Death of a Valentine (22 page)

Elspeth drove through Braikie and out on the north road. Something off to her right caught her attention. She stopped and saw the police Land Rover up on the hill. She could
just make out a uniformed figure lying beside it.

She ran up the hill, calling out, ‘Wake up, Hamish! It’s me, Elspeth!’

But when she reached him and saw the dark stain of blood on his regulation jersey, she let out a wail of despair. Sonsie and Lugs were guarding the body. She took out her phone and shouted down
it for help from the emergency services. Then she knelt down in the heather beside him, feeling for a pulse. There was one, but it was faint.

She pressed a handkerchief to the wound and whispered, ‘Oh, Hamish.’

His eyes flickered open. He said in a whisper, ‘Cora Baxter,’ and then lapsed into unconsciousness again.

It seemed an age before she heard the whirring blades of a helicopter overhead and the siren of an ambulance coming out from the town.

The ambulance came bumping up the hill over the heather and the helicopter landed.

‘He’s been shot!’ said Elspeth to the paramedics. ‘Cora Baxter did it.’

‘It’s bad,’ said the leading paramedic. ‘The helicopter had better take him down to the Raigmore Hospital in Inverness.’

‘I’m going with him,’ said Elspeth. An oxygen mask was placed on Hamish’s face. Elspeth climbed abroad the helicopter and sat beside Hamish, praying as she had never
prayed before.

The news that Hamish Macbeth was in intensive care hit the village of Lochdubh like a bombshell. The whole village including Josie would have descended on Inverness had not Dr
Brodie informed them all that Hamish was not to be allowed any visitors.

Then further news came in that Cora Baxter had been arrested for the attempted murder of Hamish.

Josie fretted and worried. The wedding was postponed. If Hamish survived, he would expect her to be showing signs of pregnancy by the time he got out of hospital. She had been dieting so as to
be slim on her wedding day. She decided the best thing would be to put on weight.

Because Elspeth had done such a dramatic piece on television, she was told to take as much time up in Inverness as she wanted. She was sitting in the waiting room when Jimmy
Anderson arrived.

‘What’s the news?’ he asked.

Tears rolled down Elspeth’s cheeks. ‘It’s still bad. They got the bullet out. He lost a lot of blood. But the bullet seems to have missed any vital organs and gone right
through the shoulder. Why did that damn woman do such a thing?’

‘These small towns,’ mourned Jimmy. ‘In a big city, to be a councillor’s wife is no great shakes. But her position in the community had been everything to her. She must
be mad. She knew what her husband had done and kept quiet about it.’

The surgeon came into the waiting room and Elspeth jumped to her feet. ‘Any news?’

‘He’s stabilized but still unconscious. He should be coming out of it. I’ve seen something like this before but only with attempted suicides when they don’t want to be
rescued.’

‘I’ve got to talk to him,’ said Elspeth.

‘I can’t see it’ll do any harm and it might do some good.’

‘Wait for me, Jimmy,’ said Elspeth. As they walked along the corridors towards Hamish’s room, Elspeth whispered, ‘Don’t tell anyone. But I think he has been conned
into getting married. I’ve no proof. Just don’t let his fiancée see him.’

The surgeon was very impressed to be talking to such a famous Scottish celebrity.

‘If he recovers, I’ll see,’ he said.

Elspeth went into Hamish’s room and sat down by the bed. ‘I’ll give you ten minutes,’ said the surgeon.

Taking Hamish’s hand in a firm clasp, Elspeth said, ‘It’s me . . . Elspeth. Wake up, Hamish. What would Lochdubh do without you? Listen! Do you remember the time we went
poaching up on the colonel’s estate and caught that big salmon and the water bailiff nearly caught us? It was a grand day. How we laughed! And we poached that salmon for dinner. There are
good times still to come.’

Hamish lay as still as death.

‘Oh, wake up, you silly cowardly bastard!’ shouted Elspeth.

A doctor came hurrying in. ‘You are not to shout at the patient. I must ask you to leave.’

‘Elspeth,’ came a faint croak from the bed.

‘Oh, Hamish,’ said Elspeth. ‘Welcome back.’

The next day when Elspeth called again, it was to find Josie by the bed, holding Hamish’s hand. The surgeon had felt he could hardly refuse Hamish’s fiancée
a visit.

‘He’s making a grand recovery,’ said Josie, ‘so the wedding will be going ahead quite soon.’

