Death of a Dustman (22 page)

‘Like all Highlanders, he liked his dram, but it got more and more. The first time he hit me, he was that remorseful after, I thought he would never raise his hand to me again. But he did,
over and over. He liked Fergus because Fergus was a drunk, and Angus had become one, too.’

‘He didn’t have a reputation of being one,’ said Hamish.

‘Oh, he would never get drunk in the village. He would sit in the evenings, drinking steadily, and watching me, watching me, enjoying my fear. He never knew about that hundred pounds worth
of premium bonds. I kept them hidden. I dreamed of winning. I thought if we had money, everything would be all right.

‘Then I won. And the cheque arrived. Like a fool I told him. It was immediately his money. He said he’d take it down to the bank and put it in our joint account. He said he was tired
of the rough weather in Sutherland, and we would buy a nice farm down in Perthshire, and I saw that he would spend all the money on this farm, he would mismanage it, and the beating would go on. He
had been putting up a shelf in the kitchen. The phone rang and he went to answer it. While he was on the phone, I picked up the hammer and hefted it in my hand. I can’t say for sure what
happened immediately after that, but he came back and sat down and picked up the cheque and said, “Get my coat. I’m off to the bank.”

‘I snatched the cheque out of his hands and said, “It’s mine.” He swung round and his face was mad with fury. Then he turned back and stared straight ahead and said,
“Give me that cheque, or you know what’ll happen to you.”

‘Everything went blank, and when I came out of it, I was standing there with the bloody hammer in my hand, and he was lying dead on the floor. I took the cheque and hid it up in the
rafters. Then I cleaned every surface. I’d forgotten that they’d expect to find my fingerprints everywhere, this being my home. I took a cloth and swept the floor towards the door. Then
I went out and stuffed the cloth somewhere. I can’t remember. Then I went in and phoned and then took his bloody head in my hands and waited. I felt nothing. It was only after that the horror
came.’

‘What about the whisky bottle on the table and the two glasses?’

‘I did that. I wanted it to look as if he was expecting someone from outside.’

Hamish released her hand and took out his mobile phone, called Strathbane and requested escort for a prisoner, giving them the address and directions.

‘Did Angus ever hit you so hard you had to go to the doctor?’

‘Yes, he broke two of my ribs one night. He was clever. He never hit me where it would show. I went to Dr Brodie, who sent me to hospital.’

‘What did you tell Dr Brodie?’

‘I said I had fallen.’

‘And he believed you?’

‘No. I had been to him the year before with a broken arm. I said I must be accident prone. But he was looking at the bruises on my arms. He said, “You’d better stop lying and
report that husband of yours to the police.”’

‘So why didn’t you?’

‘It had been going on so long . . . so long. I kept making excuses for him. I couldn’t begin to think how to manage on my own. I felt lost.’ She began to cry in a dreary,
helpless way. Angus Ettrik, thought Hamish, if you were alive today, I might be tempted to kill you myself.

He rose and took the pot off the stove and put on the kettle. He went into the bedroom to get Kirsty’s coat. Two suitcases were lying packed on the bed. She must have been planning to go
away somewhere.

He picked up her wool coat and walked back into the kitchen and placed it on a chair. He waited until the kettle had boiled and made a pot of tea. He put a mug of hot, sweet tea in front of
Kirsty and handed her a clean handkerchief. ‘Drink that,’ he ordered. ‘You’ll need a good lawyer, Kirsty. You can afford it now.’

‘Won’t they freeze my money?’

‘The money’s yours. You didn’t get it as the result of a crime. Do you want me to get you a good lawyer?’

She nodded. He took out his phone and dialled a number in Inverness. He outlined the case rapidly and told the lawyer to make all haste to police headquarters in Strathbane.

Then he waited and waited. The snow started to fall gently, great white lacy flakes. At last, he heard the sound of the police siren.

When the police arrived, he turned and charged Kirsty Ettrik with the murder of her husband, Angus. He waited until she was led to the police car. He watched until the flashing blue light
disappeared into the snow.

With a heavy heart, he got into the police Land Rover and drove back to Lochdubh.

