M.C. Beaton - Death of a Poison Pen

“That pair are mad enough to do anything.”

♦

“Did you hear something?” asked Mary sharply.

Cyril froze and listened hard. “Nothing,” he said.

Mary shivered. “This place gives me the creeps. It’s haunted, you know.”

“Havers.” Cyril opened the boot. “Help me get her out.”

♦

There was a rustling in the heather beside Hamish. He felt Elspeth moving away and shot out an arm to stop her, but she had gone. He swore under his breath. He would need to confront the Robertses, but he wished he could get to that shotgun first.

He thought the Robertses had really gone mad. He was sure Cyril Roberts would shoot them both and get rid of their bodies even if he told him that reinforcements were on their way.

The Robertses dragged Jenny out and laid her on the heather. “Now, the thing is,” said Cyril, “we roll her to the edge, cut off the ropes, rip off the gag, and push her over. Right?”

“Right,” said Mary. “Hurry up. I feel something here.”

And then they both froze as a silvery, unearthly voice whispered across the heather. “You are wicked and I have come to take you away.” Then there was an eerie laugh.

Mary’s face, already bleached by the moonlight, was now as white as paper. “It’s the wee folk,” she said through dry lips.

“Pull yourself together, woman.” Cyril picked up the shotgun and swung it to the left and the right.

“You will suffer unbelievable torture,” mocked the unearthly voice. Cyril fired to the right. Silence.

Then from the left came the whispering, jeering voice again. “Bullets cannot hurt us.”

Mary slumped down against the side of the car and began to cry with fright. Beside himself with rage and fear, Cyril stood straddling Jenny’s body where she lay on the heather, glaring around him.

“Let her go,” called the voice, and to the terrified Cyril it seemed to be coming from the sky above his head.

He left Jenny and ran desperately this way and that, trying to find the source of the voice.

“You are going to die,” mocked the eldritch voice.

“Mary,” shouted Cyril, “come here and grab her and let’s get this over with.”

Mary continued to sob, shivering and wrapping her arms around her body.

♦

Jenny summoned up all her energy and began to roll down the slope of the hill when Cyril went to his wife to try to get her to her feet.

Despite the tussocks of heather, it was a steep slope away from the lip of the quarry, and she slowly gathered momentum until she bumped up against a rock and lost consciousness.

♦

Damn, he’s loading the shotgun again. I should have taken him, thought Hamish. I could even have chanced it while he was dealing with Mary.

“Now untie her and ungag her,” Cyril was ordering his wife. “She can scream all she likes. No one will hear her up here.”

“What about the fairies?” screeched Mary.

“There’s no such damn thing as fairies. When we get rid of her, I’ll blast whoever that is playing tricks. Now get on with it!”

Mary moved round to the back of the car and let out a scream. “She’s gone!”

“What!” The moon shone bravely down. Cyril joined her and stared down at where Jenny had so recently Iain. Then he looked wildly around, swinging the shotgun this way and that.

“We’ve taken her where you’ll never get her,” cackled the unearthly voice.

Mary Roberts said in a dull voice, “God have mercy on me.” She ran to the edge of the quarry and jumped over.

“Mary!” shouted Cyril. He dropped the shotgun and ran to the edge of the cliff.

Hamish rose to his feet and sprinted up behind him. He seized Cyril, threw him to the ground, and handcuffed him. In the distance came the wail of police sirens.

“Elspeth!” he shouted. “Where are you?”

“Down here,” shouted Elspeth from somewhere behind him. “I’ve got Jenny. You keep an eye on him and I’ll look after her. Are you going after Mary?”

“I’ll need to wait for help. If I went down there after her, there’s no way I could get both of us out again.”

Hamish cautioned Cyril, who was crying so hard that he did not seem to hear him.

Hamish took out his mobile phone and said he would need ropes, divers, and an ambulance.

Police cars with sirens wailing and blue lights flashing bumped up towards them.

Jimmy Anderson was the first out. “What’s happening, Hamish?”

“This is Cyril Roberts, who is guilty of kidnapping Jenny Ogilvie and trying to kill her. He is guilty of the other murders. His wife, Mary, has jumped into the quarry. See if you can get men down there. I don’t have any rope.”

“You’re lucky,” said Jimmy. “We still had the men in Braikie who were looking for Jenny’s body down the cliffs, so they have all the equipment.” He walked away from Hamish and began to bark out orders.

Hamish saw Elspeth and Jenny in the light from the police cars. “How is she?” he asked.

“Very weak. Don’t wait for the ambulance. Get someone to take her to hospital immediately.”

“Right!” Hamish arranged for a policeman and policewoman to drive Jenny to the hospital and to stay with her.

When Jenny had been ushered into a police car, Hamish said to Elspeth, “You could have got yourself shot. What on earth possessed you to pretend you were a fairy?”

“Anything to stop them throwing her over. And it worked.”

“What if Mary Roberts didn’t believe in fairies?”

“Most people up here will believe in fairies if their mind’s a bit overturned. Do you think Mary Roberts will still be alive?”

“I doubt it. I think she wanted to die when she went over.”

Cyril Roberts was being put into a police car just as Detective Chief Inspector Blair came roaring up.

Hamish had to go through the whole story of how he had come to suspect the Robertses. When he had finished, Blair said, “You wait here to see if they get Mrs. Roberts out alive. I’ll go with Cyril Roberts to Strathbane and question him.”

“Sir,” said Hamish, “I think as I solved the case, I should be there when he is questioned.”

“You’ll stay here and do as you’re told,” snarled Blair, already wondering how he could take all the credit himself.

As Blair marched off, Jimmy whispered, “Don’t worry, Hamish, I’ll drop over tomorrow if I can manage and give you a full report of what Roberts said. And by the time that lassie of yours has finished her reports for the papers, everyone will know it was you and not Blair who solved the mystery.”

The night had turned chilly. Hamish waited patiently until the lifeless body of Mary Roberts was brought up from the quarry.

Then he wearily went back to join Elspeth, who was sitting in her car with the engine on and the heater blasting.

“Get me to the office,” she urged Hamish when he told her Mary Roberts was dead. “I’ve got to send a lot of stories over to the nationals and the agencies.”

“Won’t it be locked?”

“Sam gave me a set of keys.”

“How are you feeling?”

“A bit sick. I was very frightened.”

Hamish hugged her and then, involuntarily, he kissed her full on the lips. He emerged from the kiss with his pulse racing. “Sorry about that,” he said hurriedly.

“For what?” demanded Elspeth crossly, and set off down the track.

♦

Before he went to bed, Hamish sat down at his computer and filed his report. He felt bone weary. He carefully skirted around his visits to Perth. After he had finished, he sat and scowled at the screen. The one piece of the jigsaw that was missing was why the Robertses had sent that video of the murder of Miss Beattie to the community centre film show. It just didn’t make sense. The trouble with dealing with amateurs, he thought, it was like dealing with madmen. It made them so hard to catch. He yawned and stretched. He wished now he hadn’t kissed Elspeth. It was time he had another girlfriend, but preferably someone outside the village, away from the gossiping tongues of Lochdubh.