Death of a Policeman (7 page)

Dick at the wheel made his way to the docks, now largely in rusting ruins. Facing the oily waterfront where a discarded sofa bobbed on the water, the neon sign above the club flashed on and off in the darkness.

The entry fee was ten pounds each. A man dressed as a bunny girl led them to a table. Hamish looked around. The club seemed to be ignoring the smoking ban. There was a small stage where a man in drag was performing “Hello Dolly” in a thick Glasgow accent.

“None of them even looks like a woman,” said Priscilla as another drag queen came on the stage. He was squat and hairy.

“Should have at least shaved his chest,” said Dick.

The audience was mostly made up of young people, the feral youth of Strathbane.

The “bunny girl” approached their table carrying a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket. “On the hoose, darlings,” she said.

“No freebies,” said Hamish curtly. “Take it away and bring us…?”

“Beer,” said Dick.

“Lager,” said Priscilla.

“And I'll have a tonic water,” said Hamish.

He shrugged and teetered off on his stilettos.

“We've been spotted,” said Hamish. “If there's any drug dealing going on, they'll wait until we leave.”

“Got to go to the ladies' room,” said Priscilla. She edged her way through the tables to where a sign for the toilets was lit up over a side door.

Three girls were huddled in a corner. She heard one say in a low voice, “We cannae get anything the night.”

Priscilla had sharp ears. She heard another one whisper, “If ye want anything, you're to go out the back door.”

Priscilla quickly pretended to repair her make-up and hurried back to their table.

“The drugs are being dealt at the back door,” she said.

“I don't want anyone to see me making a phone call,” said Hamish.

Their drinks arrived. “That'll be thirty-five quid,” said the waitress.

“That's too much,” said Hamish.

“Pay it or get out.”

“I've got money in the car,” said Hamish. “I'll be right back. Give me the keys, Dick.”

He hurriedly left the club. Outside, he got into Dick's car, bent down as if looking for something, and made a call to Jimmy. “I'm at the Queen Draggie club. They're dealing drugs at the back door. Raid the bloody place.”

He returned to the club where the “bunny girl” was hovering beside their table, took out his wallet, and paid him. He shoved the money in his bra and went off.

After twenty minutes, when Hamish was just beginning to think the police would never arrive, he heard a loud altercation and then the club seemed to be full of police. People were scrambling to get out and finding their way blocked.

“Aren't we going to join in?” asked Dick.

“There are enough of them. It wouldn't be a good idea to leave Priscilla.”

The music had died. They watched as the customers were searched. Police were dropping packets of pills and little glassine envelopes into forensic bags.

At last, Jimmy came up to them. “Good work, Hamish. What put you on to it?”

“The manager of the Seven Steps owns this club. What is Murdo Bentley doing with a manager who owns a club that deals drugs? And why is Bruce working as a manager when he owns a club?”

“We'll be looking into that. Type up a statement and send it over.”

On the road home, Hamish said happily, “Well, that's got the ball rolling. What if Cyril was the tip-off?”

“Could ha' been,” said Dick. “But why bump him off?”

“Maybe he was caught selling their drugs on the side,” said Hamish. “Like to come in for a nightcap, Priscilla?”

“No thanks. Just drop me off at the hotel.”

Hamish uncurled himself from the backseat of Dick's little car when they arrived at the police station. The large flap on the station door banged open and Lugs erupted out, barking shrilly. He was followed by Sonsie, whose fur was raised and whose eyes were blazing.

“There, now,” said Hamish. “What's up?”

Lugs ran to the front garden and continued barking.

Dick and Hamish opened the little side gate to the garden. Hamish took out a torch and shone it.

The body of Jessie McTavish lay on the grass, her dead eyes staring up at the Sutherland sky.

Hamish sat hunched at the kitchen table during that long night. He had answered question after question. First there was Blair, shouting and bullying and stopping just short of accusing him of the murder. Then Jimmy and Detective Andy McNab with more questions.