‘Are you sure, Hamish?’ asked Elspeth.

‘Of course,’ he said blandly. ‘Thank you for saving my life.’

‘I think Hamish and I would like some time together,’ said Josie.

Elspeth looked inquiringly at Hamish and he gave a brief nod.

Elspeth went back to the offices of the
Highland Times
in Lochdubh.

‘Come back to work for us?’ asked Matthew Campbell, the editor.

‘No, I just wanted to borrow one of your computers and go through the local stories.’

‘Help yourself. Everything’s on the computer now. All the cuttings are down in the basement.’

Elspeth sat down at the computer, switched it on, and typed in ‘Dr Cameron Strathbane.’

No results.

Elspeth found a copy of the Highlands and Islands telephone directory and looked up Dr Cameron. There was the name and address. She wrote the address down and set off for Strathbane.

The doctor’s surgery was down near the docks in a far-from-salubrious neighbourhood. Even the seagulls looked dirty. Thin, white-faced youths lurked outside.

Elspeth had donned a simple disguise in the car: a woollen hat pulled down over her hair, glasses with clear lenses, and old clothes from her charity-shop shopping days.

She sat in her car and wondered what to tell the doctor was wrong with her. Then she thought – but what good would it do? She took out her phone and called Jimmy Anderson, glad she had
kept his mobile phone number from the old days when she used to work for the
Highland Times.

‘Elspeth!’ said Jimmy. ‘What’s the news about Hamish?’

‘Recovering rapidly. Jimmy, have you heard anything about a Dr Cameron in Strathbane?’

‘Why?’

‘Just passing the time up here looking for stories.’

‘I thought you grand presenters had reporters and researchers to do the work for you.’

‘Indulge me, Jimmy.’

‘It’s last year’s story. Cameron was up before the sheriff on a charge o’ selling methadone to druggies. He got off because the laddie who shopped him
disappeared.’

‘Thanks.’

‘But why . . .?’

‘I’ll let you know if anything comes of it.’

Elspeth thought hard. Before she tackled Cameron, she desperately wanted to know if the results of Hamish’s urine test and blood test were accurate. They could still be in the forensic
lab. But how to get them? If Lesley were alerted, she might destroy them.

She drove slowly to the forensic lab. Outside, she pulled off her glasses and hat.

Elspeth walked into the lab. Bruce and several of his assistants were working at long benches, strewn with not only the paraphernalia of forensic detection but also half-eaten sandwiches, flasks
of coffee and paperback books.

Bruce recognized her and rushed forward. ‘It’s Elspeth Grant. What can we do for you?’

‘I’m up here until Hamish gets better,’ said Elspeth. ‘I thought I might fill in the time by doing a feature on your lab. Have you time to show me around?’

‘Sure. Care for a drink?’

‘Not now.’

Elspeth barely listened as he took her around the lab. At last she said, ‘And where do you keep the samples? The public have become very interested in cold-case files.’

He led her into an adjoining room full of freezers. ‘All in here,’ he said.

‘Goodness, you are efficient. Are they all labelled?’

Bruce gave her a superior smile. ‘Of course.’ He swung open one door. ‘See?’

Elspeth stared at the labelled samples. She could not see Hamish’s name. ‘This is fascinating,’ she said. ‘May I see in the others?’

Bruce opened door after door. In one of them, in a corner, Elspeth saw two samples labelled HAMISH MACBETH.

They returned to the lab. ‘Where has everyone gone?’ asked Elspeth.

‘Lunch. Would you like to join me?’

‘I’m a bit pushed for time but I wouldn’t mind a drink. Whisky will do fine, if you have it.’

He laughed. ‘This lab runs on it. Wait here. I’ve got a bottle somewhere.’

When he went off to a side room, Elspeth darted back to the freezers, seized Hamish’s samples, shoved them in her handbag, and hurried back to the lab.

Bruce came out holding a bottle and two glasses. ‘I thought you’d have a cameraman with you,’ he said, pouring Elspeth a generous measure.

‘I’ll be back with one, but I just wanted to get a feel for the place first.
Slainte!
’

She knocked back her drink and said, ‘I’ve got to run. See you soon, Bruce.’

Elspeth went to the nearest supermarket, bought a bag of ice, and put the samples in amongst the cubes. There was a forensic lab in Aberdeen. She could only hope they could get
a result for her quickly.

