Death of a Gentle Lady (2 page)

“I never asked you what country you came from,” said Mrs. Gentle.

“Turkey,” said Ayesha, putting groceries away. “Izmir.”

That curved smile again. “Dear me, I thought all Turks were dark.”

“Not all,” said Ayesha. “Some of us are quite fair.”

“Let me see, Turkey is not in the European Union. I do hope you have a work permit. Silly me. I never asked you.”

Ayesha flushed to the roots of her hair. “I was studying at London University, but my student visa ran out. I needed money, so I worked in a hotel.”

“I can’t have an illegal alien working for me. Wait until after the family party and then you must leave or I will have to report you to the police.”

“Oh, please. Can’t you apply to the Home Office for me?”

“Don’t be silly. Oh, don’t start to cry. Get on with your work.”

Hamish Macbeth was just settling down to a dinner of comfort food—haggis, mashed potatoes, and mashed turnips— when he heard the front doorbell ring. The locals never used the front door, which had jammed with the damp ages ago. He went to the door and shouted through the letter box, “Come round to the side door.”

He went and opened the kitchen door. Round the side of the police station came a tall figure he recognised as Mrs. Gentle’s maid.

When he ushered her into the kitchen, he noticed her eyes were red with crying.

“Sit down,” he said. “What’s the matter, lassie?”

“I have come to be arrested.”

“I’m just about to eat, and there’s enough for two,” said Hamish.

“I can’t eat.”

“Oh, you’ll feel better.” He got another plate and put a generous helping on it for her. “Now eat and tell me about it.”

Ayesha picked at her food as she told him that she was in the country illegally and had lost her job.

“I can’t be bothered arresting anyone at the moment,” said Hamish.

She really was very beautiful, he thought. She was nearly as tall as he was himself, with a splendid figure in hip-hugging jeans, a T-shirt, and a denim jacket. Her hair looked a natural gold, she had high cheekbones and a perfect mouth.

“What is your name?” he asked.

“Ayesha Tahir. Turkish.”

“I didn’t know there were blonde Turks.”

“Some are.” She took a mouthful of food. “This is nice. You are not like a policeman.”

“I’m not going to be one much longer, thanks to Mrs. Gentle putting the poison in.”

“The poison?”

“She managed to persuade my bosses that my services were not needed in Lochdubh.”

“Can’t you stop her?”

“I can’t stop anything now. I’m going to resign.”

Hamish clasped his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling. “Why should I arrest you?” he asked.

“Like I said, Mrs. Gentle has found out that my visa has expired. She says I can stay until after her family party and then I’ve got to leave.”

“Have you got your passport with you?”

“Yes, in my bag.” She fished it out and handed it to him.

Hamish flicked through the passport, studied the visa, and then said, “Would you like to leave this with me? I might be able to do something.”

Hope shone in her blue eyes. “Do you think it possible?”

“Maybe. But you’re not to talk to anyone at all about it. I see you’re twenty-five years old. That’s not young for a student.”

“My father wanted me to marry a local businessman. I stalled. I said I would if I could get an education first. I studied English at Istanbul University. When I got my degree, I applied for permit to further my studies at London University and received three years to gain a PhD. When I got my degree, I applied for a work permit but was refused. I started to work as a maid in a hotel. It was the only work I could get. Then Mrs. Gentle stayed at the hotel. I was cleaning her room. She offered me work. She seemed so kind. It was a great mistake.”

“Finish your meal and come back here as soon as the family party is over. I might have something for you then.”

Peter Brimley, a small wizened man, opened his door in a side street of Inverness the following day and scowled up at the tall figure of Hamish Macbeth.

“Whit now?” he snarled. “I’ve done my time and I’m going straight.”

“I’d like to come in. I’m here to offer you money for some of your skills.”

“This is a frame-up?”

“Don’t be daft. I won’t want to get found out even more than you would. Let me in.”

Hamish walked into Peter’s small living room. There was a large desk by the window with a powerful lamp over it. Peter rushed forward and swept a pile of papers into a drawer.

