Death of a Witch (17 page)

“Got it.”

Elspeth drove on to the main street and parked. “I’m hungry. There’s a chippy. We could have fish-and-chips or haggis-and-chips or black-pudding-and-chips or . . .”

“Deep-fried Mars bars?”

“Of course. And deep-fried pizza, too.”

“You know,” said Perry, “the average life span of a man in Glasgow is now fifty-seven, and they put it down to a diet of the stuff you’ve just mentioned. I want a drink. What about The Highlanders Arms over there?”

“They’ve got meat pies from the bakery that aren’t bad.”

“We’ll try that and you can tell me all about the dead postmistress.”

Perry had been damned in the Glasgow office as a “posh git.” But Elspeth found his manner of listening intently, his light accent, and his very green eyes intriguing. One read a lot about people with green eyes in books, particularly American books. Maybe green eyes weren’t so unusual in the States, but it was rare to see such vivid green in Britain that was not pale or mixed with brown. Her mind turned briefly to Hamish. He blew hot and cold and anytime they seemed to be getting close, he always turned away to some other woman, usually Priscilla.

“Do you really think these murders are connected?” Perry asked.

“I’m not so sure about the one at Bonar Bridge. But the others, yes. Catriona Beldame was hated, Ina probably knew something, and the silly postmistress bragged that she did.”

“Do we still write postmistress or do we have to write postperson?”

“God forbid! Mind you, there’s probably some new name like post office executive manager, or something. Ellie lived above the shop. Let’s go round there and see if some relative is cleaning up, someone she might have said something to.”

“You’re doing Hamish Macbeth’s job.”

“No, I’m doing my own. I’m a reporter, remember? You haven’t eaten your pie.”

Perry looked round the dismal dirty pub. “I’m frightened to.”

“If this frightens you, some of the places in Glasgow will scare your socks off. Come on.”

Elspeth found the street door leading to Ellie’s flat standing open. They went up the stairs. The flat door was open as well. A small woman was standing in the living room putting stuff into a packing case.

“Excuse me,” said Elspeth.

The woman straightened up. She was wearing a floral pinafore over a dun-coloured sweater and dark blue polyester slacks. She was small and wiry with a pug face and grey hair.

“What do you want?”

“We’re from the
Daily Bugle
. . .”

“Sod off.”

Perry moved in front of Elspeth. “I know it must distress you to be approached by the press at such a time. But I think Miss Ellie Macpherson should be remembered not as a murder victim, but as a real, live person.” He gave his charming smile. “More to the point, you seem to have a lot of work and we could help you.”

She looked up at him for a long moment and then to Elspeth’s surprise, she smiled, exposing a set of dazzlingly white dentures. “I could do with the help. I’m Betty Macpherson, Ellie’s sister. Wouldn’t think so, would you? She was aye a great beanpole o’ a lass.”

“I am Perry Gaunt and this is my colleague, Elspeth Grant. Maybe we could make you a cup of tea. Then you can take a rest and tell us what to do.”

“You’re right kind for an Englishman,” said Betty. “Tea would be nice.”

“I’ll get it,” said Elspeth.

When she returned from the kitchen with the tea things, Perry was on his knees, packing china ornaments. “I don’t want any of her stupid books,” said Betty. “Witch indeed. I don’t want that crystal ball, either.”

Elspeth poured tea into mugs. Then she picked up the crystal ball and gazed into it. “Someone would pay you for this,” she said. Suddenly she was engulfed with a wave of hate, fear, and anger. She dropped the ball on the carpet, where it rolled over to Perry. He looked curiously at Elspeth’s white face. “What is it?”

Elspeth shook her head as if to clear it. “Nothing. I felt queasy. Must have been that pie.”

He picked up the ball and put it back on the table.

Elspeth wished she had brought the photographer. The crystal ball had been the murder weapon. She had her own camera in her bag, but she dreaded picking up the ball again. She wondered why forensics had released it. She thought they kept murder weapons forever.

“I’m surprised they gave that thing back to you,” she said, pointing to the ball.

“Oh, that’s not the murder weapon,” said Betty. “I wouldn’t have such a thing around. She must have had the two. If you think I could get any money for it, pack it up.”

“I hope this is not too painful for you,” said Elspeth, “but did your sister tell you anything that might lead you to suspect she knew the murderer?”

