by M C Beaton
There was the crunch of wheels on the gravel outside. One minute Hamish was lounging in the chair opposite Anderson. The next he was gone – and the bottle of whisky.
Hamish ambled along the front. A pale sun was beginning to turn the mist to gold, and there was a long patch of greenish-blue sky out on the horizon where the tiny white dot of a yacht bucketed about to show the approaching wind beyond the shelter of the harbour. The tide was out, leaving an expanse of oily pebbled beach scattered with the debris of storms and flotsam and jetsam from boats.
He tried to focus his whole mind on the problem of the murder to banish the haunting picture of Priscilla languishing away the afternoon in this man Harrington’s arms.
Then he saw the Roths approaching. They were an odd pair, he thought. Amy was a big, soft woman, but Marvin’s six feet topped her by a few inches. Although her movements were usually slow and calm, there seemed an underlying restlessness about her. She was wearing a trouser suit of faded denim with a scarf knotted about her throat. Marvin had changed into his usual sombre black business suit, and his bald head shone in the yellow light from the sea.
‘When is all this going to end?’ demanded Marvin as the couple came abreast of Hamish. ‘Amy isn’t used to being treated the way she’s been by your coppers. That Blair thinks he’s hot shit.’
‘I’m used to being treated like a lady,’ said Amy. ‘I thought all you Britishers were supposed to be gentlemen.’
‘We’re just like other folk,’ said Hamish soothingly. ‘Like sweeties. We come in all shapes and sizes and some of us are horrible.’
‘Sweeties?’ queried Amy, momentarily diverted.
‘Candy,’ translated Marvin. ‘See here, Amy’s like aristocracy back home. This Blair wouldn’t treat your Queen like this.’
‘It’s to my way of thinking that he might,’ said Hamish.
‘Well, it’s a pity Amy’s folks have all passed away or they would have something to say about this.’
Hamish looked at Amy as Marvin spoke and noticed the tightening of the skin at the corners of her eyelids and the way she was obviously ferreting around in her mind for a change of subject. He had a sudden intuition that Amy had been lying about her background. Well, a lot of people did, but they didn’t go around committing murder when they were found out. Or did they?
‘Why doesn’t Blair just arrest that major? He’s the only one who had it in for Lady Jane,’ said Amy. ‘You heard about his trick with the salmon?’
‘Oh, aye, the gossip went two times around the village and back again. It is very hard to keep anything quiet in the Highlands.’
Amy muttered something like, ‘Just like red hook,’ and Hamish wondered whether it was something to do with fishing.
‘Except murder,’ said Marvin. ‘This place is the asshole of the world. I don’t like the country, I don’t like the hick servants at the hotel. What’s a FEB?’
‘Nothing that would apply to you, Mr Roth. It is just an expression the barman uses.’
‘Him!’ said Marvin with great contempt. ‘He can’t even make a dry martini. One part gin to three parts warm French is his idea. Jeez, the fuckers in this dump piss me off.’
‘Honey,’ pleaded Amy, ‘watch your language.’
Hamish’s red eyebrows had vanished up under his cap with shock.
‘Sorry,’ said Marvin wearily. ‘I guess I’m frightened. I feel trapped here. If we’re going for this goddam constitutional, then we’d better get on with it.’
‘Catch any fish?’ asked Hamish.
‘Jeremy and Heather caught a trout each,’ said Marvin, ‘but those salmon just can’t be caught, in my opinion. They just jump about the place and keep well away from the hooks.’
‘I could lend you one of my flies,’ volunteered Hamish. ‘I have had a bit of luck with it.’
‘Say, why don’t you join us for dinner tonight and bring it with you,’ said Marvin. ‘Everyone knows you’re not on the case and we’re getting a bit sick of each other. After all, one of us did it and we all sit around wondering who’s going to be next.’
Hamish accepted the invitation and went on his way.
As he approached the hotel, he saw Jeremy coming down towards it from the direction of the Marag, still wearing his fishing gear.
‘Got one!’ he shouted as Hamish approached. He held up a fair-sized trout.
‘Let’s get into the hotel,’ said Hamish, noticing a reporter and photographer heading in their direction.
