Death of a Dustman (8 page)

‘I’ve got something for him.’ Clarry took down a bowl of chopped liver he had cooked earlier from a rack above the cooker and placed it on the floor.

‘That’s an odd-looking dog,’ said Jimmy. ‘But any dog that can attack Blair and tear his trousers deserves the best food.’

After Jimmy had left, Hamish said to Clarry, ‘Check at that new hotel if there are any workers apart from the locals. I’ve got a call to make. Come on, Lugs.
Walk.’

With the dog trotting along beside him he walked to Mrs Docherty’s cottage. He tied the leash to the fence and then knocked at the door.

Mrs Docherty was a tired-looking middle-aged woman with grey hair and small eyes.

When she answered the door and saw Hamish standing there, a closed look came over her face, and she said primly, ‘What is it?’

‘I wanted a word with you.’

‘What about?’

‘About the murder.’

‘It’s got nothing to do with me.’

‘I chust wanted to ask you a few questions. Is your man at home?’

‘No, he’s working in Strathbane.’

‘Can I come in?’

‘No, I’m cleaning.’

‘Then we’ll talk in the garden. I want to ask you if you saw or heard anything. Fergus’s body was put in the bin soon after he was murdered.’

‘I didn’t see or hear anything. Why ask me?’

Hamish remembered Clarry telling him that the Curries had seen Mrs Docherty walk across the road and stare at the loch and walk back again. It was just a small thing, and yet, Mrs Docherty, like
the rest of the locals, was so used to the magnificent scenery around her that she barely noticed. He’d had a mental picture of a worried woman going out to stare blindly at the loch. But
maybe his imagination had run away with him.

‘I heard that on the evening Fergus was found, you went out of your cottage and walked across and looked at the loch, and then walked back again.’

‘So what’s wrong with that?’

‘It struck me as the action of someone who was deeply worried about something.’

‘Havers,’ she said briskly. ‘I often go and have a look at the loch.’

‘Why?’

‘Why? Do I need a reason? Because it’s there.’

She was afraid of something, of that Hamish was sure, and it couldn’t be because she was being interviewed by a policeman. No one in Lochdubh was afraid of him.

‘I’ll be back,’ he said. He walked out of the small garden and unhitched Lugs and walked away. Mrs Docherty stood watching his tall figure and clenched and unclenched her
hands.

Hamish went back to the station and typed up his notes and then faxed the little he had, along with Clarry’s notes, to Strathbane.

Clarry came in just as he finished. ‘Anything?’ asked Hamish.

‘Apart from the secretary, a Miss Stathos, the rest are locals. Miss Stathos says Mr Ionides plans to hire local staff as well when he’s ready to open, waiters and maids and manager
and all that.’

Hamish leaned back in his chair. ‘Oh, my, that means he’ll go after the staff at the Tommel Castle Hotel.’

‘Maybe they’ll stay loyal.’

‘Times are hard. If he offers higher wages, then they’ll go.’

‘There don’t seem to be any reporters left.’

‘There’s a triple murder in Inverness. They’ll rely on the local man from now on. At least we should get a bit o’ peace.’

Four more days went by, during which Jimmy Anderson, Hamish and Clarry assiduously interviewed the population of Lochdubh. Hamish went over forensic reports. The ground at the
lane beside the Currie sisters’ garden had been hard with all the dry weather and had not yielded anything. The side of the house and at the back where the bin stood was covered in
gravel.

Frustrated, Hamish decided to examine the place closely for himself. He realized that like everyone else these days, he had been blinded by the glories of forensic science and had assumed they
had missed nothing.

He knew the Currie sisters had gone up to Martha’s cottage with Mrs Wellington and Angela to clear out Fergus’s things.

He carried a large magnifying glass, and, feeling ridiculous, feeling that he looked like a stage detective, he began to go over every inch of ground along with the fence and the road at the
side. The rain he had expected had not yet arrived although the air was moist and damp.

After two hours, he was about to give up, when he saw a little spark of colour between the fence posts. He took out a pair of tweezers and eased out a tiny little pink thread of material. It was
so small that when he took the magnifying glass away from his eye, he could barely see it. He put it in a plastic envelope. He would wait until the Curries had finished cleaning and ask them if
they had any idea where it might have come from.

Angela was glad she had given the children some money for sweets and had sent them off, for Mrs Wellington was trying to persuade Martha that some of Fergus’s clothes
could be cut down for the boys.

