Death of a Nurse (11 page)

“Dog and cat,” moaned her sister.

“Oh, shove off, the pair of you,” said Hamish. They stared up at him, shocked eyes behind thick spectacles, rigidly permed white hair, and crumpled white faces, the skin like tissue paper.

They marched off.

“Sorry!” shouted Hamish after them. “I’m so sorry.”

He scratched his fiery hair in distress. What had come over him?

He saw the fisherman Archie Maclean sitting on the wall outside his little cottage at the harbour and went to join him.

“I’m going daft,” said Hamish. “I’ve just insulted the Currie sisters.”

“They’ll get over it,” said Archie. “I hear those murders have been solved.”

“Yes, it’s all over,” said Hamish. But he experienced the first sharp pang of doubt.

“You’d better settle down now and find yourself a wifie,” said Archie.

“I’m beginning to think I have no luck at all in that direction,” said Hamish.

Archie deftly rolled up a cigarette, shoved it in his toothless mouth, lit it, and said, “You should ask the fairies.”

“You don’t believe in that rubbish, do you, Archie?”

“All you do,” said Archie, “is put out a bit o’ milk, salt, and iron outside your door and wait.”

“You’re joshing. I’m off to get some weight off these beasties o’ mine.”

When Hamish returned to the police station, he saw with a mixture of irritation and amusement that outside the kitchen door Archie had placed a small saucer of milk, a little open glass jar of salt, and a piece of iron.

Well, thought Hamish with a shrug, if I had a wife like Archie’s, I’d need to believe in something daft to keep me going. Archie’s wife was a fanatical housecleaner. She boiled all the household laundry in an old-fashioned copper, including Archie’s trousers and jackets—which explained why the fisherman always went around in tight clothes.

He passed the day cleaning up the police station and giving his small flock of sheep winter feed.

He walked the dog and cat again, wondering whether to call on the Currie sisters and apologise, but found himself unable to face up to it.

When Hamish walked back into the police station, he experienced a sharp pang of loneliness. There was no point in going to join Charlie, because the big policeman would be settling down for a family evening with the colonel and his wife.

Sonsie came up and put a large paw on his knee. “You don’t believe in the fairies, do you, Sonsie? Load o’ superstitious rubbish!”

There came a sharp scream of rising wind which rattled the kitchen door. Hamish stood, startled.

Then the door opened and Elspeth Grant walked in. “It’s me,” she said. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I’m fine. Sit down. Windy out?”

“No, it’s as still as the grave. Going to be a sharp frost. I’ve just been down to Strathbane. Boring footage of Daviot. I suppose you broke the case.”

“In a way.”

“So it’s all over?”

“I suppose. We’ll never know. I am sure that Malky’s family will sue the socks off the council.”

“I’ve tried to interview the provost, but he’s hiding behind his lawyer and everyone else in the council has been taught to say, ‘No comment.’”

Elspeth was wearing a silver puffa jacket that matched the colour of her odd eyes. She shrugged it off. Underneath she was wearing a blue cashmere sweater. She had small, high, firm breasts.

“I’ve got a bottle of Hungarian champagne out in the shed,” said Hamish. “We could have a glass to celebrate.”

“Bring it on, just so long as it doesn’t have any antifreeze in it.”

“That was Austria,” said Hamish, referring to an old scandal.

He went out to the shed. The champagne had been a present from a grateful woman after Hamish had tracked down her lost dog. Antifreeze, he thought suddenly. That’s what killed Jessie McGowan. Now, why would someone like Malky get to hear about her? And even if he had, would Malky, a druggie and city boy, believe in anyone being able to have the second sight? Even if he did, the second sight meant the future.

Elspeth appeared behind him, making him jump. “I thought you’d got lost,” she said.

“No. Just thinking. It’s right cold. Let’s get indoors.”

On the way in, Elspeth glanced down at the milk, salt, and iron. “Didn’t know you were a believer, Hamish.”

“I’m not. It is just Archie’s nonsense.”

She gave a sudden shiver. “Now, why do I suddenly feel you are soon going to need a lot of protection?”

Hamish looked down at her uneasily. He knew from past experience that Elspeth, who came from a Gypsy family, was psychic.

He lifted two wineglasses down from the cupboard. “I havenae got champagne flutes. These’ll need to do.”

“There’s been a recent report that flutes are out of fashion,” said Elspeth. “Something to do with them spoiling the taste.”

Hamish popped the cork and filled two glasses.

“Here’s to a quiet life,” he said.

