Death of a Maid (12 page)

Hamish pushed open the door and went in. Mr Patel was just carrying a plate of sandwiches through from the kitchen at the back.

‘What’s going on, Hamish?’

‘A dead body in a rowing boat. Archie caught it when he was out at the fishing. Did you see anyone at all? I would guess down by the harbour or approaching the police station. It’s a
young lassie. I can’t see anyone going to the trouble of putting a dead body in a rowing boat and floating it out to sea. My guess is that the girl was hit from behind with a hard enough blow
to kill her. Then she was toppled over the sea wall but fell into one of the rowing boats. The murderer went down the stairs but maybe heard someone coming and slashed the painter so that the boat
drifted off. The tide would be on the turn.’

‘I didnae see anyone, Hamish. Coffee? I’ve made some fresh.’

‘No, I’d better get on with it.’

Hamish opened the shop door and looked outside. Mary Gannon believed in blanket coverage. Policemen were knocking at doors all along the waterfront.

Where was Shona’s car? That is, if the dead girl was Shona.

Then he recognized it. It was parked a little away from the police station. His heart sank. Had he been so heavily asleep that he had not heard her knock?

He took out his torch because the car was parked between two street lights and in the shadow. He shone the torch around it and then saw a tyre lever lying on the ground.

Hamish picked it up gingerly with one gloved hand and walked over to where Mary Gannon was directing operations.

‘I found this, ma’am,’ said Hamish. ‘There’s blood on the end of it, and I think this is the murder weapon. I found it beside that television researcher Shona
Fraser’s car. She left me a message saying she was going to call on me this evening because she had some information for me. Shona Fraser was supposed to be doing research for a documentary
on Detective Chief Inspector Blair. Oh, here comes Mr Blair.’

‘Go over to the forensics’ van and get yourself an evidence bag and seal this and mark it.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

As Hamish moved off, he heard Blair saying, ‘I’m in charge here.’

Then came Mary’s frosty reply: ‘Everything is in hand.’

Blair: ‘This is a job for detectives, and you aren’t a detective.’

Mary: ‘Are you questioning my ability?’

Blair: ‘Och, no, sweetheart. Just you run along and get a cup of tea or something.’

Mary: ‘Don’t patronize me!’

Blair: ‘Look here, you boot-faced hag. You’ll stop getting your knickers in a twist and do what you’re told. God help the force the day the beaver patrol takes over.’

Mary swung round to her listening sergeant. ‘You’ve heard all of this? Then type up a report, and I will deliver it to Superintendent Daviot in the morning.’

Hamish, almost out of earshot, could hear the frightened Blair beginning to wheedle and beg.

After he had delivered the tyre lever and was heading back, he found himself confronted by Elspeth.

‘What’s happened, Hamish?’

‘I cannae tell you wi’ all my masters looking on. Over there, that woman is Police Inspector Gannon. You’ll need to ask her.’

Hamish went back to the car and began to search around it again. Then he shone his torch inside. A handbag was lying on the passenger seat.

Mary Gannon came up behind him.

‘Her car?’

‘Yes.’

‘See if it’s locked.’

Hamish tried the handle on the passenger side, and the door opened. ‘Her keys are still in the ignition,’ he said.

‘Bring that handbag into the police station, and we’ll look through it. I’ll tell forensics to tow this car away for examination. I will join you shortly. Don’t open the
bag until I am there.’

Hamish went into the police station. He stripped off the forensic suit, hung it on a peg behind the door, and lit the stove. He boiled up water for coffee and put sugar, milk, two cups and a
plate of shortbread on the table.

The kitchen door opened just after he had made the coffee, and Mary walked in. If it hadn’t been for her stern features, she would have appeared a motherly woman. She had a full face and
brown eyes. Her figure was matronly. She took off her hat and rubbed her eyes. ‘Gosh, I’m tired.’

‘Coffee?’

‘Yes, just black.’

Then Hamish realized Mary’s eyes were widening, and she was reaching for the canister of CS gas on her belt. He swung round. Sonsie was crouched there, staring out of yellow eyes.

‘Don’t!’ he yelled. ‘It’s my cat. Sonsie, go back to bed.’

The cat slouched off.

‘That’s a wild cat,’ said Mary accusingly.

