Death of Yesterday (15 page)

When he had gone, Dick took down an apron from a hook and wrapped it round his generous middle. “Why don’t you pair go through
to the living room while I clear up.”

Elspeth looked around the living room in amazement. A bright fire was burning, the evening having turned cold. Hamish’s shabby
furniture had been covered with chintz. She noticed the flat-screen television and the latest in stereo equipment.

“Did you win the lottery, Hamish?”

“No, it’s Dick. He’s a whiz at quizzes and keeps winning prizes.”

“I didn’t think you could win chintz covers.”

“He won a sewing machine and made them himself.”

“How domesticated you are! Better than a wife.”

“Let’s talk about something else. I suppose you’ve come about the murders. If you write anything, let me see it first.”

“Sure. Is the dead body Brenda Gilchrist?”

“Yes, but don’t write anything about that until you get the official confirmation.”

“Tell me about it all.”

So Hamish did, feeling at ease in her company. She was wearing a checked shirt and jeans instead of one of her usual power
suits. Because of the dampness of the evening, her hair had begun to frizz, reminding him of how she used to look when she
was only a local reporter.

When he had finished, she said in amazement, “It all sounds like blundering from one murder to another.”

“That’s what held up the investigation,” said Hamish. “We were looking first of all for one person and a clever one at that.”

“Why did Sean kill himself? He could confess to lying about taking Brenda to the airport and say that his boss paid him to
say it. He would have got off on a minor charge.”

“I think somehow he was murdered. Poison was substituted for those high blood pressure pills of his. I think maybe Gilchrist
planned to get rid of him even before Sean fled. I can’t believe he put it there himself. What I’m trying to figure out is
what will Heather do next? She hasn’t any money. If she wants to stay hidden, she’ll need money.”

“With her track record, she’ll probably just mug someone,” said Elspeth.

Heather, having reached London, spent the remainder of the night in her car in the back streets of South London. Then in the
morning, she left the car with the keys in the ignition. With any luck someone would steal it.

She took the tube to Trafalgar Square and walked along to the Savoy Hotel where she ordered breakfast. She was wearing a broad-brimmed
hat and glasses and had padded out her cheeks. She waited until she saw a wealthy-looking woman rise from the table, say something
to her husband, and head for the ladies’ room.

She followed. To her relief, there was no woman on duty. Her quarry came out of the toilet, placed her capacious handbag beside
one of the sinks, and began to wash her hands. Another woman came in and hailed the first one. “Alice, dear, were you waiting
long for us? John’s with your husband. How did you get on with…?” Her voice sank to a whisper. Both women glanced at Heather
and then moved over to a corner to have a muttered conversation.

Heather quickly zipped open Alice’s handbag, extracted her wallet, took out a thick pile of notes, replaced the wallet, and
zipped up the handbag again.

She quickly left, walking straight out of the hotel and vanishing into the morning crowds.

When she felt safe, she went into a café and checked the amount. Over five hundred pounds. Silly woman to carry that much
cash around with her. She was just asking to be robbed.

She went to a car rental agency and, using her false passport and driving licence, hired a Ford.

Elspeth stood in front of the factory the morning after her evening with Hamish, interviewing members of the staff. Many were
in tears. All they could think about was the fact that the business would be closed down and they would lose their jobs.

The best interview was with Freda Crichton. Her fashion show had been cancelled. Elspeth and her cameraman and crew followed
Freda into her studio and filmed her designs.

“How could this happen to me?” wailed Freda when the interview was over. “Our wages haven’t been paid. They’re all in the
safe. I feel like breaking into it.”

She walked with Elspeth out of the factory and stood blinking in the sunlight. “It seems worse in sunny weather,” said Freda.
“It ought to be black and stormy.”

After she had said goodbye to Freda, her cameraman asked, “What next?”

“Down to the Black Isle and interview Heather’s brother,” said Elspeth.

As they drove out of Cnothan and headed south, Elspeth took out her phone and called Hamish.

“It’s been a miserable morning,” she said. “Those poor souls at the factory haven’t even been paid their wages. The money’s
all locked up in the safe.”

