring had left her.
And then into this idyllic peace and quiet came Detective Chief Inspector Blair. Hamish was weeding the garden when the bulky shadow of Blair fell across him.
He straightened up, waiting for the inevitable remarks about lazy coppers but Blair surprised him by saying mildly, “Care tae come along tae the hotel for a drink, Hamish?”
“Sure,” said Hamish, surprised. “I’ll be with you in a tick. Just got to wash my hands.”
He went indoors and quickly washed and scrambled into his uniform. Blair must be on a case. He could hardly have come all the way from Strathbane to pass the time of day.
They walked along together to the hotel, but Blair seemed to be reluctant to get to the point of his visit. He asked questions about the fishing and was it any good and then barely seemed to hear Hamish’s replies. Once they were seated in a corner of the hotel bar, Hamish said, “Well, what’s the case?”
“What? Oh, ah, I amnae on a case, Hamish. Fine day. Jist popped over to hae a wee chat.”
“About what?” asked Hamish suspiciously.
“That nasty bugger, Donati.”
“Oh, him,” said Hamish. “What about him?”
“Well, I had it frae Anderson and MacNab that it was you that solved the murder case.”
“You would get that from Donati’s report,” said Hamish sharply.
“Not a bit o’it.”
“I saw the newspapers crediting him with solving the murder,” said Hamish, “but I didn’t think a man like Donati would take all the credit back at headquarters.”
Blair gave him a long, bleak look.
Hamish shifted uncomfortably. “Now I come to think of it, that’s what he would do.”
“Aye, I got a look at his report. He said he had sent an officer, no name mentioned, to a scrap yard in Brora with photographs o’ the suspects and thereby had obtained proof o’ the Todd woman’s guilt. When Anderson and MacNab finally told me, I felt it my duty to go to the super.”
Hamish grinned. “It must hae choked ye to give me any praise.”
“I’m a fair man,” said Blair huffily. “But the super said that Donati’s success had given him the transfer to Glasgow C.I.D. that he’d been angling after and it would rock the boat to start accusations flying around at this late date. So that scunner, Donati, went off south yesterday. Made my life a misery while he was in Strathbane. When they made him detective chief inspector, too, I knew it would only be a matter o’ time before they demoted me.”
“Then it’s all to the good,” said Hamish. “It’s one way of getting rid of him. Thanks for telling me, anyway.”
“I put the super’s back up, ye see, because o’ that Graham woman. The bitch. I really thought you’d gone off your trolley, Hamish, and assaulted her.”
His voice was wheedling and conciliatory. Hamish looked at him sharply. Blair had been plotting his downfall for years. What was behind it all?
“So I hae been thinking…another drink, Hamish?”
“Yes, thank you. Whisky again, please.”
Blair came back, carrying two doubles. Hamish blinked at this unusual generosity.
“So you didn’t come all this way to tell me what you could hae told me on the phone,” said Hamish. “What do you want?”
“It’s like this.” Blair hitched his chair closer to Hamish. “Ye seem tae attract murder. Now, say you get another big crime up here, I would be obliged if you could ask Strathbane for me.”
“Oh.” Hamish leaned back and studied Blair thoughtfully. “Why should I do that? At least Donati let me in on most of the case. You always send me off wi’ a flea in my ear.”
“Stands tae reason,” blustered Blair. “You’re only the village copper. Look! I promise to let ye in on the ground floor next time. Hae another drink.”
“I haven’t started this one yet. So what’s behind it all?” Hamish looked at the big detective thoughtfully. Then he gave a slow smile. “Donati’s gone. But there’s another bright spark climbing up the ranks. Who is it?”
“This wee bastard, Finnock. Slimy wee bugger wi’ a face like an arse,” said Blair viciously. “It’s yes, Mr. Daviot, and certainly, sir, and here are some flowers frae my garden fur your wife, sir, and lick your bum, sir. Yuch!”
“And I thought you were the best crawler in the business,” said Hamish. Blair looked about to explode so he said placatingly, “Okay. I’ll ask for you next time. But believe me, there cannae be a next tim
e or we’ll be changing the name o’ the place from Lochdubh to Murder Village!”
After Blair had finally driven off, Hamish returned to the police station. He was not used to drinking so much whisky in the middle of the day and he felt quite lightheaded.
He saw Alison and Peter Jenkins waiting outside the police station and turned to flee but it was too late. Alison had seen him.