Hamish explained over and over again that he had questioned her about what she had received from the maître d' in the restaurant. She had insisted it was sweets. That was all. He had not seen her since. He had been up around Sandybeach questioning people who lived on the road there, and he had gone to the drag club.

Then they would switch from grilling him and turn their attention to Dick.

At last Daviot arrived on the scene and sent the detectives outside. He sat down heavily opposite Hamish and Dick and said wearily, “This is a bad, bad business, but you're in the clear. Forensics and the pathologist have found that she was killed some time earlier with a savage blow to the head. The body was then driven to Lochdubh and thrust over the hedge into your front garden. There are breaks in the hedge showing where the body caught parts of it before being shoved in.”

“It's all tied up to drugs somehow. How did the raid on the club go?” asked Hamish.

“Drugs were found in the manager's office. Bruce Jamieson has been arrested.”

“And what did Murdo Bentley say about his restaurant manager being a drug peddler?”

“He is deeply shocked. He swears he was unaware that Jamieson even owned a club.”

“Oh, sir, that's hard to believe.”

“Murdo Bentley has long been an outstanding member of the community. He contributes regularly to various charities, including the police widows' and orphans' pension fund. Good heavens, Macbeth, he even had a new wing of Strathbane hospital built.”

“What about Paolo Gonzales, the maître d'? Does he have any sort of record?”

“Nothing at all. Not even a parking ticket.”

“And Johnny Livia, the car dealer she was living with?”

“Alibied up to the hilt. Down at a sales conference in Glasgow.”

“But Murdo Bentley will surely be watched and investigated from now on.”

Daviot rose to his feet. “Leave it with me.”

Which means, thought Hamish savagely as the kitchen door closed behind the superintendent, that nothing will be done at all.

In Glasgow, news presenter Elspeth Grant heard about the body in Hamish's garden. She wondered if she would be sent there to report because of her friendship with Hamish. But as she studied film of the scene on the waterfront at Lochdubh, she suddenly saw Hamish talking to Priscilla. Elspeth had been briefly engaged to Hamish but had broken it off because she had found he was spending time with Priscilla. She was suddenly determined not to go, even if ordered to do so.

“I really have to get back to my job in London, Hamish,” Priscilla said as they stood outside the station watching Daviot give a press conference.

“I think I'll go fishing,” said Hamish, “and by the time I get back, with any luck the press will have gone.”

“Why on earth did they dump her body in your garden?” asked Priscilla. “I mean, the murder of a prostitute would only merit a few lines in the press. But the body of a prostitute in a policeman's garden is big news.”

“It's a warning to me,” said Hamish. “They want me to know they are all-powerful and that I could be next.”

“Just be careful,” said Priscilla.

“Would you miss me if I were dead?” asked Hamish.

“Really, Hamish!” said Priscilla. “It's not like you to stoop to emotional blackmail. Bye.”

Hamish scowled after her. “Bitch,” he muttered.

“Who's a bitch?” asked a voice behind him.

Hamish swung round and found Angela Brodie behind him.

“Life in general,” said Hamish. “How are things?”

“Not exactly pleasant. I spent an awful lot of money on a gown for the awards ceremony and my husband is sulking. It's
my
money, I told him.”

“Doesn't sound at all like your man. How much did you pay?”

“Nearly two thousand pounds.”

“Michty me! Is it gold-plated?”

“No, I got it made in Inverness.”

“I know Inverness is a boomtown these days, but I didn't think it would have a place with that sort of price.”

“It's called Modes, and you can buy or get something made. The place I first thought of didn't have much.”

“I didn't know you and Dr. Brodie ever quarrelled about anything.”

“We hardly ever do. Could you have a word with him, Hamish? I've got a feeling it's something other than money.”

“Is he in the surgery?”

“He's at home at the moment. I don't know what's come over him. I've never known him to be mean about money before.”