There was a long silence from Hamish’s end of the phone.

“Hamish? Are you still there?”

“Do you know if the late Brenda had keys to the factory and knew the combination to the safe?” asked Hamish.

“I never thought to ask. Why? Heather wouldn’t dare to come back.”

“Why not?” asked Hamish. “She’ll maybe think Cnothan would be the last place anyone would be looking for her and she’ll need
money.”

“It’s a long shot.”

“I’m going to bed down in that factory and wait and see,” said Hamish.

Elspeth said goodbye and rang off. Then she turned to the cameraman who was driving. “Turn around,” she ordered. “We’re going
back.”

Hamish phoned Jimmy and outlined his theory. “It’s a long shot,” said Jimmy. “But if you want to kip in the factory, it’s
up to you. I can’t see Daviot giving permission.”

“Then don’t tell anyone,” said Hamish. “Who will inherit Heather’s money?”

“Nobody. She got it through crime.”

“So who inherits Brenda’s money? Did she leave a will?”

“Yes, and it’s probably what got her killed. She left the lot to her brother, Luke Camford. I’d keep watch with you, Hamish,
but to be honest, I think it’s a daft idea and there’s miles of paperwork to do.”

“I’ll take Dick.”

“Good luck with that one. How will you keep him awake?”

“Do one thing for me,” said Hamish. “Get me the code for the burglar alarm and the safe.”

Dick accepted Hamish’s plan placidly. Like Jimmy, he thought it was a mad idea, but it meant, with any luck, he could just
sleep the night away.

Joan Friend, the publicist, phoned Hamish in the afternoon, to say that police had removed all documents from the factory.

“What about the staff’s money?” asked Hamish anxiously.

“They’ll leave that for the receivers. The staff are planning a protest tomorrow. It’s ridiculous. We all need to be paid.”

“When were you last paid?” asked Hamish.

“Last month. We’re paid monthly.”

“But doesn’t the money get paid straight into your bank accounts?”

“Gilchrist always kept it in the safe for some reason and then at the end of each month, a security firm came and took it
to the bank.”

When she rang off, Hamish silently praised the stupidity of the police and the receivers. That money should have been moved
to the bank. There must be a small fortune in there.

The same thought had crossed Heather’s mind. She stopped on the road north and phoned the factory and asked to be put through
to Gilchrist’s secretary. Saying she was phoning from police headquarters, she asked if the staff’s wages had been removed.
Assured they had not, she breathed a sigh of relief. Thank God she had kept the keys to the factory.

Hamish and Dick waited until midnight and then set out, wearing dark clothes. Dick was driving his old car.

The night was still and clear with the black silhouettes of the mountains rearing up against a starry sky. Dick’s little car
wound its way along the one-track road beneath the vast glory of the Sutherland night sky like some small, dark, insignificant
bug.

Cnothan was quiet and silent. Many of the staff had got drunk and were sleeping off the effects.

“What if we’re too late?” said Dick as he turned the car along the waterfront.

“She’ll wait until everyone has left the pub and went home. She won’t want the risk of anyone seeing her,” said Hamish.

“What about the burglar alarm?”

“I’ve got the code.”

“What about keys to get in?”

“I have my methods, Watson. No, don’t drive up to the factory. Go past it and park up at the end of the road where there aren’t
any houses. We’ll walk back.”

When Dick had parked under the spreading branches of a rowan tree, they got out and made their way silently to the factory.
“Round the side to the staff door,” said Hamish.

He took out a ring of skeleton keys and fiddled with the locks. After ten minutes, he opened the door and quickly switched
off the burglar alarm.

Using pencil torches, they crept up the stairs and along corridors to Gilchrist’s office.

“What makes you think she’ll come tonight?” asked Dick, who was beginning to feel sleepy.

“Then we’ll come back tomorrow night,” said Hamish. “And the night after that.”

“Where do we sit?” asked Dick.

“On the floor, behind the desk.”

“Can’t I sit in a chair? My knees get stiff.”

“No. And if you go to sleep and snore, I’ll cosh you!”

They settled down, side by side on the floor.