“We didnae talk much. We were aye like chalk and cheese. I think Ellie should have gone on the stage and got it out of her system. She would tell any lie to get attention. I mind when she was just a wee lass, her opening the fridge door and standing there in the light from the fridge, graciously inclining her head as if accepting an award.

“This is what comes of her lies.” A tear rolled down Betty’s cheek.

“Drink your tea,” said Perry, “and I’ll get on with packing things up.”

Now that there seemed nothing further to find out, Elspeth could only marvel at Perry’s patience as he deftly wrapped kitchen stuff and other odds and ends and put them into packing cases.

When they eventually left, Perry said, “Now I really am starving.”

“Let’s go back to the hotel,” said Elspeth. “Clarry, the chef, will rustle something up for you.”

Hamish was sitting in the lounge with Priscilla when Elspeth and Perry entered. Elspeth’s face was flushed and her eyes were shining. Her face fell when she saw Priscilla. She waited for the inevitable. Perry would forget all about her and be fascinated by Priscilla.

She introduced Perry to Priscilla and said, “Perry’s desperate for something to eat.”

Priscilla rose to her feet. “What about soup and a plate of sandwiches?”

“That would be great.”

“I’ll tell Clarry.”

When Priscilla had left, Elspeth said, “I thought you’d be out trying to find out where Fergus really was.”

“We were just going over my notes,” said Hamish defensively. Perry and Elspeth sat down.

“Could he have been with a woman?” asked Elspeth. “He wouldn’t want to say so, would he? I mean with his wife just dead.”

Hamish stared at her for a long moment. “The brothel,” he said. “What if Fergus was one of Fiona McNulty’s clients? He wouldn’t have the time to go all the way over to Bonar Bridge. And she was still in Cnothan when Ina was murdered. Maybe he went to Cnothan where she used to be. I’ll get down to the newspaper and get a photograph of him from Matthew and see if anyone over there saw him.”

He almost expected Elspeth to volunteer to go with him, but she said “Good idea” and settled back in her chair.

Having secured a photograph, Hamish was driving towards Cnothan when his mobile phone rang. He stopped at the side of the road and answered it. It was Lesley. “This is short notice, Hamish,” she said. “I wonder whether you would like to come over to my place tonight for dinner?”

Hamish thought rapidly. Priscilla was as cool as ever, and Elspeth seemed enamoured of the feature writer. “What time?” he asked.

“Eight o’ clock. Here’s the address.”

Hamish wrote it down. “See you then,” he said, and rang off.

He drove up to where the mobile home used to be and once more called at the croft where the gnome-like man lived. He showed him Fergus’s photograph but the man shook his head.

Hamish tried several of the other outlying crofts but without success. The trouble was, he thought, that to get to the mobile home, Fergus would not have needed to go through the town.

Then he had an idea. If Fergus had been in the habit of visiting Fiona, would he have known that she would have a supply of condoms, or, on his first visit, would he call in at the chemist in Cnothan to get a packet?

He drove into town and went to the chemist. The pharmacist, Mr. Hepworth, was standing behind the counter with a young female assistant. Hamish showed them the photograph of Fergus and asked if they could remember him ever buying condoms.

Mr. Hepworth shook his head but the girl giggled and said, “Oh, I mind him.”

“Tell me about it,” urged Hamish.

“He looked around for a long time. Then he bought toothpaste. Then he wandered around again. The condoms are right here on the counter. He kept staring at them as he was paying for the toothpaste and his face was bright red and he was sweating although it was a cold day. I took pity on him so I picked up a packet and said, ‘Can I wrap this for you as well?’ He said, ‘Aye,’ paid for them, and fairly fled out of the shop. I mind it well ’cos I had a good laugh about it with my friends that evening.”

“When was this?” asked Hamish.

“Last September. I can’t remember the exact day.”

Hamish took a note of her name and address and then left, deep in thought.

Fergus had been in the habit of visiting Fiona. That was where he might have been on the afternoon his wife was being murdered.

He went back to the police station, collected Sonsie and Lugs, and drove to Strathbane.

He stopped in the car park and phoned Jimmy. “What is it?” asked Jimmy. “I’ve finished for the day and I want to get to the pub.”

“I’ll meet you there.”

In the pub, Jimmy listened carefully and then said bitterly, “Trust you to throw a spanner in the works. If you want to make my life even more miserable, talk to her.”

