M.C. Beaton - Death of a Witch

When they were seated, Hamish leaned forward and said, “Elspeth, you wrote those horoscopes in the Highland Times .”

“Yes, Matthew was stuck because Ang – ”

“I know. I had to sleep at Angus’s place last night.”

“Why? Is he still ill?” Her eyes widened. “You think the murderer thinks it was him and might come after him?”

“Yes, I think someone tried to get him last night. Now, if it leaks out it was you, you’ll be at risk. I want you to go back to Glasgow.”

“I can’t, Hamish. This is big stuff. Four murders! The news desk will ask me why I want to leave the scene and if I say I’ve been writing for another paper, they’ll sack me.”

“Can I get you anything?”

Both looked up, startled. One of the Polish waitresses, a tall girl with red hair, was looming over them. Hamish remembered her name was Anya Kowalski.

“No, Anya,” said Hamish.

When she went away, Hamish said, “I wonder how long she was standing there.”

“I think my radar is out of kilter,” said Elspeth. “I don’t know. But I am not going to quit this story, Hamish. I can look after myself.”

Anxiety made Hamish’s temper flare. “You’re a silly wee girl!”

“Don’t you dare patronise me. If you’re so worried about me, get off your arse and go and find out who is doing this.” Elspeth got to her feet. “If you concentrated as hard on looking for a murderer as you do looking after those pets of yours, you might get somewhere.”

Hamish stood up and smiled maliciously. “Dear me, lassie. I never thought the day would come when you’d be jealous o’ a couple o’ beasties.”

Elspeth turned on her heel and strode off.

Hamish sat down again and phoned Jimmy. “She won’t leave,” he said.

“I put in a report about it after you called,” said Jimmy. “The procurator fiscal says that as we’ve enough Strathbane men on the ground asking questions, you’re to guard Elspeth yourself. He’s got a soft spot for her because a flattering picture of him and comment appeared in the Bugle today.”

“We had a row,” said Hamish. “How can I guard her when she won’t speak to me?”

“Ah, love,” said Jimmy. “Make it up and keep after her.”

♦

Hamish left the lounge just as Elspeth was descending the stairs with her coat on. She had completed her ensemble by putting on one of those mushroom-shaped Afghan hats.

“I’m sorry if I upset you, Elspeth,” said Hamish quickly. “I’ve got an idea. Why don’t we join forces for the day?”

She looked up at him. “Been ordered to guard me?”

“I see your radar’s working again. What I really want to do is get down to Perth and interview Ruby Connachie. I want to start at the beginning. I want to find out as much about Catriona as possible. There’s someone in her background somewhere that started all this off.”

“Hamish, the murderer might be right here in Lochdubh.”

“Then there’s a chance that someone in the village might have known Catriona before she ever came up here.”

“Right you are. I could do with some colour for a background piece.”

“Off we go, then. Let’s start all over again with the first murder.”

∨ Death of a Witch ∧

8

Thou tyrant, tyrant Jealousy, Thou tyrant of the mind!

– John Dryden

Hamish first went to the police station and got Ruby Connachie’s address from the computer.

Jimmy stepped out in front of the mobile police unit and held up a hand to stop Hamish as he was driving off.

“Where are you going?” he demanded.

“Here, there, and anywhere,” said Hamish, waving a vague hand. “I have to protect Elspeth here and so I’m taking her right out of the village for the day.”

“Okay, off you go, but remember the lassie’s a journalist and don’t be talking off the record.”

“As if I would,” said Hamish piously.

Much as he desperately wanted to solve the murders, Hamish had a guilty feeling of holiday as he drove off. It was like old times to be with Elspeth again. What did she think of him these days? Should he marry her? It would be grand to be married and maybe have a couple of children.

“You’ve got a silly smile on your face,” said Elspeth. “What are you thinking about?”

“The scenery,” lied Hamish. “It’s a grand day.”

“It is indeed,” said Elspeth as they sped up over the heathery hills.

That remark about his silly smile had irked Hamish. The dream of marriage to Elspeth disappeared and he began to wonder if Ruby could actually give them any leads.

♦

Known to the Romans as Bertha from the Celtic Aber The, meaning ‘the mouth of the River Tay,’ Perth has been a Royal Burgh since the thirteenth century and was a royal residence through the middle ages. With its parks and Georgian houses, it is still one of the fairest of Scotland’s cities.

But like all towns and cities in Scotland, it had its housing estates, and it was in one of these that Ruby Connachie lived.

“She must be pretty old by now,” said Elspeth.

“From the reports, I gather she’s eighty-six and got all her marbles – well, those that haven’t been cracked by jealousy.”

“So she was jealous of Catriona?”

“Seems that way. She says Burrell doted on the girl for all he was strict. Here we are. I don’t suppose any of the local police will be visiting her again, so with luck Jimmy will never find out where we have been.”

Ruby lived in a block of ‘sheltered’ housing for the elderly on the estate. Her flat was on the first floor.

Hamish rang the doorbell. There was a long silence.

“I hope the woman’s alive,” whispered Hamish.

“I sense someone in there,” said Elspeth.

After what seemed an age there was a sound of shuffling feet on the other side of the door. Then it creaked open on a chain.

A small, wrinkled face peered up at Hamish. “Who are you?”

Hamish introduced himself, but not Elspeth, in the hope that she would think Elspeth was a plainclothes policewoman. The door shut, and then came the sound of elderly fingers struggling to undo the chain. The door swung open again, revealing Ruby to be a small, old woman leaning on a Zimmer frame. Her figure was stooped and her grey hair, thin and sparse, showed patches of pink scalp.

The door opened directly into a small living room. It was simply furnished with two easy chairs, two hard-backed chairs, a small television set, and two occasional tables, one of which held a framed photograph of a younger Ruby on the arm of a heavyset man.

Hamish picked it up. “Is this Mr. Burrell?”

“Yes, that’s him. We would have been married if that fiend hadn’t murdered him. He put it off too long. ‘As soon as Catriona goes to university, we’ll get married,’ he’d say.”

“What was Catriona like?”

“Sleekit. That’s what she was. Sleekit. You would think butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. Yes, Daddy. No, Daddy. When she said she was at the library, studying, I told him I saw her hanging out in the High Street with a group of boys. When he challenged her, she burst into tears and said, “I was only talking to a group of school friends.” And he believed her! I knew if I told any more tales on her, the wedding would be off.”

“Do you think anyone from the time she lived in Perth would want to kill her?”

Ruby gave an asthmatic chuckle. “Apart from me? I mind there was this young fellow, Wayne Abercrombie. I was visiting my Horace…”

“Horace being Mr. Burrell?” asked Hamish.

“Yes. This lad Wayne came hammering at the door demanding to speak to Catriona. Horace said she was out. Wayne said he had to see her to find out whether she meant to go through with the abortion. I thought poor Horace was going to drop dead with a heart attack. He told him to get lost or he’d call the police and he sent me home and waited for Catriona. I phoned him the next day and he wouldn’t speak about it except to say that it was all lies and he didn’t want to hear about it again.