“Thon Elspeth’s a bonny lassie,” said Dick. “Ever think of getting married?”

“The whole time,” muttered Hamish.

“You’re joking, aren’t you?” said Dick uneasily.

“Shhh. Don’t say another word.”

An hour dragged past. Dick, who had been praying before that Heather would not come because he didn’t like action, now prayed
she would. He knew that if she did not, then stubborn Hamish would come the next night and the night after that. He began
to feel stiff and cold and sulky. It was just one of Hamish’s mad speculations. Heather had probably got herself to one of
those countries where she couldn’t be extradited.

Dick closed his eyes and soon he was asleep.

Beside him, Hamish struggled to keep awake. Then he thought he heard a slight noise and nudged Dick awake.

“I heard something,” he whispered.

They both sat, straining their ears. Then Hamish thought he heard soft footsteps coming along the corridor outside.

“Get ready,” he said quietly.

The door of the office opened and he stiffened. Then the door closed and the footsteps went away. He could hear doors along
the corridor opening and closing and then silence.

“What on earth…?” he muttered.

He looked down from the window and saw black-masked figures outside. Before he could shout, one of them hurled a Molotov cocktail
through the downstairs reception windows and another man tossed another.

“My God!” he shouted. “They’re burning down the factory!”

He went to the safe and opened it. He looked around wildly for something to put the money in and then saw a travel bag on
top of a filing cabinet. He stuffed the money in and zipped up the bag.

“Come on, Dick. They’ve attacked the front. We may get out the side door.”

They hurried along the corridor and down the back stairs. The fire was taking hold. Before they reached the first landing,
they could see the red glow below them, and they were beginning to choke with the smoke.

“Back up!” shouted Hamish. “We’ll need to try to get out of a back window and climb down.”

They rushed back up the stairs and along the corridor to Pete Eskdale’s room, which was at the back.

Hamish thrust open the window. “It’s three floors down, Dick. We’ll need to try to make it.”

“I cannae,” panted Dick. “I’ll never do it.”

“There’s a drainpipe outside. Follow me.”

Hamish tossed the bag down to the ground and swung a leg over the sill. He climbed down a bit and stared up at Dick’s anguished
face.

“Come on, man! Do you want to burn?”

Dick eased his plump body over the sill and grabbed the drainpipe. Hand over hand they made their way down.

Dick fell the last few feet and crashed into Hamish.

“You nearly broke my bones,” grumbled Hamish. “Are you all right?”

“Bit winded,” gasped Dick.

“Round to the front and see if we can catch some of the bastards.”

But in the red glow from the burning building, they could see no one around.

Hamish took out his phone and called headquarters and was told that it had already been reported and the fire engines and
police were on their way.

“Let’s get this money back to the car and lock it in the boot.”

They walked along to where they had parked the car. “Let the police look for the culprits,” said Hamish. “They’re bound to
get them. Cnothan’s a small place and they’ll do a house-to-house search.”

“They’ll need search warrants,” said Dick, “or they’ll go tae the European Court of Human Rights.”

Hamish told the night sky that the Court of Human Rights could go and perform an impossible anatomical act upon itself as
Dick unlocked the boot.

“I’ll take that,” said a woman’s voice.

Hamish turned round. A tall woman he was sure was Heather was standing there, starlight glinting on the deadly-looking gun
she held in her hand.

“Heather Camford,” said Hamish bleakly. “There’s nothing but my dirty clothes in the bag.”

“I’ll take that risk. Throw it over.”

Hamish could hear the approaching wail of sirens. To his horror, Dick walked calmly in front of him and said, “You’re not
getting the bag.”

“I’ll shoot you!”

“Go ahead,” said Dick.

She screamed in fury, threw the gun at him, and began to run towards the burning building. Hamish raced after her as she headed
straight for the flames.

Dick cannoned into Hamish and knocked him to the ground. “Let the bitch burn!” he panted.

Hamish struggled to his feet. He hurtled after Heather and reached her just as her clothes caught fire. As the fire brigade
arrived, he rolled her on the ground. She was screaming in agony, and half her face was badly burned.