M.C. Beaton - Death of a Gentle Lady

“I’ll go back to Lochdubh. I’m not going to run away any more.”

♦

Hamish spent a pleasant day wandering around the village and chatting to the locals. When he settled down for the evening in front of the fire, he wondered if the murderer would come for him. If I were the murderer, thought Hamish, I wouldn’t drive down that road into the village. Everyone would see the car. So what would I do? I’d park a bit away at the top of the road and wait till it was after midnight. The weather’s on the turn, and there’s no moon tonight. I’d come quietly down into the village. But how would I know which cottage?

He lay back on the sofa and stared up at the nicotine-stained ceiling. He should really report this place to the Scottish Tourist Board, he thought. What a dump for a holiday let! His eyes began to close, and soon he was fast asleep.

He was awakened by a hammering at the door and the voice of his neighbour, Ellie, shouting, “There’s a fire down by the harbour!”

He made for the door and then stopped. That’s it, he thought. Light a big fire, get everyone running out of their cottages, and wait.

“You go ahead,” said Hamish.

He pulled a black woollen cap over his head, then pulled a sweater on over his shirt. He left the cottage quietly and headed towards the river. He had seen a track leading along the side of the river up to the top of the cliffs. Near the top, he turned and looked back. A shed by the harbour had been set on fire; the locals were passing buckets of water, one to the other, to throw on the flames.

Hamish gained the road and walked along to the west, looking for a parked car. He then turned and walked back along to the east. At last he saw it on a bend of the road. It was a small battered-looking van, and the number plates had been removed.

He tried the handles at the back and found that the van was unlocked. He climbed inside, shut the doors behind him, and settled down to wait.

An hour had passed when he heard the sounds of someone approaching. Let her drive off a bit, thought Hamish grimly, and then I’ll have a surprise for her.

The driver’s door opened. He heard the engine roar into life, and in a split second he realised he had not heard the driver’s door close.

He tore open the back door of the van, tumbled out, and leapt, seeing nothing but blackness below him. His flaying hands caught hold of a branch sticking out of the cliff. He clung on for dear life.

There was the sound of an explosion far below, and then flames shot up into the night sky.

He saw he was hidden by the overhang of the cliff. His arms felt as if they were about to be torn from their sockets. He kicked his boots into the soft ground of the cliff until he found footholds and felt the pressure on his arms slacken.

In the light from the flames below, he saw a rocky ledge to his left. With all the strength left in his arms, he swung himself over and fell panting on the ledge. Using tufts of grass for purchase, he swung himself back up over the top of the cliff and, taking out a powerful torch, swung it to the left and right.

Moorland stretched for miles either way. He pulled out his mobile phone and woke up Jimmy Anderson.

“I’ll get the police helicopter up and we’ll search the moors,” said Jimmy. “Go back and lock yourself in.”

♦

Hamish stayed awake, listening to the sound of the police helicopter overhead. At last he could not bear the inactivity any longer and went out. The harbour was full of police cars. A forensic team was working on the burnt-out van, which had fortunately hit a large rock instead of plunging down onto one of the houses.

James Fringley appeared beside him. “I gather you’re not who you said you were,” he said.

“No. Who told you?”

“A copper asked me which cottage had been rented to Hamish Macbeth. I gather that’s you and you’re that policeman from Lochdubh. Why are you here?”

“Headquarters has me hidden up here because some murderer is after me,” said Hamish wearily.

“Do me and everyone in this village a favour and get the hell out of it as soon as you can. There were fishing nets burnt in that shed, and that van could have killed someone.”

Hamish guessed the would-be killer had probably guessed he would search for him up on the clifftop. The back of the van had been cramped, and he had changed his position from time to time. Maybe the van had rocked a little, alerting the murderer to the fact that he was inside.

♦

Jimmy arrived at Hamish’s cottage at six in the morning to find the policeman still awake, packed and ready to leave.

“No success,” said Jimmy. “We kept the helicopter up as long as we could but then Daviot came on the phone screaming about the cost. All we can do now is put a police guard outside your station.”

“I’ll alert the villagers,” said Hamish. “Any strange woman appearing in Lochdubh and they’ll make a citizens’ arrest. There is no need for a police guard. Do you know, I don’t think she or he will try again. I think whoever it is could possibly be mad, and made even madder with fear that I might guess something.”

“It’s up to you. What a dump this place is. Worse than Lochdubh.”

“It’s really lovely,” said Hamish. “That reminds me. I’ve a present for you.”

He took out the wood carving that looked so like Blair.

“Man, that’s grand,” said Jimmy. “Can I stick pins in it?”

♦

Lochdubh looked reassuringly the same. As soon as he had unpacked, Hamish got into bed, joined by his cat and dog, and fell sound asleep.

He awoke in the late afternoon to find Elspeth standing over him.

“You cannae chust walk into a man’s bedroom!” he howled.

“I came to see if you were alive,” said Elspeth. “I bought you a present.”

“I don’t want a present,” said Hamish sulkily. “All I want iss a bit o’ peace.”

“Smell something?” asked Elspeth.

Hamish propped himself up on the pillows and sniffed the air. “Coffee?”

“Yes, good coffee. I bought you a percolator.”

“Have you seen Sonsie and Lugs?”

“Last time I saw them, they were strolling along the waterfront, heading for the Italian restaurant. They must be hungry.”

Hamish got out of bed and stretched and yawned. Then he realised he had not put on any pyjamas and was stark naked.

Elspeth giggled. “That’s quite a blush you’ve got, Hamish. It goes all the way – ”

“Get out!” he roared.

When Hamish had washed and dressed, he found Elspeth in the kitchen. She poured him a cup of coffee.

Hamish drank a little and then smiled. “This is grand. Thank you. Now, what do I have to do for this?”

“Nothing. There’s a clampdown on reporting what happened up in Grianach. Editor’s phoned all over. Story suppressed. Unless you can think of anything, I’ve got to get back to Glasgow.”

Hamish looked at her thoughtfully. She had lit the stove. The kitchen was warm. She was wearing a chunky grey sweater over jeans, and the grey seemed to highlight the odd silvery colour of her eyes. Her hair had reverted to its usual frizzy look, which seemed to suit her better than when it was straightened.

“I may be back,” said Elspeth. “The editor of the Highland Times is retiring, and Matthew is taking over as editor. He’ll need a reporter.”

“Wouldn’t it seem a bit tame after the city?”

“Not with the goings-on you seem to conjure up. I’m highland to the bone, and I don’t really seem to fit in in Glasgow. Then the photographer I have with me, Billy, is a complete lout. All he does is sneer at this place, and the more he sneers at it, the more I realise how much I love it.”

“I was sorry to hear about you being jilted,” said Hamish. Elspeth had been left at the church on her wedding day. She had been about to marry a fellow reporter but he had run off and left her. “Were you very hurt?”