They walked together into the little room where Jeremy placed his catch on the scales and logged the weight in the book. ‘I was hearing that you were seen in the corridor outside Lady Jane’s room the night she was murdered,’ said Hamish.
‘Nonsense,’ said Jeremy, carefully lifting his fish off the scales. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be out of this investigation? I don’t think Blair would like to hear you had been asking questions.’
‘Maybe not. But he would like to hear what you’d been up to,’ said Hamish.
‘Then tell him and much good it may do you,’ yelled Jeremy. He rushed off, nearly bumping into Alice, who was watching them anxiously. Alice ran after Jeremy and, undeterred by the fact that he had slammed his room door in her face, she opened it and went in. He was sitting hunched on the edge of the bed. ‘That blasted, nosy copper,’ he said without looking up.
Alice sat down beside him and took his hand in hers. ‘What’s the matter, Jeremy?’ she pleaded. ‘You’ve been awful to me all day.’
‘Christ, I’ve got enough on my mind without worrying about you,’ snapped Jeremy. ‘I was seen outside Lady Jane’s room on the night of the murder.’
‘Oh, Jeremy. What happened?’
‘My father phoned me and told me about her. I got into a silly mess when I was at Oxford and I wanted to make sure she kept her mouth shut. She said if I spent the night with her, she would think about it. Can you imagine? That awful old cow.’
Alice tried to withdraw her hand. What if Jeremy had murdered Lady Jane? He looked so odd, older, grimmer, and there was a muscle jumping in his left cheek.
Jeremy turned and looked at her. ‘It wouldn’t have mattered so much if she had written about you,’ said Alice timidly. ‘I mean, it wasn’t so very bad.’
‘You don’t know anything about it,’ snapped Jeremy. In a flat voice, he told Alice of his Oxford scandals, although he omitted the fact he was still paying for the support of the barmaid’s child.
‘I could never have gone in for politics,’ he said. He felt shaken with nerves and anger. How stupid he’d been not to have told Hamish the whole thing. He needed a drink . . . or something.
He seized Alice suddenly and pulled her down on the bed. ‘Oh, Jeremy,’ whispered Alice, forgetting that she had thought him a murderer a moment ago, ‘do you love me?’
‘Yes, yes,’ mumbled Jeremy against her hair. He started to unbutton her blouse, and Alice was so thrilled and excited that he had confessed his love that she almost enjoyed the next ten minutes.
Day Six
Hope not for minde in women.
–John Donne
Hamish was up very early. He had been unable to sleep. It had been a miserable dinner party. Only Alice had seemed to enjoy herself. Daphne Gore appeared to be haunted by the spirit of Lady Jane in that she had seemed hell-bent on ruining the evening for everyone. Hamish could only be glad young Charlie was not present. The boy was suffering enough from hysterical women in the shape of his mother. Hamish had worn the dark grey suit that he kept for his occasional visits to church, and Daphne Gore had said he looked dressed for a funeral. She had then started to harangue the Roths over the American Cruise missiles, although it was evident to all that she was merely trying to be bitchy and didn’t care much one way or the other.
They had all drunk too much, because Amy had the nervous habit of constantly refilling their glasses without waiting for the waiter to come around.
And then as the climax to a truly horrible evening, Pri
scilla had arrived for dinner at the hotel with John Harrington. Harrington was everything Hamish detested in a man. He had a loud, carrying English voice, he fussed over the wine, he criticized the food. He had beautifully tailored clothes, a square, immaculately barbered chin, a tanned rugged face, and crinkly brown hair. And he made Priscilla laugh.
Hamish decided to take his boat out and try to catch some mackerel. He wandered down to the beach and untied the painter of his rowing boat. It was then that he saw the small figure of Charlie Baxter wistfully watching him.
‘Want to go out with me?’ called Hamish, and Charlie scampered down the beach.
‘What are you doing out so early, laddie?’ asked Hamish. ‘It isn’t even six o’clock yet.’
‘I wanted to get out,’ said Charlie. ‘My mother won’t mind. I often go out early for a walk. Things are pretty rough. I want to stay on with Auntie, and Mother wants me to go back.’
