Authors: M. C. Beaton
“It’s just a short interview,” pleaded Elspeth.
Andrew surveyed her. Elspeth had straightened her hair and was cleverly made up. Her large silvery eyes looked up into Andrew’s face. He smiled. “Father, it’ll only take a few moments. I’ll get Greta. We don’t get much excitement up here and my poor wife is bored.”
Sound and camera were already setting up lights and cables. Helen took up a position behind her boss’s wheelchair and tried to look solicitous.
Mr. Harrison sat glaring. Greta appeared, followed by her husband. She was a tall woman with a mannish, craggy face and hunting shoulders, wearing a shooting jacket and knee breeches.
“Gosh, isn’t this exciting?” she cried. “When will it be shown?”
“At six this evening,” said Elspeth. Greta went to stand behind her father-in-law’s chair, elbowing Helen out of the way.
Elspeth decided to go straight into the interview and do her piece to camera later.
“Mr. Harrison,” she began. “It must have been a dreadful shock when you learned that your previous nurse, Gloria Dainty, had been murdered.”
“The little tart had been asking for it,” said Mr. Harrison. “Peddling her arse about the Highlands.”
“Did you know about her behaviour before she disappeared?”
“Got an anonymous letter and checked around. Told her to pack up and leave. Thought she had when her stuff was gone.”
“Why didn’t you tell the police about the anonymous letter?”
“It made me mad and I took it out on Gloria. But then I thought, I wasn’t going to blacken her name.”
Andrew, Greta, and Helen were now lined up behind Mr. Harrison’s wheelchair, all smiling madly at the camera.
“Could you all look a bit serious?” pleaded Elspeth. “Now, Mr. Harrison, can you think of anyone who might have done this dreadful murder?”
He gave a bark of laughter. “Could be anyone. Can’t be me. I can’t move from this chair.”
The door opened and Juris came in. “The police are here with a warrant.”
“I’ll see them,” said Andrew.
“We’d better pack up,” said Elspeth. “Thank you all for your time.”
Andrew came back. “They’ve got a warrant, Father, to take your DNA and fingerprints and also to search the house again.”
“This is an outrage! Here I am, a cripple, and being tormented by the fascist police. I’ll write to my member of Parliament.”
Elspeth had covertly signalled to her crew to keep on filming. “Andrew, what’s the use of having a son who’s a lawyer when he can do bugger-all to protect me? You always were useless,” roared his father.
“I’ll get your medicine,” said Helen.
Mr. Harrison told her to take the medicine and shove it where the sun didn’t shine.
“They’re still filming,” warned Andrew. Mr. Harrison picked up a medicine bottle from the table next to him and hurled it at Elspeth, who ducked.
Her crew began to hurriedly pack things away, afraid he might start throwing more things and damage the equipment. “And phone my lawyer,” said Mr. Harrison. “I’m changing my will.”
“But I’m your lawyer,” said Andrew.
“Didn’t know I had another one, hey? It’s old Tinety down in Strathbane.”
When Elspeth and her crew left the building, it was to find a forensic team suiting up and Charlie and Fiona standing waiting.
“Where’s Hamish?” asked Elspeth.
“He turned up with the cat and dog and the inspector here sent him back saying she didn’t want animals contaminating the scene.”
“How did you get on?” asked Charlie.
“Don’t speak to the press,” snapped Fiona.
Elspeth shrugged. With any luck, she might meet Hamish on the road back.
They were just leaving the estate when Elspeth recognised Hamish’s Land Rover, leaned out the window, and signalled to him to stop.
Both climbed out of their vehicles and met on the road. “I actually got an interview,” said Elspeth. “It’s going to look odd on film. Rather like the Addams family, all lined up behind the old man’s chair. He lied. He said he couldn’t move from the chair. Oh, and at the end, he threw a hissy fit and demanded his lawyer.”
“His son’s a lawyer.”
“Doesn’t want him. Got one in Strathbane.”
“This is getting more like a damn film every minute,” said Hamish. “If it were a film, the old sod would be found dead before he could change his will. I checked the alibis this morning. Andrew and his wife were guests of people down in Somerset the weekend of the murder, so that rules them out.” He got back into the Land Rover and drove on to join the others.
