Death of a Nurse (16 page)

He peered round the corner, but after only a few moments, he said, “She’s out again. There’s a truck coming along. Tuck in behind it, Charlie, so she doesn’t see us.”

After a few streets, the truck turned off, leaving them feeling exposed. Charlie hung back before setting off again in pursuit. Finally Helen stopped outside a large villa on the outskirts. Again, Charlie parked around a corner. Hamish got out to discreetly watch the villa. Helen was inside for a quarter of an hour before coming out again and getting in her car.

“Right,” said Hamish. “Let’s go in and see if Betty is working there.”

It was Betty herself who answered the door. She looked at them in surprise as Hamish produced his warrant card and said they would like to speak to her.

“Only a few minutes,” said Betty. “I’ve just started work here and my gentleman will be wanting tea soon.”

She led them into a gloomy Victorian front parlour dominated by a large stuffed owl in a glass case. The room was cold and damp.

“We wondered why Helen Mackenzie called on you,” said Hamish.

“I’d been working for Colonel Halburton-Smythe,” said Betty. “Helen said she was tired of Mr. Harrison and wondered if the colonel would be needing a new nurse. I told her there seemed to be nothing up with him and he was all right now. She asked if the colonel had been curious about the murders and I told her everyone was. That’s all. I’ve really got to go.”

Hamish begged her to say nothing about their enquiries, and he and Charlie took their leave.

“I don’t like this at all,” said Hamish. “We’ve got to keep an eye on the colonel.”

They went back to Lochdubh and straight to the hotel to find the colonel triumphant with news. Mr. Harrison had phoned him and had decided to accept the colonel’s invitation to stay at the hotel.

“That nurse Helen had been asking questions about you,” said Hamish. “She may not hesitate to murder again.”

“Pooh! Charlie will look after me,” said the colonel.

But Hamish fretted. “There’s so many ways she could get at you. Poison, a blow on the head, anything.”

Mr. Harrison was allocated one of the large rooms on the ground floor. Its barred windows looked out over the back. Hamish saw that there were several laurel bushes outside the windows and decided to watch and see what happened when Helen was alone with her patient. If only, he thought, they had enough on her to get a search warrant. And yet her room at the hunting lodge had been searched twice along with all the other rooms.

He and Charlie were told they could have dinner that evening, but at another table. To Hamish’s dismay, he heard the colonel moving into Poirot mode and beginning to question Harrison and Helen all about the murders. They were on first-name terms, but at last Harrison seemed to weary of all the questions and said sharply, “Look, George. I am still mourning the death of my son. I don’t want to talk about it.” The colonel reluctantly dropped the subject. Helen did not contribute to the conversation.

When Harrison retired for the night, Hamish went out to take up his post outside the bedroom window. It had begun to rain, steady drenching rain, pattering down on the laurel leaves and dripping down the back of his neck. To his dismay, thick curtains had been drawn across the windows. He pressed his ear to the glass.

“I think you would be more comfortable in your own home,” he heard Helen say.

“Nonsense,” came Harrison’s voice. “The food’s great here and I need a change of scene. Leave me. I’m tired of your fussing around.”

“Now, then. What would you do without your Helen?”

“Find another nurse. Like taxis in a rank.”

“Now, aren’t we cruel? You said you loved your Helen.”

“Oh, shove off. I want to be on my own. I wish George would stop playing detective. I believe he thinks you’re a murderer, Helen. What do you think of that?”

“I could sue him.”

“You wouldn’t get very far. He suspects everyone.”

The days dragged by. Harrison finally took his leave. Nothing sinister had happened. A
FOR SALE
board was now outside the hunting lodge. The days were sunny, just the sort of weather that Hamish usually enjoyed. But the dark shadow of unsolved murders plagued him. He was sure Helen Mackenzie was a ruthless murderer.

Charlie and the colonel were sitting one evening in Charlie’s apartment when the colonel said, “I feel Percy Harrison should really be warned about that nurse.”

“We’ve no real proof,” said Charlie. “Helen’s got an aunt in Kinlochbervie. The second sight woman was killed there. She and Gloria were both dating Malky, we think, and no doubt supplying him with drugs, but we’ve no proof. We’ve proof Gloria was doing it but nothing on Helen. We think Helen bumped off Gloria so she could get her job and maybe woo Harrison herself, but she looks like the back of a bus. So surely no hope there.”