‘Maybe I’ll have a wee word with her,’ said Hamish. ‘Hop in and keep still.’
Charlie obeyed, sitting in the boat while Hamish pushed it out into the still waters of Lochdubh. The sun was just peeping over the horizon. The water was like glass, and the sky above was cloudless. ‘Looks as if it’s going to be a hot day,’ said Hamish, climbing in and taking the oars. He rowed them steadily out into the loch.
‘Where are we going?’ asked Charlie.
‘To catch mackerel. Dead easy.’
‘What with?’
‘A spinner. I’ll stop in a bit and show you how to do it.’
‘Are we going right out to sea?’
‘No, just a bit further.’
Charlie relapsed into silence, hanging over the side of the boat and staring at the sunlight dancing on the water.
Hamish at last shipped the oars and picked up a reel of stout twine with several hooks and silver spinners attached to it.
‘Do we bait the hooks?’ asked Charlie with interest.
‘No, the spinners do the trick. Mackerel will go for nearly anything. That’s why they’re sometimes called the scavengers of the sea. Just unwind the line and let it trail out behind the boat,’ said Hamish.
He began to row again, this time slowly and easily, shipping the oars from time to time.
Behind them, smoke began to rise from the chimneys of the village, and the twisted grotesque forms of the mountains stood out sharp against the clear sky.
‘Stop the boat,’ shrieked Charlie suddenly. ‘I think there’s something biting.’
‘Pull in the line,’ said Hamish, shipping the oars. Charlie wound the line in feverishly. ‘There’s fish on the end,’ he said. ‘Fish!’
‘Pull them in, there’s a good lad.’
Charlie jerked the line and hooks, spinners, fish and all crashed behind him in the boat.
‘There’s four mackerel,’ said Charlie as Hamish expertly dislodged the hooks and killed the fish. ‘Can we try again?’
‘Och, no,’ said Hamish. ‘We’ll just keep to what we can eat. Ready for breakfast?’
‘You mean we’ll cook them?’
‘Of course we will. It’s too early to wake your mother, so we’ll drop a note through the door to tell her where you are.’
Looking more childlike than Hamish had seen him before, Charlie smiled shyly and said, ‘You know, everything’s really so much better now that terrible woman has gone. I wish I could stay here.’
‘But your auntie has just come up for the summer.’
‘I overheard her say that she would stay on and put me to the school in Strathbane if my mother would leave me.’
‘And you would like that?’
‘Yes, Mr Macbeth. There’s that Mr Blair waiting for you on the beach,’ said Charlie. ‘Does that mean we can’t cook our catch?’
‘No, whatever happens, we’ll have time to eat.’
But Hamish privately thought it must be something very important to get Mr Blair out of his bed so early.
‘Well, we’ve got our man,’ said Mr Blair after Hamish had pulled up his boat on the beach. ‘While you were out enjoying yourself and playing with the weans, I got a call from Scotland Yard. Major Peter Frame was arrested two years ago for trying to strangle the secretary of the Buffers Club in Pall Mall. What d’you make of that?’
‘I would say it was still not proof the man strangled Lady Jane.’
‘Yes, well that’s why you’re a village bobby and I’m not. The man threatened her in front of witnesses.’
‘Have you arrested him?’
‘Not yet. He’s just helping us with our inquiries.’
‘I gather he’s got a fine war record.’
‘Not him,’ sneered Blair. ‘That’s something else we found out about him. He looks old enough, God knows, but he’s only fifty-four. He never was in the war, he never saw any action. He was a major in the Educational Corps in some unit down in Lincolnshire.’
‘I am sure Lady Jane knew that,’ said Hamish slowly.
‘We’re managing fine without your help, although instead of wasting your time fishing, you might see to your duties. That prick, Halburton-Smythe, was howling down the phone last night about some poacher.’
‘I will see to it,’ said Hamish, but Blair was already striding away.
Hamish stood looking after the detective, lost in thought. What if there had been a Lady Jane present at one of the other fishing classes? Would the same lies and petty snobberies have risen to the surface as well?
Charlie tugged his sleeve. ‘I rather like Major Frame,’ he said. ‘He’s a bit of an ass, but he’s jolly kind.’
