Death of a Maid (22 page)

He went to the kitchen door and opened it, suddenly sharply aware of his unshaven face and scruffy clothes as two smartly dressed men wearing expensive parkas over their suits came round the
corner.

‘Police Constable Hamish Macbeth?’

‘That’s me.’

‘I am Detective Chief Inspector Burrows from Scotland Yard, and this is Detective Sergeant Wilkins.’

‘Come ben,’ said Hamish. ‘I’m just up. It was a long night. I’ll make up the stove.’

Burrows watched with some amusement as Hamish raked out the stove, put paper and kindling in it, and struck a match. He had sensed in talking to Daviot and Blair that the detective abilities of
Hamish Macbeth were being kept out of the picture, and he had decided to see the man for himself. He saw a tall, sleepy highlander with flaming red hair and almost guileless hazel eyes.

‘Please sit down,’ said Hamish, adding slabs of peat to the blaze. ‘Tea?’

‘We’ve brought our own supplies,’ said Burrows, lifting a carrier back on to the table. ‘We’ve a couple of thermoses of coffee and some croissants. And a bottle of
whisky.’

‘That was really thoughtful of ye,’ said Hamish. ‘Where did you get croissants in Strathbane?’

‘I gather it’s a new bakery:’

‘Won’t last,’ said Hamish. ‘They prefer things like deep-fried Mars bars.’

They all sat round the table. Burrows was a clean-cut man with neat features, while his sergeant was large with a great round head.

‘What we would like,’ said Burrows, ‘is to hear your version of events, starting with the murder cases. My God! What the hell’s that? A lynx?’

‘That’s my cat,’ said Hamish patiently. ‘Please may I have some coffee, and no, I don’t want any whisky in it.’

He began at the beginning again. Although he tried hard to make it look as if he had been nothing more than a bumbling local policeman who had hit upon clues by sheer accident, Burrows was not
deceived.

After Hamish had finished, Burrows said, ‘I think you should be due for a promotion.’

He was startled by the look of alarm on Hamish’s face. ‘Who iss talking about promotion?’ asked Hamish nervously.

‘None of them at Strathbane. But I was going to put in a recommendation.’

‘Please don’t do that, sir.’

Wilkins spoke for the first time. ‘He likes it here, sir. I like it here. I’ve been looking out the window at the sheep. I like looking at sheep.’

‘Dear me. A country boy at heart? Is he right, Macbeth?’

‘Aye. You see, you need a village policeman in this part o’ the world. If I got a promotion, they would shut down this police station. The folks from Strathbane would never think of
checking on the old folks in the outlying crofts. They talk about community policing, but there’s damn little of it I can see.’

Said Burrows, ‘You mean you have no ambition whatsoever?’

‘There iss the one thing.’

‘And that is?’

‘I need a new Land Rover. If you could put a word in for me about that.’

‘I’ll do my best. We’d better get going. It might snow again.’

‘A thaw is coming.’

‘How do you know? Seen the weather forecast, have you?’

‘No, I can always feel it.’

The two Scotland Yard officers drove south to Strathbane. ‘Look, sir, the snow is melting,’ said Wilkins.

‘Strange man that Macbeth,’ said Burrows. ‘He really needs a good strong push up the ladder. He shouldn’t be rotting in a country village.’

‘He’s not rotting, sir,’ said Wilkins vehemently. ‘He’s happy. Why is it that no one can stand a happy, contented, unambitious man?’

Burrows gave a reluctant laugh. ‘I’ve never met one before. I want to change him into one of us. Calm down. I’ll leave him alone.’

Spring came reluctantly to the Highlands, crawling in on sleety gusts of wind. Then one day, the sun shone down from a cloudless sky. The air of Lochdubh was filled with the
sound of vacuum cleaners and flapping dusters as the inhabitants got down to the annual spring cleaning.

Hamish Macbeth, now proud possessor of a brand-new Land Rover, felt it was time that he, too, did some spring cleaning.

As he worked away, his mind seemed to be waking up again after the long, cold winter.

He found himself wondering how the onetime suspects in the murder cases were getting on now that they no longer had any fear of the police prying into their private lives.

Thanks to the new cat flap, Sonsie and Lugs could get in and out of the house whenever they wanted. He left his chores and drove off towards Braikie, marvelling at the glory of the day.

