M Beaton: Death of a Valentine

“Go to the kitchen doorway but don’t go in and don’t touch anything. Suit up before you go in.” Hamish was wearing blue plastic coveralls with blue plastic covering his boots.

Josie went back to her car and eagerly climbed into a similar outfit. Hamish stared after her, his eyes hard, as Josie went into the house. She was back out a minute later and vomited into a flower bed.

“Go and sit in your car,” ordered Hamish, “and pull yourself together. I’m going to see Mrs. McGirty next door. It’s thanks to her the place didn’t burn down.”

Mrs. McGirty answered the door. Her old eyes had the blind look of shock.

“I’ll phone the doctor for you,” said Hamish. “Go in and sit down and I’ll make you a cup of tea.”

He found his way to the kitchen, made a cup of milky tea with a lot of sugar, and took it to her. “Now you be drinking that,” he said gently. “What’s the name and number of your doctor?” When she told him, Hamish phoned her doctor and asked him to come along immediately. Then he said, “Tell me what happened.”

In a quavering voice, Mrs. McGirty told how she had heard a bang and then seen smoke pouring out from next door. The kitchen was at the back of the house but the smoke was curling up over the roof. She had run in and plied the fire extinguisher.

“You are a verra brave woman,” said Hamish. “If it hadn’t been for you, possibly a lot of useful forensic evidence would have been lost.”

There was a ring at the doorbell. Hamish answered it. He recognised another neighbour, Cora Baxter, wife of Councillor Jamie Baxter.

“Is she all right?” asked Cora. “Ruby? Mrs. McGirty?”

“She’s in there. Could you sit with her until the doctor arrives?”

“I’ll do that. Poor, poor Annie.”

“How did you learn it was her?”

“Thon wee policewoman outside.”

Josie should not be gossiping, thought Hamish.

When he went outside, the area had been cordoned off. The army bomb squad were just going into the house. The scenes of crimes operatives were suiting up. Jimmy Anderson approached Hamish. “They’re saying it was Annie.”

“From what was left o’ the body, it looked like her,” said Hamish.

“Who on earth could ha’ done this?” said Jimmy. “I was talking to some folk at the edge of the crowd and by all accounts, they’re a churchgoing, God-fearing family and Annie is prim and proper and a right innocent. And why wasn’t she at work? The parents have been phoned. The mother works with the father. They said at first it couldn’t be their daughter because she left this morning for work, but we got on to the postie on his mobile and he said he delivered the post to Annie. Said there were valentines and a package, all addressed to Annie.”

“That’s why she waited for the post,” said Hamish. “She wanted to see her cards. Now, if she was that keen, there must have been a card she was really hoping for. Look, Jimmy, she worked over at that wildlife centre. I’ll get over there and find out what I can. There’s nothing I can do here until all the bomb and forensic evidence is collected. Where’s Blair?”

“Got the flu. What about your sidekick?”

“I’d better take her with me.”

If Josie had been a friend, thought Hamish, he could have sent her back to the police station to look after his dog and cat. Angela had rebelled at taking care of them any more. Certainly there was a large cat flap in the kitchen door, large enough to allow both of them to come and go, but left to their own devises they were apt to go along to the kitchen door of the Italian restaurant and beg. Then they got fat and he had to put both on a diet and then they both sulked.

“Are you all right now?” he asked Josie as he drove her out onto the Strathbane Road in the police Land Rover. He had told her to leave her car behind.

“It was a horrible sight,” said Josie with a shudder.

“What did you expect? She was blown to bits.”

“I’ve never seen a dead body before,” said Josie.

“You get used to it,” said Hamish callously. “Once they’re dead, it’s just clay.”

“What do you expect to find at this wildlife park?” asked Josie.

“I want to dig into the character of Annie Fleming. Her parents were very strict. Maybe she’d begun to rebel. Maybe she’d got into bad company.”

Hamish turned up the muddy road leading to the park. A sign hung crookedly at the entrance. Hamish slowed to a stop and read the board. It said WILDLIFE PARK, PROPS, JOCASTA AND BILL FREEMONT.

They drove in past empty cages towards a hut with a sign saying OFFICE.

A woman came out to meet them. She was in her mid-thirties with two wings of fair hair hanging on either side of a thin face. She was wearing a shabby navy sweater over a grey shirt and jeans tucked into Wellington boots.

“Mrs. Freemont?” asked Hamish.

“I’ll say one thing for you. You’re quick,” said Mrs. Jocasta Freemont. “I just phoned ten minutes ago.” Her voice was upper-class.

Hamish turned and surveyed the cages. “Someone let them all out?”

“Exactly. Damn animal libbers.”

“You say you’ve just discovered the vandalism,” said Hamish. “Didn’t you notice first thing this morning?”

“I’ve just got back from Edinburgh with Bill. That secretary of ours was supposed to open up.”

“I’m afraid I didn’t get your call,” said Hamish. “Annie Fleming has been murdered.”

“What! You’d better come into the office.” She went ahead of them, shouting, “Bill! Something awful has happened.”

A small man with a shock of grey hair was sitting at a desk. He rose when they all walked in. He was quite small in stature and wearing a grey flannel suit, silk shirt, and blue silk tie. Hamish wondered cynically whether the trip to Edinburgh had been to see some bank manager. He wondered why Jocasta was wearing working clothes.

“What’s up?” he asked. “I mean, what’s mair awful than some loons robbing us?”

“Annie’s been murdered,” said Jocasta.

“She can’t be!” said Bill. “Who’d want to murder Annie? How did it happen?”

“A letter bomb,” said Hamish. “I’ve a few questions to ask you but we’ll concentrate on your missing beasts first. What did you have?”

“We hadn’t much because we were really just starting up. Let me see, a pair of minks, a snowy owl, two parrots, a lion-”

“A lion!” exclaimed Hamish. “What on earth were you doing with a lion?”

“I got it from a circus. It was old. I think it’ll come back round for food.”

“What else?”

Bill gave a dismal little catalogue. Then he said, “I’m waiting for the SSPCA, and the zoo in Strathbane is sending some people up wi’ tranquilliser guns.”

“Look,” said Hamish, “we’ll need to put out a warning that a lion’s on the loose.”

He went outside and phoned Daviot. “I’ll mobilise some men,” said Daviot, “and tell the newspapers and television.”

“Thank you, sir. I’d best get back to the Annie Fleming investigation.”

Hamish hesitated before going back into the hut. It was an odd marriage, surely. Jocasta looked as if she came from a moneyed background whereas Bill was definitely lower down the scale and, from his accent, came from the south of Scotland. He wondered whether it was Jocasta’s money that had set up this dismal excuse for a wildlife park. It was not on his beat-being covered by Strathbane-but despite the missing wildlife, he was sure the air of failure that hung over the place had been there from the start.

The sky above had turned a bleached white colour heralding rain to come.

There came a screech of tyres. First on the scene were officers from the Scottish Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. They’ll never get their park back, thought Hamish. Even if all the beasts were found, those officers would take one look at the mangy cramped cages and shut the place down.