M.C. Beaton - Death of a Witch

She searched diligently, puffing on a cigarette. “I thought smoking was banned in offices in Scotland,” said Hamish.

“Aye, well, there’s offices and offices.”

After an hour of searching, she sighed. “You know, I should just put the mannie’s name up on the computer.”

She sat down at a computer and switched it on. Hamish could see the early northern night coming down outside the window, where a seagull looked in at him with contempt before flying off.

“Got something!” she cried. Hamish unwound himself from the typing chair he had been sitting on and looked over her shoulder. “There was a photo,” she said, “but not under marriages.”

The photograph showed Catriona and Rory McBride on the waterfront. “On their honeymoon in Oban, happy couple Rory McBride and his wife, Catriona.”

“Can you give me a copy of that photograph?” asked Hamish.

“If I can find it.”

“Try under Catriona McBride.”

“Okay.”

She tapped away busily. Then she said, “Our cross referencing leaves a lot to be desired. Here we are. But it’s about him. That photo was taken four years ago in July. Now here we are, still in the same July, and Rory McBride is appealing for any sighting of his missing wife.” There was the same photograph of the couple to illustrate the news item. Rory McBride was described as a crofter from Torgormack outside Beauly in Inverness-shire. He and Catriona had come to Oban to spend their honeymoon. In the middle of the second week, she had disappeared, but as she had taken her belongings with her, Hamish gathered the police were not really looking very hard for her.

He looked at his watch, trying to calculate how long it would take him to get to Torgormack and see if he could find Rory McBride.

He thanked Isla and left, stopping on the waterfront to buy a fresh fish for Sonsie, haggis-and-chips for himself, and a hamburger for Lugs. They all sat in the Land Rover, eating in companionable silence. Hamish wondered whether to leave going to try to find the crofter until the next day or he could phone Jimmy and get the Inverness police on to it. But he decided he wanted to see the man for himself. He also wondered if Strathbane had found out anything about Catriona Burrell’s background.

♦

The little crofting community at Torgormack seemed quite prosperous – a few trim bungalows instead of old croft houses. By knocking at the nearest door he got directions to Rory McBride’s address.

It was further up the hill from the other houses and had a run-down appearance.

Hamish rang the bell. He could hear no sound of ringing inside and so he knocked on the door. A man he barely recognised from the photograph as Rory McBride answered the door. He looked much older and careworn.

Hamish introduced himself and said he was looking into the death of Catriona.

“Oh, her,” said Rory wearily. “You’d best come in.”

The living room was bleak with only a few bits of old furniture. A peat fire smouldered on the hearth, sending out very little heat.

“I’m surprised you didn’t contact the police when you learned of her murder,” said Hamish.

“Sit down. A dram?”

“I’m driving,” said Hamish. “Your marriage didn’t seem to last long.”

“No.”

“How did you meet her?”

“I met her at the game fair down in Perth. I was fair bowled over. She was staying in Perth at the time.”

“I’ll need that address.”

“I’ve got it somewhere,” he said wearily. “I’ll look for it in a minute.”

“Go on.”

“It was a whirlwind romance. I proposed right away. I stayed at her place and then we got married in Perth and went to Oban on our honeymoon. I suppose it was my fault. I told her I was a farmer. I wanted to impress her. She started asking questions about the farm when we were in Oban. That’s when I told her I was a crofter. She stared at me and she exclaimed, ‘A croft? One of those tiny smallholdings?’ I said I had eighteen acres and kept sheep. She went a bit quiet after that. She started going off for long walks on her own.

Then one day I came back and she’d packed up and gone. I reported her disappearance to the police. They weren’t inclined to bother because she had taken her luggage with her. Also, she had cleaned out my wallet but somehow I couldn’t tell them that. Then someone said they had seen her getting into a fish lorry, which headed off out of the town in the middle of the night.”

“Did you never try to find her?”

“I did for a bit. I went back to her place in Perth but there was a new tenant there. I just gave up. It was obvious she had married me because she had thought I was a rich farmer.”

“I’m afraid you’re now going to have detectives calling on you,” said Hamish. “It’ll look to them as if you had a reason to murder. Where were you the day she was killed? That’s estimated to have been during the night on the tenth.”

“Here.”

“Anyone see you?”

“On the evening of the tenth I was down at a dance in the Lovat Arms Hotel. I didn’t leave until one in the morning.”

Still time to drive like hell to Lochdubh, thought Hamish, but as if reading his thoughts, Rory said, “And in case you’re thinking I drove up there afterwards, my Land Rover was off the road for repairs and I went down to Beauly in the tractor.”

“When you were staying at her place in Perth, were there any photographs? Did she talk about her family?”

“No, come to think of it. She gave the impression she’d been an only child. I told her all about my family, about my brother in Dubai and my sister in Hong Kong. In fact, I did the most of the talking. I don’t remember seeing any photographs.”

“How much money did she steal from you?”

“A little under two thousand pounds.”

“What?”

“Aye, you see, just before the Perth game show, I’d won five thousand pounds on a lottery scratch card. I was so tired of scrimping and saving. I wanted to have some fun. I got myself new clothes, I flashed money around at that game show. No wonder she thought I was rich.”

“But you didn’t tell her about the scratch card, did you?”

He hung his head. “I wanted to impress her. I was frightened if she knew the real truth then she wouldn’t marry me. Well, that’s hindsight. I think I only suspected that deep down.”

“See if you can find that address in Perth for me.”

“I remember it was Petry Road, the bottom half of a Victorian villa, but I’ll find the street number for you.” Hamish felt sorry for him and was glad the man seemed to have a good alibi. Rory came back. “It was number twenty-four A.” Hamish thanked him and left. It was too late now to go to Perth and he wondered if he dare take any time off the next day.

∨ Death of a Witch ∧

6

Still obscurely fighting the lost fight of virtue, still clinging, in the brothel or on the scaffold, to some rag of honour, the poor jewel of their souls!

– Robert Louis Stevenson

“Now we’re in trouble!” howled Jimmy when Hamish phoned him the following morning. “Inverness police are to interview McBride today and they’ll find out you’ve been there before them. Couldn’t you just have left it to them? I’d have let you know what they found out. I’ll try to make excuses for you and keep this from Blair but don’t you dare go near that Perth address. I’ll let you know what the Perth police find out.”

Hamish went out on his rounds. He called to question Timmy Teviot again but the forestry worker stuck doggedly to his story about poachers.

In the evening Jimmy phoned. Catriona Burrell’s mother, Morag, had been a Gypsy who had abandoned Catriona shortly after the baby was born. She had been brought up by her father, a strict lay minister in the Methodist Church. He had died when their home had gone up in flames one night when Catriona was seventeen. Arson was suspected but nothing was ever proved. Catriona was moved into the care of her father’s sister, Agnes, a few streets away from the burnt home. When Catriona was eighteen, Agnes had died after a fall down the stairs. She had inherited her brother’s money on his death, and that money then went to Catriona.