M.C. Beaton - Death of a Witch

“Did you say yesterday evening?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Just wondered.” Lesley bit her lip in vexation. So that was why he had still been in uniform and had brought those wretched animals with him. He must be furious with her. She decided to phone him.

“The phones aren’t working and in case you haven’t noticed, we haven’t any electricity, either,” said Bruce.

“There’s nothing we can do until the power comes on.”

“Haven’t we got a generator?”

“No,” lied Bruce, who had in fact borrowed it for his home during an earlier power cut and forgotten to bring it back.

♦

On the same clear and very cold morning, Elspeth and Perry borrowed skis and managed to make their way to the police station.

Hamish listened intently. He knew Elspeth well enough not to accuse her of imagining things. When Elspeth and Perry had finished talking, he said, “I can’t understand how someone would get up to the hotel in a raging blizzard unless it was one of the guests. Which guests who were here at the murder of Catriona are still at the hotel?”

“I don’t know,” said Elspeth.

“But I do,” said Priscilla from the doorway. Elspeth scowled. He saw the way Priscilla looked at Perry. Couldn’t that damn female leave her just one man?

“Who are they?” asked Hamish.

“Just the one. A Mr. Garry.”

“We checked on him.” Hamish had piles of papers spread out in front of him on the table.

“Ah, here we are! Mr. Dominic Garry. Stockbroker. Likes hill walking. Fifty-five years old. He’s pretty fit?”

“Yes. He’s tall and thin. Does a lot of walking. We borrowed the last of the skis so I don’t suppose he’ll be going anywhere today.”

“I’ll get up to the hotel and have a word with him.”

“We’d better get started on your colour piece, Perry,” said Elspeth. “We’ll go along to the Highland Times and use a desk there.”

“I heard the snow plough going past,” said Priscilla. “You might be able to get up there in the Land Rover, Hamish. I’ll come with you.”

As they arrived at the hotel forecourt, Priscilla said, “That’s Mr. Garry. Just leaving.” Hamish jumped down from the Land Rover and called out, “Mr. Garry! A word with you!”

Garry was wearing an expensive anorak over thick knee breeches and sturdy boots.

“I was just going out for a walk,” he said. “Isn’t it beautiful in the snow?”

“If you wouldn’t mind coming back into the hotel. It won’t take long,” said Hamish.

When they were seated in a corner of the lounge, Hamish waited until Garry had shrugged off his anorak and said, “As you will have heard, Mr. Garry, there have been murders committed.”

“And what’s that got to do with me?”

“I am just asking everyone around if they might have see anything,” said Hamish soothingly. “Now, I see from my notes that you are a stockbroker from London. I am curious as to why you are up here on such a long holiday. This hotel is expensive.”

“Do I have to tell you?” Hamish’s eyes sharpened. “Of course.”

“I had a nervous breakdown. You can check with my psychiatrist. I’ll give you his number. He suggested I take a long break as far away from London as possible. I have plenty of money, and this has been a very healing experience.”

“What caused the breakdown?”

“I was wrongly accused of insider trading. By the time my name was cleared and I was settling down, my wife asked for a divorce. Come up to my room. I am going to give you phone numbers to check my story and then will you please leave me alone? I will also telephone my psychiatrist and give him permission to speak to you. I gather the phones are working again.”

♦

Hamish, when he got back to the police station, telephoned the psychiatrist. As he listened, his heart sank. He had been hoping that it would turn out some crazed outsider had been responsible. But the psychiatrist confirmed that Garry had indeed had a nervous breakdown. He said that in his opinion, Garry was a gentle man, not suited for the cutthroat life of the City. The divorce had been the final straw. He had private means. He warned Hamish not to upset him.

Hamish gloomily went back to studying his notes. Surely somewhere in the middle of all this information was something he had missed.

His eyes fell on the statement he had taken from Timmy Teviot. The man hadn’t been lying about the poachers, but there had been something else he hadn’t been saying. There had been something at the back of his eyes, and Hamish was suddenly sure he knew about the brothel.

Timmy wouldn’t be working today. The road right round the loch wouldn’t be cleared yet, but he decided to put his skis on and call on Timmy.

The phone rang. It was Lesley. “Hamish, I am very sorry…,” she was beginning.

“Talk to you later,” said Hamish. “Got to rush,” and put the phone down.

The phone immediately rang again.

“I told you…,” Hamish was beginning when Elspeth’s voice came down the line.

“It’s me, Elspeth. Hamish, while Perry was writing his piece, I’ve been thinking and thinking about the murders. The one thing that seems to tie them all together is sex.”

“Sex!”

“Think about it.”

∨ Death of a Witch ∧

10

The beaten men come into their own .

– John Masefield

After a long and weary trudge round the loch, Hamish was irritated to be told that Timmy had gone to the pub in Lochdubh.

The ground round the loch was flat, so there were no slopes to ski down. He wished he had worn his snowshoes instead. The sun was glittering blindingly on the snow. Lochdubh looked like a Christmas card, but, that morning, he was in no mood to admire it. When he reached the cleared waterfront, he took off his skis, carried them to the police station, and propped them against the wall. Then he made his way to the pub.

He went straight up to Timmy, who was propping up the bar. “You,” said Hamish curtly. “Follow me to the station.”

To Timmy’s nervous demands of “What’s up? What have I done?” Hamish only replied, “In the station.”

When they were settled in the office, Hamish began. “You’ve been holding out on me, Timmy.”

“Me? Man, I tellt ye about them poachers.”

“So you did. But you didn’t tell me you knew about Fiona McNulty.”

There was something like relief at the back of Timmy’s eyes. “Oh, well, I didn’t want to go getting any of the men in the village into trouble.”

“Like Fergus?”

“Aye, he was the only one I knew about.”

“And how did you know about him?”

“We got drinking one night and he tellt me.”

Hamish’s eyes sharpened. “There’s something else he told you that you aren’t letting on. Out with it, Timmy, or I’ll take you down to Strathbane and let Blair deal with you.”

“I cannae go betraying the man’s confidence.”

“Then we’re off to see Blair.”

“Och, anything but that. But you didnae hear it from me!”

“Out with it.”

“I cannae think it’s got anything to do wi’ the murder o’ his poor wife.”

“Spit it out.”

“It sounds right daft now. But she used to beat him.”

“Ina? That wee woman?”

“Fact. He had a sore dunt tae the head and he was saying it happened at work, but when he’d had a few jars, he says tae me that Ina hit him wi’ the frying pan.”

“Why did she do that?” asked Hamish.

“She’d learned from one o’ the women that he’d been seen one night up at the witch’s place.”

“You should ha’ told me this before. Off with you, Timmy. I may be talking to you later.”