Death of a Dustman (12 page)

Her face took on a closed look. ‘I wouldn’t be knowing about that,’ she said. ‘If you don’t mind, I’ll get back to my typing.’

‘Why don’t you have a computer?’

‘I asked them, but they said no, that if they got me a computer they would need to send me on a course, and they couldn’t afford to let me have the time off.’

She started to bang away at the keys again. Hamish drank tea and ate biscuits. The door to an inner office opened, and a man came out. He nodded to the secretary, looked curiously at Hamish, and
then made his way out. The secretary rose and went into the inner office and closed the door behind her. Hamish could hear the murmur of voices. Outside, somewhere at the back of the building,
children were playing, their voices shrill and excited. The fruit crop was late this year, so the children were being allowed extra holidays to help with the picking.

The secretary emerged. ‘You’re to go in,’ she said.

Mr Leek was as old as his secretary, small and stooped with grey hair and gold-rimmed glasses. ‘Sit down,’ he said. ‘I do not know what more I can tell you than I told that
detective from Strathbane.’

‘I am just trying to build up a picture of Fergus Macleod,’ said Hamish patiently.

‘He was good enough when we took him on, or rather, he seemed good enough. Then he began to get a reputation as a drunk and then there were too many absences from work, and we had to let
him go.’

‘That doesn’t give me much of a picture of the man. What, for example, did he say when you told him he was fired?’

‘Nothing, at that time. He just went.’

‘But later?’ prompted Hamish.

‘He came back a week later, very drunk, and started cursing and threatening and throwing things about the office. I called the police, and he was taken away. But we did not press
charges.’

‘Was there anything else?’

‘Like what?’

‘Like fiddling the books?’

‘No, nothing like that.’

‘Like blackmail?’

There was a silence. ‘It’s
mine,
it’s
mine,’
screamed a child from below the window.

Then Mr Leek said slowly, ‘Who told you that?’

‘Chust an educated guess,’ said Hamish, beginning to feel a buzz of excitement.

‘I wouldn’t want the poor woman to be bothered.’

‘I’ll be discreet. But it is important, and you cannae be withholding information from the police.’

‘Very well. Her name is Mrs Annie Robinson. He had been having an affair with her, and she was one of our clients. She ended the affair and thought that was that. But he said if she
didn’t pay him, he would go to her husband and tell him of the affair. She came straight to us. It was enough. We fired him.’

‘Did her husband ever find out? Did Fergus get revenge on her?’

‘No, he didn’t tell her husband. Her husband was a big powerful man. I told Mrs Robinson that Fergus would not dare tell her husband, but she did not believe me, so she told him
herself. He divorced her.’

‘And where will I find this Mrs Robinson?’

‘I suppose I am obliged to tell you. She lives in Cromarty Road, number ten, Invergordon. It’s just near the station. She’s going to be so upset.’

‘I think for Mrs Robinson’s sake,’ said Hamish cautiously, ‘that we should for the moment keep this blackmail matter between ourselves. I will only tell Strathbane if I
think it’s relevant.’

The interview was over. Hamish shook hands with Mr Leek and made his way out. The secretary was now dusting bookshelves. ‘Have you noticed something else about women of my
generation?’ she said. ‘We’ve aye got a duster or cloth in our hands. Wipe, wipe, wipe, like a nervous tic.’

‘You could always change,’ pointed out Hamish.

‘What? At my age?’

He left her to her dusting and made his way back to the car park. Lugs eyed him sourly when he climbed in.

‘Don’t look at me like that,’ said Hamish severely. ‘You’ll get a walk after I’ve finished wi’ my business in Invergordon and not before.’

The Land Rover door had been open as he addressed Lugs. A child was standing outside. She then ran away shouting to her mother, ‘Mither, there’s a daft polisman talking to his
dog.’

Hamish reddened and drove off, past where the child was now clutching her mother’s skirts.

He found the address in Invergordon, and once more leaving his sulky dog in the vehicle, he knocked at Annie Robinson’s door.

A middle-aged woman with one of those faded, pretty faces and no-colour hair opened the door to him. ‘Mrs Robinson?’

‘I read about his death in the newspapers,’ she said, ‘and I was frightened you would come.’

‘I don’t think it’s relevant to the case, Mrs Robinson. I’m just trying to build up a picture of Fergus Macleod.’