As he approached the couple, he found he was staring at Alison in surprise. Her hair was shining and groomed in a new feathery cut. Gone were the thick glasses. She was expertly made up and she was wearing a blue cotton blouse and a pair of hot pants which revealed that she had very good legs indeed.
“Hey, Hamish!” said Alison cheerfully. “We’ve come to say goodbye.”
“Come inside and I’ll make some tea,” said Hamish. “Where are you going?”
“I’m putting that bungalow up for sale. Peter and I are getting married.” She held out a slim hand to show a diamond engagement ring.
“Congratulations!” said Hamish. Peter smiled modestly as if he had done something very clever.
“Where are you going to live?” asked Hamish, putting on the kettle.
“In London,” said Alison. “Maggie owned a flat in May-fair, in Charles Street. We’re moving there. Peter wants to build up his advertising agency but I said to him, why bother? I mean, I’ve enough for both of us.”
“It’ll certainly be pleasant to be a gentleman of leisure,” drawled Peter.
As Alison talked, Hamish watched her animated face. She and Peter would travel. There were so many countries she wanted to see.
Another butterfly, thought Hamish. It takes a weak man to make a strong woman. Alison was the one who was making all the decisions. Now that she was no longer interested in him, Hamish found her likeable.
“You haven’t said anything about a new car,” he said. “There certainly wasn’t much of your mini left by the time they got it out to find the brakes had been tampered with.”
“I don’t want to drive anymore,” said Alison with a shudder. “Peter can do all the driving from now on.”
When they left, Hamish hoped Alison would manage to keep her fortune. A million pounds was no longer what it used to be and could be dissipated in an amazingly short space of time.
He was just settling down to enjoy some peace and quiet when he sensed an unease outside. He couldn’t quite place it, but it was as if something bad had happened to alarm the village. He went round to his front garden and leaned on the fence.
Agnes, one of the maids from Tommel Castle, was coming along the main street. She stopped to talk to the Currie sisters and Hamish heard the sisters’ sharp exclamations of surprise and dismay.
Not another murder, he thought.
Agnes came nearer and he went to meet her. “What’s happened?” he asked.
“It’s himself. The colonel,” gasped Agnes. “Called us all together last night and said he’d have to fire us all. He’s lost all his money! What do you think happened?”
But Hamish was off and running for the Land Rover.
The castle door was open and Hamish walked in. Priscilla was crossing the hall. She stopped short at the sight of him and then she began to cry in a helpless way.
He put his arms around her and held her close, stroking her hair. When she had calmed down, he led her into the drawing room and sat down on the sofa with her, a comforting arm around her shoulders.
“What exactly happened?” he asked. “Agnes says he fired all the staff last night.”
“Yes. He…he…called Mummy and me into the study and told us what was worrying him. As he talked, he got into one of his rages and I was afraid he might have a stroke. I feel so guilty.” She dried her eyes firmly and gave a pathetic hiccup.
Mrs. Halburton-Smythe came into the room and stopped short at the sight of Hamish. Then she came forward and sat down, looking helplessly at him. “What are we to do, Hamish?” she said. There were two spots of colour on her pale cheeks and, unlike her daughter, she looked angry. “How could he do this to us?”
“Do what?” asked Hamish sharply.
Priscilla twisted her wet handkerchief in her hands. “That’s why I feel so guilty,” she said. “If it hadn’t been for me this would never have happened. Do you remember John Harrington?”
“Your boyfriend who got done for insider trading? Yes.”
“It turns out he had persuaded Daddy to let him have a vast sum to invest. Well, he didn’t invest it. He skipped bail and the country with it.”
“We’ve got nothing at all,” said Mrs. Halburton-Smythe. “Nothing.”
“Oh, dear.” Hamish looked about him. “But you have the castle, and the estates alone must be worth a fortune.”
“Yes, but everything costs a fortune to run,” said Priscilla. “We can sell it. We have to sell it. But we’re letting down the locals. Most of the staff apart from Jenkins, the butler, come in daily from the village but they rely on us for work. Daddy decided to fire the lot of them, not to mention the gamekeepers and gardeners and water bailiffs. We tried to tell him that somehow the place would need to be kept going until we could find a buyer, but he wouldn’t listen.”
Hamish thought quickly. “You might not have to sell it,” he said.