But after a long drive to Aberdeen, she was disappointed to learn that the quickest they could do it would be two weeks. Still, she reflected, Hamish was safe for the moment. She decided to
return to Glasgow.

Hamish, although still weak, was able to get out of bed and go for short walks. He pretended to be very frail, however, when Josie and her mother came to call, to hide from
Flora his lack of affection for her daughter.

But just as he was pronounced fit to leave, Flora arrived on her own, very agitated. ‘Hamish, Josie has just told me she is pregnant and it’s beginning to show. You must be married
as quickly as possible.’

Hamish looked at her wearily. It was all going to happen anyway. ‘Make it next week,’ he said.

Rapid invitations were sent out again with the new date. Angela stared at hers in dismay. She had been immersed in writing her latest book and had not been out and about to
pick up the gossip or she would have heard of the new date before the invitation arrived in the post. Three days’ time! She phoned Elspeth, who listened in horror to her news. In fact it was
more like two days, as Angela had not opened her post until the evening.

‘I’ll do my best,’ said Elspeth. She knew she dared not ask for any time off, so she pretended to faint on the studio floor. The television doctor diagnosed overwork and
stress. Elspeth left the studios and drove straight to the airport. She booked herself on to a flight to Aberdeen. At Aberdeen airport, she hired a car and drove to the forensic lab.

She was told they had not yet got around to examining her samples.

Elspeth took a deep breath. She faced the director of the lab and said, ‘Unless you get me these results fast, a man is going to be tricked into marriage.’

‘All right!’ he said. ‘Come along tomorrow morning.’

Elspeth booked into a hotel, barely sleeping that night, and was at the lab the first thing in the morning.

The director beamed and handed her a printed result. ‘This Hamish Macbeth had taken a big dose of Rohypnol. It’s the first time we’ve had a man with this result. Macbeth . . .
isn’t that the . . .’

But he found he was talking to the empty air.

With the printout on the seat beside her, Elspeth drove the long way across country to Strathbane.

To her dismay, she found that the surgery would not open until six o’clock in the evening. She tried to find the doctor’s home address but without success.

Impatiently she waited and then, just before six, she donned her disguise. A thin, undernourished-looking girl was just unlocking the door to the surgery when she walked across the road and
followed the girl in.

‘Are you the receptionist?’ she asked.

‘Yes.’

‘I need an urgent appointment.’

‘Doctor has people to see before you.’

Elspeth slid a twenty-pound note over the desk. ‘I need to see him quickly.’

The girl tucked the note into her blouse. ‘Take a seat. He won’t be long.’

The surgery began to fill up with young men and women, all shabby, all with dilated pupils. He’s still up to his tricks, thought Elspeth. I’ll nail the bastard, but Hamish comes
first.

Dr Cameron arrived, a small, rotund man with a fat face and little gold-rimmed spectacles. The receptionist followed him into his office and then came out again after a few minutes. She jerked
her head at Elspeth. ‘You can go in now.’

Elspeth switched a powerful little tape recorder on, leaving her handbag open, and went in.

‘Now, then,’ said Dr Cameron. ‘What’s all the rush?’

‘I want to get married,’ said Elspeth.

He grinned. ‘Can’t help you there.’

‘As a matter of fact, you can. You can do for me what you did for my friend Josie McSween. You gave her a certificate to say she was pregnant when she wasn’t pregnant at all. You
didn’t even examine her. Josie gave me your name.’

Careful not to disturb the tape recorder, Elspeth pulled five hundred pounds out of her handbag and put them on the desk. ‘Will that do?’ she asked.

He counted out the notes. ‘Josie McSween gave me one thousand pounds,’ he said. ‘That was the deal.’

Glad she had drawn out a large sum of money earlier, Elspeth took out her wallet and counted out another five hundred.

Again he checked the money. He drew his prescription pad forward. ‘Name?’

‘Heather Dunne.’

‘Address?’

‘Number six, the Waterfront, Cnothan.’

He scribbled busily and handed the note over.

‘Nice to do business with you, Miss Dunne. Don’t come back.’

Elspeth drove to the centre of town and sat in her car. She hated Josie with an all-consuming rage. She could go straight to the police station and hand the evidence to Hamish.
But she wanted Josie to suffer as much as Hamish had suffered. She wanted her to be publicly humiliated.

Josie was at the manse, trying on her new wedding gown, altered to fit her larger figure.