M Beaton - Death of a Valentine

“Next time, knock at the door,” he snapped.

“I wondered what you wanted me to do today. I thought you would be in Braikie.”

“I was,” he said curtly. “But after chapping at a few doors as instructed by Blair and being told that the police had already been around, I thought I’d be better back here trying to figure out who killed Annie. Everything leads from the first murder.”

“I’ll help you,” said Josie, starting to take off her coat.

“Good,” said Hamish. “Get yourself over to Cnothan. There is a Mrs. Thomson, number nine, Waterway-that’s down at the loch. She says she’s been burgled but she has phoned before complaining about one thing or the other and it always turns out to be a figment of her imagination. Still, she sounded genuinely upset this time.”

Josie trailed miserably off. Hamish had a sudden qualm of conscience. “Are you feeling better?” he called.

Josie came hurrying back. “I still feel a little weak.”

“Help yourself to a coffee before you go. There’s some on the stove.”

“Can I bring you one?”

“What? Okay.”

Josie happily busied herself in the kitchen, looking about herself with possessive eyes. The kitchen was too small. It could be extended. Copper pans, hanging on hooks, she thought dreamily.

She took Hamish a mug of coffee. He leaned back in his chair and wrinkled his nose. “Have you been drinking vodka?”

“No!” exclaimed Josie, feigning outrage.

Hamish shrugged. “Smells like it to me. Drink your coffee and get over to Cnothan.”

Josie put her own mug down on the desk next to his and pulled up a chair.

“Take your coffee into the kitchen,” ordered Hamish.

Josie trailed off. He just didn’t know what was good for him, she thought. The cat suddenly looked up at her with yellow eyes and gave a low hiss. I’d better make friends with those animals, thought Josie. I’ll start to bring them food. If I drug Hamish, I’ll need to drug them as well.

The days for Hamish crawled past as he waited for the autopsy report. Finally Jimmy called. “This is a right mess,” he said. “There was a quantity of sleeping drug in the boy’s stomach along with a lot of whisky. The pathologist says that from the angles of the cuts, it looks as if someone did it for him. Have you worked out anything at all, Hamish? We’re getting desperate.”

“I found a video in his desk.”

“Have you been withholding evidence?”

“There was nothing on it but mair evidence of Percy’s obsession with Annie. It was a video of her as the Lammas queen last summer.”

“I’m coming over to see it,” said Jimmy.

“Meet me at the hotel then,” said Hamish. “I have a video machine here but I tried it last night and it wasnae working.”

Mr. Johnson let them use one of the hotel rooms. Once more the sunny scene sprang into view. “Thon provost seems pretty friendly,” said Jimmy. “See the way he presses his big fat hand on her shoulder?”

The tape ran to the end. Hamish switched it off. They sat looking at each other gloomily while the melting snow outside dripped from the eaves like tears.

“Wasted journey,” complained Jimmy. “I’ll take this tape with me. I’ll slide it into the evidence locker. You know Blair. Even if this is of no importance, he would use your withholding evidence to suspend you. Where’s McSween?”

“Over at Cnothan on a burglary.”

“She’s a bonnie lass, Hamish. You could do worse.”

“She haunts me. I always get the feeling that she’s brooding over me.”

“Och, man, that’s just male vanity.”

“Maybe. She’s probably making a pig’s breakfast of the investigation.”

But Josie was determined to do things properly. To her surprise, she found there was definite evidence of a break-in. The back door had been jimmied open. She phoned Strathbane for a forensic team but the name of Mrs. Thomson was well known and Josie was told they had nobody to spare. So she got a fingerprint kit out of her car and dusted for prints. Mrs. Thomson had kept the missing money in a drawer by her bed. Josie lifted two good fingerprints from the drawer and rushed the evidence to Strathbane, where she trawled the fingerprint files on the computer. Her eyes lit up when she got a match.

Jimmy had just arrived back when Josie triumphantly showed him the evidence. The culprit was Derry Harris, a local Cnothan layabout. Jimmy passed the news to Police Inspector Ettrick, who got two police officers to go back to Cnothan with Josie and make the arrest. The money was recovered, and Josie basked in the inspector’s praise.

She arrived at the police station in Lochdubh that evening with a packet of fish for Sonsie and a packet of lamb’s liver for Lugs.

Hamish listened while she described the solving of the burglary. “Good girl!” he said. “Well done!” Josie glowed.

“I suppose you’ll be going to the wedding on Saturday.”

“What wedding?” asked Josie.

“Muriel McJamieson is marrying John Bean. They are both villagers so everyone’s invited. I’m surprised Mrs. Wellington hasn’t told you.”

The truth was that Josie had seen as little of Mrs. Wellington as possible, telling that lady every evening that she was off to a meeting. Her brain raced. There would be drinking at the wedding. She would need to make sure Hamish had a few drinks and then lure him back to the station and drug him.

She realised for the first time that if she appeared cold and detached, Hamish would drop his guard.

So she said casually, “I’ll think about it. I’ll be on my way, sir.”

She’s turning out all right after all, thought Hamish.

Josie drove up to the Tommel Castle Hotel and asked if Elspeth was still there.

“She’s hiding in her room,” said Mr. Johnson. “She’s leaving in the morning.”

“May I have a word with her?” asked Josie.

The manager looked at her doubtfully. “Is it police business?”

“No, just a wee chat.”

“I’ll phone her.”

He rang Elspeth’s room and said, “Policewoman McSween is downstairs and wants a word with you. No, it’s not police business.”

He put down the phone and said, “You can go up. Room twenty-one.”

Elspeth answered the door and looked curiously at Josie. “What is it?” she asked. “Is Hamish all right?”

“I just wanted to ask your advice.”

“Come in.”

Josie sat down on the bed and looked up earnestly with her big brown eyes at Elspeth.

“You are a woman of the world,” began Josie.

A line from a Gilbert and Sullivan operetta flashed into Elspeth’s brain: “Uttering platitudes / In stained glass attitudes.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?” she asked.

“I’m old-fashioned,” said Josie piously. “Not like you. If a man sleeps with me, do you think he ought to marry me?”

“Are we talking about Hamish?” asked Elspeth.

“I didn’t say that.”

“Well, these days, women must take responsibility as well as men. Unless you’ve been raped, you haven’t a hope in hell if it was only a one-night stand.” Elspeth’s face hardened. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have packing to do. I suggest you consult a professional.”

She went and held open the door.

Josie left, burning up with fury. What did she know about anything? But Josie hoped that Elspeth would think that she had meant Hamish.

Hamish lay in bed that night, reading a detective story. He sighed as he finally put the book down. Fictional detectives never seemed to be hit with long days and weeks of not having a clue. “I’d give anything for even a red herring,” he said to his pets before he switched out the light. His last gloomy thought before he went to sleep was that Blair would hound and hound until he found any suspect.