M.C. Beaton - Death of a Bore

“I know. She was here this morning.”

“You’d best watch out, Hamish. She was singing your praises.”

“Oh, well, she’s gone. That’s that.”

“Don’t be too sure.”

“Why?”

“There was a buzz about two years ago that some good-looking copper was trying to accuse her of sexual harassment. Of course, it was all hushed up and the young copper was promptly transferred to a station in the Outer Hebrides.”

“You know, maybe I should get a spyhole for that kitchen door. Then I’d know who was out there. People just drop in and out as if it’s some sort of hotel. Now, I think we should start with Patricia Wheeler. She was close to John Heppel. I tried her yesterday. Angela Brodie’s come up with the idea that maybe we should be looking for a murderess. I’m pretty sure Heppel was having an affair with Alice Patty. Who knows what other women he was messing around with. Then there’s another thing: the script they’re using and saying was John Heppel’s bears no relation to his writing.”

“Doesn’t that usually happen?”

“What do you mean?”

“I had a lady friend once who wrote scripts for some hospital series. She wrote draft after draft and still they asked for another. By the time they were demanding a fourteenth draft, she cracked and took the first draft out of the bottom of the pile and sent them that. They said great, we’ll use it. But she said what appears on the screen usually bears no relation to the original script.”

Hamish gave a disappointed “Oh.” He thought of Angus working away at the computer and the great risk he had taken in not reporting the young man.

“Is it just you and me?” asked Hamish. “Blair said he was sending a lot of police over with you to cover the television people.”

“Aye, but he’s decided we should go it alone because he thinks one of the locals nicked that computer of Heppel’s. They’re all over in Cnothan going from house to house with search warrants. If they can’t find anything there, they’ll start on Lochdubh.”

“I hope they don’t come around the police station.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want them messing up the police computer.”

“They’d hardly do that. Thon computer’s a big beast and they’re looking for a laptop. Is that a rape going on?”

“Supposed to be,” said Hamish, “except it’s a fully clothed one. Mr. Wellington, the minister, objected to her having her clothes ripped off.”

Jimmy shook his head in wonderment. “The things actresses go through. He’s got her head in a puddle.”

“Let’s go to their café,” said Hamish, “and start with the people there. I hope Patricia’s one of them.”

Patricia Wheeler was found sitting at a table on her own. She scowled when Hamish and Jimmy sat down opposite her. “I’ve already spoken to you,” she said, looking at Hamish.

“We’ve just discovered that Alice Patty was murdered,” said Jimmy.

Her face blanched under her make-up. “That can’t be true. She slit her wrists.”

“Aye, well, someone drugged her first and cut them for her. Now, was John Heppel having an affair with her?”

“I don’t know,” said Patricia. “I mean, she did haunt him. She was always turning up on location and bringing him sandwiches and coffee and hovering around him. He was charming to her, I’ll say that, which is more than…”

She bit her lip.

“What you’re trying to say,” said Hamish, “is that Heppel was usually rude and nasty to everyone.”

“No, I’m not saying that at all. John was a dear and I’ll miss him.”

“Did you have an affair with him?” asked Hamish.

“Of course not.”

“It’s best to tell the truth. We can find out, you know, sooner or later.”

“Well, we did have a bit of a fling. Things like that happen in show business. Here today, gone tomorrow.”

“Who else was he screwing?” asked Jimmy bluntly. “Apart from you and Alice Patty.”

“I don’t like your tone. No one, as far as I know.”

“Who ended your affair?” asked Hamish.

“It just burned out. We remained friends.”

“Did he dump you for Alice Patty, or was it the other way round?”

She got to her feet. “I find your questions offensive. Next time you want to speak to me, call my lawyer!”

Patricia stormed out.

Jimmy shook his head. “I’ll never understand women. By all accounts, Heppel was a bully and a bore and yet he managed to get his leg over.”

“Would you have even considered an affair with a woman like Alice Patty?” asked Hamish.

“God, no. That awful refeened accent. Mind you, I wouldn’t mind having a go at our Patricia. Still, let’s split up and talk to the luvvies. Give it two hours and I’ll meet you in the pub unless you’ve got anything at the station.”

“Not a drop. Herself finished it off this morning.”

♦

When they met up in the pub two hours later, both Hamish and Jimmy were feeling depressed. “Did you get the same guff?” asked Jimmy. “Everybody loved everyone else and they’re all one big happy family and they all just adored John Heppel.”

“Pretty much.”

“I’ve been thinking,” said Jimmy. “There’s one connection between the village and Strathbane Television.”

“What’s that?”

“Alistair Taggart.”

“No. He’s been cleared, surely, and Heppel was murdered before Alistair had anything to do with television.”

“Think about it. Heppel had insulted him. He’s got a violent temper. He drinks.”

“Like you,” said Hamish as Jimmy downed his second whisky.

“Not like me. I’m as calm as a lamb. He went on television after Blair released him. He could have met Patty then.”

“He was at the writing class.”

“Can’t pinpoint the exact time of death. You know that, Hamish. He could have gone back there again, just before the class, and killed him.”

“He was sober at the class. Anyway, he’s more likely to have beaten John to death than to mess around with naphthalene. He uses a typewriter. I don’t think he’d know one end of a computer from another.”

“I’m going to have a talk to him. Want to come?”

“No, I’m going back to talk to the television people. I mean, Jimmy, if the script had been changed through several drafts, why didn’t they say so?”

“I gather this episode of Down in the Glen is to be featured as an in memoriam to Heppel. They’re not going to turn around and say most of it wasn’t his writing.”

“You’ve got a damn answer for everything,” said Hamish crossly. “See you later.”

When Hamish emerged, it was to find the vans had gone. The day had that white light it always gets in the Highlands just before darkness falls. He guessed they’d probably moved back to the Tommel Castle Hotel.

He collected his dog and drove off.

∨ Death of a Bore ∧

11

All the world’s a stage, but some of the players have been very badly miscast .

—Oscar Wilde

Hamish diligently questioned members of the cast, technicians, make-up girls, and actors for the rest of the day without managing to make a crack in their statements of goodwill to all.

Perhaps away from the location, he might have better luck. Surely there was some typist or gofer or some sort of menial who might be able to give him a different picture.

He joined up with Jimmy and outlined his plan. “I’ll run it past Blair first,” Jimmy said.

“Must you?”

“I’ll put it up as my idea and you can come along. If I say it’s your idea, you know what he’s like: he’ll tell you to go back to your local duties.”

Jimmy walked away and phoned. He came back with a grin on his face.