“Going straight, my arse,” said Hamish cheerfully. “But I am about to join the world of criminals. I want you to forge a passport for me. Well, forge
to
a passport, chust a visa.”

Peter stared at the floor in mulish silence.

“Come on, man,” said Hamish. “It’s a simple job for a genius like you. I didn’t put you away. Inverness police did that.”

Peter shrugged in resignation. “Let me see the passport.”

Hamish handed it over. Peter went to his desk and sat down. Hamish waited impatiently. At last, he demanded, “Well?”

“Aye. I could alter it to give her another three years. But that’s all.”

“Grand. How soon?”

“Gie me a week. Right. Now to the money.”

Hamish blinked at the price but was in no mood for haggling. “You’ll get your money when I get the altered visa. I’ll be back next week.”

Outside, Hamish phoned Ayesha, who had given him her mobile phone number. He told her he might have something for her in a week’s time but cautioned her not to breathe a word to anyone. “Hasn’t your father been trying to track you down?” he asked.

“I phoned him two years ago and told him I wasn’t coming back. He said I was no daughter of his and he did not want to see me ever again.”

“That’s sad, but it makes things less complicated.”

Hamish felt like Santa Claus a week later when he handed Ayesha her altered passport. “This is wonderful,” she said. “At least I have three more years.”

Then Hamish had a really mad idea. “There is something else we could do,” he said.

“What is that, my dear friend?”

“We could get married.”

“What?”

“That way you would become a British citizen, have a British passport, and get work in a school or a university. Then we get a divorce.”

A cynical, wary look entered her blue eyes. “And what would you get?”

“The fact that I was a married man would make them at headquarters leave me alone for a bit. I happen to know that there are no quarters for married men in Strathbane. I get my police station and you get your passport.”

“What about sex?”

“You know, I’ve been thinking about that,” said Hamish with almost childish candour. “You are gorgeous and yet I don’t fancy you. No vibes.”

“You will be shocked.”

“I’m a policeman. I’m past being shocked.”

“I am a lesbian.”

“What a waste! I mean, everyone to their own bag. But since we’d be getting married just for appearances, it doesn’t matter.”

A week later, Elspeth Grant was sitting at the reporters’ desk at the
Daily Bugle
newspaper office in Glasgow dreaming of the Highlands. She thought it was high time she went back for a holiday. She wondered how Hamish was getting on and if he ever thought of her.

A colleague came up to her and said, “I’ve got the job of trawling through the local Scottish papers for stories to follow up. Didn’t you know that policeman in Lochdubh, Hamish Macbeth?”

“What’s happened to him?” asked Elspeth anxiously.

“He’s getting married, that’s what, and to some girl with a foreign name.”

“Let me see.”

There it was in black and white in the
Highland Times,
an announcement that the marriage of Hamish Macbeth to Ayesha Tahir would take place in the registry office in Inverness on Wednesday, in two weeks’ time.

Elspeth felt miserable. Hamish hadn’t married her, but the consolation was always that he hadn’t married anyone else.

Colonel Halburton-Smythe phoned his daughter Priscilla, who was working in London. “Hamish Macbeth is getting married in a couple of weeks, and to some foreigner.”

Priscilla held the receiver so tightly that her knuckles stood out white. “Who is this female?”

“Some Turk who was working as a maid for one of the locals. Stunning-looking girl.”

He went on to talk about the running of the hotel while Priscilla barely listened. Hamish! To be married!

Chapter Two

Marriage is a desperate thing.

—John Selden

Hamish Macbeth was thoroughly miserable. After all the red tape had been gone through and he had permission to marry Ayesha and had returned triumphantly to tell her the news, it was to find that Mrs. Gentle had taken over.

He raged at Ayesha, who had just informed him that Mrs. Gentle had not only promised Ayesha a generous gift of money and said the reception should be held in her home, but even paid up for the church roof. She was restored in the eyes of the highlanders to local saint.

Hamish, hearing all this horrible news from Ayesha at the police station, said grimly, “Then the wedding is off.”