‘It’s very domesticated,’ said Hamish soothingly. ‘Besides, they’re all hybrids now. I doubt if you could find a genuine wild cat in the Highlands.’

Lugs pattered in, looked up at Mary out of his odd blue eyes, and walked out again.

‘Do you have a whole menagerie in this police station?’

‘No, no,’ said Hamish, pouring coffee. ‘Just the two beasts.’

‘Right, let’s get down to business. May I have a piece of shortbread?’

‘Go ahead.’

Mary tried to take a bite. ‘This is made of bricks.’

Hamish flushed. ‘It wass made by my friend Mrs Brodie. Herself iss not very good in the cooking department.’

‘Okay We need fresh gloves.’ Hamish went through to a cupboard in the office and came back with a packet of latex gloves.

They both put on a pair, and Mary opened the handbag. ‘Get some clean paper, and I’ll tip this lot out.’

Hamish came back with sheets of computer printing paper. Mary gently turned the contents out on to the paper.

There was the usual clutter one would find in any woman’s handbag: house keys, wallet, driving licence, two pens, comb, lipstick, strong mints, a packet of tissues, address book and
notebook, one earring, and an invitation to the opening of a new restaurant in Strathbane.

Mary looked at the driving licence. ‘Yes, it’s Shona Fraser. You look at the address book, and I’ll look at the notebook. Lock the door first.’

Hamish raised an eyebrow. ‘I don’t want to be interrupted,’ she said. ‘Do it!’

Hamish locked the door and returned to the table. ‘This is in shorthand,’ complained Mary. ‘I have speed writing, but I can’t read shorthand.’

‘I’ll read it,’ said Hamish.

He quickly scanned through the contents. At first, there were enthusiastic notes about the proposed documentary and then comments such as, ‘I don’t think Macbeth is as stupid as he
would like me to think. But Blair, now, is stupid.’

Hamish flipped to the end. ‘I decided to go and see some of the suspects on my own just to see if we could do a documentary on the murder. I couldn’t believe it. Got to see Macbeth .
. .,’ Hamish read. ‘That’s the last item. She must have been struck down when she got out of the car. She was a little thing. She was dragged across to the sea wall and tipped
over. But it was high tide, and three rowing boats which are tied up just under that bit opposite where her car was parked would be afloat. The body lands in one of them. Our murderer goes down the
steps but hears some noise above and, frightened of being discovered with a dead body, cuts the painter and pushes the boat out to sea. If Archie hadn’t spotted it, the boat would have gone
out to the Atlantic on the receding tide, been tipped over, and the body might not have been found.’

A sudden hammering at the door made Hamish jump. Then they heard Blair’s voice. ‘If you’re in there, you lazy hound, get out here!’

They sat in silence until they could hear him retreating.

‘You know,’ said Mary thoughtfully, studying Hamish, ‘I’ve heard a lot of stories about you, how you didn’t want promotion and all that. I didn’t believe it.
Everyone is ambitious. But I can see what you mean now. My husband’s business is doing well, and there’s no need for me to work. I listen to Blair yapping and I think, I don’t
need this. No more being dragged out of bed in the middle of the night with a phone call. No more nasty remarks against women in the police force. No more horrible surprises dumped in my locker.
I’ll see this case through, and then I’m off.

‘I’d better get back to the scene and give this to the forensic boys. Have you an evidence bag?’

Hamish nodded. He went to the office and brought a large one back. Mary put the address book and notebook in the handbag, and Hamish sealed it up.

‘Mrs Gillespie is being buried at eleven o’clock today,’ said Mary, getting to her feet. ‘I suggest you attend the funeral. It’s at St Mary’s. See who turns
up, and then I would like you to get into plain clothes and something to cover that red hair of yours and keep a watch on the professor. See what he does and where he goes. Leave it to the
afternoon because he’ll be interviewed in the morning. Police and detectives will interview the other suspects. We’ll get on to this Creedy woman you mentioned in your notes and see if
we can get her to confess she rigged the bingo. I managed to pick up a copy of your notes tonight before I left headquarters and read them on the way over. Get some sleep. I’ll tell Blair I
sent you off somewhere.’

Hamish let her out and locked the door again behind her. If only someone like that had Blair’s job, he thought before taking himself off to bed.