Surprisingly it was Nessie who stood up to the domineering minister’s wife. ‘Leave her be,’ said Nessie firmly. ‘She doesn’t want anything of her man left in the
cottage.’

‘Left in the cottage,’ echoed Jessie, and both sisters glared at Mrs Wellington.

‘Well, let’s bag up the stuff, and I’ll take it into a charity shop in Strathbane,’ said Mrs Wellington, capitulating.

The women worked busily, bagging up suits and shirts, socks and underwear. Martha, finding Angela the most sympathetic, kept close to her. In the bedroom Martha had shared with Fergus, Angela
said, ‘The rugs in here could do with throwing out. I’ve got a nice carpet in the loft at home. My husband didn’t like it because it’s bright red, but it’s warm and
cheery. Where did you get these rugs?’

‘They’re awful, aren’t they?’ said Martha with a weak smile. ‘Fergus found them in someone’s rubbish at a croft house and brought them home. They’re all
cigarette burns.’

‘I’ll take them away and bring you the carpet,’ said Angela. ‘No, please take it. It’s a waste of a good carpet if it stays in my loft. Let’s just roll up
these dreadful rugs.’

Angela got down on her knees and started to roll up one by the window. ‘There’s a floorboard been sawn here,’ she said. ‘Is this where you hide the family
jewels?’

Martha walked over and stared down. One of the floorboards had been sawn to make a square like a lid. ‘I never really noticed that before,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry the
floor’s dirty. I was going to wash it, but Fergus shouted at me to leave it alone.’

‘Mind if I have a look and see if there’s anything down there?’ asked Angela.

‘No, go ahead.’

‘I need something to lift it, a screwdriver or something.’

‘I’ll get one. There’s a toolbox under the bed.’

Martha came back after a few moments with a screwdriver. Angela prised up the sawn square of wood. She peered in the cavity. Then she reached down and pulled out a plastic envelope with what
appeared to be several letters in it. Angela peered through the plastic. Some of the letters seemed to be covered in food stains and coffee stains.

‘I think if you don’t mind, Martha, I’ll just take this along to Hamish Macbeth. I would let you look at it first, but it might be important, and I don’t want to get too
many fingerprints on it.’

‘Go ahead,’ said Martha wearily.

Angela hurried out and made her way to the police station. A light rain was beginning to fall. Oh well, thought Angela sadly, it’s not often we’ve had a summer like
this one. It couldn’t last forever.

She saw the tall figure of Hamish in front of her and hurried to catch up with him.

‘Hamish,’ she said. ‘Look what I found under the floorboards in Fergus’s bedroom.’

He took the plastic envelope from her. ‘It seems to be letters, Hamish. There might be a clue.’

‘Thanks, Angela. I’ll take it into the station and have a look at it.’

‘I’d better get back before Mrs Wellington bullies poor Martha to death!’

Hamish hurried into the police station, into the office, sat down at his desk and gingerly eased the letters out with the tweezers he had used earlier.

The first one had been written to Josie Darling. He read: ‘Dear Josie, I just can’t go through with it. I’m sorry to let you down at the last minute, but I’ve met someone
else, and it’s real love this time. If you need any help writing apology letters or returning the presents, let me know. You’ll hate me for a bit, but after time passes, you’ll
come to realize I did the right thing. I hope you, too, will find someone. Yours, aye, Murdo.’

‘The bastard!’ said Hamish out loud. Lugs scrabbled at his knee. ‘Down, boy,’ said Hamish sharply. He put the letter carefully to one side. Then he picked up the next.
‘Dear Helen, I’ll never forget our night in Strathbane. I’m still travelling around but I hope to be back in Strathbane soon. Any chance of you getting away from your old man?
Give us a bell if you can, snookums. Always your loving Pat.’

Who was Helen? wondered Hamish. The next was a letter to crofter Angus Ettrik. It was from his bank manager. Hamish scanned it rapidly. It was telling Angus that he could have no further
credit.

The fourth was an old newspaper cutting. It read: ‘Mrs Fiona McClellan appeared at Strathbane sheriff’s court yesterday charged with shoplifting. A psychiatrist, Dr J. Arthur,
testified that Mrs McClellan was now undergoing treatment for kleptomania. Sheriff Paul Tampley gave Mrs McClellan a suspended sentence of one year but told her that should she appear in his court
again, then he would not be so lenient.’

