Death of a Dreamer (12 page)

Because of the warm evening, the kitchen door was open. Elspeth Grant walked in.

Hamish stared at her. Her hair, which had been straightened the last time he had seen her, was now back to its usual frizzy style. Her silver eyes – gypsy eyes – surveyed him and
then the two women at the table.

‘I’m up covering the murder,’ said Elspeth. ‘I was going to take you for a meal, but I see you have company.’

‘This is Betty Barnard,’ said Priscilla in a cool voice. ‘Betty is a guest at the hotel. We are both too late. Betty is taking Hamish for dinner. Go ahead, Hamish. We’ll
let ourselves out.’

‘See you,’ said Betty cheerfully. ‘Come along, Hamish.’

There was a long silence after Hamish had left. Then Priscilla said, ‘I brought him this casserole. Shame if it goes to waste. Why don’t we both have
dinner?’

‘All right,’ said Elspeth. ‘Is that woman going to be Mrs Macbeth?’

‘Betty? No, I shouldn’t think so. She’s an artists’ agent. Her client is Jock Fleming.’

‘Who is Jock Fleming?’

‘I’ll pop this in the oven, and I’ve got a bottle of wine here,’ said Priscilla. ‘We’ll have a drink, and I’ll tell you all about it.’

Elspeth felt intimidated by Priscilla, watching her as she moved about the kitchen with quiet efficiency. Priscilla was wearing tailored white linen trousers with a white linen blouse. Elspeth
reflected that when she wore anything made of linen, it seemed to crease as soon as she got it on, but Priscilla’s ensemble showed not a wrinkle, and her hair was smooth and golden. Elspeth
nervously dragged her fingers through her own hair trying to flatten it and only succeeded in making it look messier than ever.

Priscilla opened the wine and poured two glasses. ‘The casserole will only take a few minutes. Right, I’ll begin at the beginning . . .’

Hamish did not enjoy his dinner. He kept wondering what Priscilla and Elspeth were talking about. Seeing Elspeth again had been a shock.

‘I keep asking you how the investigation is going on,’ said Betty, ‘and you mumble something but don’t seem to be listening. I know about Priscilla. The whole of Lochdubh
knows about Priscilla, but who’s the other one?’

‘A reporter, Elspeth Grant. She used to work on the paper here.’

‘And?’

‘And what?’

‘Were you romantically involved with her?’

Hamish stiffened. Betty, amused, thought if Hamish were a cat, his fur would stand on end. ‘I haff neffer asked you about your private life, Betty,’ he said, ‘and I don’t
wish to discuss mine.’

‘Okay, Sherlock. Now we’ve got that out of the way, have you any suspects?’

‘I’m waiting until all the background on everyone comes in,’ said Hamish.

‘Me included?’

‘I should think so. You and everyone else staying at the hotel.’

‘I’m a clean-living girl. They can dig away. I’m surprised you’re free for dinner. I thought your bosses would be hounding you.’

‘No. That scunner, Detective Chief Inspector Blair, is laid up in hospital with a broken leg and a broken collarbone, and Detective Jimmy Anderson is in charge of the case. He knows
it’s pointless now to go over old ground until we know more about the people involved. Nice not to be harassed.’

‘Macbeth,’ said a voice behind him.

Hamish swung round and looked up at the figure of Superintendent Peter Daviot looming over him. Hamish got to his feet.

‘Why aren’t you out on the case?’ asked Daviot.

‘Because, sir, everyone’s been pretty much interviewed and Anderson is waiting for the background checks.’

‘I’m sorry to spoil your dinner, but I want you to walk along to the police station with me. There is a lot to discuss.’ He smiled at Betty. ‘I am sorry, miss, but this
is serious stuff.’

Betty gave a little shrug. ‘Don’t mind me.’

At least Priscilla and Elspeth will have left, thought Hamish. But when he opened the kitchen door, it was to find the pair finishing their meal.

Daviot knew them both and murmured a greeting while a flustered Hamish explained he would have to ask them to leave.

Priscilla asked after Mrs Daviot as she efficiently cleared the table and put the dirty dishes and glasses in the sink. Then she and Elspeth left.

Daviot sat down at the table. Sonsie jumped on to the chair opposite and fixed the superintendent with unblinking eyes.

‘Good heavens, Macbeth. That’s a wild cat. You shouldn’t be keeping an animal like that!’

‘She’s domesticated.’ Hamish lifted his cat down on to the floor and sat down opposite Daviot.