‘You’d best come in.’

The living room was small and dark and very clean. It had a sparse look about it, as if Mrs Robinson could not afford much in the way of the comforts of life.

Hamish removed his cap and sat down. ‘Now, then, Mrs Robinson . . .’

‘You can call me Annie, everyone does.’

‘Right, Annie it is. I am Sergeant Hamish Macbeth. Tell me about the blackmailing business.’

‘I’m not . . . I wasn’t . . . the sort of woman to have an affair,’ she said. ‘It’s just I didn’t know much about men or marriage. My husband, Nigel,
always seemed to be complaining. You know. The washing machine would break down, and he would blame me. Everything was always my fault. I know now that men are like that and that’s marriage,
but I’d grown up on romances. They still pump romance into girls’ heads, you know. Nothing about the realities of life. Nothing about men still being aggressive and bullying and
fault-finding. Nothing about little facts like when men get a cold, it’s flu, when women get a cold it’s nothing but a damn cold and what are you whining about? Nothing about being
taken for granted. Nothing about the new age for women meaning you have to work and be a slave at home and a tart in the bedroom. Nothing like that.’

‘We’re not all like that,’ said Hamish defensively.

‘Are you married?’

‘No.’

‘Well, there you are. Anyway, I was made redundant from my job. I worked in a dress shop which closed down. Nigel said until I got another one, I could make myself useful and sort out the
accounts and take them to the accountants. I met Fergus. He flattered me and flirted with me. He suggested we meet for lunch to discuss the accounts. He encouraged me to complain about my husband
and exclaimed in horror over Nigel’s treatment. One thing led to another, and we started to have an affair. But I grew tired of the secrecy and the shame. Also, Fergus had hinted that he
would marry me, but after I started sleeping with him, he dropped the hints, and I knew he never would. I told him the affair was over. He said he would tell Nigel unless I paid him. I
couldn’t believe it. I was frightened to death. I told his bosses. I had a letter he had written to me, a threatening letter demanding money. I showed that to them. They were very kind. They
said my husband would never know, but I was sure Fergus would tell him. Mr Leek said Fergus would never dare tell Nigel, but I thought Fergus might write to him. I watched the post every morning,
dreading the arrival of that letter. It never came but I couldn’t stand the shame, the fright, the waiting, and so I told Nigel.

‘He said he had always known I was a slut and started divorce proceedings. It was only after the divorce – I’d agreed not to contest it because he said if I did, he’d
tell everyone about the affair, and that meant no settlement, no money. So I was on my own, trying to meet the bills, looking for another job. I should never have broken up my marriage.’

‘Why?’ asked Hamish. ‘It sounds to me like a horrible marriage.’

‘Other women put up with it.’ Her face was crumpled with self-pity.

Hamish’s treacherous Highland curiosity overcame him. Instead of sticking closely to the case, he asked, ‘But at the beginning of the marriage, the honeymoon period, why didn’t
you stop his criticisms then? Why did you just let it go on, and why did you run after him, keeping down a job and doing the housework? Couldn’t you have asked him to help?’

‘You don’t know what you’re talking about. You ask men to help in the house, and they’ll leave you.’

Hamish was about to point out that she was the one who strayed, but he bit the remark back in time. ‘So what did you think when you heard about Fergus’s death?’

‘I assumed he had been up to his old tricks, making some woman’s life a misery, and got what he deserved at last. But a dustman! I couldn’t believe he had sunk so
low.’

‘That’s what the drink does.’

‘I don’t want everyone knowing about me and Fergus.’

‘I’ll do what I can to keep it quiet. Do you know if he was blackmailing anyone else?’

She shook her head.

‘Well, if you think of anything that might help, let me know. I’m at the Lochdubh police station.’

‘Won’t you stay for some tea?’

‘No, I have to be going.’

He had a feeling of escape when he walked outside. She had had a hard time, and yet he had not liked her one bit.

He drove a little way and then stopped beside the Cromarty Firth and took Lugs for a walk. He turned the little he knew about the case over and over in his head. He would need to find out who
did it quickly or hand those letters over to Strathbane.

He put Lugs in the Land Rover and drove the long way back to Lochdubh, feeling tired when he arrived and hoping for a quiet evening.

Clarry looked up from the kitchen table when he came in. His face was radiant.