Just after he arrived, the head of the forensic team came out. “They’re all in the drawing room and we’ve taken their fingerprints and DNA samples. You can interview them.”
“Before we go in,” said Hamish, “I’d better tell you what Elspeth Grant has found out.”
“You should not have spoken to the press without my permission,” raged Fiona.
“Elspeth is a good source of information. Listen to this.” Hamish told her about Mr. Harrison changing his will.
“These old folk with money can be murderees,” said Fiona. “They use their wills as power over people. ‘Be nice to me, or I’ll cut you out.’ Let’s go in and see what we can find out.”
Just as they were about to enter the drawing room, Fiona stopped short and held up her hand. They could clearly hear Andrew pleading, “But we’ve always looked out for you, Father. It was your choice to bury yourself up in this godforsaken place. We offered you a home with us.”
“Maybe I’ve been a bit hasty,” came Mr. Harrison’s voice. “Get me another whisky, Mackenzie, and don’t ever bleat on about my high blood pressure again.”
Fiona nodded and opened the door and they all walked in. “What now?” demanded Andrew.
“Mr. Harrison misled us when he claimed he could not walk,” said Fiona. “Macbeth here thought he saw someone lurking outside the building when we were last here and went to have a look. He saw you, Mr. Harrison, get out of your chair and go to get yourself a drink.”
“Police spies, that’s what you are,” shouted Mr. Harrison. “I can only walk a few yards.”
“That is the case,” said the nurse, moving to stand between her employer and the police. “I drive him down once a week to Strathbane Hospital for physiotherapy.”
“I don’t understand,” said Fiona. “You said you came off your horse and broke your back. If you had a broken back you would not be able to walk at all.”
“I meant I damaged the nerves on my spine,” said Mr. Harrison.
Fiona painstakingly took him back through the events of the evening when Gloria had disappeared until Helen Mackenzie stepped forward.
“That’s enough,” she said harshly. “You have tired him. It’s time for his nap. Come along, sir.” She seized the handles of his wheelchair and pushed him towards the door, which Andrew leapt to hold open.
When he had gone, Fiona turned her attention to Andrew. “Do you know what is in his will?”
“He said he had some lawyer in Strathbane,” said Andrew, “but as far as I know, I am the heir.”
“And what is the name of the lawyer in Strathbane?”
“Someone called Tinety, I think.”
Hamish left Charlie to take down what was being said while he studied Andrew. Pompous but hardly the murdering type, he thought. Still, it’s hard to tell.
When they were once more outside, Fiona phoned Jimmy Anderson and asked him to visit the lawyer in Strathbane and see if he could find anything out. When she rang off, she said to Hamish, “You go back to that cliff. There must be something we missed. Charlie will come with me to Strathbane where he can type up his notes, and then we’ll go over what we’ve got.”
As he got into his Land Rover, Hamish watched Charlie and Fiona getting into the back of Fiona’s car and pushed his peaked cap back and scratched his fiery-red hair in bewilderment. Fiona must have a lot of power to use the services of a lowly constable like Charlie. Was something going on there? She was married and Charlie was a great big innocent. I hope he doesn’t get hurt, thought Hamish.
He drove on up the coast, turning all he knew over in his mind. Gloria had been trying to seduce her employer. Gloria was a gold digger. Therefore it followed that anyone wanting her out of the way would surely be someone like Andrew or his wife, who felt they were about to lose their inheritance. But both were alibied up to the hilt. So that left only old Harrison, furious at finding out she had been playing around. Say he had strangled her in a rage. He could have paid Juris a large sum to dump the body.
Better get Charlie to check his bank accounts. But where does he bank? Should have asked. He realised he was hungry and stopped at the café for a bacon sandwich and a cup of coffee.
The café was quiet. “Do you do much business here?” asked Hamish.
“We get a lot of folk in the summer. I’m Sheena Farquar.” She was a small, rosy-cheeked, grey-haired woman.
“Hamish Macbeth. Folk must have been talking a lot about the murder. Did anyone see anything?”
“Only poor auld Jessie McGowan. The girl’s daft. But it’s believed she has the sight.”
Hamish knew she was referring to the second sight, certain highlanders supposedly blessed with seeing the future. Even Boswell and Johnson went searching for evidence of it in their tour of the Hebrides.
