M Beaton - Death of a Valentine

“I’ve got to wake him up,” said Josie. “He’s wanted over at Braikie.”

“I’ll leave you to it,” said Archie. “I only came for a wee crack.”

Josie found the key and let herself in. She decided that instead of shouting to wake him, she would go into the bedroom and gently shake him by the shoulder. It was an intimate scenario.

She went into the bedroom. The dog and cat were at the end of the bed. The large cat arched her back and hissed while her yellow eyes blazed. The dog barked.

“Hamish!” screamed Josie, darting out the door and slamming it behind her before the cat could spring.

The bedroom door opened and Hamish stood there wrapped in a shabby dressing gown. “What’s up?” he demanded.

“There’s been another murder, sir. Mark Lussie.”

“Make coffee,” ordered Hamish. “This all gets nastier and nastier.”

Josie took one look at the cheap jar of instant coffee on Hamish’s kitchen counter and ran to Patel’s to buy a packet of real coffee. Returning to the police station, she made the coffee in a pewter jug by pouring boiling water over the grounds, sprinkling a little cold water on the top to settle them, and adding a small pinch of salt.

Then she lit the stove and put the pot on top to keep the coffee warm. Hamish shaved and showered. In the kitchen, he gulped down two cups of black coffee. To Josie’s dismay, he didn’t seem to notice the difference from his usual brew.

Hamish had in fact noticed the difference and had seen the packet of real coffee but did not want to thank Josie in case she was encouraged to encroach on his home.

Before he left the station he phoned Jimmy, who told him that Hamish had the job of breaking the news to Mrs. Lussie.

“We’re off to see Mark’s mother,” said Hamish as they drove off. “What was that boy up to? Some way he put himself in danger by not telling us all he knew. Either that or he suddenly remembered something. Did he phone his killer and make an appointment? I wonder if he had a mobile phone. I hope we can find something to narrow the suspects down. I hate this sort of job-breaking bad news.”

But when they arrived at Mark’s home, it was obvious the news had already been broken by the highland bush telegraph. Neighbours were crowded into a small living room, murmuring condolences as Mrs. Lussie sat and wept.

“I would like a word with Mrs. Lussie,” said Hamish. “Will you all please wait outside?”

A large woman protested. “ Cannae ye leave the wumman alone?” she cried.

But Mrs. Lussie rallied. She dried her eyes and said, “I’ll speak to the sergeant. I want to find out who killed my boy.”

“Now, Mrs. Lussie,” said Hamish. “Did you hear Mark go out last night?”

She shook her head. “The baby was quiet for once so I got the first good sleep I’ve had in ages.”

“Did he say anything at all that might be significant? Or did he look excited in any way?”

She dabbed at her eyes with an already sodden handkerchief. “He didn’t say anything. He was reading a fillum magazine. Then we watched a bit o’ telly and he said he was tired and wanted an early night.”

“Did he have a mobile phone?”

“Yes, but he didn’t use it much. Poor lost soul. He didn’t seem to have that much friends. When we was with the church, he knew some young people, but he gave up the church.”

“May we see his room?”

“It’s up the stairs, first left.”

As Hamish and Josie went up the stairs, the neighbours who had been watching through the front window crowded in again.

The room was unexpectedly neat for a young man’s. It was quite small. There was a narrow bed, neatly made up, with a bedside table and reading lamp. A desk by the window with a hard upright chair in front of it held a pile of comics and film magazines. There was no computer or posters or pictures on the walls, which were covered in an oatmeal patterned wallpaper. A tall, thin wardrobe fronted by a long glass mirror stood against one wall, and a chest of drawers against another.

Hamish put on gloves and so did Josie. “You search the bedside table,” he said, “and I’ll have a look in the wardrobe.”

There were few clothes hanging up: one dark blue suit and black coat, three long-sleeved shirts, a puffa jacket, and a tweed jacket. Underneath the clothes was a pair of black shoes and three pairs of sneakers. He searched in all the pockets but did not find anything. He even ran his gloved fingers along the insides of all the footwear in case anything had been hidden there.

“I’ve got his bank book and phone bill,” said Josie.

Hamish took them from her. Mark had had a post office savings account with fifty pounds in it. The phone bill only listed five numbers. One was to his home; Hamish’s sharp eyes had taken a note of the phone number on the receiver dial when he had been downstairs. The other four were to a Strathbane number. Hamish thought they would probably turn out to be made to the wildlife park. He took out his mobile, dialled directory enquiries, asked for William Freemont’s phone number, and gave the address of the wildlife park. The operator gave him the number. It was the same number as the four on the phone bill.

“Bag them up,” he said to Josie. “That’s the old phone bill. We’ll need to get Strathbane to check with the phone company and find out if he phoned anyone last night. I’ll just look in the chest of drawers.”

The top drawer contained underwear, the second socks, and the third T-shirts. In the bottom drawer, there was a small photo album and a selection of soft porn magazines. Hamish flipped open the photo album. It contained pictures of Annie: Annie as the Lammas queen, Annie at various church functions, and a few of Annie taken when she was leaving her home. Apart from the ones of Annie, there were no family pictures.

“Bag that as well,” said Hamish, handing her the album. “I’m just going to move this chest of drawers in case something’s fallen down the back.”

There was no carpet on the floor, only a sort of spongy linoleum. He heaved the chest of drawers away from the wall. “What’s this?” he exclaimed. He stretched down and brought up a chemistry set. He sat down on the bed and carefully opened it. Most of the chemicals had been used.

“That’s it!” said Josie, leaning over him. “He was the bomber!”

“I think this is too basic to make such a sophisticated bomb,” said Hamish. “It’s probably just an old Christmas present.”

“But there are no other toys or presents in the room,” said Josie. “I mean, you’d think he would have old schoolbooks, or stuffed toys, or model airplanes, or something like that.”

“We’ll bag it up and take it. Let’s see Mrs. Lussie again. It means getting rid of the neighbours.”

Once more, Mrs. Lussie’s sympathisers were told to wait outside. “We found a chemistry set in Mark’s room,” said Hamish. “When did he get that?”

“That was a while ago. A gentleman friend of mine gave it to him. He played with it for a bit and then forgot about it.”

“We’re taking it and some other things,” said Hamish. “Mark didn’t seem to keep anything much in his room. I thought we would find old toys or something like that.”

“It was the church. They were collecting toys for the poor. Mark was told it was his Christian duty to bring everything in.”

Hamish scribbled out a receipt and handed it to her. “Mrs. Lussie, if you can think of anything at all, please call me at the station in Lochdubh.”