Death of a Gentle Lady (8 page)

“What is Mark’s alibi again?” asked Hamish. “Why, that he was working in Peckham in that garage of his, and his two mechanics will swear to it.” He could have made them swear to it with the threat of losing their jobs, thought Hamish. He rose to his feet. “I’m just going to have another look at Irena’s room.” “Help yourself,” said John laconically. * * *

Once in Irena’s room, Hamish stood in the middle of it and looked around, trying to see if there was any hiding place he might have missed. Then he thought that if Irena had some incriminating evidence, she might not hide it in her room—which could be searched. The room was at the top of the tower, but there must be plenty of empty rooms where the servants had once slept. He went out and down the stone steps to the floor below and began to push open doors. What had obviously been the servants’ rooms and a nursery were now filled with furniture which had probably been in the castle when Mrs. Gentle had bought it; she must have put it in these rooms for storage. In the old nursery, he saw a dusty bottle of beer and a glass sitting on a table by the window. The room had a fireplace which had not been blocked off. Beside the fireplace was a scuttle full of peat. He bent down and studied the grate. He was sure it had been used, and possibly recently. Perhaps Irena had come here to keep warm.

He began to search in the cupboards, taking out old toys and children’s books and setting them aside. If Irena had found anything incriminating, it might have been in the form of a letter. He sat down on the floor and began to shake out all the books. Nothing.

He turned his attention to the toys: jigsaw puzzles, Monopoly, stuffed toys, and a complete Hornby train set in its original boxes. He opened up the boxes and began to lift out the engine and carriages bit by bit. He wondered as he searched if Mrs. Gentle had known just how valuable a set like this was. He opened the door of the guard’s van. Something gleamed black. He inserted his fingers and pulled it out. It was a miniature tape recorder.

He sat cross-legged on the floor and switched it on. Irena’s voice: “But it is dreadful that she should cut you out of her will.” And then Mark’s voice, loud and clear: “I’ll kill that old bitch. She’s doing it out of sheer spite. Well, I’ll spite her. She’ll be dead as a doornail before she changes that will.”

Irena again: “But you would not do anything silly, my darling?”

Mark: “Just you wait and see! Shut up. Someone’s coming.”

Then there was nothing but a long hiss. Hamish switched it off, pulled out his phone, and called Jimmy. “You’d better get up to the castle right away,” he said, then described what he had found. He finished by saying, “Ask to be shown up to the old nursery.”

Not only Jimmy arrived but also his sidekick, Andy MacNab, Superintendent Daviot, and Anna.

“You’d better stay in the doorway in case you want this room searched further,” said Hamish. “Listen to this. I found it in the guard’s van of the toy train.” He switched it on.

“Got him!” cried Jimmy. “Those mechanics of his are from Eastern Europe. He probably told them they would lose their jobs if they didn’t back him up. Let’s go pick him up. Come along, Hamish. We’ll seal off this room for now.”

Hamish stood for a long moment. He looked lost in a daze. Then he shook himself like a dog and followed them downstairs while policemen sealed the door of the nursery.

Outside the castle, he paused again as Mark was being dragged to a police car, protesting his innocence.

“That was good work,” said Daviot. “Would you like to come with us to Strathbane?”

Hamish saw Anna sitting in the leading car.

“I’ll just be off to my station,” he said mildly. “I’ve been neglecting my other chores.”

A mist was descending as he drove to Lochdubh, and when he arrived at the police station Elspeth emerged from the swirling fog. “Get ower to Strathbane,” said Hamish. “They’ve arrested someone. I’m not authorised to tell you anything more.”

Elspeth fled into the mist. Hamish went inside to a welcome from his pets. He lit the stove and made himself a cup of coffee, then sat down at the table and began to worry. Mark’s voice on the tape had not actually confessed to the murder. Certainly it sounded like intention to murder. But then Mark must have been in a foul temper at the news he was to be cut out of the will. People threatened to kill in the heat of the moment. Still, if he had been lying about his alibi and that were proved, then it would seem to cinch the matter.

What about that female in the phone box? Did Mark have an accomplice? Kylie Gentle was tall and thin.

He decided to go to the Tommel Castle Hotel and talk it over with Priscilla. Her cool common sense usually put things in proportion.

