M.C. Beaton - Death of a Dustman

“Thank you,” said Hamish. “I’m glad the poor woman got the money. All her troubles will be over. I don’t see what help it can be in this case…”

“There’s one odd thing.”

“What’s that?”

“She’s only just banked the cheque. It was sent to her last July.”

Hamish stared at her. “I’ll look into it,” he said slowly. “Was the cheque made out to her or Angus?”

“To her.”

She clutched his sleeve. “You musn’t let my husband know I told you!”

“It’s all right. I’ll get her bank account checked. Angus’s account was checked after his murder.”

When she had left, Hamish went into the office to phone Jimmy. Then he decided to see it through himself. There might be a perfectly innocent explanation.

The fields around Kirsty’s croft house were white and bleak under a lowering sky. As he switched off the engine, the eerie total silence of the countryside surrounded him. No dog barked and no bird sang.

He went almost reluctantly to the door and knocked. There was no reply. He stood there with his head cocked to one side, listening, and then he sniffed the air. He smelled something like cooking stew. Of course, she could have placed a pot of stew or lamb on a low heat before she went out. He stepped back and looked at the cottage. He sensed she was in there, waiting for him to go away.

He stepped back and tried the door handle. The door was not locked. He opened it and went in.

“Kirsty!” he shouted. “Police! Where are you?”

A pot simmered on the stove. The clock ticked on the wall. He heard a short, shallow breath. There was a battered sofa over to one side. He walked across and leaned over it.

Kirsty was crouched down behind it.

She looked up at him with the eyes of a hunted animal.

“Come out of there, Kirsty,” said Hamish heavily, suddenly knowing the truth. “Come out, and tell me how you killed Angus.”

She stood up and edged around the sofa. She went and sat down at the kitchen table and put her head in her hands.

Hamish removed his peak cap, laid it carefully on the table as if it were a precious object, and sat down next to her. “It was the money, wasn’t it?”

“Will I go to prison?”

“I’m afraid so. What happened?”

“Did you know he beat me?”

“I chust learned that yesterday.” He took her hand in his. “Tell me, Kirsty.”

She started to speak in a flat, emotionless voice, as if giving evidence in court. With a flash of intuition, Hamish realised she must have lived in dread of this moment, had rehearsed what she must say.

“We got married when we were both eighteen. Too young. Maybe children might have made a difference. No, that’s wrong. I’m glad we didn’t have children, seeing the way it worked out. The work on the croft got harder. Every time he made some money from the sheep at the sales, he would start out on another idea. First it was the goats. Well, they kept breaking out, and they are very destructive animals. He sold them at a loss. Then it was the deer. But he wouldn’t build a proper deer fence, so the beasts just disappeared one night.

“Like all Highlanders, he liked his dram, but it got more and more. The first time he hit me, he was that remorseful after, I thought he would never raise his hand to me again. But he did, over and over. He liked Fergus because Fergus was a drunk, and Angus had become one, too.”

“He didn’t have a reputation of being one,” said Hamish.

“Oh, he would never get drunk in the village. He would sit in the evenings, drinking steadily, and watching me, watching me, enjoying my fear. He never knew about that hundred pounds worth of premium bonds. I kept them hidden. I dreamed of winning. He thought if we had money, everything would be all right.

“Then I won. And the cheque arrived. Like a fool I told him. It was immediately his money. He said he’d take it down to the bank and put it in our joint account. He said he was tired of the rough weather in Sutherland, and we would buy a nice farm down in Perthshire, and I saw that he would spend all the money on this farm, he would mismanage it, and the beating would go on. He had been putting up a shelf in the kitchen. The phone rang and he went to answer it. While he was on the phone, I picked up the hammer and hefted it in my hand. I can’t say for sure what happened immediately after that, but he came back and sat down and picked up the cheque and said, ‘Get my coat. I’m off to the bank.’

“I snatched the cheque out of his hands and said, ‘It’s mine.’ He swung round and his face was mad with fury. Then he turned back and stared straight ahead and said, “Give me that cheque, or you know what’ll happen to you.”

“Everything went blank, and when I came out of it, I was standing there with the bloody hammer in my hand, and he was lying dead on the floor. I took the cheque and hid it up in the rafters. Then I cleaned every surface. I’d forgotten that they’d expect to find my fingerprints everywhere, this being my home. I took a cloth and swept the floor towards the door. Then I went out and stuffed the cloth somewhere. I can’t remember. Then I went in and phoned and then took his bloody head in my hands and waited. I felt nothing. It was only after that the horror came.”

“What about the whisky bottle on the table and the two glasses?”

“I did that. I wanted it to look as if he was expecting someone from outside.”

Hamish released her hand and took out his mobile phone, called Strathbane and requested escort for a prisoner, giving them the address and directions.

“Did Angus ever hit you so hard you had to go to the doctor?”

“Yes, he broke two of my ribs one night. He was clever. He never hit me where it would show. I went to Dr. Brodie, who sent me to hospital.”

“What did you tell Dr. Brodie?”

“I said I had fallen.”

“And he believed you?”

“No. I had been to him the year before with a broken arm. I said I must be accident prone. But he was looking at the bruises on my arms. He said, “You’d better stop lying and report that husband of yours to the police.””

“So why didn’t you?”

“It had been going on so long…so long. I kept making excuses for him. I couldn’t begin to think how to manage on my own. I felt lost.” She began to cry in a dreary, helpless way. Angus Ettrik, thought Hamish, if you were alive today, I might be tempted to kill you myself.

He rose and took the pot off the stove and put on the kettle. He went into the bedroom to get Kirsty’s coat. Two suitcases were lying packed on the bed. She must have been planning to go away somewhere.

He picked up her wool coat and walked back into the kitchen and placed it on a chair. He waited until the kettle had boiled and made a pot of tea. He put a mug of hot, sweet tea in front of Kirsty and handed her a clean handkerchief ‘Drink that,’ he ordered. ‘You’ll need a good lawyer, Kirsty. You can afford it now.’

“Won’t they freeze my money?”

“The money’s yours. You didn’t get it as the result of a crime. Do you want me to get you a good lawyer?”

She nodded. He took out his phone and dialled a number in Inverness. He outlined the case rapidly and told the lawyer to make all haste to police headquarters in Strathbane.

Then he waited and waited. The snow started to fall gently, great white lacy flakes. At last, he heard the sound of the police siren.

When the police arrived, he turned and charged Kirsty Ettrik with the murder of her husband, Angus. He waited until she was led to the police car. He watched until the flashing blue light disappeared into the snow.

With a heavy heart, he got into the police Land Rover and drove back to Lochdubh.