M.C. Beaton - Death of a Dreamer

“Who first?” asked Robin outside.

“I’ve got a salmon in the freezer.”

“So what?”

“So we’ll go back and see Angus.”

♦

The seer invited Hamish in but grumbled that the salmon was frozen, saying he liked it fresh-caught.

“Have you thought of anything, Angus?” asked Hamish.

The seer leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. “Women everywhere,” he said. “Manipulating women.” He opened his eyes and looked at Robin. “You were out to ruin a marriage. Just thank the stars you didnae succeed.”

“Forget about Detective Mackenzie,” said Hamish impatiently. “I know all about that.”

Robin’s face flamed.

Angus settled back in his chair again and closed his eyes. If the old sod goes to sleep this time, I’ll strike him, thought Hamish. I want one salmon’s worth.

“Strong sexual urges and bad, bad jealousy,” crooned Angus. “You’re looking for a woman.”

“Which woman?”

Angus opened his eyes. “The spirits have left me.”

“I expected more for a whole fish,” exclaimed Hamish.

♦

“So who have we got?” asked Hamish as he and Robin walked down to the police Land Rover. “We’ve got Caro Garrard, Gloria Addenfest, Dora Fleming, and Betty Barnard.”

“My moneys on Dora,” said Robin.

“I thought you suspected Betty.”

“I think it’s Dora now. She’s had a rough, coarse life. I bet she was in a lot of fights when she was on the streets.”

“But what would Dora have to do with the murder of Effie?”

“Maybe Effie’s death was suicide.”

“Hal phoned his wife to say he was getting married,” said Hamish. “One of the women must have been seen with him. We’d better go up to the hotel and start again.”

“All that stuff about me trying to break up someone’s marriage was rubbish,” said Robin. “You said you knew.”

“I don’t think you planned to break up a marriage, more to sleep your way to the top.”

Hamish’s phone rang before Robin had time to reply. “Get back here immediately,” Jimmy ordered. “They’ve phoned over the DNA results.”

♦

“Whose is it?” demanded Hamish as soon as he and Robin walked into the police unit.

“Jock Fleming. They’ve gone to fetch him,” said Jimmy.

“Where’s Mrs. Fleming?”

“We had to let her go for the moment. That night, she says, she wanted to go down to the garden at the back for a bit of fresh air. She said if she’d gone out the front, the sound of all the locks being unlocked would have woken Mrs. Dunne. Mind you, I’ve sent some men to go through that room of hers again, looking for the least little thing. That sounds like Jock arriving now.”

The artist was brought in. He looked at them wearily. “What now?”

“Sit down,” barked Jimmy.

Jock slumped down in the chair in front of him.

“A used condom was found in the back garden at Sea View. We found your DNA on it. Now your ex-wife says that on the night Addenfest was murdered, she went out through the fire door and down into the back garden for a bit of air.”

“It’s all very simple,” said Jock. “She wanted to talk about more money. One thing led to another. We had a quickie up against the garden wall.”

A policeman who had just walked in interrupted them. “Sir,” he said to Jimmy, “sorry to interrupt, but this was found stitched into the hem of the curtains.” He held out a glassine envelope full of white powder. “I tested a bit. It’s cocaine.”

“Get Dora Fleming along here.”

Jimmy glared at Jock. “Do you know what I think? I think you wanted that notebook of Addenfest’s because you were frightened that there was something in there that would incriminate you. I think you miserable pair – you and your ex-wife – got high. I think one of you lured him to the beach, and you both killed him to cover up the murder of Effie Garrard.”

“This is rubbish,” blustered Jock.

“And why should you want sex with a wife you divorced?”

“She’s got certain interesting tricks.”

I am slipping, thought Hamish ruefully. I had thought he was such a nice ordinary man.

Dora was brought in. Jimmy waved the envelope of cocaine in front of her. “This was found sewn into the curtains of your room.”

“That’s naethin tae dae wi’ me!” she shrieked. “You lot must ha’ planted it there.”

“Enough of this,” said Jimmy. He turned to his waiting police officers. “Take them over to police headquarters. I’ll interview them separately.”

As they were led out, volubly protesting, Hamish said, “That’s odd.”

“I’m off,” said Jimmy. “What’s odd?”

“Dora Fleming shows no sign of being a drug user. Someone could have planted those drugs.”

“Why?”

“To muddy the waters.”

“Go back to Mrs. Fleming’s room and see if you can see anything that might have been missed.”

♦

Robin felt uneasily that as the superior officer she should be taking the initiative, not Hamish. But Daviot’s rejection had thrown her, and she was sure he would do everything in his power to block any promotion. She wished these murder cases would get solved quickly now so that she could put in for a transfer.

Mrs. Dunne was furious. She followed them up the stairs to Dora’s room protesting that she kept a decent house and somehow it was all Hamish’s fault. Hamish and Robin went into Doras room, and Hamish shut the door firmly in Mrs. Dunne’s angry face.

There was a sour smell in the room. “She doesn’t believe in washing much,” said Robin, wrinkling her nose, “and her dirty clothes are lying everywhere.”

“Let’s see these curtains,” said Hamish. He knelt down on the floor and studied the unpicked hem. The curtains were acid green and of a cheap synthetic material. They were short, and when he drew them closed, the light shone through them. “That’s how they saw the envelope of drugs,” he said. “They would look at the curtains and see it outlined against the light. And look. The stitches are very neat. I cannot imagine one such as Dora Fleming being a good needlewoman.”

“So you think the drugs were planted?”

“Maybe. Let’s have a good look around.”

They searched the room thoroughly but found nothing incriminating. “I tell you what,” said Hamish. “Do you mind if I leave you alone for a bit? I’ve a personal call to make.”

“And I’ve got someone to see in Strathbane,” said Robin. She had decided to confront Daviot and see if she could use a bit of emotional blackmail on him.

“Right. I’ll meet you back at the police unit at, say, three o’clock.”

♦

Hamish headed up to the hotel. He had a sudden longing to see Priscilla, to sit in her calm presence as he had done in the past and talk about the case.

He found her in the gift shop, selling a mohair sweater to a tourist. After she had finished, Hamish asked, “Any chance of a talk?”

“I’ll just close up the shop and tell Mr. Johnson if anyone wants anything to tell them to come back later. You look worried.”

She locked the shop door. “We’ll use the gun room.”

“I hope it’s kept securely locked,” said Hamish uneasily.

“It’s locked and burglar-alarmed.”

Hamish waited while Priscilla unlocked the gun room door and reset the alarm. They sat down in battered old leather chairs. A reflection of Priscilla’s face swam in the glass of one of the cabinets, and dust motes danced in the shafts of sunlight coming in through the windows.

Hamish began to talk, going over everything he had learned.

He wound up by saying, “I fear there is something far wrong with Jock Fleming. What sort of man sneaks out at night to have sex with his ex-wife up against a garden wall?”