He took his cat and dog and left them in the hotel kitchen, where he knew they would be pampered and fed.

Mr. Johnson told him that Priscilla was in the lounge with Harold Jury. Hamish strode in and without preamble said, “I would like a word with you, Priscilla.”

“Do you mind?” demanded Harold. “We were just going through her part.”

“I need a break,” said Priscilla, getting to her feet. “I’ll get back to it later.”

“If you go on like this,” said Harold, “I’ll need to find someone else for Lady Macbeth.”

“Do that very thing,” said Priscilla coldly.

“I didn’t mean . . . ,” Harold began to babble, but Priscilla was already walking off with Hamish.

“Can we go somewhere quiet?” asked Hamish.

“I still have my sitting room. My parents always keep my rooms in the hope I’ll come back.”

“And will you?”

“It’s all right for a bit and then I just want to get to London again.”

Why? wondered Hamish. Who’s there to pull you back?

But he said nothing, only following her into her small, pleasant sitting room.

“I suppose you want coffee,” said Priscilla.

“That would be grand. And maybe a sandwich?”

She picked up the phone and gave the order. “Now,” she asked, “what’s all this about?”

Priscilla was wearing a blue cashmere sweater over a blue cashmere skirt. Her hair was as smooth and golden as ever.

Hamish wondered whether she had started to tint it and hoped she had. He felt he would feel more comfortable with a slightly flawed Priscilla.

He told her what had happened, only breaking off when the coffee and sandwiches arrived, and then continuing on.

“So what is troubling you?” asked Priscilla.

“First, the woman in the phone box. Mark is not tall and slim. Second, he may have said all that in the heat of the moment. People do, you know. If his alibi is broken, then they will definitely charge him with murder.”

“What you are trying to say,” said Priscilla, as Hamish reached out the long arm of the law for another sandwich, “is that it doesn’t
feel
right. You think that if Mark had really committed the murder, then you would feel relief.”

“That’s it,” said Hamish eagerly. “I think that if it’s not him, then we’ll still have a murderer on the loose.”

“If Irena taped that bit of conversation and tried to blackmail Mark, then it looks as if Mark might have killed Irena. There might be two murderers. And why just that little bit of tape? She must have had something on Mrs. Gentle to make her pay for the reception and ten thousand pounds as well.”

“There was no wedding car to take her to Inverness, and none ordered,” said Hamish.

“So,” said Priscilla, “if Irena taped that little bit from Mark, doesn’t it stand to reason she might have had something on Mrs. Gentle?”

“Probably. But then, once Mrs. Gentle paid up, she would get the evidence back.”

“Maybe not.”

“Why?”

“It’s not like a blackmailer to let whoever it was she or he was blackmailing off the hook. Hamish, what on earth came over you? It’s not like you to be so taken in.”

“She was beautiful and genuinely seemed to be in distress,” said Hamish. “I thought I was doing a good thing. I thought, here I am still unmarried. She said she was a lesbian.”

“Oh, Hamish!”

“I planned to marry her and then we’d get a divorce later. I suppose she wasn’t even a lesbian. She could have been lying about that. But the real reason was that I knew if I told Daviot I was to be married, he would let me keep my police station. That really was what blinded me to her.”

“Lochdubh is all very well,” said Priscilla. “But it can get very claustrophobic in the winter.”

“Lochdubh has everything a body could want,” said Hamish defensively.

“Ah, well, that’s the difference between us.”

“I wish . . . ,” began Hamish, and then hurriedly crammed another sandwich in his mouth.

Priscilla waited until he had finished eating. “Wish what?”

“Oh, that? I wish I could figure a way to get back into that nursery for another search.”

“You’ll think of something.”

“Are you going back to rehearse with Harold?”

“I’ll leave it. He’s got a rehearsal in the village hall tonight, and I’ll go to that. It’s quite fun, really.”

Hamish collected his pets and went back to the police station through the ever-thickening mist.

He did a few chores around his croft, returned to the police station, and checked for messages. There were none.

He was just sitting having a cup of tea and wondering how soon he could get back into that nursery when the phone rang. It was Jimmy. He was exultant. “We’ve got the bastard!” he said. “His employees cracked and said they’d been paid to say he was there all the time. He was actually away for the time covering everything from the family reunion to the death of Irena and the murder of Mrs. Gentle.”

