M.C. Beaton - Death of a Glutton

Jenny and her mother were already there and waiting for him when he arrived at the restaurant. As soon as the pre-dinner drinks had been served, he was pressed to tell them all about it.

“It was the madness of it all,” said Hamish. “That was the clue. Your daughter helped a lot, Mrs Trask.”

“She’s a bright girl,” said Mrs Trask fondly and patted her daughter’s hand. “But how did she help?”

“She said she was upset because she sensed one of them was mad. I found myself thinking about that. Then my cousin, Rory, who works for a newspaper, said the religious correspondent had been taken off to a mental asylum. I talked to him again before coming here, and he was saying how odd it was that in newspapers, the church, law, or various other places which house eccentrics, that someone can be going quite mad and yet all that happens for a long time is that they build up the reputation of being a ‘great old character’. Now John Taylor had punched a policeman in the face outside the Old Bailey for trying to stop him parking on a double-yellow line. You would have thought that would have been the end of Mr Taylor’s career, but not a bit of it. The policeman did not press charges, but it got in the newspapers and John Taylor received very affectionate comments from various columnists.”

“For attacking a policeman!” exclaimed Mrs Trask.

“My cousin, Rory, said that journalists and readers are fed up with the strict parking laws in London. So Mr Taylor’s mad behaviour was treated as that of a great old character who had simply done what a great deal of the public and press feel like doing when accused of a parking offence.” Warming to his subject under their admiring gaze, Hamish went on to tell them about the light bulb.

“So the difficulty in solving the case,” said Mrs Trask shrewdly, “was because the murder was done by a rank amateur?”

“A lucky one, too,” said Hamish.

The door of the restaurant opened and Priscilla came in with Jamie. They sat at a table by the window that had just been vacated. Priscilla was wearing a short scarlet wool dress with a black patent-leather belt. Jamie had changed into a dark, beautifully tailored suit for dinner. He looked smooth and rugged at the same time, like a man in an aftershave-lotion advertisement.

“It is interesting,” Mrs Trask was saying, “because the murder was solved in such an amateur way.”

“What?” said Hamish, wrenching his eyes away from Priscilla.

“Mummy!” protested Jenny.

“Well, one could hardly expect you to be an expert,” said Mrs Trask in a kindly voice. “You’re only a village policeman. But it is amusing, when you think of it; an amateur murder which could only probably have been solved by another amateur.”

“Mummy, you’d better explain,” said Jenny in an agonized voice. “You’re being quite rude.”

Jamie was talking away but Priscilla was not listening to him. She was listening instead to Mrs Trask, who had a carrying voice.

“I mean…” Mrs Trask rolled linguine neatly round her fork and popped it in her mouth before going on, “if that girl at the hotel hadn’t discovered about the light bulbs, you would have had nothing other to go on but some trumped-up evidence that would have fallen on its face if you ever got the case to court.”

“Who said it was trumped-up evidence?” demanded Hamish stiffly.

“Jenny said two local men were called into the library to give evidence. They were not even taken off to Strathbane to make statements, which they surely should have been if they were witnesses and telling the truth. Jenny met them waiting at reception and one of them told her that they were witnesses to the murder. But it was in the newspapers, on radio and on television, and surely every detail of the case was chewed over in this little village, and yet two locals did not come forward at the time! Do you know what I think?”

“No,” said Hamish crossly.

“I think you got them to say they saw something to startle John Taylor into an admission of guilt.” She shook her head and gave a patronizing laugh. “So Highland. So amateur.”

“I really cannot be bothered arguing with you,” said Hamish.

“Oh, Mummy, Hamish is the one who persuaded me to sit for my bar exams.”

“I’m not surprised. You are not married, are you, Mr Macbeth?”

“No.”

“Well, I hold old-fashioned views. A young girl like Jenny should be thinking of marriage and not a career. If I had known of this dating agency, I would have stopped it. Jenny’s going to come home to live with her parents for a bit.”

“You never said anything about that,” gasped Jenny, thinking of her little flat in South Kensington and her freedom.

“I’ve made up my mind. There are plenty of suitable men in Haywards Heath, and law offices there, too, if you want to go on earning pocket money.”

“But Mummy .”

“Now, all this murder business has quite turned your head. You’ll see sense when you get home.”

Jenny grasped the edge of the table firmly with both hands. “I’m taking my law exams and that’s that!”

“I’m not going to support you in this folly, and neither is Daddy.”

“Then I’ll get a grant. You can’t stop me.”

“Well, now,” said Mrs Trask smoothly, “I think we should save these family rows for a less public place, Jenny. You should not have put such a silly idea into her head, Mr Macbeth.”

“I don’t think it silly,” said Hamish. “Time she grew up.”

Mrs Trask finished the last of her linguine and then stood up. “I am leaving. Come along, Jenny.”

“No,” said Jenny stubbornly.

“I shall see you later, young miss, and talk some sense into your head.”

She walked out, without, Hamish noticed gloomily, paying the bill.

Priscilla came up to their table. “Mind if we join you?”

Hamish looked up at her with relief in his eyes. “Not at all.”

“So you’re the bobby that solved the case,” said Jamie.

“Aye, but I don’t want to talk about it.”

Jenny, however, burst into speech, about how unfair it all was that her mother would not let her take a law degree. Hamish sat in stony silence, Priscilla looked preoccupied, so good-natured Jamie turned a friendly ear to Jenny’s complaints and soon they were talking like old friends.

As coffee was about to be served, Hamish said abruptly, “I’m tired. I think I’ll go home.”

“I’ll walk along with you. I want to tell you something,” said Priscilla. “Be back in a minute, Jamie.”

They went outside and walked in silence along to the police station. “Coffee here?” suggested Hamish. “You havenae told me yet what it wass you wanted tae talk to me about.”

“Yes, all right,” said Priscilla, following him in. “I didn’t want to say anything in particular, Hamish. But I did hear what that horrible Trask woman was saying about you being an amateur and thought you might need soothing. Besides, you left Jamie with the bill that Mrs Trask did not pay – ”

“So I did,” said Hamish with a slow smile. “I didn’t think of that. Towser, get your paws off Priscilla.”

“Leave the dog alone,” said Priscilla. “He doesn’t bother me.”

Hamish made two mugs of coffee and then sat down.

He told her all about the case and then about his promotion to sergeant and ended with, “That Trask woman did hurt. She was right, you know. I could have made a terrible mistake. A rank amateur, that’s me.”

“You’ve always relied on your intuition before, Hamish. You’re to be congratulated.”

“Well, my intuition’s not doing me much good at the moment,” he said, studying her. “Why were you so mad at me?”

Priscilla opened her mouth to lie, to say it was because she had been wrought up after the row with her father, but she found herself saying, “I saw Jenny kissing you.”