‘Now, this business of a murdered American tourist is serious,’ said Daviot. ‘This sort of thing can damage tourism. We have contacted his ex-wife, who is flying over to make
funeral arrangements. He had a card in his wallet with her mobile phone number. We could not find any close family. Have you any idea why he was murdered?’

‘Yes,’ said Hamish. ‘It all ties in with the murder of Effie Garrard.’

‘The artist? But that was suicide.’

‘I think not, sir.’ Hamish explained about the visitors to Effie’s cottage and about the bottle of wine and the note.

‘I never saw any report about that note or bottle of wine.’

‘Her sister, Caro, who is up here, told the police in Strathbane, but they said Effie was mad and had probably made the whole thing up.’

Daviot scowled. ‘I’ll see about this when I get back to headquarters. So what ties Effie to this American?’

‘He took her out a couple of times. He had ambitions to be a writer, and he noted down everything everyone had said in a notebook. I asked to see what she had said, and Mr Addenfest
replied that he knew the police thought it was suicide but he had proof that it was murder and would only show the contents to my superiors.’

‘And why didn’t you report this?’

‘Because I was told the case was closed and to leave it alone.’

‘And there’s no sign of the notebook?’

‘No, not on the body or in his room.’

Daviot rapped his fingers on the table, an irritating sound. Then he said, ‘We have a new detective constable, Robin Mackenzie.’

‘What’s he like?’

‘
She.
Keen as mustard. I want her to work closely on this case with you, and I want you to give her the benefit of all your local knowledge. Anderson will handle the broad picture,
and I will be in charge.’

‘When does this detective arrive?’

‘I asked her to report to you first thing tomorrow morning. We must all work night and day on this. No time off for anyone.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I’d better go. I
have a late-night party to attend at the Freemasons. Then tomorrow morning, I have to get my new suit from the tailor. I’ll be over in the afternoon to see how you’re getting
on.’

‘I do not want to be obstructive, sir, but would not this Detective Constable Mackenzie be better working with Anderson? I work better alone.’

‘You what? This isn’t the Wild West with a lone sheriff. Do as you’re told and give Mackenzie all the help she needs.’

After Daviot left, Hamish felt quite low. The case was difficult enough without being saddled with some pushy woman detective. He assumed first thing in the morning meant around nine
o’clock. He set the alarm for eight and went to bed, feeling mildly hungry because he’d only eaten the first course before Daviot had taken him away, but felt too tired to cook
anything.

Hamish was awakened at six in the morning by a banging on the front door. He struggled out of bed, went to the door, and shouted, ‘Come round to the kitchen.’

He put on a dressing gown and went and opened the kitchen door.

‘I’m Robin Mackenzie,’ said his visitor.

‘Come ben. What time d’ye call this?’

‘I was instructed to report early.’

Robin Mackenzie was a fairly small woman with dark brown hair worn in a French pleat. She had small dark brown eyes, a long straight nose and a wide mouth. She was wearing a white blouse, suede
jacket and tweed skirt. Her black patent leather shoes had low heels.

‘You are not what I expected,’ she said, looking up at the tall, unshaven figure of Hamish with his flaming red hair tousled from sleep.

‘What did you expect?’ asked Hamish.

‘Someone fully dressed and in uniform, for a start.’

‘I’ll make you some coffee and get dressed.’

The dog and the cat wandered in. She looked at them but made no comment, and thank goodness for that, thought Hamish.

When the coffee was ready, he served her a mug of it and took himself off to the bathroom to shower and shave.

Robin looked around the kitchen. She had grown up in South Uist in the Outer Hebrides and had left as soon as she could to fulfil her ambition of becoming a detective. She had heard reports of
Hamish’s brilliance and how he always managed to avoid promotion, and she had wondered why. Being stuck in a highland police station out in the wilds, she thought, would be as bad as being
back in South Uist.

She thought Hamish was probably some eccentric and the stories about him had been wild exaggerations. Hadn’t Blair often told her that Macbeth was some highland idiot who just occasionally
got lucky?

Hamish came back, dressed in his uniform, and said, ‘Just a minute. I’ve got to let my hens out.’

Robin suppressed an exclamation of irritation.

When he returned, Hamish then fussed about filling up the animals’ water bowls. When he finished, Robin said impatiently, ‘Can we get started?’

‘I’ve got to walk my beasts. Come with me, and we can talk as we go along.’

