Hamish Macbeth 20 (2004) - Death of a Poison Pen (8 page)

Jenny stared at him. What had she told him before?

“I—I d-don’t have a j-job,” she stuttered. “I didn’t like to tell you that before. You see, Mummy and Daddy give me a generous allowance. I don’t have to work and I’m a bit ashamed of being such a layabout.”

“And where do Mr. and Mrs. Ogilvie live?”

“Chipping Norton.”

“In the Cotswolds?”

“Yes.”

“Address?”

“Look, is all this necessary?” said Jenny desperately. “They’ll be worried sick if they know I’m up here where there have been two murders.”

“So you know about the murders?”

“Yes, I had dinner with that Pat Mallone. He told me.”

“Right. Parents’ address?”

“Manor Farm, Sheep Lane, Chipping Norton.”

“Phone number?”

“I forgot to bring it with me. I can never remember it.”

Hamish closed his notebook. “You’ll be hearing from me.” He left abruptly and Jenny heaved a sigh of relief.

Her relief disappeared when Hamish came back five minutes later and sat down again. “Now, Miss Ogilvie”—no more ‘Jenny’—“I have spoken to your parents. They do not know you are up here. Furthermore, they say you work for a computer company in the City called Camber Stein. Camber Stein confirm you are on holiday. Why did you lie to me?”

“I…I…I…”

“I have a friend who works at Camber Stein. Her name is Priscilla Halburton-Smythe. Do you know her? No more lies.”

“Yes,” mumbled Jenny.

“Does she know you are here?”

“No. She had talked a lot about Lochdubh. I had some holiday owing and decided to come up here at the last minute. I hadn’t time to tell her.”

Hamish leant back in his chair and surveyed her. “It would have been natural to tell her. She was brought up here, she is my ex-fiancee, her parents own the local hotel. So why not?”

“I’m telling you, I hadn’t time,” shouted Jenny.

“You’ve been awfy interested in me since you arrived,” said Hamish slowly. “I’m not the subject of some joke between you and Priscilla, am I?”

“No, no. Honestly, she doesn’t know I’m here.”

“I’ll check it out. Be back shortly. Don’t move.”

Hamish went outside and took out his mobile phone, dialled the computer company, and asked to speak to Priscilla. When her cool voice came on the line, his heart gave a lurch. “It’s Hamish,” he said.

“Hamish! I haven’t heard from you in ages.”

“Do you know a girl called Jenny Ogilvie?”

“Yes, of course. I work with her and she’s a friend. Why?”

“She’s here.”

“What! In Lochdubh?”

“Aye.”

“Good heavens. She was round at my place only about a week ago. Why didn’t she tell me?”

“That’s what I was wondering. First of all, she lied about where she worked. Then she said she didn’t work and that her parents were supporting her. Then she said she came up on an impulse. I am not a vain man but she seemed to be setting her cap at me.”

There was a silence, and then Priscilla said slowly, “I have been talking about you. I think she is a little bit jealous of me. Maybe she thought that if she could snare you, it might put my nose out of joint.”

Again that lurch at the heart.

“I’ll get rid of her.”

There was a silence. Then Priscilla said, “No, don’t spoil her holiday. She’s had bad luck with men and always chooses rotters. She’s actually very kind. When I had the flu last winter, she came round and nursed me and did all my shopping.”

“I thought your fiancé, Peter, would have been on hand to do that.”

“He couldn’t spare the time. He works very hard. Maybe she could help you on this case.”

“What! Her? Priscilla, the lassie’s daft.”

“She’s got a knack of getting people to talk to her. People on the tube end up telling her their life stories.”

“The place is crawling with police. I haff no need of herself’s help,” said Hamish stiffly, the strength of his Highland accent showing he was upset. But what had he expected? That Priscilla would immediately fly up to confront Jenny? He had broken off the engagement because of Priscilla’s aloofness. Why go down that road again?

“Suit yourself,” said Priscilla.

“I usually do. When’s the wedding?”

“We’ve put it off again. Peter’s awfully busy. I’ll let you know.”

“Do that. I’d better get on with my work. Goodbye.” Hamish rang off and stared bleakly along the misty waterfront. The thick mist was beginning to shift and eddy like so many ghosts being called home.

