M.C. Beaton - Death of a Dreamer

“I’d like a look at the place.”

“I’ll give you the key. Just walk down the back stairs and you’ll find it.”

He opened the safe, saying over his shoulder, “I keep all the spare keys here. We used to have them up on a board, but in these evil days, we decided it was a bit too risky. Here you are.” He extracted a large key and gave it to Hamish.

Hamish thanked him and made his way down the back stairs. In the old days, he thought, the servants’ quarters would all be down here. He was wishing he’d asked Mr. Johnson which one was the door of the storage room. There were so many doors. He tried them one after another until he came to one that was locked.

He unlocked the door and swung it open. Maybe Betty had just taken the diving gear up to the moors and sunk the lot in a peat bog. But diving equipment was expensive. Yet how would she get the key to this storage room if it was locked in the safe?

There was a window letting in pale light, set high up on the wall. He edged his way through broken furniture, suitcases, and old steamer trunks until he was under the window. There was a steamer trunk under it. He climbed up on it. He put on gloves and pushed the window upwards. It opened. And it opened enough, he noticed, to let someone climb in and drop down into the room.

He turned and looked around. If he found anything, he needed witnesses. He took out his mobile and called Jimmy and spoke rapidly.

Hamish waited until he heard footsteps on the stairs coming down. Jimmy came in, followed by two detectives and a policeman.

“What have you got for us, Hamish?”

“I haven’t searched yet. I need witnesses in case I find anything.” He told Jimmy his theory about the diver and how Betty Barnard had taken a course in scuba diving.

Jimmy sighed. “Sounds like a complete flight o’ fancy to me, Hamish. But now we’re here, we may as well get on with it.” He turned round and said, “We’re looking for a diving suit and diving gear. It means opening up any cases or boxes. Get to it.”

Hamish went back to the window and looked round the room. She wouldn’t have carried the gear openly. Maybe she put it in a big strong garbage bag. If she met anyone, she could say she was looking for somewhere to dump extra rubbish. She would slide down from the window after throwing the stuff down first. She would pull the steamer trunk under the window so that she could climb out again.

He studied the dusty floor and then the pile of trunks nearest him. He took out a magnifying glass and began to study the trunks. He saw faint marks in the dust. He moved the top trunks until he got to a large leather-bound one at the bottom.

He lifted the lid. I really didn’t want to know, he thought sadly. Lying in the trunk was a rubber diving suit, with goggles and tanks.

“Here, Jimmy,” he said.

Jimmy came hurrying over. “I’d better get the forensic boys in here. Should be enough DNA on that mask.”

Hamish gingerly lifted an edge of the diving suit. “Leave it!” ordered Jimmy.

“Look at this,” said Hamish.

Under the suit was a notebook Hamish recognised. “That’s Hal’s notebook,” he said.

“Right. We’d better take her in for questioning. Good work, Hamish. How on earth did you think of it?”

“It was the heron,” said Hamish sadly.

“Are you sure you’re all right? You’re rambling.”

“Never mind.”

“Want to come up and make the arrest? It’s your collar.”

“No, that’s fine. I’m feeling a bit shaky. I’ll chust get back to the police station.”

♦

Hamish sat down at the table in his kitchen and stared into space. How could he have been so stupid?

He remembered the laughter and the sunny days. He remembered how Betty had looked after him when even Priscilla had cleared off and left him alone. He had even been thinking of marrying her. There had been no sign of wickedness in her. I think it’s the first time I’ve been well and truly fooled, he thought miserably, and all because I was starting to dream of getting married. Maybe we’re all dreamers and fantasists, like poor Effie.

The phone in the office rang shrill and loud. He went to answer it. It was Jimmy, his voice sharp with anger.

“She’s gone!”

“Whit?”

“Gone. And it’s all the fault of that gabby porter and even gabbier manager. Sammy, the porter, asks Johnson what the police are doing now. Johnson says Hamish Macbeth is down in the storage room looking for diving gear. “That should help with his poaching,” said Sammy, who considers himself no end of a wit. So when Betty Barnard walks into the hotel, he decided to try the joke out on her. Result: she’s gone. Left everything behind and scarpered. We’ve got roadblocks set up, and police are watching all the ports, railway stations, and airports.”

“I’m going to see Dora Fleming,” said Hamish. “I think that one knew more than she was telling us.”

“Okay. Get back to me.”

Hamish went out and walked along to Sea View. He turned in the doorway and saw that the cat and dog had followed him. “Stay there,” he ordered.

“What now?” asked Mrs. Dunne.

“I want to see Mrs. Fleming.”

“I telt her to pack her bags and get out. I won’t have drugs in this house.”

“Where did she go?”

“I don’t know. But I tell you this: No one in Lochdubh would have her. That artist came and helped her with her bags.”

Hamish ran back for the Land Rover, the dog and cat loping behind him. He put them in the police station and drove up to the Tommel Castle Hotel.

“Is Jock Fleming in?” he asked Mr. Johnson.

“No, he wanted his ex-wife to move in, but enough’s enough. I only gave him a free room because he was painting Priscilla’s portrait. I told him to find other accommodation.”

“Do you know where they went?”

“They wanted cheap accommodation, so I told them to try the caravan park over at Cnothan. Hamish, I’m right sorry about Sammy…”

But Hamish was already out the door.

♦

The caravan park was situated outside Cnothan. Hamish went to the office and asked if a Mr. and Mrs. Fleming had booked a caravan, and he was directed to one over against the wall near the entrance.

He knocked at the door. Jock opened it and scowled. “What now?”

“Let me in,” said Hamish. “You’ve been withholding valuable information.”

Jock stood aside. Hamish removed his cap and walked past him. Dora was sitting at a table at the far end.

“Betty Barnard,” said Hamish, “killed Hal Addenfest, and so she killed Effie as well. I do not believe you pair divorced because Jock discovered that you, Dora, had been a prostitute. I think you found out that Jock had been having an affair with Betty. Maybe after the divorce, Jock, you went off Betty, but she was still in love with you. The hold she had on you was that she sold your paintings like no one else could sell them. But she was crazy about you. Crazy enough to kill, and I think you suspected it all along. You may as well tell me, because when she’s caught, it’ll all come out. She’s made a run for it. Where would she go?”

Jock hung his head. “I can’t think. Maybe Glasgow.”

“Betty wouldn’t go back there when she knows the police are looking for her.”

“Honestly I can’t think of anywhere else.”

“When that cocaine was found in Dora’s room, didn’t you suspect Betty?”

“I didn’t. Honest. I thought there was some madman on the loose.”

“You should have told me about Betty. It might just have stopped that American from being murdered. I’ll get back to you, Jock. Not only me but Jimmy Anderson will have a lot of questions to ask you.”

After Hamish had left them, he phoned Jimmy and told him where they were.