I should have brought a camera, thought Robin. No one would ever believe this.

As they strolled along the waterfront, Hamish told her everything he had found out.

After he had finished, he said, ‘I thought we might go up and see the sister, Caro Garrard. You question her, and I’ll see if there is any variation in her statement. Then
we’ll try some of the others. It’s ower early. We’ll need to wait a bit until folks wake up.’

Nessie and Jessie Currie peered through their net curtains. ‘He’s got a lassie with him,’ said Nessie. ‘Oh, my, she must have spent the night. She should be
warned.’

‘Warned,’ echoed Jessie.

Robin noticed that two small women were approaching them. Hairnets covered their tightly permed hair, and they were wearing identical dressing gowns over flannel men’s pyjamas. On their
feet, each wore a pair of Snoopy slippers. The morning sun glinted off their glasses.

Hamish saw them and said hurriedly, ‘Let’s get back to the police station.’

‘Not so fast!’ shouted Nessie.

‘So fast,’ echoed her sister.

Hamish groaned and stopped. ‘Young woman,’ said Nessie, ‘they may have loose morals in the cities, but in Lochdubh, we are decent, God-fearing people.’

‘I am Detective Constable Robin Mackenzie,’ said Robin, her fluting South Uist accent cutting through Jessie’s usual echo. ‘I arrived at the police station at six
o’clock this morning to begin work. Now, what can I do for you?’

‘Just came out to say welcome,’ mumbled Nessie, and the twins bolted back towards their cottage.

‘If the rest of the inhabitants are as deranged as that pair, I’m not surprised there have been two murders up here,’ said Robin.

‘They’re very nice women,’ said Hamish defensively. He hated any of the inhabitants being criticized by outsiders.

They walked back to the police station. ‘I’ll fix us an omelette for breakfast,’ said Hamish.

In the kitchen, Robin noticed that the cat and dog stared at each other for a long moment and then slouched out. ‘Where are they going?’ she asked.

‘Who?’

‘Your cat and dog.’

‘I don’t know,’ said Hamish crossly, lifting the lid of the stove and dropping in slices of brown peat. He knew exactly where they had gone. They had gone back to his bed to
continue sleeping, but he did not want to tell her that.

‘I’m chust going out to get some eggs,’ he said.

Bloody women, thought Hamish as he collected fresh eggs from the hen house. I’m surrounded by them.

He returned to the kitchen and began to beat up the eggs for an omelette.

Robin watched him. Her heart was sinking rapidly. She should be out there with the experts, not stuck in this kitchen with this lanky policeman and his weird cat and weirder dog.

The omelette was excellent but the coffee dreadful. She edged her cup aside.

‘I’ll make us some tea,’ said Hamish. ‘That coffee’s a disgrace, and so I shall tell Patel.’

‘Is it instant?’

‘Yes, it’s called High Mountain Blue. It was on special offer. I think it’s made from the sweepings on the floor after they’ve processed the real stuff. After we see
Caro, the sister, I think we should pay a visit to the seer, Angus Macdonald.’

This is truly awful, thought Robin. I’m stuck with a copper who believes in clairvoyants.

Hamish saw the expression on her face and grinned. ‘Angus is an old fraud, but he bases his so-called predictions and insights on listening closely to gossip.’

Caro Garrard looked at them wearily when they arrived on her doorstep. ‘More questions?’

‘Just a few,’ said Hamish amiably. ‘May we come in? This is Detective Constable Mackenzie.’

‘Don’t be long,’ Caro said. ‘I slept badly last night, and I was planning to go back to bed.’

They sat down round the work table. Hamish removed his cap. A sunbeam shone on the rich red of his hair. I wonder if he dyes it, thought Robin. She cleared her throat and took out her
notebook.

She took Caro over everything she had told Hamish. Caro wearily replied to her questions. Then Robin asked, ‘Just how furious were you when you discovered she had been passing your art off
as her own?’

‘I was very angry,’ said Caro. ‘Oh, it wasn’t just that. It was an accumulation of all her other troubles I’d had to put up with. I sometimes think I would be
married now if she hadn’t messed things up for me. No, I didn’t kill her. That murder wasn’t done by someone in a hot rage. It was cold and calculating.’

‘I think she did it,’ said Robin as they got back into the Land Rover.

‘Why?’ asked Hamish.

‘She was calculating enough to initially hide the fact that she was not in Brighton but up here, having it out with Effie.’