“Here’s to your safety,” said Elspeth. “So let’s have it, Hamish. You don’t think Malky did the murders. How did that detective die?”

“Willie? The latest was smoke inhalation. Now, that could have been Malky. He was in cahoots wi’ Gloria. He may not have known that Willie would be in the office. It was a Sunday morning. I had an appointment with him.”

“How was the fire started?”

“Oily flaming rags shoved through the letter box. That might indeed have been Malky. But there’s another thing.”

He told Elspeth about Willie spying on Fiona. “I’m sure that could have been Blair. The inspector is keen on Charlie, and it shows.”

“Blair’s a monster,” said Elspeth, “but I can’t believe he would murder Willie.”

“He may not have known he was in the office.”

“If I were you,” said Elspeth, “I would take time out and forget about the whole thing and clear your mind of every idea. Maybe then you’d hit on something.”

Elspeth then began to talk about her job and her seemingly eternal fears of being replaced permanently by another presenter while she was off in the Highlands reporting until they realised with surprise that they had finished the bottle of champagne.

If only, thought Hamish wistfully, we could roll into bed and make love for the rest of the day. But as if she had read his mind, Elspeth put on her coat and said abruptly, “Thanks for the drink.”

“Will I see you again this trip?”

“No, I’m heading off south,” said Elspeth.

As she walked to the car she had borrowed from the hotel, not wanting to take the large television van down to the police station, she had a sudden urge to turn back. She had lied to Hamish. She had planned to prepare her report and leave on the following morning. She could have invited Hamish to dinner.

Hamish was leaving the police station to walk the dog and cat. He looked down in disgust at Archie’s offerings to the fairies and gave the lot a kick with his regulation boot and sent them flying.

Elspeth had half turned back when a voice in her head said, Going to get hurt again?

She squared her shoulders, got into the car, and drove off.

As he walked along, Hamish saw a sign outside the church hall,
TAI CHI EXERCISES
.

A faint sound of Asian music tinkled through the frosty air. Curious, he walked up to the village hall and quietly pushed open the door. Eight village women, dressed in sort of satin pyjamas, were slowly following movements by an instructor, who, Hamish realised, was none other than Mrs. Wellington. He had seen tai chi exercises on television and they had been nothing like this. The women seemed to be all sharp, awkward movements.

“The hell wi’ this,” said Mrs. Patel, sitting down suddenly on the floor. “I feel right daft.”

The other women followed suit. “Now, ladies,” boomed Mrs. Wellington in distress. “On your feet. Now!”

Muttering rebelliously, they started again. Hamish fled the church hall and hung on to the fence, laughing. He felt better than he had done for a long time.

When he returned to the police station, he saw Charlie’s old Volvo parked outside. The tall policeman got out of the car when he saw Hamish arriving.

“I should ha’ reported in earlier,” said Charlie, “but I overslept.”

There was a miserable hangdog air about him.

“Come in and have coffee,” said Hamish. “No, better still. Let’s walk along to the Italian’s and have a wee celebration. I suppose the case is closed.”

They walked in silence to the restaurant. Inside, Lugs and Sonsie vanished into the kitchen.

“Now,” said Hamish when they had placed their orders. “Out wi’ it.”

“Out wi’ what?” demanded Charlie mutinously.

“You look miserable and guilty as sin. Is it our inspector? I thought she’d cleared off.”

Charlie stabbed his fork into the new tablecloth. “Here!” screeched the waiter, Willie Lamont. “Thon’s a new cloth. You’re a right wondle.”

“I suppose you mean vandal,” said Hamish. “Shove off and get the food.”

When Willie had gone, Hamish said gently, “What has she done?”

Charlie heaved a great sigh. “Do you believe in hell?”

“Of course not.”

“I was brought up Wee Free,” said Charlie, meaning the Free Presbyterians. “A woman taken in adultery is a sin.”

“Damn the woman!” said Hamish. “She seduced you.”

“Well, Hamish, it takes two. Aye, we spent the night together. I told her I loved her and I would make an honest woman of her and she laughed her head off and said it was only a fling.”

“Here’s the wine. Have a glass. It’s my belief you were more sinned against than sinning.”

“I felt such a rage, I damn nearly broke her neck. Oh, I’m so ashamed. Will God forgive me?”

“Look, Charlie, I cannae believe in a God who punishes or even rewards because they are both human failings. Forget it. Put it down to experience. Were you a virgin?”

Charlie shook his head. “Just the odd widow here and there.”