He gave a sigh, then went in and sat down in front of Jenny. “Don’t ever lie to me again,” he said. “I’ve just spoken to Priscilla.”

“Oh, God.” Jenny’s face was scarlet and her large eyes were swimming with tears. “I’ll leave today.”

Hamish’s face softened. “No need for that. Let’s forget about the whole thing. Enjoy your holiday.” He stood up and, on impulse, bent down and kissed her on the cheek.

After he had left, Jenny slowly put her hand up to the cheek he had kissed.

Mrs. Dunne bustled in to clear the breakfast things away. “What did Hamish want?” she asked.

“Just asking questions about why I was here,” said Jenny. She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. “I seem to have an allergy.”

“Morning!” Pat Mallone bounced into the breakfast room.

“I must ask you both to clear out of here,” said Mrs. Dunne. “It’s past time for me cleaning the dining room.”

“It’s all right,” said Pat cheerfully. “We’re just leaving. Got your coat?”

“Yes,” said Jenny, picking up her new anorak from the chair next to her. She followed him out onto the waterfront. “Where are we going? I was thinking of leaving today.”

“You can’t. We’ve got two murders to solve.”

“Isn’t that Hamish’s job?”

“What! The local bobby? In my opinion, that man’s overrated. Let’s go to Braikie and ask around. I’ve been sent to get local colour and background. The boss has a commission from the
Daily Bugle
for a feature piece. This is my chance to shine in one of the nationals.”

Hamish decided on arrival in Braikie that he should interview Penny Roberts, the headmistress’s pet. He knew if he approached Arkle, he would be told that he was disrupting lessons. He entered the school and knocked at the glass door of the secretary, Freda Mather.

He heard a faint ‘Come in’ and opened the door. Freda turned white when she saw him and swayed in her chair. He went quickly round behind her desk and said, “Now then, lassie, take deep breaths. That’s it. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

She gulped in air and then said, “I’m all right now. Honest. When I saw you, the first thing I thought was that there had been another murder.”

“Now, why should you think that?”

“It’s silly. But there’s such an atmosphere of suspicion and threat around. I’m sorry. How can I help?”

“I would like a quiet word with Penny Roberts.”

“Mr. Arkle won’t like that.”

“Where is Mr. Arkle?”

“He’s away today. He’s at a board of education meeting.”

“So we don’t need to bother about him,” said Hamish bracingly. “And what he doesn’t know can’t upset him.”

“Won’t her parents need to be present?”

“No, it’s not as if she’s being charged with anything. You’ll do.”

Freda rose and went to the wall where class schedules were pinned up. “Penny’s in the art class at the moment and art is not her best subject. I’ll go and get her.”

Hamish waited patiently. Footsteps came and went in the corridor outside.

After he had interviewed Penny, he decided, he would get the home addresses of the teachers and call on them after school. He remembered his own school report: “brilliant but lazy.” His teachers had never really forgiven him for coming out on top in all the exams while apparently doing very little work. He wondered if Penny would turn out to be an egghead. Teachers felt comfortable with swots.

The door opened and Freda ushered in a teenager. She was a quite remarkable beauty. She had thick black hair and a perfect complexion and huge blue eyes. She was wearing the school uniform of grey sweater and grey pleated skirt with a blue shirt and striped tie. Hamish noticed that the skirt was very short and she was wearing sheer black tights and those clumpy shoes with thick soles like diving boots.

Freda produced two chairs for them and then sat down nervously behind her desk.

“I am PC Hamish Macbeth,” said Hamish.

“I know.” Penny smiled at him out of those incredible eyes and flicked a lock of glossy black hair over one shoulder. “Word gets around.”

“Now, Penny, I’ll get straight to the point. I’m trying to find out as much as I can about the character of your late headmistress.”

“Head teacher,” corrected Penny.

“Whatever. You see, sometimes the character of the deceased can give the police a clue as to why she was murdered. I believe you were something of a favourite with her.”

“Aye. She was all over me like a rash,” said Penny with an almost adult insouciance.

“So tell me about her.”

Penny shrugged. “She was always finding excuses to invite me round to her house. Said I had a brilliant future. Always making excuses that I need extra coaching in this and that. She said I didn’t want to rot the rest of my life in a place like Braikie. Oh, I ‘member. She got mad at me once. I told her I wasn’t going to the university. I mean, university in Strathbane! Spotty students. Dead-alive hole.” Another flick of the hair, a crossing of long legs, a sideways glance. “I told her I was going to be a television presenter and she went apeshit.”