‘What’s happened to you?’ asked Hamish. ‘Win the lottery?’

‘Martha and I are getting married,’ said Clarry happily.

Hamish sat down suddenly. ‘I’m happy for you, Clarry, but you’re going to need to keep quiet about this.’

‘Why? I want to tell the world.’

‘You’ll be telling no one until this case is closed. Blair gets wind o’ this, and you’ll be suspect number one again. Get round there and tell Martha and the kids to be
quiet about it.’ The phone rang in the police office. ‘I’ll get that,’ said Hamish. ‘Off you go now!’

Hamish ran into the office and picked up the phone. At first he could not make out anything but a screaming babble coming over from the other end. Then he made out a woman’s voice
shouting, ‘It wass the dog. You brought the evil.’

‘Kirsty!’ he said with a stab of alarm. ‘What’s happened?’

‘He’s dead!’ she screamed.

‘What happened?’

Her voice sank to a whimper. ‘Blood. Blood everywhere.’

‘I’ll be right there.’ Hamish slammed down the phone and fled out to the Land Rover.

His heart was beating hard. If this turned out to be another murder, he would need to hand those letters over. He phoned to Strathbane from the Land Rover and reported a suspected murder, hoping
all the time that it would turn out to be an accident.

The Land Rover bumped over the heathery track leading to Angus Ettrik’s croft. He parked outside the cottage. The door was open. He went inside. Kirsty Ettrik was sitting on the kitchen
floor, cradling her husband’s bloody head in her hands and keening.

‘Get away from him, Kirsty,’ ordered Hamish, ‘and let me have a look.’

He knelt down on the floor and felt for Angus’s pulse. No life. No life at all.

He pulled out his mobile and called Strathbane again and reported a murder. He called for an ambulance, and then called Dr Brodie and told him to come quickly. Then he took Kirsty by the
shoulders and lifted her up on to a chair.

‘When did you find him?’ he asked.

Between sobs, she choked out that she had gone into the village to do some shopping and had returned and found him lying on the kitchen floor.

Dr Brodie was the first to arrive. He examined Angus and then shook his head. ‘A murderous blow,’ he said.

‘Do something about Kirsty then,’ said Hamish. ‘She’s falling apart with shock.’

While the doctor attended to Kirsty, Hamish had a look around the flagged kitchen. A bottle of whisky was open on the table with two clean glasses standing behind it. Angus had been expecting
someone. Highland hospitality decreed that the whisky bottle was always left open when a guest was expected.

Kirsty had just swallowed two pills. Hamish went over and crouched down beside her. He said gently. ‘Kirsty Angus was expecting someone. Who was it?’

‘He didn’t tell me,’ she said in a trembling voice. ‘He was excited. He said to take myself off and not hurry back. He said our troubles were over.’ And she fell to
weeping again.

‘Leave her,’ said Dr Brodie quietly. ‘She’s too distressed.’

The ambulance arrived. Hamish went out and told the ambulance men they’d have to wait until the police and forensic team arrived. His heart was heavy, but deep inside he still had this
stubborn loyalty to the people the horrible Fergus had been blackmailing.

The wail of sirens sounded in the distance. Hamish hoped that Blair was off work, but as the first car swept up, he saw that familiar heavyset figure in the back seat.

It was a long night. If whoever Angus had been expecting had arrived by car, it was difficult to tell, for the heathery rough track leading to the croft had not retained any
tyre marks. Dr Brodie said firmly that Kirsty was too deeply in shock to be interviewed further that night and had her taken off to hospital in Strathbane. Blair, furious, tried to protest, but Dr
Brodie’s decision was backed by the police pathologist.

Jimmy Anderson took Hamish aside. ‘I dialled 1-4-7-1 on the phone to see if he had any calls, and he had the one, from a call box, the same call box which was used when Fergus got his
call. What’s going on? Were they friends?’

‘He said he had no quarrel with Fergus,’ said Hamish. ‘This is bad.’

‘Aye, they’re out combing the countryside, waking up people and asking if they saw a strange car, or any car, heading in this direction. Where’s your sidekick?’

‘I left him to man the phone at the police station,’ lied Hamish, who realized with horror that he had completely forgotten about Clarry. ‘We can’t get much further, it
seems to me, until the wife recovers enough to speak to us.’