Ayesha looked at him with cold eyes. “If you cancel this wedding, I will tell everyone you got my visa forged.”

“Then you’d be deported.”

“If you don’t marry me, I’ll be deported anyway.”

Hamish, normally easy-going, could feel himself in the grip of a blind rage. The news of his forthcoming marriage had made his bosses relent and promise that he could keep his police station. If he cancelled it, his station would be under threat again.

Mrs. Gentle was sitting over her accounts, scowling at them. She was regretting her generosity. She had guessed Hamish Macbeth was behind her recent fall from grace and, knowing that he would be furious with her for taking over the wedding arrangements, had done just that. She had supplied Ayesha with a wedding outfit. But now she had learned that a highland wedding reception was a free-for-all. Everyone from around the Highlands, from gamekeepers to fishermen and forestry workers, would be cramming into her elegant home. She tapped her pen against her still-perfect teeth. Then there was that ridiculous sum of money she had promised Ayesha. Something about the girl had made her uneasy. What had she overheard when the family had been in the castle for that reunion?

She rang the little silver bell on her desk. When Ayesha appeared, Mrs. Gentle said with her sweetest smile, “I am doing a lot for you.”

“And I am so grateful,” said Ayesha.

“The fact is, it is all more than I can really afford. I am afraid I won’t be able to give you the ten thousand pounds I promised you.”

“I need that money!” exclaimed Ayesha.

“My dear girl, you are to be married.”

“A policeman does not earn much.”

“Then get a job!”

Ayesha looked down at her and said in carefully measured tones, “If you do not give me the money, I will tell everyone about you. I will tell them everything I overheard at that family party of yours.”

Mrs. Gentle turned in her chair and looked up at her. For one moment, Ayesha felt frightened. Mrs. Gentle’s eyes were full of hate and venom. But then she turned away and said quietly, “I’ll see what I can do, Ayesha.”

Hamish Macbeth’s wedding day. Only a few villagers were going to attend the ceremony in Inverness: the rest would congregate at Mrs. Gentle’s for the reception.

Jimmy Anderson was to act as best man. Ayesha had arrived the evening before and left two large suitcases at the police station. Hamish realised he would need to let her have his bedroom while he slept in the cell. His dog, Lugs, and his wild cat, Sonsie, had sensed their master’s misery. Whenever Ayesha appeared, Lugs growled and Sonsie glared at the girl with baleful eyes.

Jimmy found Hamish sitting at his kitchen table in his dressing gown. “Come on, man,” he cried. “Get a move on.”

Hamish sighed and uncoiled himself from his chair. “What’s up, laddie?” asked Jimmy. “You’re going to marry the most smashing-looking girl.”

“Wedding nerves,” said Hamish bleakly.

Urged by Jimmy, he dressed quickly in his best suit. Jimmy was to drive him to Inverness.

“The super’s going to be there,” said Jimmy. “He’s organised a guard of coppers, crossed truncheons when you leave as a married man.”

Hamish grunted by way of reply. He thought a large noose hanging outside the registry office would be more appropriate. How could he have been such a fool? He admitted to himself that had he done it not only to keep his beloved police station and his cat and dog, but out of his malicious highland streak which wanted to imagine what Priscilla and Elspeth would both think when they heard the news.

His mother and father were delighted. He could hardly let them know of the mistake he had made. They were travelling to Inverness from Rogart for the ceremony and had forgiven him for not having introduced them to his fiancée.

When Hamish arrived at the registry office, he was only dimly aware of a sea of faces. Then he saw his mother looking at him with anxious eyes and went and hugged her.

The horrible Mrs. Gentle had promised to be Ayesha’s bridesmaid. Hamish went into the entrance hall of the registry and waited for his bride-to-be with hatred in his heart.

And waited.

Superintendent Daviot approached. “Time’s getting on, Hamish, and the registrar has another wedding to perform this morning.”

“I’ll phone her and see what’s keeping her.” Hamish dialled Ayesha’s mobile. It rang and rang and then switched over to the answering service.

“No good,” he said.

“Phone Mrs. Gentle,” said Jimmy. “She’s supposed to be bringing her.”