It was once more a sunny summer’s day in Lochdubh. Hamish Macbeth and Detective Jimmy Anderson sat out in deck chairs in the police station front garden. The sky above
was as blue as the eyes that shone in Jimmy’s foxy face. Hamish often marvelled that a man who drank so much could remain looking so fit and healthy.

‘So she got off,’ marvelled Jimmy again. ‘I couldnae believe it. Kirsty Ettrik got off! Mind you, it was thanks to about every villager here going down to the High Court and
swearing blind that she had been tormented and beaten near to death by that husband of hers. Took the shine out of your case, Hamish. Daviot wonders how you could have possibly not known what was
going on when everyone else in the village did.’

‘I can be a bit stupid,’ said Hamish, preferring to forget that he had organized the lying himself. He felt a bit guilty. He had hoped that his work for Kirsty would have got her a
lighter sentence. He had not expected her to walk free.

‘Still, that’s another case cleared up. Nothing else happening?’

‘Nothing, I’m glad to say. Been as quiet as the grave here.’

‘What happens to that hotel at the harbour?’

‘Still bound up in red tape, so it sits there, rotting again. Peter McLeigh, who used to own the bar, managed to buy it back, however he did it, so the locals have someplace to go again.
Man, you should see it. I thought he would smarten it up. Ionides had all the dirty old tables and fruit machines and stuff cleared out. He was going to make it into a gift shop. But Peter’s
put everything back the way it was, even the dirt. It looks as dreary as ever.’

‘It’s Calvinism,’ said Jimmy lazily. ‘They think drinking in dreary surroundings is appropriate. So where’s Kirsty now?’

‘Back at the croft house. She’ll probably sell out to her neighbour, Elspeth MacRae, and move on.’

‘I would have thought she would have wanted to stay, considering the way everyone stood up for her.’

Hamish did not reply. He knew the villagers felt she had deserved some kind of punishment. They would not be too friendly towards her, to say the least.

Jimmy reached down and picked a whisky bottle off the grass at his feet and poured himself another generous measure.

‘How’s that new schoolteacher getting on?’

‘She’s left. Funny thing. I thought she was a really sensible woman. She runs about the village, all excitement, and tells everyone she’s got a job at Eton. I thought,
that’s funny, I thought they’d mostly be masters there. So after she left, I phoned Eton College.’

‘And they hadn’t heard of her?’

‘Exactly The woman’s a raving fantasist. She was friendly with the banker’s wife, who then tells me the woman was always a compulsive liar. I’m telling you, Jimmy, the
things that people in this village knew that they didn’t bother to tell me!’

‘And what about your love life?’

‘What love life?’ said Hamish. With all the drama of the arrest of Kirsty, he had forgotten about that dinner date. And then Priscilla had received another contract job, in Milton
Keynes this time, and had taken herself off.

‘And how’s your ex-copper?’

‘Clarry is the happiest man you’ve ever seen. He’s got famous chefs checking in at the Tommel Castle to try to find out his secrets.’

‘That’s grand. Oh, by the way, that Fleming woman lost her job as environment officer, and not only that, she didn’t get elected again at the last council elections. She was
beaten by a wee lassie from the Green Party, would you believe it?’

‘Horrible woman. I’ve a funny feeling I haven’t heard the last of her.’

Jimmy drained his glass and stood up. ‘I’d best get going. I’ll give your love to Blair.’

‘Aye, you do that.’

Hamish went indoors and fed Lugs and then took the dog for a walk along the waterfront. Everything seemed placid and blue. Even the normally black waters of the sea loch reflected the blue sky.
A yacht sailed lazily past, heading out to the open sea. The sound of a jazz tune being played on a radio drifted across the water. He leaned on the old stone wall and breathed in the fresh, sunny
air.

Two tourists, a middle-aged couple, were standing a little way away from him. He judged them to be tourists and probably American because they wore sensible summer clothes and shoes, whereas the
locals wore pretty much the same clothes as they wore all year round, being used to the very short summers and very, very long winters. He heard the woman say in a voice with a Midwest twang,
‘Isn’t it just perfect? I would love to live in a place like this.’ And the man answered with a smile, ‘Everything’s possible. I wonder what the house prices are like
around here.’