“Penny!” admonished Freda.

“Sorry. But she went into full rant. Said television was full of men who would prey on me.

“I said, ‘What’s up with that?’ and she told me to get out of her house. But she sent me flowers the next day and an apology.”

“Didn’t your parents find her behaviour…weird?”

“Oh, Ma and Da think teachers are God. They could see nothing wrong with her.”

“Did it ever cross your mind that she might be a lesbian?”

Penny’s beautiful brow furrowed in thought. “No. I mean, she didn’t look Greek.”

So there
was
some innocence left in that beautiful brain, thought Hamish.

“You’re bound to know sooner or later,” he said. “Miss McAndrew appears to have been the author of those poison-pen letters. Did you have any idea she was writing them?”

For once, Penny looked shocked out of her normal composure. “I’d never have guessed,” she said. “I mean, who would think a head teacher would do something like that? Mind you, she always seemed to have taken a spite to someone, always complaining.”

“Did she ever complain about Miss Beattie?”

“Well, she did. Let me think. Said something about the way she was going on was disgraceful. Oh, there’s something else weird.”

“What?”

“I’ll tell you if you don’t let on.”

“Penny, I promise to let anything you say to me stay between these four walls—unless, of course, it relates directly to the murder.”

“It’s like this. Geordie Cromarty…”

“The ironmonger’s son.”

“Yes, him. He phoned me one night and said if I slipped out, he would buy me fish and chips. I’d been on this diet, see. If you’re going to be on television, you have to be thin. I was fair starving so I said I’d meet him. I slipped out by the bedroom window and met him in the main street.”

“About what time of night would that have been?”

“It was just before eleven. He said to hurry up because the chippy closed at eleven. So we were going to the chippy and you know what Braikie’s like at that time of night—dead as a doornail. Then I saw on the other side of the lights from the chippy’s window this cloaked figure. “Someone’s coming,” I said. So we hid in a doorway. She passed us. She had this long black cloak with a hood right down over her face. A gust of wind blew the hood back and it was her and she looked real weird.”

“Miss McAndrew?”

“Herself. She was muttering something under her breath. I tell you, it gave us both a scare. We stayed in the doorway until we were sure she had gone, and by the time we got to the chippy, it had closed.”

“Didn’t you think it odd that your former head teacher should be behaving so strangely?”

“Grown-ups are all weird, if you ask me,” said Penny with all the brutality of youth. “I’m never going to get like that.”

“What night did you see her?”

“A few nights back. Can’t remember which one.”

Hamish asked her a few more questions and then dismissed her.

He turned to Freda. “Did you think Miss McAndrew was weird?”

“No. Like I said, I thought she was a bully. I did think she was overfond of Penny, but teachers sometimes get harmless crushes on pupils. Sometimes it’s the other way round.” A smile lifted her pale lips. “Mind you, there’s no one in this school to get a crush on.”

Hamish thanked her and left. He sat on a wall outside the school and made rapid notes.

Miss McAndrew had taught many pupils in her career, seen them grow up, maybe knew their secrets. She had hit on one that meant ruin for someone. He closed his notebook with a sigh. He had better go back in again and ask to see Geordie.

Freda had regained a little bit of colour when she ushered Geordie in to speak to Hamish. If only the lassie could get another job, thought Hamish. On the other hand, maybe she would attract bullies wherever she went.

Geordie Cromarty was small and swarthy. He had hair as black as Penny’s and it grew low on his forehead. His eyes were the same peculiarly silvery light grey as Elspeth’s. People with such eyes were often credited with having the second sight, the ability to see the future. Hamish thought of the seer of Lochdubh, Angus Macdonald. Perhaps it might be an idea to call on him later and see if he’d heard anything. Hamish was sure most of Angus’s predictions were based on gossip.

“Now, Geordie,” began Hamish, “Penny tells me you were both out in Braikie one night and saw Miss McAndrew behaving strangely.”

“Aye, her looked like something out o’ a horror movie, big cloak and all.”

“Now, Penny can’t remember which night it was. Can you?”

“Sure. It was the night afore that auld biddy in the post office topped herself.”

“May I remind you that Miss Beattie was murdered?”