“And does he confess to murdering Mrs. Gentle?”

“Not a bit of it. We finally let him get a lawyer.”

“Jimmy, are you really sure he did it?”

“Oh, don’t start, Hamish. We’ve got our man.”

When he had rung off, Hamish sat, thinking hard. He knew why he had proposed to Irena, but other people might think that they had been close, and that she’d perhaps confided something dangerous to him. If he spread that around, the murderer might come after him! But he would need to find a good excuse for sitting on any supposed evidence this long.

He decided to go to that rehearsal and spread the word that he did not think Mark Gentle was the killer—and something Irena had told him had made him suddenly realise it.

Chapter Eight

Let’s briefly put on manly readiness,And meet i’ the hall together.

—William Shakespeare

Although he was glad that Anna had not called on him or even contacted him, Hamish, as he walked along to the village hall, was surprised that Jimmy had not rung to give him further news of Mark Gentle. He had tried to phone the inspector but his mobile was switched off and headquarters said he was busy.

The mist was still thick and the lights along the waterfront shone dimly, as if suspended in the air without any means of support.

From the loch, he could hear the gentle plash of the waves and the far-off chug-chug of a donkey engine. And yet he could not get the relaxed feeling he usually had when a case was over.

He decided to go ahead with what he had planned and to put it around the gathering tonight that Irena had told him something important. He knew the news would spread like wildfire all the way to Braikie.

The three witches were in rehearsal. “A drum, a drum! Macbeth doth come,” howled Mrs. Wellington as Hamish walked into the hall. A roar of laughter ensued.

“That’s enough!” cried Harold. “We’ll take a break.”

There was a surge towards tables set at the side of the hall which were laden with cakes and sandwiches, a tea urn and cups.

Priscilla came to join him. “This is great fun,” she said. “Everyone’s having a grand time although I gather there’s an arrest and Banquo, that’s Matthew, is over in Strathbane.”

“How do they get Jessie to say her lines without repeating the last words?” asked Hamish.

“Harold decided to ignore it. He’s very patient.”

Hamish raised his eyebrows in surprise. He would have thought Harold too arrogant to be patient about anything.

“I’m still not happy about this arrest,” said Hamish.

“Not happy about the arrest?” boomed Mrs. Wellington, who had overheard him.

“It’s because of something Irena told me.”

“Then you should tell your superior officers.”

“I’ll keep it to myself for a bit.”

“Did you hear that?” Nessie Currie asked her sister. “Thon Russian tart told Hamish something. I heard him telling Priscilla that he wasn’t happy about the arrest.”

They bustled off to spread the gossip.

When the break was over, Hamish collected more sandwiches and tea and retreated to a table at the back of the hall to watch as the rehearsal resumed.

They were all very amateur, including Priscilla, who delivered Lady Macbeth’s lines without passion but with a sort of icy disdain which was quite effective. And together it somehow worked. The mist had drifted into the hall, creating the right atmosphere for a Shakespearean tragedy.

When he went back to the police station, he could feel a light damp breeze beginning to fan his cheek. The dog and cat were out. They came and went by the large, expensive cat flap, a present from a grateful inspector Hamish had worked with on his last case. He knew they were perfectly capable of looking after themselves and that he should no longer plague Angela with them when he was going to be away for any length of time, but he could not stop worrying about them, and felt relieved when the flap banged and the pair finally strolled in.

He was about to go to bed when Jimmy rang. “Good news, Hamish. His alibi doesn’t stand up. He did threaten his employees with the sack if they didn’t back him up. Mind you, he’s screaming innocence. He says he came up before the family reunion to sweet-talk the old girl and make sure he was still in her will. But I can’t get out of him why he thought he needed an alibi.”

“If he gets a good defence lawyer,” said Hamish, “he might easily get off. The evidence is only circumstantial. Was Irena blackmailing him?”

“No, because, I suppose, she died before Mrs. Gentle.”

“Exactly, Jimmy. There’s no real leverage there for blackmail. A lot of folk threaten to kill people when they’re angry.”

“Don’t rain on my parade, Hamish. We’ve got him. Go to sleep.”

The morning dawned sunny and balmy with only thin traces of the previous night’s mist. Hamish decided to go back up to the castle. The family would be preparing to leave. He wanted to take another look in that nursery. He fed Sonsie and Lugs and forced himself not to phone Angela and ask her to look after them.