“I'll see what I can do.”

Hamish's insatiable highland curiosity was pricked. He found Dr. Brodie in his kitchen, drinking coffee and reading a newspaper.

“What's brought you?” asked Dr. Brodie. “Coffee?”

“No thanks.”

“It's not Angela's. I got a flask from Patel. He's started to sell hot coffee.”

“Well, in that case…” Hamish poured a mug of coffee and sat down at the table.

“It's like this,” he said. “Your wife is right upset because you've turned nasty about her dress.”

“Did she tell you how much it cost?”

“Aye. But she's fair excited about this award.”

“Did she tell you she's got a new publisher for this detective story?”

“No. She did tell me she'd written it under another name.”

“Her editor was up here a while back,” said the doctor moodily.

“So?”

“He looks like Tom Cruise. They went off together to Strathbane for lunch and she didn't come back until the evening. She was all giggles. His name is Charles Davenport. Twice during the night since then, she's said ‘Charles' in her sleep. Then she shot off to pay a fortune for this wretched dress.”

“Why didn't you tell her you were jealous?”

“Me! Jealous?”

“Yes. You.”

“I was just angry that she was making a damn fool of herself.”

“Come on, man. This is Angela's big moment and you're spoiling it for her.”

Dr. Brodie stared down into his coffee mug. “She's a very attractive woman.”

Hamish thought of Angela with her mild pleasant face and wispy hair. Wish someone could love me as blindly as that, he thought.

“Look,” said Dr. Brodie, “you stood in for me before. Could you escort her?”

“Me? Why?”

“If I go, I'll spoil her evening by being rude to that popinjay, Davenport. I know I will.”

“Where is it, again?”

“Yon restaurant—Seven Steps.”

“I'd be glad to,” said Hamish quickly. “But what will you tell her?”

“I'll pretend to be ill. On a Monday morning, my surgery is full of folk pretending to be ill. I can join the club.”

Angela met Hamish on the waterfront as he strolled back to the police station. “Well?” she demanded.

“Your man is jealous.”

“What!”

“You went off for a long, long lunch wi' a gorgeous-​l
ooking
editor.”

“Oh, the dear man!”

“I think you'll find he's all right now.”

Angela stood on tiptoe and kissed Hamish on the cheek. “Thanks for everything.”

“Did you see that?” demanded Nessie Currie. “That Hamish Macbeth just can't leave the women alone.”

“Alone,” echoed her sister as the twins went off arm in arm to Patel's shop to spread the gossip.

Hamish went back to the police station to try to think what he could possibly do about Murdo Bentley. He daren't approach the man for fear of Daviot hearing about it.

Dick had left him a note on the kitchen table. “Gone up to Sandybeach to see if there might be anything we missed.”

Wondering why the usually lazy Dick had decided to go and do some police work on his own initiative, Hamish thought it was time he took some action himself.

He put the dog and cat in the Land Rover and set off on the Strathbane road.

Dick was not going to Sandybeach but to the library in Braikie. He felt that if Shona would only smile at him, it would take the dreadful memory of that
olds
remark away. A good part of his mind told him he was behaving like a lovesick teenager, but the rest craved seeing her again.

When he entered the library, he could hear Shona's voice coming from the children's section. He was just heading in that direction when a voice hailed him. “Mr. Fraser?”

He swung round. Hetty stood there smiling at him. “Looking for me?”

She had lipstick on her teeth.

“Aye,” said Dick. He could just hear Shona saying, “And then they lived happily ever after,” and the chatter of children's voices. “I wondered if you had remembered anything?” he said.

She shook her head.

“Did he ever talk about his ambitions? Was he always going to be a policeman?”

Hetty looked at her watch. “I was just about to go for lunch. Why don't we go together?”

“Oh, all right,” said Dick, his heart plummeting down into his regulation boots.