He pointed to a woman at a corner table who was working on a laptop. “That’s Fergus’s lawyer, Agnes Dunne. She’s all set to get him out on bail. I’ll just stay here and get drunk.”

Hamish approached Agnes Dunne. She was a hatchet-faced woman in her forties wearing a power suit.

“Yes?” she demanded.

Hamish sat down opposite her and told her about Fergus’s visits to Fiona. “Get him to say that’s where he was and if he told anyone at work where he was going and if he maybe went into the town afterwards and might have been seen in one of the shops.”

She switched off her laptop and closed it down. “Come with me,” she said, “although I hope they don’t try to pin the murder at Bonar Bridge on him now.”

Jimmy swallowed his drink and went with them. To Hamish’s relief, Blair was nowhere in sight. The duty officer led the way down to the cells in the basement.

Fergus was sitting with his head in his hands. He looked up when they entered.

Hamish sat down on the bed and faced him.

“You’re a right fool, Fergus. Why didn’t you just tell the truth? I now know you were visiting Fiona McNulty.”

“You cannae tell anyone, Hamish,” exclaimed Fergus. “Oh, man, the shame o’ it. They’ll never let me inside the kirk again.”

“Listen to me, Fergus. You have been charged with the murder of your wife. I am sure they are trying to pin the other murders on you as well. You’ll spend the rest of your life in prison if you don’t speak up now. Now, on the day of Ina’s murder, did you go to Fiona?”

“Aye,” he mumbled.

“Now, think very carefully. Did you go into the village?”

“Aye, I did that. I’ll never forget it. I thocht she might say something.”

“Who? Where?”

“It was after . . . you know . . . I went into that café on the main street and I ordered a mutton pie and peas and some tea.” He looked at Hamish with a sort of bewildered innocence. “It makes ye hungry.”

“Sex?”

“Aye. That lassie, Sky—stupit name—herself was serving. She says, ‘My dad says you’re getting to be a regular around these parts.’ I was that feart, I leapt to my feet and knocked the teapot onto the floor. I threw some money on the table and ran for it.”

“You see how simple it is?” said Hamish. “I’ll get over there right now and check it out.”

Lesley looked with pride at her dinner table. It was set with her finest china and a bottle of good claret nestled in its basket, ready to pour. She had brushed her red-gold hair until it shone. She was wearing a white silk blouse with a low neckline and her late mother’s pearls. Pearl drops hung from her small ears. A black velvet skirt went to ankle length, just showing a pair of high-heeled black patent shoes with thin straps. She was wearing a scarlet thong and wriggled a little with the discomfort of it.

Lesley went into the bathroom and sprayed herself with Givenchy’s Hot. Eight o’clock came and went. She began to pace up and down. She was just about to phone Hamish when the doorbell rang.

She opened the door and stared at Hamish. He was wearing his uniform, and his dog and cat were at his feet.

“What are they doing here?” she demanded, pointing at the animals.

“I’m right sorry, Lesley. I didn’t have time to take them home. They’re right hungry and they need some water. If you wouldnae mind . . .”

She slammed the door in his face, rushed into the bathroom, and glared in fury at her reflection in the mirror.

“The man’s a hick!” she screamed. Now she felt she knew why this man had avoided promotion. He was nothing more than a highland peasant. She had gone to all this trouble. Not only had he turned up in his shabby uniform but he’d had the cheek to bring along his weird pets and expect her to feed them!

Hamish stood outside the door. He wondered whether to knock again and ask her what on earth was up with her. Then he shrugged. He was tired and hungry. He helped Sonsie and Lugs into the Land Rover. “Don’t you worry,” he said. “We’ll find a chippy.”

He was pleased with the day’s work. Sky had remembered the incident and had also remembered the day because that had been the day of her birthday. Fergus was a lucky man. Strathbane might consider themselves back to square one but Hamish had the advantage of never having believed Fergus guilty in the first place.

He bought Sonsie a fish supper at the chip shop, and as a treat he bought Lugs a black pudding supper. Lugs was partial to black pudding. He also bought two bottles of mineral water. He settled for a haggis supper for himself.

He drove up out of Strathbane and stopped on the moors. He poured the mineral water into bowls for his pets before eating his deep-fried slice of haggis and his chips.