Hamish’s heart sank lower. Mrs McClellan was the bank manager’s wife.

There could only be one explanation as to why Fergus had kept these items hidden under the floorboards. Blackmail.

Hamish groaned and put his head in his hands. He should phone Strathbane immediately and reveal the contents of what Angela had found. Blair would descend like the wrath of God. He was a great
man for arresting first and asking questions afterwards. Four lives might be needlessly ruined.

He looked down at his dog, who stared back up at him with those-odd blue eyes. ‘I’ll give it a day, Lugs. One day. Let’s see what they have to say for themselves. But
who’s Helen?’

Hamish started off by going to see Josie. When she opened the door to him, a mulish look settled on her face. ‘What is it now?’ she demanded sharply.

‘Can I come in?’

‘No, I’m busy.’

‘So do you want to tell me about the cancelled wedding and why Fergus was blackmailing you out here on the step?’

She burst into tears. Hamish put an arm round her and guided her into the living room. Her mother rose to her feet in alarm. ‘What have you said?’ she shouted.

‘Let’s all sit down and talk this over quietly,’ said Hamish. He pressed the weeping Josie down into a chair and then sat down himself.

‘While Fergus was going through everyone’s rubbish to make sure everything was in the right receptacle, he collected letters and things he thought might be useful. He kept a letter
to you from your fiancé, Murdo, Josie. In it Murdo breaks off the engagement. For some reason, your pride wouldn’t let you tell anyone and it is my belief Fergus asked you for payment
to keep his mouth shut.’

Josie scrubbed her eyes dry and glared at him defiantly. ‘Prove it!’

‘If you are uncooperative, I will turn the letter over to police headquarters and Detective Chief Inspector Blair will haul you in for questioning. You’ll have a rougher time with
him than you will with me. He may not arrest you, but it will be in the papers that a woman is helping police with their inquiries and everyone in Lochdubh will have seen you being taken off in a
police car. Come on, now, be honest.’

Josie looked at her mother, who gave a little nod. ‘Yes, he asked for money,’ she said wearily. ‘Oh, the shame of it. Him jilting me. I’d bragged to all my friends about
getting married.’

‘How much?’

‘Five hundred pounds. He said if I gave him five hundred he would let me have the letter back. I told him I’d spent too much on the wedding, and he’d need to wait, but he would
drop in on his rounds and ask for tea and sit there grinning at me. I could’ve killed him!’ Josie gasped and put a hand to her mouth as if to stuff the words back in.

‘A lot of people could,’ said Hamish. ‘But, lassie, I know it was a sore blow, but you’d have had to tell folks finally. What about the presents?’

‘I must have been mad,’ said Josie, her eyes filling with tears. ‘I was going to go down to Inverness and stay with Auntie Margaret and get work. I was going to tell folks here
that Murdo wanted a quiet wedding in Inverness.’

‘And keep all the presents?’

‘I was going to return them when she had gone,’ said Mrs Darling.

‘So you didn’t pay the money?’

‘Five hundred pounds is an awful lot of money. I was trying to string him along until something happened.’

‘Something did happen. Someone murdered him. You’ll just need to tell folks you’ve been jilted and forget that silly pride of yours. People get jilted every day. I’ve
been jilted so many times, I think it’s a way o’ life. Now I must ask you both what you were doing on the night of July twenty-second, that’s when Fergus was murdered.’

‘We were watching a video together, me and Mum,’ said Josie. ‘Then we went to bed.’

‘No witnesses?’

They both shook their heads.

‘Thank God it’s all over,’ said Mrs Darling.

‘Aye, well let’s hope that’s an end to it. But I cannae sit on evidence like this forever. But I’ll try to keep it quiet for a bit.’

‘Thank you,’ breathed Josie, suddenly all seductive. ‘I know you’re doing it just for me.’

Murdo’s a lucky man, thought Hamish, getting to his feet. ‘I’m doing it for you and your mother and for the peace of the village. But don’t get too cocky with me, Josie
Darling. Just pray I can find a murderer before your letter goes to police headquarters.’

Hamish then walked down to the Bank of Scotland. The bank house stood next door, one of those whitewashed gothic villas that the Victorians had considered suitable to house
bank managers.

The bank was still open, so the husband would be at work. He pressed the house bell. A voice called, ‘I’m in the garden at the back.’