M.C. Beaton - Death of a Dreamer

Hal got to his feet and, picking up the plate of biscuits, headed off for the stairs.

Priscilla came and sat down opposite Hamish. “How did you get on?”

“Horrible wee man.”

“He’s a one-off. We’ve got an American family staying here, and they run when they see him.”

Hamish eyed her speculatively. “Hal wrote down everything Effie told him in a notebook. She told him she was brought up in an orphanage in Perth and subsequently adopted by a couple in Inverness who abused her. You couldn’t charm some more information out of him?”

“I’ll think about it.”

♦

Hamish returned to the police station. He found a George Cullen at an address in Sutherland Terrace which he remembered being off the Bewley Road. He phoned. When a man answered, Hamish introduced himself and asked, “Mr. George Cullen?”

“Aye, that’s me.”

“Did you adopt an Effie Garrard a long time ago?”

“We fostered her for a bit.”

“May I come and talk to you?”

“Aye, any time. I’m long retired. Sad thing about her death.”

“I’ll leave now,” said Hamish, “and be with you in just under an hour.”

♦

The Cullens’ house was a small, granite Victorian villa. Hamish rang the bell, and an old stooped man answered the door.

“Mr. Cullen?”

“That’s me. Come ben.”

The living room into which Mr. Cullen ushered Hamish was dark and cold and strangely barren. No pictures, photographs, or books. A square table with upright chairs stood by the window. There was an armchair next to the two-bar electric fire. The carpet was old and faded.

“Sit down,” said Mr. Cullen, indicating a chair at the table. He saw Hamish looking around and said, “The wife died last year. I got rid of nearly everything. All those things did was to remind me of her, and I was tired of grieving. How can I help you?”

“You fostered Effie Garrard?”

“Yes, that’s right. She was twelve at the time. We couldn’t cope. We had to get rid of her after a year.”

“Why was that?”

“She was a congenital liar. She walked into a police station and said my wife was beating her and I was sexually abusing her. Oh, the scandal. Thank God it didn’t get into the papers. The police medical examiner found she was still a virgin and hadn’t a mark on her. We couldn’t bear to have her in the house after that.”

“Do you know where she went?”

“No, and I didn’t want to know.”

“What was the name of the orphanage you got her from?”

“It wasn’t an orphanage. We got her through the social services.”

“Did you think Effie had mental troubles?”

“To be frank, I’m surprised she killed herself. I always thought she would kill someone.”

“Why?”

“At the beginning, my wife doted on Effie. She wasn’t a pretty child, but seemed cute and clever. Then my wife began to get vomiting attacks. One day I thought I saw Effie put something in my wife’s tea. I told her and said she wasn’t to eat or drink anything that Effie had been near. She protested but did as I said, and the attacks stopped. Then there was the sexual abuse business. That was enough.”

“What about her real parents?”

“I remember being told the mother was dead and the father was an abusive drunk, which is why the girls had been taken away from him.”

Hamish thanked him and left. He decided it would be a good idea to visit Caro, but when he arrived at the police station, it was to find Archie Macleod, the fisherman, waiting for him.

“What brings you?” asked Hamish. “Just a chat?”

“No. Now, I know it’s been going around that you don’t like gossip…”

“I’ve just learned the Currie sisters have been warning everyone off For heaven’s sake, tell everyone I’m interested in every bit of gossip. I couldnae do my job otherwise. Come in and sit down and tell me what you know.”

Archie went into the kitchen, patted Lugs, eyed Sonsie warily, and sat down. “I heard tell you’re interested in a wee bit o’ gossip now. It’s like this. Henry, the gamekeeper, was up on the hill the evening Effie we suppose disappeared. He had his binoculars to his eyes, scanning for poachers. He saw Jock going into Effie’s cottage. A few minutes later, he came out. You know how sound carries up on the moors. He couldn’t hear the words, but Jock was shouting and he looked to be in a right rage.

“Then half an hour later, that wee blonde woman that was married to Jock turned up. Henry was curious because we all knew about Effie making up all that stuff about her engagement and pregnancy. Mrs. Fleming wasn’t allowed in, but she stood on the doorstep until Effie slammed the door in her face. Henry was real interested in the show, so he kept his glasses on the cottage. He was just losing interest when he saw another wee woman drive up. At first, he thought he was seeing things because she looked a good bit like Effie. Well, that woman didn’t reappear after Effie let her in, so Henry got bored and went back to work.”

“Thanks, Archie. I’d better see the sister and the ex-wife again. I mean, for one thing, the sister was supposed to have arrived after Effie’s death. Surely it couldn’t have been her. The police contacted her in Brighton.”

♦

After Archie had left, Hamish phoned Jimmy Anderson on his mobile. “Jimmy,” said Hamish, “could you do me a favour and find out if the police contacted Caro Garrard, Effie’s sister, or if she got in touch with them?”

“Trying to turn a suicide into a murder?”

“Just checking everything. Where are you?”

“Walking into police headquarters. I’ll call you back.” After a quarter of an hour, Jimmy phoned. “Caro Garrard phoned the police at Strathbane and said she was Effie’s sister. That was after the death appeared in the newspapers. She said she was in Brighton and would be travelling up.”

Hamish thanked him and then walked out of the police station and along to the schoolhouse, where Matdiew Campbell, the reporter, lived with his wife, Freda.

Matthew and Freda gave him a warm welcome. “It’s a duty call,” said Hamish. “Did the story about Effie Garrard’s death get into the nationals?”

“No,” said Matthew. “Well, there was a bit in the Glasgow editions, but nothing got south. Why?”

“Can’t tell you at the moment, but I think I’m on to something.”

“If it’s a good story, don’t keep me in the dark, Hamish.”

“You’ll be the first to know.”

♦

Hamish drove up to Effie’s cottage, his brain in a turmoil. Jock had given the impression that he and Effie had parted amicably. And the sister, Caro? She could easily have phoned from somewhere near Lochdubh after visiting Effie and pretended she was still in Brighton. But if she were guilty of anything, why would she have pressed him to find out if her sister had been murdered?

She answered the door to him. The room looked more welcoming in the glow of several oil lamps than when he had last visited it.

Hamish was momentarily diverted. “Where did you get the lamps?” he asked. “I thought they were hard to come by now.”

“I got them at an auction in Inverness. They didn’t cost much.”

“You were lucky. When electricity came to the Highlands, the Hydro Electric Board led people to believe that electricity was going to be cheap. So they got rid of all the old oil lamps, and now collectors are looking for them. Isn’t the electricity working?”

“It’s supplied here by a generator. I like the light from oil lamps.”

She probably had antifreeze for the generator, thought Hamish. He removed his peaked cap, sat down at the table, and ran his long fingers through his fiery red hair. “I have a problem,” he said.