M.C. Beaton - Death of a Dustman

♦

Hamish whistled and sang as he drove back to Lochdubh with Lugs beside him. Once clear of Strathbane, he stopped the Land Rover on a grassy verge and let Lugs out. The animal had been cooped up for too long. As he watched Lugs scampering through the heather beside the road, he had a sudden memory of Kirsty Ettrik’s fear when she had seen his dog.

His happiness fled. If Angus had not been murdered by Ionides, then it followed it must have been done by someone in Lochdubh. If Fergus had confided in him about the hotel, might he not have confided in him about the other people he had been blackmailing?

He wondered if Priscilla was back. She had left for London a few days after the death of Ionides. He looked over his shoulder at the two folders. He persuaded himself that he only wanted to see Priscilla again to use her help. She had a logical mind.

He whistled for his dog and then reached over and helped Lugs up onto the high seat. He fastened the seat belt around the dog and then set off again.

Once back at the police station, he fed Lugs and then settled down to pick the sergeant’s stripes off his two police sweaters and then his tunic.

Clarry came in and beamed all over his face when Hamish gave him the good news.

“It couldn’t have come at a better time,” said Clarry. “I’m packing up today and moving in with Martha. We’re getting married next year. Will you be best man?”

“I’d be delighted, Clarry. How are things going on at the hotel?”

“I’ve never been happier, Hamish.”

Clarry had slimmed down and was always clean and fresh looking, a big change from the slob of a constable who had first come to Lochdubh.

“The thing is, Clarry,” said Hamish, “they’ve reopened the investigation into Angus’s murder.”

“That’s daft. It was that Greek, surely.”

“They don’t think so. The pilot’s confessed that Ionides killed Fergus, and he helped to dump the body, but he swears blind that his boss had nothing to do with the murder of Angus.”

“He’d expect leniency for helping solve one murder. If he says Ionides didn’t kill him, then he’s clear of a more serious charge.”

“That’s what I thought. Me and my famous intuition. I ended up concentrating on Ionides, so delighted it wasn’t one of us, that of course I thought Angus’s murder was done by him.”

“Where’ll you start?”

“I’ve got two big folders of printouts of what everyone interviewed said after Angus’s murder, Clarry, gossip to the staff up at the hotel. But keep this under wraps. People at the hotel might gossip a bit more freely if they think the murder solved. People will aye try to protect people, and that’s what always stops me getting at the truth.”

Clarry went off to pack his suitcase, and Hamish settled down and began to go through the folders. Kirsty had said that Angus had believed their troubles to be over. What did that mean? Angus’s bank account had been checked and there was nothing other than an overdraft.

He phoned up Angela, the doctor’s wife. “Is Kirsty up at the croft?”

“I believe so. I saw her the other day in Patel’s. What’s this about?”

“I chust wanted a word with her; see if she’s all right.”

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, I’ve still got my job.”

“Come round for a coffee when you can.”

Hamish buttoned on his tunic, minus the three stripes. He called to Clarry, “I’m going out.”

Clarry appeared in the doorway. “You’ve got nothing for your dinner as usual. Call round at the kitchen. I’ve got some nice braised venison. It’ll do you and Lugs a treat.”

“I might do that. Is Priscilla back yet?”

“I heard she might be on her way up.” Clarry drew himself up and said, “I would just like to say that you were the best boss a man ever had. I will never forget your kindness. Furthermore…”

“That’s all right,” said Hamish, turning red with embarrassment. “I’m off.”

“May I give you a hug?”

“Well, no, Clarry. Take care of yourself and stop watching those touchy-feely soaps.”

Hamish drove up to Kirsty’s croft house.

♦

She jerked open the door as if she had been waiting, had noticed his arrival.

“How are things, Kirsty?”

“Oh, it’s yourself, Hamish. I’m managing as best I can. Everyone around is giving me help with the sheep until I decide what to do. Come in.”

Hamish walked into the kitchen. It sparkled and shone. Every surface gleamed, and the air smelled strongly of disinfectant.

Hamish removed his hat and put it on the kitchen table. “I don’t want to distress you, Kirsty, you’ve been through a lot.”

Her eyes widened. “What’s happened? Not another death? I mean, it’s all over. It was that Greek bastard who killed my Angus.”

“Maybe.”

“What d’ye mean, ‘maybe’?” she demanded shrilly.

“At Strathbane, they’re beginning to think that maybe someone else murdered Angus.”

Her face turned white, and she clutched at the table for support.

“Sit down, Kirsty,” said Hamish, in that moment hating his job. “There may be nothing in it.”

“But if it’s possible there’s someone else,” she whispered, “he could be out there, waiting for me, and I’m up here on my own.”

“There, now. We have to examine everything, and there iss no reason why anyone should come after you.”

“But it was all over,” she wailed. “After the funeral, I had to try to put my grief behind me.”

Hamish said quietly, “I’ll need to ask you if he said anything at all that might be of help. Now, I know you were in shock right after the murder. But you said that Angus had said your troubles were over. And he had a phone call from the same box on the waterfront that Fergus got his last call from. Now, he was, I gather, fairly friendly with Fergus. Fergus was attempting to blackmail Ionides. He may have told Angus what he had. And after his death, Angus, desperate not to lose his croft, might have tried the same trick.”

“If he did, he said nothing to me,” said Kirsty.

“I cannae myself believe yet it was anyone else. There’s that phone call. That’s what bothers me.”

“I’m tired of all this.” Kirsty leaned her head on her hand. “I just want to put it all behind me.”

“I’m asking you, however, to think and think hard,” said Hamish. She stayed where she was, silent, and after a few moments, he let himself out.

He then drove to Elspeth MacRae’s croft. “Come in, Hamish,” she said happily. “I was just about to have a cup of tea.”

How relaxed everyone was now that they thought the murders were solved. Hamish went into the stone-flagged kitchen. A peat fire burned in the hearth and an old clock ticked noisily on the wall, the chintz curtains fluttered at the open window: a scene of Highland tranquillity, far removed from murder and mayhem.

“It iss not really the social call,” said Hamish awkwardly to Elspeth’s back as she busied herself pouring boiling water into a teapot. Her back stiffened. She carefully put the lid on the teapot, placed it on a tray along with two mugs, milk, sugar and biscuits, and carried it to the kitchen table.

“I don’t see what it can be,” said Elspeth. “You have my sheep dip papers. Help yourself to sugar and milk.”

“It’s like this,” said Hamish. “It seems there’s a possibility that Angus was murdered by someone else.”

“How can that be?”

“The pilot swears blind that neither he nor Ionides was responsible for that murder. And yet it’s strange. For Angus got that call before he went out, and we traced it to that call box on the waterfront.”

She lowered her eyes quickly. Hamish eyed her sharply. “What iss it? You’ve got to tell me.”