“I think I should give him a clear warning,” said the colonel.

Hamish came clattering in wearing his big boots. The colonel looked at him crossly. He didn’t like Hamish interrupting his cosy evenings with Charlie.

“George is thinking of giving Harrison a clear warning about Helen,” said Charlie.

“Is Greta still in residence?” asked Hamish.

“I believe she went south after the funeral,” said the colonel. “You surely don’t suspect her?”

“I think it’s all about money,” said Hamish. “If Harrison dies, then surely Greta inherits.”

“Maybe not.” The colonel brightened. “I could just ask him who he’s leaving his money to now.”

“Oh, keep out of it,” said Hamish wearily.

“I am not taking orders from some useless copper who had the damn cheek to jilt my daughter,” raged the colonel. He got to his feet and stomped off up the stairs.

The colonel set out for the hunting lodge the next day. He asked Harrison to dismiss Helen, saying he wanted to talk to him in private about a serious matter.

The day was sunny and warm and the long windows were open onto the terrace.

“It’s like this, Percy,” began the colonel, and he plunged into a long story about why he suspected Helen of being a murderer. He ended up by saying, “If I were you, I’d put it about you haven’t signed a will. That should keep you safe.”

“I’m leaving Helen money in my will,” said Harrison. “And I’m taking her to Yorkshire with me.”

“Why? You could get any amount of nurses.”

Harrison grinned. “I’m telling you, Percy, Helen does the best hand job in the Highlands.”

“Is that a type of massage?” asked the colonel.

Harrison rocked with laughter and then told him in graphic detail exactly what a hand job was. The colonel turned bright scarlet. “I’ve got to go,” he said hurriedly. He fled from the hunting lodge, followed by the cackle of Harrison’s laughter.

The colonel did a detour to the florist’s in Braikie and bought his wife a dozen red roses, thanking God for his clean life and a decent wife.

Charlie called in at the police station that evening to tell Hamish about the colonel’s adventure. When he had finished, Hamish sighed. “I’m sick o’ the whole business. Let her bump him off in Yorkshire and let the police down there sort it out.”

“Not like you, Hamish. When did you last have a holiday?”

“Can’t quite remember. I don’t usually bother when things are quiet like this. Slope around. Take things easy. Heard anything of Fiona?”

“Not a word.”

“Jimmy’s not come near me, either. I mean, surely they must know now it couldn’t have been Malky. But the way I see it, they got such a bruising in the press that the last thing they want is to open up that can o’ worms again.”

“We could be looking in the wrong place,” said Charlie. “Could ha’ been Juris or Greta.”

“No, it all points to Helen. Damn! I cannae leave it alone. Do you know what I’m going to do? I’m going up there and I’m going to tell Helen I think she committed the murders.”

“She’ll report you to Strathbane. She’ll sue you. You’ll lose your job.”

“So what? I cannae go on in the job wi’ this hanging over me. Something’s got to break.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“No. One of us in trouble is enough. Take the dogs with you for the day.”

Hamish set out for the hunting lodge. He could feel his fury against Helen mounting. He found Harrison and Helen in the drawing room and told Harrison sharply that he had called on police business and wanted to see Helen Mackenzie alone. Mr. Harrison protested, but Helen said she was sure it would only take a few moments. Harrison shrugged and wheeled himself out of the room.

Helen sat primly on the edge of an armchair and Hamish pulled up a hard chair and sat opposite her.

Helen’s eyes were flat and cold and betrayed neither interest nor curiosity.

Hamish began. “I know you murdered Gloria Dainty, Jessie McGowan, and Andrew Harrison. Maybe you killed Willie Dunne as well. You killed Gloria to get her job so that you could seduce Harrison into either marrying you or leaving you money in his will. When you learned he had left it all to Andrew, then Andrew had to go. If that old fool Harrison does make out a will leaving money to you, he will be next. Here’s what I have found out so far.”

As he talked, she sat there, unmoving, her reddened hands folded on her uniform lap.

When he had finished, she stood up and said coldly, “I am going to report you to your superiors.”

