Authors: M.C. Beaton
‘Visiting?’ asked Hamish.
‘Yes, I’m staying at the hotel. I thought I’d never get out. May I join you?’
‘Of course.’
She took off her anorak and hung it on a peg by the door. She was wearing a white cashmere dress with a white cashmere cardigan. Round her neck was a rope of pearls. She had perfect skin, very
white, high cheekbones and green eyes. Her mouth was full and sensuous.
She sat down gracefully opposite Hamish. ‘Are you visiting?’ she asked.
‘No, I live here. I’m the local policeman.’
She gave a tinkling laugh. ‘I didn’t think there were any local policemen left in Britain.’
Hamish grinned. ‘I hang on. I like being an anachronism. It’s an odd time to visit the Highlands.’
‘Oh, I’d never been to Scotland before. I live in London.’
‘My name is Hamish Macbeth.’
‘And mine is Gloria Price.’
‘Staying long?’
‘Just a week.’
‘Are you on your own?’
‘Completely’ She picked up the menu. ‘Seems to be a lot of venison. I think I’ll stick to pasta.’
Willie came rushing out. ‘Good evening, madam,’ he said. ‘We have plenty of tables, and Mr Macbeth may be waiting for Miss Halburton-Smythe.’
‘I am not waiting for anyone,’ said Hamish, irritated, knowing that Willie, like many of the locals, had never forgiven him for breaking off his engagement to Priscilla. ‘Take
the order.’
Both ordered minestrone. Gloria chose lasagne to follow, and Hamish did the same.
‘Would you choose the wine?’ asked Gloria.
Hamish ordered a bottle of Valpolicella.
After Willie had retreated, Hamish asked, ‘What is your job?’
Again that charming laugh. ‘I don’t work. I am independently wealthy.’
‘Ah, your husband is successful?’
She waved her fingers at him. ‘See, no wedding ring? The money is all mine. Daddy has shops all over the place.’
‘What kind of shops?’
‘Electrical goods, washing machines, computers, all that sort of stuff.’
‘But you must have been married.’
‘Never could find the right man. Of course, a lot of men have fancied my money. Tell me about your job.’
‘It’s very quiet now,’ said Hamish. ‘A few break-ins, nothing special.’
‘But I read in the newspapers about murders up here.’
‘Ah, fortunately that’s all over and done with.’
‘Tell me about it.’
Hamish had the highlander’s gift of telling a good story, perhaps because the north of Scotland is the last place on earth where someone can tell a long story without fear of
interruption.
Gloria was a good listener, and by the end of the meal, Hamish realized guiltily that he had been talking during the whole meal about himself.
He insisted on paying.
‘I must return some of this hospitality,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you come back with me to the hotel for a nightcap?’
‘That would be grand, but I’ve got my dog and cat in the kitchen. If you go on ahead, I’ll follow you.’
Willie came out of the kitchen, followed by the cat and dog. Hamish was helping Gloria into her coat.
Sonsie glared at Gloria, her lips drawn back in a snarl and her fur on end. Lugs let out a sharp bark.
‘What’s got into you?’ shouted Hamish. He opened the door and ushered Gloria out. ‘I won’t be long,’ he said to her.
‘I’ve told you and told you,’ complained Willie, ‘that you shouldn’t be keeping a wild cat. That animal’ll kill someone one of these days.’
Hamish lifted up the cat and put her in his haversack, then picked up Lugs. ‘You’re a right jealous pair,’ he lectured.
He took them back to the police station and left them in the kitchen before climbing into the Land Rover and heading up through the white walls of snow on either side of the road to the
hotel.
He felt intrigued and happy at the same time. For a moment, Elspeth’s image hung in his brain like a pale ghost, and then it was gone.
Gloria was waiting for him in the reception area. She rose and walked forward to meet him. ‘There’s a noisy shinty team celebrating in the bar,’ she said. ‘Let’s go
up to my room. I’ve got a good bottle of malt.’
To his surprise, she led the way along a corridor past the manager’s office. ‘You’ve hired the bridal suite,’ exclaimed Hamish.
‘I like my comfort,’ she said over her shoulder, ‘and I like to be on the ground floor.’
The suite consisted of a pretty sitting room and a double bedroom. ‘Make yourself comfortable,’ said Gloria. ‘How do you take your whisky? Straight?’
‘Just with a splash of water and not too much. I’ve got to drive back.’