A wave of small children swept past, followed by Shona. “We were just about to go for lunch,” said Dick quickly. “Would you care to join us?”

“Not possible,” said Hetty. “You've got that cataloguing to do. I'll get my coat.”

“It'll need to be another time,” said Shona. She giggled. “Hetty wants you all to herself.”

“I'm only interviewing her as part o' my duties,” said Dick.

Shona grinned. “I think our Hetty is sweet on you.”

Hetty came hurrying back before Dick could reply. She hooked her arm around Dick's arm and gave him what she considered her best winsome smile.

Hetty chose the nearest pub, The Cameron, for lunch. It had been Scottishified by some brewery with plastic claymores on the wall and tartan carpet on the floor. Hetty ordered something called a Highland Slammer to drink. It came in a tall glass with two paper umbrellas. Dick had an orange juice and looked at the menu.

Hetty ordered Rabbie Burns broth to start followed by Prince Charlie's Angus steak and chips. Then she asked for the wine list and chose a bottle of Merlot.

Dick ordered Granny's Highland Haggis, the cheapest thing on the menu, and hoped he could get the price of the meal back on expenses.

“So,” said Dick, “did Cyril say anything about his plans for the future? I mean, had he ambitions to be a detective?”

“No, he didn't like them at Strathbane. Said they were a bunch of sheep shaggers.” Hetty laughed uproariously and Dick winced. “He said he was going to be rich and travel.”

“How did he plan to get the money to do that?”

“He said something about a change of career, but that was all.”

Hetty finished her Highland Slammer and started on the wine. “He did love me, you know,” she said, leaning across the table and looking into Dick's eyes.

“You've got lipstick on your teeth,” said Dick.

She scowled at him and scrubbed her teeth with her napkin.

“Excuse me!” Dick got to his feet and hurried to the men's room. He phoned Hamish.

“Could you phone me back in five minutes and order me out on a job?” pleaded Dick.

“Will do. What's up?”

“Tell you later.”

Dick spent a few minutes washing his hands before returning to the table. Hetty was becoming tipsy. She waggled a finger at him. “I know what you're after.”

Dick's phone rang. He answered it and said, “Right away, sir.”

When he rang off, he said to Hetty, “Got a job. I'll square this before I go.”

He rushed up to the bar and paid the bill. Hetty's voice followed him as he left the restaurant. “When will I see you again?”

As Dick left he saw Shona leaving the library. He felt he had made enough of a fool of himself for one day and was about to get into his car when she hailed him. “Hullo, Dick. Where's Hetty?”

“She's in the pub. I've been called out on a job.”

“What a pity. You and Hetty seem to be getting on well.”

“My only interest in Hetty,” said Dick, “is to see if she can remember anything important about Cyril. How can you stand the woman?”

“Oh, Hetty's all right. I'm a bit sorry for her. She's lonely.”

“I wonder why?” said Dick acidly.

She gave him a startled look, and Dick blushed. “Sorry to sound so cross,” he said. “But Hetty was getting drunk and I got fed up. I would rather have had lunch with you.”

“Maybe another time,” said Shona.

Dick sadly watched her walk away.

Hamish parked the Land Rover off the road under a stand of birch trees some distance from where Paolo Gonzales lived. He was out of uniform, dressed again in black trousers and a sweater with a black woollen hat pulled down over his red hair. He let the dog and cat run around the moorland for a bit before shutting them up in the Land Rover.

The day had turned grey with a fine mist drifting across the landscape. Hamish did not know what he expected to see. Johnny Livia had been pulled in for questioning about the murder of Jessie McTavish, but Hamish was sure the man would simply repeat his cast-iron alibi. He felt he could not spend another day idle. Perhaps if he covertly watched Paolo's cottage, he might learn something.

He approached the cottage by a circuitous route. He noticed that although the day was quite chilly, there was no smoke rising from the chimney, nor was there any car outside. It was possible that the man was at the restaurant.