Hamish sighed. People who came on the sunny days were often seduced by the sheer beauty of the place. They enthusiastically decided to move house, but, faced with the ferocious winds and the
almost perpetual night of winter, they soon sold up and moved on.

‘Afternoon, Hamish. You smell of whisky.’

Hamish turned round and saw Angela Brodie, the doctor’s wife, standing next to him.

‘I just had the one. Jimmy came calling.’

‘What do you think about Kirsty?’

‘I’m a bit taken aback, to tell the truth. She
did
kill her husband. I expected some sort of sentence.’

‘Well, she’s back now. Some of us went up to see if she needed anything, but she said she was just fine and didn’t even invite us in. What a lovely day!’

‘Aye, it is that. When you look around, it’s hard to think that anything violent ever happened here. I thought Kirsty would have been selling her story to the newspapers. Her
lawyer’s fees must have taken most of what she got.’

A sudden shadow swept over them. Angela looked up at the sky. ‘Look at that cloud covering the sun. Where did it come from? The sky was as clear as anything a minute ago.’

Lugs suddenly let out a long, wild howl.

Hamish crouched down by his dog. ‘What’s the matter, Lugs?’

Lugs threw back his shaggy head with the big peculiar ears and let out an even louder howl. Villagers began to gather around. ‘Take the beast tae the vet,’ said Archie Maclean.
‘He’s probably eaten something that’s hurt him.’

‘It’s a death, that’s what it is.’ Jessie Currie’s voice.

Hamish scooped the still howling dog into his arms. ‘I’ll take him home first and see if I can calm him down.’

The dog was shaking and howling as Hamish carried him into the police station. And then suddenly he went quiet and licked Hamish’s nose, almost apologetically.

Hamish set him down. Lugs wagged his tail and went to his water bowl.

He stood for a long moment, looking down at his dog, and then suddenly he was off and running to the Land Rover.

I’m being daft, he told himself. But he put on the siren and accelerated out of the village, not stopping until he skidded to a halt in front of Kirsty Ettrik’s cottage.

The door was standing open. He ran up to it and inside the house, shouting, ‘Kirsty!’

Then he stopped short. Dangling from a hook on a beam in the kitchen was the lifeless body of Kirsty Ettrik. A kitchen chair lay on the floor where she had kicked it over.

He took another chair and stood up on it and forced himself to feel for a pulse. The body was still warm, but there was no life there. He took out a pocket knife and cut the body down and laid
it on the floor. He went into the bedroom and got a sheet and covered those awful, bulging, staring eyes. There was an envelope on the table addressed to Elspeth MacRae, and an open sheet of A4
paper on which Kirsty had written, ‘I can’t live with myself any more.’

Hamish backed away to the door and took out his phone and called Strathbane.

Then he sat down in the sunshine outside to wait. He could not bear to go back inside the house.

By evening, Kirsty’s body had been removed, Hamish had typed up his statement in the police station and sent it to Strathbane. In the letter to Elspeth, Kirsty had left
the croft house to her.

Lugs came in and put a paw on Hamish’s knee.

‘Who are you?’ asked Hamish, looking down at the dog. Then he shook his head as if to clear the nonsense out of it. Some of the locals still believed that the dead came back as
seals. He was getting as nutty as they were.

But he sat there a long time, thinking of the hell that had been Kirsty’s life.

‘What a waste,’ he muttered. ‘What a waste.’

A voice called from the kitchen. ‘Anybody home?’

Priscilla!

He leapt to his feet and went through to find her standing there, smiling at him.

She was wearing an impeccably tailored trouser suit, and not one hair on her blonde head was out of place.

‘I thought you were in Milton Keynes.’

‘That job’s finished. Care for that dinner we never got around to?’

Only for a moment did he hesitate. Only for a moment did his mind warn him against opening up old wounds. Who was it who had said, ‘There are no new wounds. Only old wounds
reopened’?

But every minute of life was surely for living, for any enjoyment one could get. Seize the moment.

‘Be with you in a minute,’ said Hamish Macbeth. ‘I’ll just change out of my uniform.’