Hamish thought that the day of the funeral for such as Mavis Gillespie should be black and ominous. But the sun shone and the birds twittered in the trees surrounding St
Mary’s. Heather, her daughter, was there with her father. That was the sum total of the mourners. There was not even one elderly soul of the kind who loved to attend funerals in the
church.

Father McNulty did his best. Hamish, Heather and Mr Gillespie sang the hymns and listened dry-eyed to the service. Then they followed the coffin to the public cemetery, where the body was
interred.

‘That’s that,’ said Heather. ‘Now we can get on with our lives. Come along, Dad.’

‘A moment of your time,’ said Hamish. ‘Are you sure neither of you have any idea who might have killed Mrs Gillespie?’

‘I can’t think of anyone,’ said Heather. ‘I’ll need to get Dad home. He’s not well.’

Hamish went back to the police station, in front of which a mobile police unit had been set up. Television crews and reporters were everywhere. Avoiding questions, he went into the station and
changed into a sweater and jeans and pulled a black wool cap over his hair.

Then, running the barrage of press questions again, he got into his Land Rover and headed to Angela Brodie’s home.

‘What is it, Hamish?’ she asked.

‘I’ve two favours to ask. May I borrow your car? I’ve got to follow someone, and I can’t do it in a police vehicle.’

‘All right. I’m not going anywhere today. That poor little girl! What an awful thing to happen. I’ve been interviewed five times since last night. The whole thing is so badly
coordinated. What’s the other favour? Oh, I know. That dog and cat of yours.’

‘You don’t need to take them in,’ wheedled Hamish. ‘I’ve left food for them on the kitchen table, and all you need to do is feed them and let them out for a
walk.’

‘Hamish!’

‘I know, I know. But when this case is over, you’ll never need to see them.’

‘This is the last time.’

‘Okay, Angela. I’m off.’

‘Wait! You forgot my car keys.’

Hamish parked Angela’s small Ford Escort at the end of the cul-de-sac where the professor had his house, and waited. He wondered whether the inspector really hoped he
would find something out or whether she was smarter than Blair at getting him out of the case. And did she realize how hard it was to tail someone on usually empty highland roads?

The morning wore on. Hamish had packed a flask of coffee and a packet of chicken sandwiches and was just thinking about getting out an early lunch when the professor’s car backed out of
his driveway.

Hamish waited until he had driven past, then eased out and followed him as far back as he could without losing sight of the professor.

Professor Sander parked in the main street and got out. Hamish parked between two other cars and watched. The professor went into the butchers and emerged holding a carrier bag. Then he went
into the greengrocers. Hamish waited glumly while the professor did his shopping, going from shop to shop. When he stowed his groceries in his car and moved off, Hamish followed. Back to his home
went the professor.

Hamish parked again at the edge of the cul-de-sac. He moodily drank coffee and munched sandwiches and waited.

It was a rare fine day with little wisps of cloud drifting across a pale blue sky. He began to feel sleepy. He hadn’t had much sleep the night before. His eyelids drooped. He let out a
gentle snore. He drifted into a dream of chasing a black figure up and over the heather. He was just gaining on the anonymous figure when it turned around, revealing the face of Detective Chief
Inspector Blair.

Hamish awoke with a jerk. Had he missed the professor? He climbed stiffly out of Angela’s small car and walked along the cul-de-sac. The professor’s car was not in the drive.

Hamish raced back to the car and drove into Braikie, scanning the parked cars as he went along. He drove out of Braikie. The professor’s car was a black BMW. He came to the crossroads
where one road led to Strathbane and the other to Lochdubh. He took the Strathbane road.

He drove quickly, the twisting road in front of him so far empty of any other vehicle.

He topped the rise where a long, straight stretch of road led down from the hills and into Strathbane, and in the distance he saw a black car. He raced the car up to ninety, hoping it would
stand the strain.

He put on the brakes just as the thirty-mile-an-hour speed restriction loomed up. He now recognized the BMW ahead.

He followed carefully, glad of the town’s increased traffic. The professor drove to the multi-storey car park in the centre. Hamish followed. The professor parked. Hamish parked a little
way away and then, getting out, followed at a discreet distance.