Even the sea along by the shore road was quiet, with only little glassy waves curling on the beach.

His thoughts turned reluctantly to Elspeth. Was she married? Was she happy? Would he ever see her again?

At that moment, Elspeth was arriving at the church in Glasgow in a carriage drawn by two white horses donated by her gypsy relatives. Beside her sat her uncle Mark,
uncomfortable in his wedding finery. The best man, Luke’s fellow reporter James Biddell, came up to the carriage. ‘Drive around again,’ he said. ‘Luke hasn’t
arrived.’

‘Where is he?’ demanded Elspeth.

‘We finished up the stag party at four this morning. He said he was going back to his digs. I called round, but he wasn’t there.’

‘I’ll murder the bastard,’ grated Uncle Mark. ‘Drive on.’

If only I had insisted on a closed limo, thought Elspeth. Crowds were gathering to see the bride. By the time they came round to the church again, a procession had formed behind the
carriage.

But there was James shaking his head. ‘You didn’t do anything nasty to him?’ asked Elspeth. ‘You didn’t tie him up to a lamp post or something?’

‘Nothing like that,’ said James shiftily. How could he tell Elspeth, looking so beautiful in her white wedding gown, that they had hired a stripper for the evening and that drunken
Luke had gone off with her?

‘I’m getting down,’ said Elspeth. ‘I’m not going to make a spectacle of myself, driving round and round.’

Groaning and wheezing and complaining that his collar was strangling him, Uncle Mark helped her down and led her into the church.

Elspeth’s two bridesmaids were waiting in the church porch. From inside the church came the sound of the organ and the impatient rustling and whispers of the guests.

Gazing out at the blue sky above the grimy Glasgow buildings, Elspeth suddenly wished herself back in the Highlands. Did she really want to marry Luke? Somehow the whole thing had gained
momentum: presents from the staff, arrangements for the reception.

Half an hour passed. Elspeth turned to her uncle. ‘Get in there and tell them the wedding’s cancelled but they can all go on to the reception and get something to eat and
drink.’

‘Don’t worry, lass. We’ll hunt him down and drag him to the altar.’

‘I won’t marry him after this,’ said Elspeth. ‘Get on with the announcement.’

So the announcement was made, and the guests made their way out to the cars. Elspeth refused to get back into the carriage and shared a car with her editor. What a mess! They were due to leave
on their honeymoon that very day. Luke had the air tickets to Barbados.

The reception, fuelled by good food and a lot of drink, turned out to be a noisy affair. After the meal, Elspeth took the floor for the first dance with James. She felt suddenly very happy and
relieved. She realized with a shock that she had been dreading this wedding, dreading being married to Luke.

Luke awoke with a groan and stared up at a dingy, unfamiliar ceiling. He rolled over and collided with a body in the bed next to him. ‘Elspeth?’ he said.

The woman next to him opened eyes heavy with mascara and stared at him.

‘Who are you?’ asked Luke.

‘Well, that’s a nice thing. You screw me and then ask who I am?’

Luke swung his legs out of the bed and clutched his head, which felt as if all the hammers of hell were beating inside his skull.

Memory came back in bright little cameos. He remembered the stripper. He remembered betting the lads that he could lay her.

‘What’s the time?’ he asked groggily.

‘Dunno.’

He twisted round and found his watch on a bedside table. ‘Oh, my God, I was due at the church two hours ago.’

‘Then you’d better get there,’ said the stripper sulkily.

‘It’s too late. Those relatives of hers will kill me! I’ll get the sack.’

Luke got dressed. He checked his pocket for his wallet and found it was intact along with a book of traveller’s cheques and two tickets to Barbados.

His one thought now was escape. He stumbled out on to the balcony and found himself high up in a tower block. He peered over the railing, and stretched out below him was the depressed area of
Springburn.

The lift wasn’t working. He ran down the stairs and down the hill to the Springburn road, where, wonder upon wonders, a cab came cruising along. He hailed it. ‘Airport,’ he
said breathlessly. ‘As fast as you can make it.’

Hamish was irritated that his thoughts kept returning to Elspeth. She was probably married now, he thought crossly. She might even be pregnant.

He halted in front of St Mary’s Church. Father McNulty was just leaving the church. He smiled when he saw Hamish.