“I don’t have her number.”

“I’ll get it from directory enquiries,” said Jimmy. He moved off.

After five minutes, he came back. “I’m right sorry, Hamish. Mrs. Gentle says she can’t find her. She said she went out for a walk very early and never came back.”

Blair’s face loomed up, a fat grin on it. “She’s stood you up,” he said.

Somewhere inside Hamish was the beginning of a little warm glow of relief.

Mrs. Gentle’s home was crammed with villagers. She had tried to turn them away, but they had retaliated by saying it was a shame to let good food and drink go to waste and simply walked in. Not only that, but they had found the wedding presents laid out for display in the morning room and begun to take them back.

A band had turned up and had begun to play, and the house echoed to the sound of accordion, fiddle, and drums.

Hamish returned to the police station after having assured his family that he would be all right. There was a hysterical message on the answering machine from Mrs. Gentle, demanding that he come to her house immediately and tell everyone to go home. He had told Jimmy to go to the reception, adding that he would be along as soon as he could.

When Jimmy had left, he went into the bedroom and flung the first of Ayesha’s suitcases onto the bed. It was not locked. He opened it and rummaged around. Then he opened the other one. In the flap at the back of the suitcase, he found a wallet. It contained ten thousand pounds in crisp notes and Ayesha’s passport. He put the money back in the wallet and took the passport with him into the kitchen. He took the lid off his unlit wood-burning stove and dropped it in. It could stay there, he thought grimly, until he found out where she had gone. Then he set out for the castle.

He was not surprised to find that Jimmy had joined the revellers and was standing, grinning, and holding a large glass of whisky. There was a silence as Hamish walked in.

“Please leave,” he said. “This is a sad day for me, and you should not be celebrating.”

They slowly left, clutching wedding presents.

When the last one had gone, including Jimmy, Hamish said to Mrs. Gentle, “We need to have a talk before I contact police headquarters.”

“What about?” Mrs. Gentle’s usually dulcet tones were now harsh. “She’s run away rather than marry you. Accept it.”

“It’s not as easy as that,” said Hamish heavily. “I had a quick look through the suitcases she left with me. I found a wallet with ten thousand pounds in it.”

“Oh, goody. That’s mine and I want it back. I gave it to her as a wedding present.”

“Very generous.”

“I have been too damn generous. Look at my home! Food trodden into the carpets.”

“I do not think she would have run away and left all her things, along with the money,” said Hamish. “I am afraid I will need to keep your money until the enquiry is over.”

“What enquiry?” she screeched. “You stupid man. She ran away from you, that’s all.”

“When did you last see her?”

“This morning, early. She said she wanted to go for a walk before changing her clothes and leaving for Inverness. She never returned.”

“Did your daughter see her?”

“Sarah has gone off to London. I am here alone.”

There was a ring at the doorbell. “I’d better get rid of whoever that is,” said Mrs. Gentle. “Probably one of those villagers come to take their wedding present back. I’ve never seen such a load of rubbish. Six crystal butter dishes!”

She went out into the hall to answer the door. When she returned, she was followed by Superintendent Daviot and Detective Chief Inspector Blair.

“Hamish,” said Daviot, “this is a sorry business. It’s hardly a police matter, but if you like, we’ll check the ports and airports for you.”

“I’m afraid it is a police matter,” said Hamish. “She’s left all her belongings at the police station along with ten thousand pounds, given to her by Mrs. Gentle.”

“And her passport?”

“I’ll have another look. But I couldn’t find it,” lied Hamish. He was worried that if that visa was subjected to police scrutiny, the forgery might be discovered and Peter might be questioned.

“Where is she from?” asked Daviot.

“She said she was from Izmir in Turkey, and that her father wanted her to marry a local businessman so she ran away. The family name is Tahir.”

“Do you have a photograph of her?”

“I do.” Hamish took out his wallet and extracted a photograph. He had taken it outside the police station before he had tried to tell Ayesha that the wedding was off. It showed a laughing Ayesha, tall and beautiful.