She picked up a bottle from a side table. ‘Take a look out of the window, Hamish. Is it still blocked with that drift? I asked them to clear it.’
Hamish went to the window. ‘Pretty clear,’ he said.
He sat down on a sofa. She sat opposite him in an armchair. ‘Cheers,’ she said, smiling at him over her raised glass.
‘Cheers.’ Hamish took a sip, thinking she really had a beautiful face, thinking suddenly he had seen that face before.
She put down her glass. ‘I’m just going to repair my make-up. Won’t be a moment.’
Hamish was beginning to feel dizzy. He’d only had one sip. What the hell had she put in his drink? He knew now where he’d seen her – on that grainy video of the brothel. She
had been one of the girls.
Freddie Ionedes had gone missing. Was she still working for him?
He decided to play along. He nipped over to the window, raised it, poured the rest of the drink in the snow, dived back to the sofa, slumped down and closed his eyes just as she came out of the
bathroom.
He felt her standing over him, smelled her perfume, sensed instinctively that she was going to do something to make sure he was really unconscious. When she slapped him hard across the face, he
nearly betrayed himself, but instead he allowed his body to sag sideways on the sofa. He heard her make a phone call. ‘All set,’ she whispered.
Then he heard the window being raised. Sounds of someone climbing in. A man’s voice said, ‘Good girl. Let’s get moving.’
Gloria’s voice: ‘Do we have to do this, Freddie?’
‘I look after my own. Crystal wants him dead, and dead he’s going to be. No one will suspect anything. Did anyone see him coming into the hotel?’
‘No, the reception was empty when he arrived.’
‘Murphy’s outside, dressed in police uniform. He’s hot-wired the Land Rover. He’s bringing it round to the window. We’ll get this pillock out and into the back of
the Land Rover. I’ll follow. Murphy knows where to go. If anyone sees him, they’ll think it’s this fool. All we do is lay him out in the snow, tip the Land Rover on its side.
It’ll look as if he’s been thrown out. He’ll die in the cold before he ever gets a chance to come round. Tragic accident. You stay here and act the perfect guest.’
‘I thought the reception was empty,’ Gloria said, ‘but what if someone saw him come in? He isn’t in uniform.’
‘Then say he got called out. He went back to the station to put his uniform on. You stay on here and act the perfect guest,’ Freddie repeated.
Hamish recognized the sound of his Land Rover.
He heard Freddie say, ‘Climb in, Murphy. I’ll need your help getting him out.’
Hamish found it an effort to lie like a dead weight as he was shoved out of the window and into the snow. Then he was heaved into the back of his Land Rover.
As they drove off, Hamish cautiously slid his mobile phone out of his pocket. He texted Jimmy. Then he punched in Angela’s number, and when she answered, he whispered, ‘Hamish here.
Danger. Freddie Ionedes is trying to kill me. Tell Strathbane. Set up road-blocks.’
He had been trying for ages to get a new Land Rover. Now he was glad of its age and the noisy engine that had drowned out the sound of his whispered voice.
As he had guessed, they only drove a comparatively short way. They wouldn’t want to get lost on the moors. They would stage the accident just off the main road, as the side roads were
still banked up with drifts.
The Land Rover stopped. Hamish was dragged out and carried to a deep drift at the side of the road and thrown in.
‘Shall we tip the Rover over on him?’ he heard Murphy ask.
‘No, I don’t want a mark on him.’
Hamish poked a finger upwards to give himself a breathing hole in the drift. He heard them panting and struggling as they tried to tip the Land Rover on its side.
‘It’s no use,’ came Freddie’s voice. ‘Leave it. Let’s get out of here.’
The cold was intense. Hamish fought against it. He did not want to die of cold after having survived this far.
To his relief, he heard them driving off.
He rose out of the snow-drift and climbed into the Land Rover, fishing for his keys and hoping the hot-wiring hadn’t messed up the engine. But the old vehicle roared to life. He turned the
heater on full blast. He guessed they would take the road to Strathbane and then off down south. He set off in pursuit.
Freddie and Murphy were laughing as they drove slowly through the white wilderness. ‘I’m telling you, I’m a genius,’ said Freddie. ‘Can’t
you go any faster?’
‘The night’s so cold that the grit isn’t doing much. We’ll skid if we go any faster,’ said Murphy.
Murphy negotiated a corner and then swore. An old car was blocking the road.
