M Beaton: Death of a Valentine

Josie craved a drink. She had been frightened to hide any more in her room in case Mrs. Wellington found the bottles. Without a drink, she felt she could not go through with the plan of trapping Hamish.

She had a bottle of vodka hidden under the roots of a rowan tree in the garden. Josie waited and waited until she was sure her hosts would be safely asleep. She crept along the corridors. So many rooms and the Wellingtons childless! The manse had been built in the days of enormous families. Down the stairs, treading carefully over the second one from the bottom that creaked, out into the blustery cold, taking out a pencil torch and heading rapidly for the rowan went Josie. She scrabbled in the roots of the tree until her fingers closed over the vodka bottle.

Holding it to her chest, she scurried back to the manse. As she got to the foot of the stairs, she noticed that the light was on in the landing. Glad she was still in uniform, she stuffed the bottle into an inside pocket of her coat. Mrs. Wellington was coming out of the bathroom. “I forgot to take my sleeping pill,” she said. “Goodness, you’re late.”

“I went for coffee with some people after the meeting,” said Josie.

“Oh, good girl! Night, night.”

“Good night,” said Josie, scuttling down the corridor to her room.

She was just about to unscrew the top of the bottle when she heard footsteps approaching along the corridor outside. Josie thrust the bottle under the mattress, whipped off her coat, and began to pull her regulation sweater over her head as the door opened.

“Oh, sorry,” said Mrs. Wellington. “I just came to ask you if you’d like a hot-water bag.”

“No thanks,” said Josie. “I’m fine.”

“Right. See you in the morning.”

Josie waited again until she heard the door of Mrs. Wellington’s room shut. Her hands were shaking. She seized the bottle from under the mattress and twisted off the top. She drank a great mouthful, feeling the spirit burn down to her stomach and a glow beginning to spread through her body.

Josie sat down by the fire that Mrs. Wellington had lit earlier and began to drink steadily.

Josie awoke the next day and felt she had not thought the drugging of Hamish through properly. If she used laudanum or Mandrax then he might remember clearly what happened before he went to sleep. Rohypnol, that date-rape drug, was the answer. But how could she get hold of some? There had been a case of a girl claiming she had been drugged and raped. What had been her name? Grace something or other. Think!

She phoned Hamish and said she had some shopping to do in Strathbane. “Go ahead,” said Hamish. “There’s nothing more we can do at the moment. But keep away from police headquarters!”

Josie drove to the library at Strathbane and by trawling through the back numbers of the Strathbane Journal on the library computer, she found the name she was looking for-Grace Chalmers.

Now the problem was how to get the Chalmers evidence box without signing for it. Somehow, she would have to try to con her way into where the evidence was kept.

She knew old Joe Macdonald, in charge of the evidence room, had a soft spot for her.

But when she made her way downstairs, she saw to her dismay that the man on the other side of the counter was Charlie, the greeter from the AA meeting.

“Why, Josie,” he said. “I didnae know we were both in the same business. How are you getting on?”

“Where’s Joe?”

“Oh, he’s retired.”

Josie thought quickly. “Can I come through and talk to you?”

“I shouldnae, really, but och, I’m supposed to help a fellow sufferer. Come on through.”

He buzzed her in. “Having trouble wi’ John Barleycorn?” he asked.

“Just a bit.”

“Which meetings do you…Damn, there’s someone coming. Hide yourself.”

Josie darted behind the shelves of evidence boxes and began to search desperately. At last she found the box she was looking for and opened it up. There was a bottle of Rohypnol in its evidence bag, all neatly labelled. She stuffed it quickly in her pocket. She heard Charlie calling her and went back to the desk.

“Josie,” he said urgently, “get back outside. You have my number. Give me a ring.”

“Will do,” said Josie.

Once she was back outside, he asked, “Now what was it you wanted?”

“I wanted to look at evidence from the Percy Stane murder.”

“Then you’ll need to go over to forensics. It’s all still there.”

Josie thanked him and made her escape.

Her head was full of plans as she drove back to Lochdubh. No more booze. She was not an alcoholic. She would need a clear head. She must get into the police station just before the wedding reception and drug those wretched animals. Some laudanum in their drinking bowls should do the trick. Then she’d better put the Rohypnol in Hamish’s drink at the wedding reception. Maybe make sure it was a soft drink. It could be lethal in alcohol.

Saturday dawned bright and sunny. The wedding service was to be held at eleven o’clock in the morning. Then there was a wedding breakfast for close friends and family and at seven in the evening in the village hall, there was to be a grand party for everyone in the village and round about who cared to come.

The wedding service went well but Hamish wasn’t there. Outside the church, Josie phoned Hamish’s mobile. He said he was over in Braikie but would be back for the dance and told her to enjoy herself.

Carrying a packet of fish and a packet of venison, Josie let herself into the police station at six o’clock. She fed the dog and the cat and then poured laudanum into their drinking bowls and made her way back to the manse to change for the party.

She decided to wear a conservative black dress with a choker of pearls. She meant to look as respectable as possible.

It was just when she was about to leave her room that the whole plan appeared to her to be dangerous and stupid. What had come over her? Her hands began to shake. She rolled back the rug and prised up a loose floorboard where she had hidden a bottle of Scotch. She gulped some down and then some more.

No, she thought stubbornly, Hamish and I are meant to be together. Like a soldier going off to battle, she hid the bottle, stood up, squared her shoulders, and marched to the door.

When she arrived at the church, the bride, resplendent in her wedding dress, was taking the floor with her new husband. Josie’s eyes filled with sentimental tears. That will soon be me, she thought.

She helped herself to a soft drink, aware of Mrs. Wellington’s eyes on her. Josie accepted several offers to dance, all the time watching the door for the arrival of Hamish.

At last she saw his fiery head. He was impeccably dressed in his one good suit. Josie went to join him. “How is it going?” she asked.

“Still nothing,” said Hamish. “Let’s find a quiet corner. I want to talk about it.”

They both walked to a corner of the hall, away from the band. “It’s thon damn video,” complained Hamish. “I’ve watched it and watched it until my eyes hurt. There must be something there. I’ve even borrowed a machine from the hotel so I can go over it at the police station.”

“Perhaps I could have a look at it this evening,” said Josie. “Maybe a fresh pair of eyes is what you need.”

“You won’t want to miss the fun.”

“I don’t mind.”

“All right. We’ll have something to eat. I’ve got to talk to a few people and thank Grace’s parents for the party. I’ll let you know when I’m ready to go.”