‘I called to find out if you ever got that money back,’ said Hamish.

‘Oh, yes, Miss Creedy sold her shop and paid me back. It was kind of you to keep it quiet.’

‘To tell the truth, Father, I was glad of the horrible winter for one reason – it stopped her haunting me.’

‘I don’t think the lady will be haunting you again. Miss Creedy has moved to Glasgow. I had a letter from her the other day. She seemed very happy and said she had a gentleman
friend. I really cannot understand such as Mrs Gillespie, nor can I understand how she found people with so many guilty secrets in the one area.’

‘We all of us have guilty secrets, Father, and here in the north, people still prize respectability. That, too, was the downfall of our murderess. Maybe she sometimes came across one of
her clients out on the London streets with his family and saw the way his eyes averted when he saw her. The irony of it is that maybe one of the wives saw her and thought, I would like to be as
beautiful as that, while Crystal was jealously thinking, if only I could get out of the life and be dull and respectable.’

‘She did not look very beautiful to judge from her photograph in the newspapers.’

‘She was once, but she had put on weight and become tweedy and matronly. Tell me, Father, do you sometimes wonder why someone as young as Shona should be so brutally killed?’

‘You mean, why should God let such a thing happen?’

‘Yes.’

‘That way madness lies. The only answer is blind faith. There are children dying all over the world as we speak.’

Hamish suddenly felt embarrassed. ‘I’ll be off, then.’

His next call was on Mr Gillespie. Although Heather had told him that her father’s cancer was in remission, he wondered whether he was still alive.

But it was a very cheerful Mr Gillespie who answered the door to him. ‘Come in,’ he said. ‘I was just about to put the kettle on.’

The living room was pleasantly cluttered with newspapers and books. As Mr Gillespie served coffee, Hamish asked, ‘How are you?’

‘I can hardly believe it. I’m in remission. They say it’s a miracle.’

‘I’m right glad for you.’

‘I think it might be having an end to years of torment.’

‘You could have reported her.’

‘It’s hard for a man to do that. I didn’t think the police would have believed me.’

‘I would.’

‘I really didn’t know about the blackmail. I really thought her employers were very generous.’

‘I might go up to the hospital and check on Dr Renfrew,’ said Hamish.

‘Oh, he’s left the area. Someone at the hospital told me he had moved to Edinburgh. His wife is still here. She filed for divorce. My daughter told me it was the talk of Braikie. Mrs
Fleming called at her home and told Mrs Renfrew she had been having an affair with her husband.’

‘How did Heather learn this?’

‘Someone was passing and witnessed the scene, and soon it was all over the village.’

‘It’s amazing how many people witness things when I don’t need a witness,’ said Hamish crossly.

‘What about that man Freddie Ionedes?’

‘He got sent away for a long time. It was understood he helped in a murder some time ago, but they haven’t any real proof, and the police are satisfied that he’s out of
society. He left court swearing vengeance on me.’

‘Well, he can’t do anything about that now.’

‘I’m not so sure,’ said Hamish. ‘He was quite an important member of the underworld.’

‘I’m surprised he was able to run a brothel in a place like Knightsbridge.’

‘It was described as a drinking club. Important people used it – members of Parliament, high-ranking police officers, people like that. There will always be a market.’

‘It’s all over now.’

‘I hope so,’ said Hamish.

The next few weeks passed pleasantly. The weather was a mixture of showers and sunshine. Hamish drove diligently around his long beat, checking on people in the outlying
crofts, drinking tea and gossiping, doing all the things that made him enjoy his job.

And then one morning as he was raking out the stove, there came a knock on the front door. He wiped a grimy hand over his brow, went through and shouted, ‘Come to the side door.’

He hoped it wasn’t someone from Strathbane, come to interrupt his tranquil life.

He opened the door. A tall, slim woman stood there, expensively elegant in a well-tailored trouser suit. Masses of auburn hair framed an attractive face. Wide-spaced brown eyes, high cheekbones
and a beautiful mouth.

‘I’m visiting the area,’ she said. Her voice was pleasant but held traces of cockney. ‘I wondered if you could tell me the best places around here to visit.’

‘If you go along to the general store, just inside the door you’ll find a rack of tourist brochures,’ said Hamish. ‘Where are you from?’