“Not here I hope,” said Hamish sharply. “Don’t shit on your own doorstep.”

“No, no, I promise you that.”

“Look, after we eat, we’ll go to the manse and you tell the minister about it. He’s a genuine Christian and you need one o’ those. Then I’d like to go down to Strathbane on the quiet and see if I can talk to people who knew Malky. There’s something nagging me. Okay, Andrew and his wife were at some wife-swopping party in Edinburgh. One of them could have slipped out and driven north. Anyway, it would make me feel easier. We won’t wear our uniforms and we’ll take your car.”

After lunch, they left the animals at the station and walked up to the manse. To Hamish’s relief, there was no sign of Mrs. Wellington.

Mr. Wellington led them into his dark and gloomy study. “Charlie here needs help,” said Hamish.

The minister listened carefully as Charlie blurted out his story. When Charlie had finished, Mr. Wellington said, “I have seen the inspector. She is a much older woman, is she not?”

Charlie nodded.

“Married?”

He nodded again.

“You have been preyed upon by an older, experienced woman,” said Mr. Wellington. “You must ask the Lord to heal your hurt. But the fault lies with her. There are plenty of bonny lassies in the Highlands, and I suggest you find one. What do you feel now?”

“I feel like you do when you’ve been drinking too much the night afore,” said Charlie, “and you wake up feeling dirty and smelly.”

“That’s good. A broken heart is a more difficult matter. Is your heart broken?”

Muddled thoughts like cloud shadows chased across Charlie’s face. “I think it’s all right, sir.”

“Grand. Be more careful next time. There are harpies around. Not,” added the minister wistfully, “that I have ever met one.”

The door crashed open and Mrs. Wellington appeared. “What is going on here?”

“Charlie here is Wee Free,” said Hamish, “but he’s thinking o’ changing to the Church of Scotland. Come along, Charlie.”

Outside, Charlie said, “That man’s a saint.”

“He’d have to be, married to a wife like that,” said Hamish.

Chapter Eight

But when they arrived at the tower block, it was to find the area swarming with council officials.

“We can’t hang around here,” said Hamish, “or we’ll be caught by someone from Strathbane. I know a café where the druggies hang out.”

The sky above had darkened and a little hard flake of snow drifted down, followed by another. By the time they entered the café, a full blizzard was blowing outside. Hamish looked around. “See anyone from your days down here?” he asked.

“Aye, over in the corner,” said Charlie. “Jonty Hill. Used to give me wee bits o’ information.” They collected cups of tea from the counter and joined Jonty, who squinted up at them nervously. He was an ill-favoured youth with a pasty face and greasy hair. He was huddled into a stained donkey jacket. “It’s yourself, Charlie.”

“What can you tell us about Malky?” asked Charlie. He took out a twenty-pound note and rolled it in his fingers.

Jonty eyed it greedily. “Malky was a right nice wee guy. All this talk about him being some sort of serial killer is havers. Wouldnae even kill a cockroach.”

“I think he might have burned Willie Dunne to death,” said Hamish.

“If he set fire to thon office, it would be because he thought there was no one inside.”

“What relatives does he have?”

“It was on the telly this morning. His ma is suing the council. ‘Her darling boy,’ and all that. She chucked him out three years ago.”

“Did Malky have a girlfriend?” asked Hamish.

“They were more druggies in arms,” said Jonty. He seemed to think he had made a very witty remark because he doubled up with laughter which ended in a wheezing cough.

“Where does she live and what’s her name?” asked Charlie.

“Gemma Burns. There’s an auld house out on the Lairg road. Called Brae House. It’s a squat.”

Charlie passed over the note. “Try spending that on food, Jonty.”

“Aye, sure, man. I’m clean.”

Hamish and Charlie hurried through the blizzard to Charlie’s car. “It’s a good thing the heater still works in this old bus and I got the snow tyres put on last week,” said Charlie. “Do you think we should try to make it back to Lochdubh? I don’t want to be stuck down here in this hellhole.”

“Oh, let’s get it over with,” said Hamish. “It may stop snowing. What was the weather forecast?”

“Snow flurries.”

“I don’t think those weather folk ever look out the damn window. Look, there’s a gritter up ahead on the Lairg road. That’ll make the going easier.”

“I remember where this Brae House is,” said Charlie. “When I was working down here, we had to evict a lot o’ druggies. The owner went bankrupt and it was claimed by the bank, but by that time it was such a ruin, no one wanted to buy the place.”