“We’ll get this wired over to the police in Izmir. I’m very sorry for you, Hamish,” said Daviot. “Come along now.We’d best leave Mrs. Gentle in peace.”

Back at the police station, Hamish found Angela Brodie, local author as well as doctor’s wife, waiting for him with his pets. She had promised to look after them while he was in Inverness and then to shut them up in the police station while she went to the reception. But word of the cancelled wedding had spread like fire in the heather, and so she had decided to keep the animals with her until he might return.

“Gamekeeper Jamie phoned me and said he had seen your car heading towards Lochdubh, so here I am to see if I can say or do anything to help you.”

“Nothing at all, Angela. Come ben and have a drink with me.”

After he poured whisky for himself and Angela, he said, “It’s odd. For some reason, Mrs. Gentle gave her a present of ten thousand pounds, and yet not so long ago Mrs. Gentle had told the girl she was fired. She’s left the money in one of her suitcases along with her clothes.”

“May I have a look? Maybe in your distress you missed something.”

“Go ahead. Her cases are in the bedroom.”

He sipped his whisky, calling himself all kinds of fool, aware the whole time of that passport lurking at the bottom of the stove.

Angela came back in. “It’s very odd, Hamish. Didn’t you notice her clothes?”

“Not particularly.”

“They are very, very expensive. For example, there are a couple of Versace dresses and an Armani jacket.”

“Maybe her family are wealthy. I’ve a bad feeling about this. Why didn’t she take her clothes? Why did Mrs. Gentle who wanted to fire her suddenly decide to give her a wedding reception and pay her ten thousand pounds?”

“I don’t believe she’s gone,” said Angela. “No woman would leave behind clothes like that, not to mention ten thousand pounds. She’ll turn up.”

“I hope to God I never see her again,” said Hamish bitterly.

“Poor Hamish, you have no luck with women. It’s cold in here. I’ll light the stove for you.”

“No!” yelled Hamish.

Angela, who had half risen to her feet, looked at him in surprise. “I’m sorry,” said Hamish quickly. “It’s been a bad day.”

“I’ll leave you. Don’t get plastered. You’ll only wake up in the morning with a hangover.”

Hamish awoke the next morning with a feeling of bleak emptiness. Never before in his life had he felt such a fool. If there was anything sinister about the disappearance of Ayesha, then he had compromised the investigation by lying about her and hiding that passport. But if the police ever got their hands on that passport and sent it away from the incompetent forensic department at Strathbane to Glasgow, say, some eagle-eyed boffin might recognise Peter’s handiwork. He had been allowed two weeks’ holiday for his honeymoon. Because of Ayesha turning out to be such a blackmailer, he had cancelled any idea of it.

Blackmailer!

Had the girl found out something about Mrs. Gentle and been blackmailing her?

Hamish decided to get out of Lochdubh for the day, away from sympathetic callers. He loaded up the Land Rover with his fishing tackle along with his dog and cat and set off for the River Anstey. He didn’t have a fishing permit but knew that the water bailiff was lazy; he was sure he wouldn’t be discovered.

He returned in the evening with eight trout to find Jimmy Anderson pacing up and down outside the police station.

“Where have you been?” howled Jimmy. “It’s a murder hunt!”

In the kitchen, Jimmy explained what had happened. Mr. Tahir had been located in Turkey, and yes, he had a daughter called Ayesha. But his Ayesha was married and living right there in Izmir. And she
wasn’t
the girl in the photo that had been wired to him. Mr. Tahir had shown the real Ayesha this picture, and she had recognized the woman.

This was her story. A few years before, the Tahir family had been dining at Istanbul’s Pera Palace Hotel. Ayesha had completed her studies at Istanbul and had just received her visa to go to London for her PhD. She had been celebrating with her family. At the next table was a party of thuggish-looking Russians, along with the girl from Hamish’s photograph. The Tahirs had been sure that these Russians were mafia, and they were sorry for the girl who, said Ayesha, was being treated like dirt. They thought she was a Natasha, the slang name for a Russian or Eastern European prostitute.