M.C. Beaton - Death of a Witch

“He wouldnae hurt a fly, Fergus wouldn’t,” blustered Mike. “He only wanted a couple of hours so I told him he could nip out through the lorry bay at the back.”

“And why didn’t you report this before?”

“Because there was one nasty swine o’ a detective bullying me and more or less telling me that Fergus had murdered Ina, and Fergus would never do such a thing.”

“Wait there,” ordered Hamish. He nodded to Priscilla, and they stepped outside. With a heavy heart, Hamish took out his phone and called Jimmy.

“Great!” enthused Jimmy, when Hamish had finished speaking. “Keep an eye on the bugger. I’ll be right over.”

♦

When the foreman was taken away, Hamish sadly went back to the Land Rover with Priscilla and drove off. “I only hope Fergus comes up with an alibi and a real one this time. I chust can’t believe that man would murder his wife. Blair will try to pin the other murders on him as well.”

∨ Death of a Witch ∧

9

The cruellest lies are often told in silence .

– Robert Louis Stevenson

The arrest of Fergus Braid struck the village like a bombshell. Lesley, opening the newspaper the next day, found a photograph of him on the front page and a different story on the inside, HIGHLAND BOBBY ATTACKED BY ARMED POACHERS screamed the headline. There was a photograph of Priscilla laughing as she handed the rifle over. Lesley read the story carefully. There was nothing about why Priscilla was on the scene and why she had a rifle. She did not know Priscilla’s involvement had been suppressed.

Lesley scowled. Priscilla was real competition. All Hamish needed was the support of a strong ambitious woman who could get him out of that village and into the mainstream of police work. For all his intelligence, she suspected he was shy.

She decided she would invite him to her flat in Strathbane for dinner. That way she would be safe from interruptions.

ELSPETH RECEIVED A call from the features editor. “I’m sending up Perry Gaunt.”

“But I’ve done two colour features for you,” complained Elspeth.

“The editor wants to give Perry a break. Book him a room and show him the ropes. He’ll be with you shortly. He set off yesterday. He was planning to spend an overnight in Inverness.”

Elspeth knew it was futile to protest further. Perry Gaunt was an old Etonian, and his father was a close friend of the London editor.

No sooner had she put down the phone in her room than it rang again. It was Mr. Johnson. “There’s a Mr. Gaunt asking for you.”

“I’ll be right down,” said Elspeth.

Perry Gaunt was leaning on the reception desk. He was tall and lean with thick fair hair and a pleasant face. He was wearing an expensive scarlet anorak over a black cashmere sweater, black cords, and sensible boots. As reporters had little to do with features writers and as Perry had only recently joined the paper, Elspeth barely knew him.

“Elspeth,” he said with a smile. “You must be cursing me for moving in on your patch. I read your pieces and they were damn good.”

“It’s all right,” said Elspeth, thawing before that charming smile and noticing his eyes were green. “Mr. Johnson, can you manage a room for Mr. Gaunt?”

“He’s in luck. One of our guests has just checked out. If you’ll just sign these forms, Mr. Gaunt, I’ll show you to your room.”

“I’ll wait down here for you,” said Elspeth, “and then I’ll show you around.”

Elspeth began to feel quite cheerful. The idea that a murderer might be lurking about trying to kill her made her feel uneasy. Hamish Macbeth always seemed to have women around him. Let’s see how he likes me being accompanied by Perry.

Perry came down. “Right,” he said. “Like I said, I’ve read all your stories as well as your features. The trouble is there doesn’t seem to be anything left for me to write about. You seem to have covered it all.”

“I’ll drive you down to the village and introduce you to a few people,” said Elspeth. “Have you had much experience of journalism?”

“I got a degree in journalism from Lander University in Birmingham. They’ll give you a degree in anything. Someone even got a degree in flower arrangement. Before that I got a degree in mediaeval history from Oxford. Before that I was in the army. I’m quite old to be starting out. I’m thirty-three. I haven’t worked on a newspaper before.”

“So how did you land this one?” asked Elspeth, curious to know whether he would admit to his father’s friendship with the editor.

“You’ll hate me for this. My father is a friend of Josh Appleton.” Josh was the London editor. “He spoke to him and next thing I knew was I had the job in Glasgow. Now you’ll despise me for taking it.”

“It’s really no different from what goes on in Glasgow,” said Elspeth. “Sons of printers get jobs in reporting when they’ve got no aptitude whatever.”

“Well, let’s see if I have any talent.”

♦

They were just crossing the forecourt to Elspeth’s car when Priscilla emerged from the gift shop. She was wearing hip-hugging jeans and high boots with a black turtleneck sweater.

“Talking about local colour,” said Perry. “Who the hell is that?”

“That is Priscilla Halburton-Smythe, daughter of the hotel owner.”

“Is her nature as beautiful as she looks?”

Elspeth felt a pang of jealousy. Men, including Hamish, had only to look at Priscilla and they forgot that such a lowly creature as Elspeth Grant even existed.

“She’s actually very kind,” said Elspeth.

“Married?”

“No.”

He adjusted the passenger seat in Elspeth’s car to accommodate his long legs. “I’ve lost interest.”

“Why?”

“If a woman looks like that and is the daughter of a hotel owner and she’s not married, there’s something up.”

“Are you married?”

“No. Divorced. And you?”

“Nearly once. He stood me up.”

“Useless bastard. Let’s go.”

Elspeth drove straight past Priscilla, who looked as if she expected Elspeth to stop the car and introduce her.

“I’ll take you down to Lochdubh,” said Elspeth, “and we’ll call at the police station first.”

“I’m dying to meet the local bobby. He’s featured in quite a number of stories. I looked Lochdubh up before I left.”

Elspeth’s heart really warmed to Perry when he exclaimed over the village of Lochdubh, nestled in front of the loch with the two tall mountains towering behind it. “Why, the place is beautiful!”

Elspeth, for the first time in ages, was conscious of her appearance. She had her frizzy hair scrunched up on top of her head. She was wearing jeans that were old and baggy, and her sweater under her tweed jacket was faded black from too many washings.

“I gather they’ve got someone for one of the murders at least,” said Perry, “so I’d better hurry up and write something before we’re called back.”

Elspeth stopped at the police station, and they got out of the car. As they approached the kitchen door, Hamish came around from the back, an empty feed pail in his hand. He was followed by Lugs and Sonsie.

“A bobby with a pet wild cat!” marvelled Perry. “Now, there’s a bit of colour for a start.”

“No, you don’t,” warned Elspeth. “He doesn’t like people knowing about that cat in case it gets taken away. Actually, it’s quite tame.”

“Elspeth,” said Hamish, joining them. “Did you see Blair or Jimmy?”

“It’s all quiet. The mobile police unit wasn’t on the waterfront and I suppose the press are all down at Strathbane.”

“And why aren’t you there?”

“Because Daviot will make one of his pompous statements and you know what’s really going on.”