M.C. Beaton - Death of a Witch

Hamish rang immediately. In the past he had received calls from someone saying they had important information for him and that someone had ended up dead. But after a few rings Timmy answered. “Could you meet me at my place out at the forestry?”

“Can’t you tell me now?” asked Hamish.

“No, later. At six o’clock when folks will be indoors having their tea.”

♦

As he went out on his rounds, Hamish was relieved to see that a good number of the press had left. He decided to take a break from the case and call on some of the elderly residents in croft houses up in the hills to make sure they were all right, but all the time he was wondering what Timmy had to tell him.

♦

Mr. Patel, owner of the general store, was enjoying a quiet afternoon. The morning had been very busy but the fog had come down again, thick and clinging, and the villagers appeared to be staying at home. He had been up since dawn unloading and packing goods. He knew that to compete with the big supermarkets in Strathbane, he had to keep a large stock. He also allowed people on benefits to pay for their groceries at the end of each month when they received their government payments. He never threw away damaged goods but gave them away to pensioners. The afternoon was quiet. He sat behind the counter, lulled by the warmth from a paraffin heater behind him. He was awakened by a terrible scream. He sat up with a jerk. Mrs. Wellington was facing him, her face grey with shock. “Get an ambulance!” she shrieked. “Get the police.”

“What is it?” he cried, reaching for the phone. “It’s poor Ina Braid…blood all over her back. I think she’s dead!”

♦

Hamish received the call about Ina’s murder just as he was about to head for his meeting with Timmy. He rang Timmy and told him what had happened, said he would phone him later, and rang off.

He raced towards Lochdubh, wondering who on earth would want to kill the inoffensive Ina Braid.

♦

A small crowd, looking like ghostly wraiths in the thick mist, had gathered outside the shop when he drove up. Mr. Patel was standing on the doorstep. “Dr. Brodie’s with the body,” he said.

Sirens could be heard approaching from the direction of Strathbane. “Who was in the shop?” asked Hamish.

“I wasnae aware of anyone,” said Mr. Patel. “I was tired and I must ha’ nodded off. First thing I hear is this scream and Mrs. Wellington shouting at me to call the ambulance and police. Och, Hamish, I feel sick.”

Before Hamish could ask any more questions, a car drove up and Blair got out. “Another murder right under your nose, laddie?”

“I was out on my beat,” said Hamish.

“Out on my beat, what?”

“Out on my beat, sir.”

Blair pushed his way past Mr. Patel and went into the shop. Hamish followed. Looking very small and crumpled in death, Ina Braid lay face down on the shop floor in one of the two small aisles.

Dr. Brodie straightened up. “I suppose the pathologist will be here soon,” he said. “Stabbed right in the back with something long and sharp. You know, sometimes when people have been stabbed, they just go on walking. She could have been stabbed somewhere else.”

“But she’d feel one hell of a sharp pain, not to mention the strength required to deliver the blow.”

“Not necessarily. It doesn’t take much force to stab someone provided the point of the weapon is sharp enough. Just slides in, like stabbing a melon. Oh, here’s Dr. Forsythe.”

“I thought you had resigned,” said Hamish.

Before the pathologist could reply, Blair howled, “Get outside and dinnae stand here gossiping. Someone must have seen someone going in to the shop.”

But there was trouble waiting for both of them when they exited the shop to find a furious Daviot staring at them. “You pair! You went into the crime scene without any protective clothing.”

Blair cringed. “Awfy sorry, sir. I had to get in there fast to make sure Macbeth wasn’t messing up the crime scene.”

“I was outside the shop when you arrived,” protested Hamish.

“Don’t just stand there, Macbeth,” said Daviot. “Find out as quickly as you can who was in the shop with her.”

Hamish turned and addressed the crowd. “Step forward anyone who saw Mrs. Braid in the shop, saw her going into the shop, or saw her at all near the shop.”

Everyone began to edge away except a woman Hamish recognised as Tilly Framont. “I saw her, Hamish,” she said.

Hamish led her away from the shop and took out his notebook. “Where and when was this?”

She frowned with the effort of remembering. “It would ha’ been about five or ten minutes afore I heard the screaming. I didn’t speak to her. Just nodded. She had a basket ower her arm and was hurrying towards the shop.”

“Was anyone else around?”

Tilly was a very small woman wearing a tight old-fashioned tweed coat with square shoulders. Her face had a sort of faded prettiness. She had a woollen hat pulled right down over her head.

“Let me see, Mrs. Wellington was there talking to the Currie sisters. Archie Maclean was heading for the pub. There must have been other folks around but I couldn’t really see, the mist was that thick.”

Hamish saw the Currie sisters retreating along the waterfront in the direction of their cottage. He excused himself, saying he would take a full statement from Tilly later, and hurried off after the sisters.

They heard him coming and swung round.

“You’re not doing your job,” said Nessie.

“Doing your job,” echoed Jessie mournfully.

Hamish found it easier to shut out Jessie’s constant echo of her sister’s last words when he was talking to the twins. Their identical glasses were so thick as they looked up at him that he flinched a bit before two pairs of magnified eyes.

“Tilly Framont said she saw the pair of you on the waterfront just before Ina went into the shop.”

“That right,” said Nessie. “Oh, man, the pity o’ it! There was herself as large as life. She gave us a cheery wave as she went past. Who did it? Must be that husband o’ hers. He aye had a shifty look.”

“Did you see anyone following her?”

“No, it’s right cold, you see, and the mist’s awfy bad. Just the few of us, I think, but with the mist there could have been more people about. I saw Mrs. Wellington. This is what they get for taking their mobile police unit away so soon. Let me see, there was that Archie Maclean going into the pub. Clarry Graham, the cook, was just standing there looking at the water, but I didn’t really remark anyone in particular.”

Hamish thanked them and said he would talk to them later. He decided to go up to the Tommel Castle Hotel, where Clarry was a chef. In his brief glory days when Clarry had been Hamish’s policeman, he’d been very inept – but maybe he had noticed something.

Clarry was just getting out of his battered old car when Hamish arrived at the hotel.

“What brings you, Hamish?” he hailed him. “Priscilla’s no’ here.”

“I didn’t come to see Priscilla,” snapped Hamish. “Haven’t you heard about the murder?”

“Aye, the wicked witch is dead.”

“No, not her! Just now. Ina Braid.”

“What’s happened to this place?” said Clarry, his round face creased up like a baby about to cry. “Such a nice wee body. It can’t be that man o’ hers. He’d never hurt a fly.”

“We’ll see. I’m sure they’ve gone to pick him up. Clarry, you were seen down on the waterfront near Patel’s. Who did you see?”

“I saw the Currie sisters and then Mrs. Wellington. I wasn’t really paying attention. Then the fog was so bad. I was thinking up a new recipe and I went for a wee walk to think better. I remember now that witch woman came up to the hotel one night for dinner.”