“Where does she live?”
“A wee house at the end o’ Loan Road. It’s got a purple door.”
“Does she live alone?”
“Aye, her parents are dead. She can look after herself well enough, but she scares people, always mumbling and talking to herself.”
Hamish made his way to Loan Road and located the house with the purple door. There was no doorbell. But there was a brass knocker in the shape of a devil’s head. He raised his hand to knock but the door was jerked open.
At first he thought this could surely not be Jessie McGowan, for the small woman looking up at him seemed sane enough.
“I am Police Sergeant Hamish Macbeth,” he said. “I would like a few words with Miss McGowan.”
She nodded and stood aside to let him enter. There was a tiny square of a hall. She opened a door to the left. Hamish followed her in. It was a conventional living room with a rather battered three-piece suite in brown corduroy, a coffee table, a fireplace with ornaments on the mantelpiece, and lace curtains at the window.
“I am Miss McGowan.” She sat down on the edge of one of the armchairs and surveyed him. Despite her long grey hair, he guessed she might be in her late thirties. She was wearing a white Aran sweater over faded jeans. Her long thin face was very white, her grey eyes hooded with thick lids.
“A body was found at the foot of the cliffs,” said Hamish, putting his cap on the coffee table. “I believe you might have seen something.”
“That I did,” she said. Hamish felt hopeful. The woman seemed perfectly sane.
She continued, “It was Auld Nick himself.”
Hamish’s heart sank. But he asked, “Are you sure it was the devil?”
She nodded. “Describe him,” said Hamish.
“All black. Black face, black everything.”
“And what was he doing?”
“He was standing on the top of the cliffs, looking down. Then he turned away and disappeared.”
“Where were you?”
“I was down on the beach hiding behind a rock. I go there sometimes to talk to the dead. The seals, you know. Folk come back as seals.”
“Did you hear the sound of a car or any vehicle?”
She looked at him solemnly out of her odd grey eyes. “Himself just goes back down to the nether regions. When I peeked round the rock again, he had gone.”
Hamish thought quickly. It could all be nonsense, or the murderer could have been dressed in black with the face covered by a black balaclava.
“The thing that puzzled me,” she said in her thin voice, “is why he did not take her down to hell.”
“Why would he want to do that in the first place?” asked Hamish patiently.
“She caused hatred and fear.”
“Did you know the nurse?”
“No, but I saw it all in my mind.”
“Pictures or emotions?”
“Feelings. Nasty feelings. And there is more to come. Death is coming.”
“Who’s going to die?” asked Hamish.
“A man.”
“What man?”
“I don’t know. Just a man. There is danger surrounding you, Mr. Macbeth.”
“From the devil?”
“Often the devil’s instruments are human.”
She began to rock back and forth, mumbling incomprehensible things. Hamish got to his feet and walked out. He had just reached the front door when her voice stopped him.
“Mr. Macbeth!”
He swung round.
“I have not offered you any tea.”
Once more, she looked quite sane.
“Another time,” said Hamish, and made his escape.
He drove back to the hunting box to join Fiona, who was standing in the hall, telling her about his odd interview but saying it might be wise to search the house for any black clothing. Two detectives and three policemen who had been searching the house after the forensic team had finished their work and were just packing up were told about Hamish’s discovery and told to go back in and look for black clothing.
They were confronted by Andrew. “I thought you had finished here,” he said angrily.
“Macbeth’s found a witness up at Kinlochbervie, some daft woman with the second sight, who says she saw the killer up on the cliffs. Mind you, she thought it was the devil.”
“Oh, I am so sick of all of you. I have complained to the procurator fiscal,” said Andrew, and he went into the drawing room to report to the others this latest outrage.
When they all moved outside, Hamish said to Fiona, “What do you hope to get from all the fingerprints and DNA? Was there anything on the body?”
“They can maybe get fingerprints off the neck.”
“But they think she was strangled with a scarf or some sort of material.”
“Damn. I’d forgotten that.”
They were joined by Jimmy Anderson. “I’ve got heavy expenses,” he said. “I had to take that lawyer, Cameron Tinety, out for a lot of drams to get information out of him. He says there was a will leaving everything to Gloria Dainty.”