Priscilla’s mother looked at him in anguish. “Don’t be stupid,” she wailed. “Haven’t we just told you we can’t afford to run it?”
“There’s a way you could,” said Hamish, “and keep the staff. Where is the colonel?”
“In his study,” said Priscilla. “But don’t bother him, Hamish. The last person he will want to see is you.”
“Be back in a minute,” said Hamish with a grin. “I think he’ll listen to me.”
Mrs. Halburton-Smythe made a halfhearted attempt to stop him and then sank helplessly back in her chair.
Hamish went across the hall to the study and went in without knocking. Colonel Halburton-Smythe looked up and a purplish colour rose in his cheeks.
“Get out of here!” he roared. “Can’t you see I’ve got enough to worry me without listening to the ditherings and bletherings of the village idiot?”
For one blissful minute, Hamish imagined how lovely it would be to tell the old horror to go to hell and fry. But then he thought of Priscilla. He pulled out a chair and sat down and smiled amiably at the colonel.
“I hae thought o’ a grand way in which you could keep this house and the estates and the staff.”
The colonel looked at him in silence, his eyes popping. Then he shrugged. “You’re mad,” he said.
“No, just listen. You’ve got grand fishing and shooting here,” said Hamish. “Run it as a hotel. Wi’ the shooting and the fishing, you could charge top rates. You’ve got a lot of bedrooms and most of them have their own bathroom.”
The colonel stared at Hamish in silence, his small mouth hanging slightly open.
There was a soft knock at the door which then opened and Priscilla and her mother came into the study, both fearful in case Hamish’s visit was driving the colonel into an apoplexy.
“Are you all right, dear?” asked the colonel’s wife timidly. The colonel waved a peremptory hand for silence and sat staring off into the distance.
“What did you say?” whispered Priscilla fiercely in Hamish’s ear. “He looks worse. He looks as if he has had a terrible shock.”
The colonel suddenly brought both of his small plump hands down on the desk with a thump that made them all jump.
“I’ve found a way to save Tommel Castle,” he said.
“How? How can we?” gasped Mrs. Halburton-Smythe.
“We’ll open it up as a hotel,” said the colonel triumphantly. “Think of it. With the best shooting and the best fishing here, we’ll make a fortune. We can invite our friends – ”
“No,” said Hamish quickly. “No friends. Mark my words, they’ll look offended when you hand them the bill.”
“Don’t interrupt,” snapped the colonel. “I have to make
plans. Priscilla, get that secretary of mine here and get that architect chappie over from Strathbane.”
“Do you think it will work?” asked Priscilla cautiously. “I mean, have we enough to keep going until we open for business?”
“Of course it will work,” said her father robustly. “We’ve just enough to manage on until then. Trust me to come up with something. My chaps in the regiment always relied on me. Always a good man for thinking up ways out of a scrape. That was me.”
Priscilla glanced at Hamish, who gave her a limpid look.
“Well, dear,” said Mrs. Halburton-Smythe, “I am sure we are all grateful to Hamish for – ”
“Stop wittering, woman, and tell the staff they can stay. Priscilla, get that architect on the phone. And you, Macbeth, have you nothing better to do?”
“I’m off,” said Hamish cheerfully. “Grand to see you’re your old horrible self.”
Priscilla followed him out. “Honestly,” she said furiously. “Daddy is the uttermost limit. That was your idea, Hamish.”
“So long as you’re all happy,” said Hamish amiably. “I chust hope I haff not messed up your own career. I mean, surely they won’t expect you to work in the hotel.”
“They won’t. But I’m going to,” said Priscilla. “Can you imagine Daddy as mine host, Hamish? He’ll forget they’re paying guests and start insulting them!”
“I wass going to point out to him that he could have sold off his estates and kept the castle,” said Hamish.
“It wouldn’t have done any good. He wants to keep everything and you’ve found him a way to do it.”
“Aye, that’s what I thought. So long as he remembers that a hotel keeper can’t go on like the lord of the manor.”
“I doubt if he’ll remember it for a moment,” said Priscilia. “I’ll probably have to run it myself and let him think he’s doing it all on his own.”
“You really don’t mind?”
“Not really, Hamish. I was getting tired of London anyway.”
“And I hope you don’t feel guilty anymore,” said Hamish. “Anyone daft enough to trust a rat like Harrington would be bound to lose their money to some fool sooner or later…or their heart.”