When he arrived, they were all getting into their cars. “What is it now?” asked Andrew.

“I’m just going up to look at that nursery again.”

“We don’t want to wait around for you. Here’s the key. Lock up when you leave. Here’s my card. Post the key to me.”

Hamish went into the castle and climbed the stairs to the nursery. He carefully removed the tape from across the door, opened it, and went in.

The room was in chaos. It looked as if it had been torn apart. Even teddy bears had been ripped open. The police had made a thorough search.

He imagined Irena sitting by the fire, trying to keep warm. She must have been terrified of going back to her old life or she would not have put up with such treatment.

There did not seem to be much point in his searching for anything now. He cleared some toys off a chair by the window and sat down to think. Why had she been carrying around that small, expensive tape recorder? What had first led her to think there might be someone worth blackmailing? Why had Mark’s voice been the only one on the tape?

There was a crash from somewhere below. Hamish rose and left the room, darting for the stairs. He gained the last stretch of stairs leading to the hall, leaping down the stairs three at a time.

He searched all over. A heavy pot was lying on its side on the stone flags of the hall. That must have been the crash he had heard.

He ran outside and looked down the drive. No one was in sight.

He made his way back into the castle and began to walk slowly up the stairs. He stopped dead before he reached the first landing. A wire was stretched across the second step. If he had not been leaping down the steps but taking them one at a time, he could have tumbled down and broken his neck on the stone flags of the hall below.

He took out his phone and called Jimmy.

Jimmy listened impatiently as Hamish told him how he had set himself up as bait and about the wire on the stairs.

“I don’t want to know this,” he groaned. “But wait there. I’ll be right over.”

Hamish went outside. There was a small gravelled parking area in front of the castle. It did not seem to have been disturbed.

He walked round the castle. At the side was the kitchen door. He tried it. It was locked. He examined the lock closely, but there did not seem to be any sign that someone had tried to pick it. He walked to the back. He could see where chunks of the cliff had fallen into the sea over the years, leaving the castle perilously close to the sea’s edge. There was no door at the back.

He returned to the front and entered the castle again. He had finished searching the last room when he heard Jimmy arrive.

Hamish went out to meet him. “I didn’t bring anyone with me,” said Jimmy. “I just hope it was someone in the family leaving that wire there in case of burglars.”

“Don’t be daft, Jimmy. Someone dropped that great pot in the hall, someone who knew I was upstairs and knew that I would come racing down. What we need are blueprints to this place. I could see no signs that anyone had come up to the front door or had left by that way. There must be another entrance. So far, I’ve searched everywhere and can’t find it. Might be something in the study.”

“The case was all nicely tied up,” said Jimmy.

“Confessed, did he?”

“No, he’s still protesting his innocence.”

“So let’s look for blueprints.”

They went into the study. “They might be rolled up somewhere,” said Hamish.

“There’s nothing in the bookshelves that I can see,” said Jimmy.

“Might be in a big bound book,” suggested Hamish. “Like those on the bottom shelf.”

Jimmy pulled out one and opened it. “Victorian photo album,” he said. “Must have been quite a place in its heyday.

Look at the maids and butler lined up behind the family.”

“What about that thin one underneath?”

Jimmy tugged it out, laid it on the desk, and opened it.

“Blueprints!” he cried. “You have a look, Hamish. I’m fair lousy at making these things out.”

“Leave me with it and go up and have a look at that wire. You’ll see what I mean,” said Hamish, settling himself behind the desk.

He began to study the blueprints carefully. His eyes widened as his long finger traced a staircase. Of course! When the castle had been built, there would have been a back staircase for the servants. It led down to the kitchen. There was a small stillroom, butler’s room, larder, and laundry room. The staircase led from the back of the kitchen. He called to Jimmy and when he entered the study said, “Look at this!”

“What is it?” asked Jimmy.

“It’s a staircase. The back stairs for the servants. Let’s go and look.”

They made their way into the kitchen, Hamish carrying the book of blueprints, which he put on the kitchen table. He looked around. “It should be over there where the new units have been put in.”

He knelt down and searched the floor. “There are scratch marks here. This cupboard is on castors. Help me wheel it out.”