“Please do,” said Hamish, “and tell them exactly what I have said.”

“And I am going to sue you.”

“Grand. The newspapers will have a field day. Hear this: I’ll be watching you every step o’ the way.”

Hamish turned and left the room. As he got to the front door of the hall, he had a feeling of being watched. He swung round but could see no one in the shadows.

He suddenly felt lighter and freer. He had burnt his boats. Now let’s see what she will do.

Two days later, Hamish received a call from Juris. “The nurse has disappeared,” he said. “All her stuff is in her room, but she’s gone.”

“I’ll get over there,” said Hamish. He called Charlie. Then he phoned Jimmy and explained what had happened.

“I can’t say anything about confronting her,” said Hamish as they sped off. “I’ll be hauled over the coals. Damn! Did she run for it? But why leave her belongings behind?”

As if to suit his mood, black rain clouds were being driven in from the west on a rising gale. The gamekeeper was on guard at the gates to keep the press at bay. How did they find out so soon? wondered Hamish. A small huddle of men stood in the now driving rain.

Juris let them in. “We’ll interview you after we’ve seen her room,” said Hamish. “We cannae go in because we’ll need to leave it clear for forensics, but we can stand at the door and look in.”

They followed Juris up the shadowy stone staircase. Outside the wind had risen to an eldritch scream. Lightning flickered across the glass eyes of the stuffed animals, and then came a great roll of thunder. Juris went on up to the second floor and pushed open a stout oak door.

Hamish peered in. He put a handkerchief over his hand and switched on the light. Not much had been changed since the days when it had probably housed a governess. There was a single brass bed against the wall with a side table, holding a Bible. By the opposite wall was a toilet table with an old-fashioned ewer and basin. No wash hand basin with running water. Beside it stood a large Victorian wardrobe, the door standing open to reveal coats, dresses, and skirts. There were no books or pictures. The mullioned windows let in very little light.

“Right, Juris,” said Hamish. “We’ll go down to the study and start the questioning.”

But as they descended the staircase, there came a pounding at the door. Juris hurried to open it. Blair, Jimmy, several policemen, and a forensic team crowded in.

“We’ll take over,” said Blair. “There’s enough o’ us here. You pair, get back to your station.”

Hamish and Charlie climbed into the Land Rover. Hamish stared moodily out at the pouring rain. “This is all wrong,” he said. “Why should she leave her belongings behind? I didn’t see a handbag in that room. Maybe she took her money and cards and left. Let’s go to the garage. I want to see if her car is there.”

He reached into the back for his oilskins and shrugged into them before getting out into the storm. Followed by Charlie, he made his way to the garages, which had been converted from the old stables.

Hamish swung open the door and went into the musty interior, smelling of petrol, oil, and dust. “That’s her car,” said Hamish. He took out a pair of latex gloves and slipped them on. The car was not locked. He flipped open the glove compartment. Nothing but a roll of peppermints. He opened the boot. It was clean and empty. He studied the tyres. There was no sign that the car had been driven recently. In fact, the car looked as if it had been recently washed, inside and out.

“Now, did she get it washed herself or did someone else? Where’s the nearest car wash, Charlie?”

“Nothing till you get to Strathbane,” said Charlie. “Fine Foods supermarket on the outskirts.”

“Let’s try there,” said Hamish.

The whole of the Highlands seemed to be in motion as they drove south to Strathbane. Lightning stabbed down and thunder rolled. At one point, their way was blocked by a fallen tree and they had to bump over the moor to get round the blockage.

As they neared Strathbane, the sky began to clear to the west, and by the time they drove into the supermarket car park a watery sun was shining down.

The manager said they did not take a note of car registrations at the car wash, only entered the type of cleaning required in the books. The cars were all washed by hand by a gang of Eastern Europeans. Hamish asked to see the security tapes for the past two days.

He and Charlie settled down in the manager’s office to go through them. But after hours of searching, there was no sign of Helen’s car.

Charlie scratched his head. “You seem to be thinking something nasty happened to her,” he said. “But she’s the main suspect.”

“It’s the way she left,” fretted Hamish. “Leaving it all behind, even her car. And why was that car so clean inside and out? Is there any other car wash?”