‘Come on,’ said Freddie. ‘Get out and help me move it.’
They both approached the car and began to try to push it to the side of the road.
Suddenly they were surrounded by a ring of men holding shotguns. ‘Get down on the ground,’ shouted Willie Lamont.
Freddie reached inside his parka for his gun and was felled with the butt of a shotgun. Murphy whimpered with terror.
Hamish Macbeth came driving up to a cheer from the men. He climbed down and handcuffed Murphy and cautioned him and then handcuffed the prone body of Freddie.
The pair were taken down to the police station and locked in the cell. Hamish changed into his uniform and sent for Dr Brodie to examine Freddie, who was showing signs of coming round.
‘He’ll have a big lump, and he’ll suffer from concussion,’ said Dr Brodie. ‘But he’ll live.’
Willie Lamont, the waiter who had once been in the police force, came in with Gloria.
‘Shove her in the cell,’ said Hamish. ‘The heavy mob’ll be along soon.’
Freddie recovered full consciousness and began to swear. Hamish charged him with attempted murder, kidnapping, and carrying a firearm. He then turned and charged Gloria with aiding and abetting
kidnapping and attempted murder.
‘He made me do it!’ cried Gloria, her face streaked with tears.
Hamish ignored her. He ushered Dr Brodie out of the cell and turned and locked it.
‘Here they come,’ said Dr Brodie as the wail of sirens grew nearer.
‘I’ll be glad to get rid of them,’ said Hamish.
It was a long night. Hamish had to follow the triumphant cavalcade of police vehicles to Strathbane, triumphant because the Northern Constabulary felt they had captured a
dangerous criminal where Scotland Yard had failed.
His eyes gritty with fatigue, Hamish typed out a long statement. Then he was tested to find out what sort of drug had been put in his drink, although he complained that there was probably ample
evidence of it somewhere in Gloria’s hotel room. Then he was interrogated by Daviot.
‘If only you had married Miss Halburton-Smythe,’ said Daviot after Hamish had finished his account, ‘you would not be easy prey to every harpy who crosses your path.’
‘You’ve got your man, sir, and you wouldn’t have got him if he hadn’t come after me. And there’s one thing. That Land Rover of mine needs to be replaced. I cover a
fair bit of the north of Scotland. What if it breaks down on an important job?’
‘We’ll see what we can do. It’ll need to stay here while the forensic team go over it. I’ll get a constable to drive you home. Have you typed up your report?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I don’t think we’ll be needing you further. Mr Blair and I will do the interrogation. Some officers from Scotland Yard will be arriving tomorrow.’
And Blair doesn’t want me around to steal any of the glory, thought Hamish cynically.
A pretty police constable was waiting for him. She had a mop of black curly hair and a rosy face. ‘Pat Constable,’ she said.
‘Pat what?’
‘Constable. And spare me the jokes.’
‘Been on the force long?’
‘Only a few months.’
He leaned back in the seat of the police car, glad to be going home at last. He would have liked to sleep, but Pat kept asking him questions about the events of the night and Hamish found he was
so bored with the sound of his own voice going over the whole thing again that he could have screamed.
As he got out stiffly from the car, highland courtesy demanded that he offer the constable some refreshment, and to his dismay, she accepted. He hoped his cat would take one of its rare dislikes
to her and frighten her off, but Pat was intrigued by Sonsie and made such a fuss of the animal that the cat’s deep purrs reverberated around the kitchen.
Hamish made tea and produced a tin of biscuits. Pat had just come on the night shift and was as bright as a button. She told him all about her family in Dornoch, about her time at the police
academy, while Hamish stifled his yawns and sent prayers up to the old Celtic gods to make her go.
At last, she rose to leave. ‘Maybe we could have dinner together one evening,’ she said.
‘Aye, maybe,’ said Hamish, resisting an urge to put his hand in the small of her back and shove her out the door.
She turned out to be one of those irritating people who get up to leave and then stand in the doorway chattering away.
She finally left. He sighed with relief. He walked like a zombie into his bedroom, fell facedown on the bed, and collapsed into a dreamless sleep.
Hamish was awakened at ten the next morning by a loud hammering at the front door.
I’m not going to answer that, he thought. Probably the press. The knocking grew louder, and a voice shouted, ‘Scotland Yard. Open up.’
Groaning, Hamish went to the front door and shouted through the letter box, ‘Come round to the kitchen door. This one’s jammed with the damp.’