They moved forward through the white world in silence, until at last Charlie said, “There’s the place. Up on the left. And there’s smoke coming from one o’ the chimneys.”

They drove up the short drive and parked outside.

“Don’t knock,” ordered Hamish as they got out. “If the door’s open, just walk in.”

The door was unlocked. They walked into a square hall and were hit by a foul smell caused by bad drains, unwashed bodies, old food, and a fresh smell of pot.

Following the smell of hashish, Hamish opened a door on the left of the hall. Three miserable specimens of humanity were huddled round the fireplace. A young man who had been about to pass the roach in his fingers to a girl next to him threw it in the fire.

“You’re cops,” accused a young girl with so many piercings on her face that Hamish wondered if the metal was a good idea in such a freezing winter. Surely it added to the misery.

“We’re not here about drugs, nor are we here to evict you,” said Hamish. “Did any of you know Malky? Is Gemma Burns here?”

There was a silence. Then, “That’s me,” said the girl with the piercings. Another long silence. Snow pattered against a cracked window and wind howled in the chimney. Then a youth with a large black beard and a bald head said, “I kent Malky. He wasnae a murderer.”

“What makes you say that?” asked Charlie.

“Well, he’d steal a bit, maybe, for the drugs. But kill anyone? I cannae believe it.”

Charlie was about to ask for his name, but a warning look from Hamish, whose highland radar had immediately known what he was about to ask, stopped him. Hamish only wanted to hear about Malky and didn’t want this source of information to dry up.

“Did he have a girlfriend?” asked Hamish. “I mean, other than Gemma?”

“He said he had a posh lassie who gave him drugs, methadone and stuff. He said she was a right cracker and had a scam that would see him all right.”

“Did you ever see her?”

He shook his head.

“But what makes you think he couldn’t murder anyone?” pursued Hamish. “If Malky was into hard drugs, then his brain could have been twisted and fried.”

Gemma piped up. “Well, he couldn’t have murdered thon nurse.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because from the night she disappeared until her body was found, Malky was here wi’ us, chilling out.”

Hamish stared at them, his brain whirling. If he took them in and got their statements, the fury of Daviot would know no bounds. Daviot had gloried in the “solution” to the murders. He, Hamish, would be suspended for going out on his own on Strathbane’s patch.

The inspector, he thought. Fiona Herring, he knew, would be intrigued. He was furious with her for having seduced Charlie, but he knew her to be a good officer.

Another girl said, “Will we have to leave here?”

“I’d like to suggest you all check into a clinic and get off drugs,” said Hamish. “I’ll keep quiet about it until I figure out what to do.”

When he and Charlie were outside, Hamish said, “If we take them in, they won’t be listened to. Daviot wants the case kept closed. I’ll be cursed for dragging in three filthy druggies who probably don’t know the day of the week. Charlie, I’m going to see the inspector when this blizzard blows over.”

“I never want to see that woman again,” howled Charlie.

“I’ll deal with her.”

Unlike the busier parts of Scotland, the roads of the Highlands were usually kept clear with gritters and snow ploughs. As they reached Lochdubh, the snow stopped and the clouds parted.

“You go to the hotel,” said Hamish. “I’ll let you know what happens.”

“You’ll want this,” said Charlie, handing him a small tape recorder. “I taped the whole thing.”

“Man, you’re a genius. Off you go.”

Hamish went into the police station and collected the dog and cat while he went up to check on his sheep. Returning to the police station, he began the job of getting snowballs out of their coats before feeding them.

Then he put on his uniform and set out for Inverness.

Christmas lights sparkled in the windows of shops when he drove into Inverness. The whole place looked like a Christmas card. He suddenly wished he had phoned first. What if Fiona were down in Edinburgh with her husband?

With a sinking heart, he learned that Fiona was off duty. He asked if his friend Mungo Davidson was on duty, found to his relief that he was, and asked to see him.

“Why do you want to contact Old Iron Knickers?” asked Mungo.

“It’s too long a story. Do you know where she lives?”

“I know where she is at the moment. Her ladyship is out wi’ her husband for dinner. They’re at the Taste Of France restaurant in the High Street.”

“Let me use the phone in your office. I’ll call her.”

Fiona, when she came to the phone, appeared to be furious that her caller was none other than Hamish Macbeth. “What the hell do you think you are doing, interrupting my evening off?” she raged.

“Listen!” said Hamish urgently. He began to tell her rapidly and concisely what they had learned about Malky. When he had finished, she said, “Get back to your station and I will call on you in the morning.”