‘Let’s leave a note for your mother,’ said Hamish, ‘and then we will have our breakfast.’
But before he cooked breakfast, he phoned Angus MacGregor, a layabout who lived on the other side of the village.
‘Is that yourself?’ said Hamish. ‘Aye, well, Angus, your sins have found you out because I am coming to arrest you after I have had my breakfast.’
Charlie listened with interest as the phone squawked.
‘Nonsense,’ said Hamish at last. ‘Havers. You bought that new rifle and it is well known that you could not hit the barn door. I will be over soon with the handcuffs.’
Hamish put the phone down and grinned at Charlie.
‘If he knows you are going to arrest him he might run away,’ said the boy, round-eyed.
‘That’s just what he will do,’ said Hamish, leading the way to the kitchen. ‘We’d best hide out in here, for they’ll be along with the major any moment. Yes, you see Angus has the wife and three children and it would not be right to take their useless father away from them to prison, so he will probably go to Aberdeen for a bit and he will return when he thinks I have forgotten about it. But he will not be trying to bag one of the colonel’s stags again.’
After a sustaining breakfast of mackerel dipped in oatmeal and fried in butter, Hamish accompanied Charlie home and was shortly closeted with Mrs Baxter for what seemed to the anxiously awaiting Charlie a very long time indeed.
When he emerged, he merely ruffled Charlie’s curls and took himself off.
He wandered along to the hotel to learn what the fishing school intended to do for the day. He found them all, with the exception of young Charlie and the major, seated in the lounge, getting a lecture on the ways of trout and salmon from John.
The Roths, Daphne, Jeremy and Alice were in high spirits. Even John Cartwright was cracking jokes. All had heard of the major’s ‘arrest’, and all were determined to believe him guilty.
‘It seems as if Mr Blair won’t be needing to grill us anymore,’ said John, ‘so we can go back to Loch Alsh and get some good fishing.’
As they all left the hotel, Hamish noticed that Jeremy had an arm around Alice’s shoulders.
Alice had spent the whole night in Jeremy’s bed. She felt light-headed with debility, happiness and relief. It was awful to have to go to the Cartwrights’ estate car with Charlie who had just joined the party and leave Jeremy with Daphne,
but he had promised to spend the day with her, Alice, and now she was sure he was on the point of proposing.
The nightmare was over. The murderer had been arrested. Alice, like the rest, had not really believed that ‘helping the police with their inquiries’ stuff. She began to wonder if she would have to give evidence at the trial. That would be exciting since she no longer had anything to fear from the newspapers.
The countryside now looked friendly. Heather blazed purple down the flanks of the mountain sides, and a peregrine falcon soared high in the wind currents in the sky above.
And then a little cloud began to appear on the sunny horizon of Alice’s mind. The clean, clear air was invigorating. Set against it, the dark, blanket-tussled writhings of the previous night seemed grimy. Then, again, he had not waited for her but had rushed off for breakfast, leaving her to make her own way down. There had been no long days of exchanged glances and holding hands. Alice shrugged and tried to feel worldly-wise. Wham bang, thank you, ma’am, was reality. All men were the same.
But her heart lifted when she climbed out of the car and Jeremy grinned and winked at her.
Her heart soared again when Daphne failed to lure Jeremy to join her in fishing at the mouth of the river. ‘I’ll stay here with Alice,’ he said. ‘She seems to be lucky.’
There it was – tantamount to an open declaration of love.
Jeremy and Alice fished amiably, if unsuccessfully, up until lunchtime. Alice had lost her fishing fever. All she wanted was Jeremy’s company. But when they broke for lunch, it transpired that Jeremy was still gripped by the desire to catch a fish.
‘Where’s Daphne?’ he said crossly. ‘I haven’t even had a nibble. Maybe I should have gone with her.’
‘She’s at the head of the loch by the river,’ said Heather.
‘If she’s still fishing after this time, she must have got something,’ said Jeremy. ‘I think I’ll go and look.’
Heather glanced at Alice’s dismal face. ‘Finish your sandwiches,’ she said placidly, ‘and we’ll all go and look. Oh, drat, here’s the village bobby. Imagine travelling all this way just to scrounge a sandwich . . .’