M.C. Beaton - Death of a Dreamer

Hamish’s quiet voice interrupted her. “Why was I hit on the head in Glasgow? How did you know I was there? What was so important about that letter from Brighton?”

“I was always wary of you,” she said. “I followed you when you left for Glasgow. I had to hang well behind before you got on to the busier roads. I saw you take the Glasgow plane. It was crowded. I bought myself a hat and dark glasses at the shop at the airport, bought a ticket, and took a chance. You never even noticed me. I followed you while you talked to people. Then I followed you back to Jock’s flat. I was worried what you would find. I stood inside the door and watched you take that letter from Brighton out. Jock and I went to Brighton for a weekend once. I stayed behind. I wrote him a passionate love letter. Jock kept a baseball bat by the door. I whacked you with that and took the letter, went to the airport, and got the next plane back to Inverness.”

“When Jock was in Brighton, he managed to have a one·night stand with Caro Garrard. How did he manage that?”

“He couldn’t have…He wouldn’t.”

“Okay, maybe he met her and went back to Brighton later. But did you know Jock was still having sex with his wife?”

“Liar. Not possible. He told me he was sick of her and she’d only followed him up here to get more money out of him.”

“We have forensic proof that he did,” said Hamish. “He said something about her having certain tricks.”

Her eyes grew wider and wider, and then she began to scream and scream.

“Take her away,” said Jimmy. “That’s enough for now.”

After she had gone, Hamish said, “Just as well she didn’t know, or we’d have another dead body.”

“Have you and your lady friend made your statements?” asked Daviot.

“She is not my lady friend, but yes, we have made our statements.”

“I think the least we can do,” said Daviot, “is to put you and Miss Grant up in a hotel for the night.”

“Thank you, sir, but we should be getting back. Her luggage is there, and I have to look after my animals. The cat saved my life.”

“The medical officer treated that bite your dog gave her,” said Jimmy. “Okay, off you go. You’re looking very white again, Hamish. Sure you’re up to driving back?”

“I’ll be okay.”

♦

Hamish and Elspeth drove back in silence for most of the way. Then Hamish said, “I plan to do absolutely nothing tomorrow. You?”

“I’ll do a follow-up piece in the morning. You know the stuff – the shadow of murder leaves Lochdubh and yackety-yak.”

“At least with the attempt on our lives, I’ve got a good excuse for not giving Matthew the story. I promised him first bite. I think we should go out to the Italian’s tomorrow and celebrate the end of all this.”

“You’re on.” Elspeth grinned in the darkness. “And for once in your life, you’ve got the money to pay for it.”

♦

Although he was exhausted, Hamish did not fall asleep right away. He now knew that Betty had been nice to him only to throw him off the scent. Had he become such a pathetic bachelor that he could not see what lay behind her attractive appearance?

Sonsie stretched out beside him and gave a rumbling purr. He patted the cat’s silky coat and slowly drifted off into tortured dreams in which Betty was dragging him down into the black depths of the lake.

♦

Hamish awoke late the next morning to find Elspeth had gone out. He washed and shaved and decided not to put on his uniform but to take the day off. He had just finished dressing when the phone rang. It was Jimmy.

“Betty Barnard is asking to see you, Hamish. You don’t need to.”

“I’ll drop over. Is she still at police headquarters?”

“Until this afternoon. We’re transferring her to the women’s prison to await trial.”

Hamish drove off, taking Sonsie and Lugs with him. He could let them out for a run in the heather on the road back.

The day was grey and misty. As the Land Rover mounted a rise above Strathbane, he looked down on the place he loathed most. He always thought the town a scar on the beauty of the Highlands.

He parked outside police headquarters and went up to the detectives’ room where Jimmy was waiting. “I’ll take you down to the cells,” said Jimmy. “Daviot is thrilled to bits. He’s about to hold a press conference.”

“I hope you took all the credit,” said Hamish uneasily.

“You’re still frightened of promotion in case they take you out of that backwater called Lochdubh. Relax. I did a Blair. I took all the credit.”

Hamish was led to Betty’s cell. The door was left open, and a policewoman stood on duty outside.

Betty was sitting on the cell’s narrow bed. She looked up when he came in.

“I just wanted to say goodbye,” she said.

“Why?” Hamish sat down on the bed next to her.

“We were friends, believe it or not. I even began to think at one time that it might be nice to be married to someone like you.”

“Why did you have to go and murder two people and ruin your life?” asked Hamish.

“Passion,” she said. “Have you ever really been in love, Hamish? Deep, all-consuming love? It tricks the mind. Jock always had some excuse. ‘We’ll get married next year, or when I’ve had the next exhibition,’ and I believed him because love had driven me mad.

“I’ve asked my lawyer to contact Jock and tell him to come and see me. Even now I can’t let go.”

There were voices outside, and then the policewoman came in and handed Betty a letter. She opened it up and I glanced at the signature. “It’s from Jock,” she said.

She read the letter while her face grew stiff with pain. Then she numbly handed it to Hamish. Jock had written:

Dear Betty,

I am not coming to see you and I will never forgive you for what you’ve done. I never really wanted to marry you but you’d lent me money I couldn’t pay back and you were such a good agent I thought I’d string you along. Don’t contact me again.

Jock

Hamish sat in an awkward silence. Then he said, “Well, that’s that. You’ll chust need to get on with life.”

“In prison?”

“Why not? No death penalty. It didn’t come out at the interview, but it was you that defaced the portrait of Priscilla, wasn’t it?”

“I got sick of him raving on about her beauty. Oh, God, help me! I don’t know what to do.”

Hamish stood up. “There’s nothing you can do but take your punishment. Have you no remorse for killing these two people?”

“No. I despised them both.”

Hamish left the cell, and the policewoman slammed and locked the cell door behind him.

∨ Death of a Dreamer ∧

Epilogue

Never give all the hart, for love

Will hardly seem worth thinking of

To passionate women if it seem

Certain, and they never dream

That it fades out from kiss to kiss .

—W. B. Yeats

As he drove back down into Lochdubh, Hamish saw the mobile-unit being towed away.

He found he was looking forward to his evening with Elspeth.

She was in the bathroom when he entered the police station. “Is that you, Hamish?” she called nervously.

“Only me. Betty’s locked up tight. Don’t use all the hot water.”

“I already have. You’d better stoke up the fire.”

Hamish lifted the lid of the stove and added kindling and peat to the dying fire.

It was grand to have Elspeth for company, he thought. They’d been through a lot together. Her psychic abilities were better than the seer’s any day. He felt like going up to Angus and demanding his fish back.

The phone rang. What now? He went into the office. Jimmy’s voice sounded down the line, harsh and upset.