Mungo, who had left his office while Hamish was phoning, met him on the road out. “Flea in both ears?” he asked sympathetically.

“Something like that,” said Hamish, and hurried off.

In the morning, he awoke early, showered, and put on his uniform. He reluctantly allowed the dog and cat out to play. He walked to Patel’s and bought the morning paper. He was relieved to learn that the wild cat sanctuary of about five hundred square miles at Ardnamurchan was being extended to Morven. I hope the beasties breed and breed, he thought, so that there’ll be so many wild cats no one will bother about Sonsie.

He heard a knock at the kitchen door. He reluctantly went to open it, hoping that his dislike for the inspector would not show. Why couldn’t the wretched woman have left Charlie alone?

But it was Charlie who came lumbering in. “Maybe I should send you away on something,” said Hamish.

“I’ll probably have to see her sometime,” said Charlie. “I’ve brought you a tray o’ shortbread from the chef, some bones for Lugs, and a fish for Sonsie.”

“I’ll phone him later and thank him. Coffee?”

“Grand.”

Hamish turned and put the kettle on the stove. “Where is that bloody woman?” he said.

“Here,” said a voice from the kitchen door. Fiona had walked in quietly. Her eyes, hard and mean, fell on Sonsie. The cat was lying by the stove.

“That
is
a wild cat,” she said. “And I feel it my duty to report it.”

Hamish’s hazel eyes blazed, but before he could say anything, Charlie commented, “It’s just a big pussycat. It would be a shame to take up police time with a false report—like some of the reports of sexual harassment.”

Fiona glared at him. Unfazed, Charlie smiled back.

She pulled out a chair and sat down. “What’s all this about?” she demanded.

“Just what I told you on the phone, ma’am,” said Hamish. “Would you like some coffee?”

“No! Oh, well yes.”

Hamish reached into the cupboard for cups and said over his shoulder, “Play the tape for the inspector, Charlie.”

She listened intently. When it was finished, she said, “Why didn’t you arrest them?”

“And let Strathbane know we’d been poaching on their patch? It is my belief that Mr. Daviot would be so furious, he would discount the whole thing. He would say that druggies would say anything and they never knew what day it was. Then there is the alibi of Andrew Harrison. He claims that he and his wife were at a wife-swopping party in Edinburgh. Now why say that? He could just have claimed to have been at an ordinary party and I’m sure the other people there would ha’ backed him up. They must all be furious with him. So if by any chance he or his wife could have slipped out at any time, I’m sure they would tell us.”

He put a mug of coffee and a plate of shortbread down in front of her.

She drank coffee and ate a finger of shortbread. Hamish and Charlie waited in silence.

“I tell you what I’ll do,” she said at last. “I will handle the Edinburgh end. You go about your normal duties and wait to hear from me.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Hamish, thinking he would be glad of a day off. He waited uneasily, praying she would not ask Charlie to accompany her, but she rose, nodded to them, and walked out.

There was a long silence. Then Hamish asked, “How do you feel, Charlie?”

He looked puzzled. “I don’t feel anything. It’s like having a bad fall and then finding nothing’s broken. Is the snow still deep?”

“Pretty deep,” said Hamish, “and no sign of a thaw. I was hoping we might have a day off, but we’d better check up on the old people and see they’re all right.”

After a long and tiring day, Hamish said, “I never want to see another cup of tea again.” At each place they had visited on their enormous beat, highland hospitality demanded they accept refreshment.

Charlie said he would go back to the hotel. He was welcomed by the colonel. “Just in time to join us for dinner, Charlie. Priscilla is back on one of her flying visits.”

Charlie hesitated. “All right. But I’ll just have a salad or something. I’m up to the eyeballs in tea and scones. Been out wi’ Hamish, checking on the old folk. I’ll just change out of my uniform.”

“No need for that,” said the colonel. “You’re one of the family.”

Charlie was once more taken aback by the beauty that was Priscilla. From the perfect bell of her golden hair to her slim figure dressed in a mid-blue trouser suit that matched her eyes, he thought she looked stunning.

“You’re busy,” said Charlie, looking round the crowded dining room.

“I hope I haven’t made a mistake,” said Priscilla. “There’s probably going to be a sighting of the northern lights this evening, so I put it on the website and people came rushing up. If nothing happens, I hope they don’t ask for their money back.”

Charlie suddenly noticed that Priscilla was wearing an engagement ring. “It looks as if congratulations are in order,” he said. “Who’s the lucky fellow?”