The cupboard slid out easily. Behind was a door. Hamish put on a pair of latex gloves and opened it. “There are your back stairs,” he said. “He could have come in this way. Look, there are footprints in the dust on the stairs.”

They walked up to the first landing. A door which had led off it was bricked up. On they went to the second landing. Here they found a door. Hamish pushed it open and found himself looking at the back of a large wardrobe. He edged round it and found himself in one of the bedrooms.

“That’s how he did it,” said Hamish. “He must also have a key to the kitchen door. When he heard me coming down the stairs, all he had to do was nip out the kitchen door and wait until the coast was clear. He could walk along the cliff edge and nip over the boundary wall. May have had his car parked out on the road.”

“We’d better go back downstairs and get everyone up here,” said Jimmy gloomily. “These stairs and the kitchen have got to be dusted all over again. And I thought I was in for a few peaceful days!”

No one was pleased with Hamish Macbeth. There were grumbles at headquarters, even Daviot saying, “Why couldn’t he have left things alone, instead of setting himself up like some sort of stalking horse?”

It meant all the family had to be contacted again about the wire on the stairs, and all their alibis checked. Hours and days of police time and police money. “I’ve a good mind to sell that damn police station of his to recoup our losses,” raged Daviot.

The fact that they might have arrested the wrong man hung over headquarters like a black cloud.

The next morning, Hamish was in his police station when Elspeth arrived. “I’ve been summoned back to Glasgow,” she said. “Nothing to report until the court case.”

“You’d best come in,” said Hamish. “Something’s come up.”

Elspeth listened eagerly. “This is grand, Hamish. What a story! Secret staircase and all.”

“The trouble is,” said Hamish, “that you’ll need to get the facts officially. I suggest you go up to the castle, where they’re still searching for clues. I’d better give a hint to Matthew Campbell. Is he at the
Highland Times
?”

“No, he’s off to cover a dried-flower show at Bonar Bridge. Don’t worry. I’ll fill him in when I get back. Are you going to be all right? What if the murderer tries again?”

“Don’t say anything in the paper about me suggesting I really knew something, or I’ll be plagued by time-wasting nutters,” said Hamish.

“I won’t.”

“Now get out of here fast. I bet that Russian inspector will soon be here.”

And so it turned out. No sooner had Elspeth’s car disappeared along the waterfront than Anna was at the door.

“We have to talk,” she said.

“You’re in plainclothes,” said Hamish.

“I was about to leave when your news broke.” Anna was wearing a tailored grey suit over a white blouse. Her hair was tied at the back of her head with a thin black ribbon.

When she was seated at the kitchen table, she said, “If Mark Gentle did not murder Mrs. Gentle or Irena, then it might have been you.”

“How do you work that out?” demanded Hamish.

“You did not want to marry Irena, so you killed her. Mrs. Gentle found out something that would incriminate you, and so you lured her out and pushed her over the cliff. You put the wire on the stair yourself so as to mislead the police.”

Hamish thought, illogically, I wish she didn’t look so much like Putin in drag.

“I couldn’t have killed Irena because Jimmy Anderson was with me from the early morning until we left for Inverness. Now that you all have a suspect and thought the case closed, why should I try to open it? What gave you such a crazy idea?”

“You are a man of great intelligence and yet you choose to remain in this isolated village and stay in the rank of an ordinary policeman. Only someone who is psychologically flawed would opt for that.”

“What on earth is wrong with being contented and unambitious?” said Hamish. “I enjoy my life here, I love this village—that is, when I am not beset by murderers and foreign police officers.”

“You forget the respect that is due to my rank!”

“It’s not every day I am accused of being a murderer,” said Hamish mildly. “Coffee?”

“Yes.”

When Hamish had served them both with coffee and shortbread, he said, “The facts are simply these. I put it about night before last that Irena had told me something important. I knew the gossip would spread like wildfire over the Highlands. What puzzles me about the wire across the stairs is that it is not something I would expect a cold-blooded murderer to do.”

“Why? Can’t you make decent coffee? This is dreadful.”

“It’s special instant,” said Hamish huffily. “Mr. Patel said it was pure Kenyan. I think the wire across the stairs is something you see in television movies. I wonder if the members of the Gentle family have all left the area. No, I think the real murderer of Irena will find something more sophisticated to do to me.”