M Beaton: Death of a Valentine

“I’ll be there as quick as I can.”

“You weren’t breaking and entering last night by any chance?”

“Would I ever? See you soon.”

Cora was driving as the black BMW moved into the Baxters’ street. “Wake up, Jamie,” she said, nudging her husband in the passenger seat. “What are all these policemen doing outside our house? Oh, stop them! They’re about to break the door down!”

But Daviot had seen their car arriving and told the men with the battering ram to wait.

Jamie got slowly out of the car followed by his wife. “What is going on here?” he demanded.

Daviot handed him a search warrant. “Open up,” he said. “You wait here, Mrs. Baxter. A policewoman will look after you.”

Hamish drove up just as Jamie was being ushered into his home. Cora looked at him, her eyes blazing with hatred. “You!” she spat out.

He walked into the house and straight up the stairs to the office. Daviot was standing in front of the safe, flanked by Blair. “Open it!” he ordered Jamie.

Jamie gave a grin like a rictus and patted his pockets. “I lost the combination. I meant to get on to the company, and-”

“Stop havering, man,” yelled Blair. “Open the damn thing or we can all wait here till I get someone to blast it open.”

Jamie’s shoulders sagged. He twisted the dial, and the safe swung open. He stood, head hanging, as Daviot went through the contents. He held up the cutthroat razor.

“If I might have a look,” said Hamish.

“Get back to your sheep and leave this tae the experts,” said Blair.

“What is it, Macbeth?” asked Daviot as Hamish drew on a pair of latex gloves and took out a powerful magnifying glass. He studied the razor. “There’s a bit o’ blood just between the handle and the blade,” said Hamish. “If you get that examined, you’ll probably find it’s Percy Stane’s.”

Daviot charged Jamie with three murders. He was led outside. He saw his wife and screamed, “You bitch! You told them!”

Daviot said wearily to Blair, “Charge Mrs. Baxter with being an accomplice. Take her in for questioning.”

Jimmy drew Hamish aside. “Was it you that sent the photos?”

“What photos?” asked Hamish. “Listen, put in a word for wee Josie. If it hadnae been for her sharp eyes, I’d never have got on to Jamie.”

“Are you coming back to Strathbane for the interviews?”

“No, I’m going back home. Thank God, it’s all over,” said Hamish Macbeth, blissfully unaware that trouble of another sort was looming on his horizon.

When he got back to the police station, he phoned the forensic lab and spoke to Bruce. “Have you got my results?”

Bruce had just been phoned to stand by for a rush job on the razor. Why should he bother with a pillock like Hamish? So he said, “We checked them. Nothing at all.”

“Nothing!”

“Clean as a whistle.”

Hamish rang off and stared miserably into space. He realised that he had recently come to the conclusion that Josie had drugged him. How else would he have gone to bed with her?

Flora was worried about her daughter. Josie kept mostly to her room, playing dreary pop tunes over and over again. She did not know that Josie was waiting in dread for the results of Hamish’s tests.

So that when her mother climbed the stairs to tell her Hamish was on the phone, she turned chalk white. But she decided she had better get it over with.

She went slowly down the stairs and picked up the phone. “Hullo,” she said in a shaky voice.

“Good news,” said Hamish. “We’ve cleared up the murders and it’s all thanks to you. We got Baxter this morning. When are you coming back?”

“Have you had the result of those tests?”

“Yes, I got them and there’s nothing there. Look, I’m awfy sorry. I don’t know what came over me. Let’s chust forget the whole thing.”

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” said Josie.

Her mother was amazed at the transformation in her daughter. Josie’s eyes were shining, and colour had returned to her face.

“What did he say?” she asked.

“He said it’s thanks to me those dreadful murders have been solved.”

“Oh, so that’s what’s been hanging over my wee girl. Maybe you’re just not suited to the force, Josie. All those dreadful deaths! Why don’t you get out the house? Go and see Charlotte. You used to be such friends.”

“I’ll do that,” said Josie, thinking of Charlotte ’s generous drinks cabinet. Flora had begun to suspect her daughter was drinking too much and so there was no liquor in the house.

Josie made her way to her friend’s home. Charlotte had recently got married to a local builder. To Josie, Charlotte ’s bungalow seemed like a dream, from its ruched curtains at the windows to the fitted carpets throughout.

Charlotte, a chubby, cheerful girl, hugged Josie and said, “You’re just in time.”

“What for?”

“I’m about to crack open a bottle of champagne. I’m pregnant. I got one of those kits that advertises it can tell you you’re pregnant before you know it yourself. See! Look at that blue line. You sit down, pet, and I’ll open the champers.” Charlotte opened the door of the drinks cabinet and the tinkling strains of “Highland Laddie” filled the room. Josie stared down at the pregnancy kit as if mesmerised. If only Hamish had really seduced her and she had got pregnant, he’d need to do the honourable thing.

“Here you are,” said Charlotte, handing her a glass.

“Congratulations,” said Josie. She took a gulp of champagne and felt the relief of having alcohol once more coursing through her body.

She had been to school with Charlotte and so they drank and talked about former school friends.

A car drew up outside. “That’s my Bill!” said Charlotte and ran out to meet him.

Josie opened her handbag and slid the pregnancy kit inside.

When they came in, arm and arm, Josie got to her feet. “I’ll leave you to it,” she said. “Congratulations again.”

“Let me show you the pregnancy kit,” said Charlotte. “Damn. Where is it? I’m so excited I can’t remember where I put it. Never mind. I’ve made an appointment with the doctor tomorrow to get it confirmed.”

“Should you be drinking?” asked Bill.

“I’m going to get right blootered and then I’m not going to drink another thing until the baby is born. Open up another bottle!”

Josie stopped at the supermarket where they sold bags of ice. In her car outside, she dropped the kit into the ice, wrapped in a polythene bag. The day was freezing so she hid the bag in the garage.

Hamish phoned Jimmy the next day. Josie had arrived and he had told her to do the rounds of the faraway areas. “So did he confess?” asked Hamish.

“That he did. When we told him his wife had turned on him, he cracked. I think he’s a haggis supper short o’ the neeps. He was obsessed wi’ Annie and added to that he’s as arrogant as the devil. She lost interest in him and he decided to get rid of her in the nastiest way he could think of.”

“What about Cora? Has she been charged as an accomplice?”

“She has. But she’ll get off lightly. She’ll even make bail.”

“Why?”

“She said she was terrified of him.”

“Nothing terrifies a woman like Cora.”

“Hamish, the poor woman was married to a triple murderer. She said she couldn’t bear it any longer so it was she who sent in yon package of photos.”

“I don’t believe it for a minute.”

“Well, that’s what she’s saying. Wasn’t you, was it?”

Hamish thought quickly. It would do no good to tell Jimmy the truth because in order to prove Cora wrong, he would need to admit to having broken into the Baxters’ home.