Death of a Gentle Lady hm-24

by M C Beaton

  He looked at her with gratitude. No one else had thought of how he must feel.

  He heard sirens in the distance. “Are there any odd strangers up at the hotel apart from Harold Jury?”

  “I’ll double-check,” said Priscilla. “I don’t think so. Apart from the press, there are a few die-hard fishermen.”

  ♦

  Superintendent Daviot’s head appeared over the parapet. “Come up here, Macbeth, and let the men do their work. Oh, Miss Halburton-Smythe, how nice to see you.”

  Priscilla and Hamish climbed up the bank. “I’d better be off,” said Priscilla.

  “Can we meet for dinner?” asked Hamish.

  “I’ll phone you.”

  Elspeth watched them and then saw the way Hamish looked after Priscilla as she got into her car and drove off.

  She edged her way back through the press and walked round to where the police Land Rover was parked on the bridge. Elspeth opened the passenger door, got in, and crouched down.

  Daviot said to Hamish, “That was good work.”

  “I’m going to check at the hotel,” said Hamish. “They’ve got bikes they let their guests use.”

  He walked to the Land Rover, seemingly deaf to the cries of the journalists demanding to know the significance of the bicycle.

  Hamish switched on the engine and then glanced down to his left and stiffened. “Chust what do you think you are doing, Elspeth?” he demanded.

  “I’m a reporter, remember? I want something to report.”

  “Tell you what, if you go to the station and take Lugs and Sonsie for a walk and feed them, I’ll give you something to report.”

  “Like when?”

  “Say five o’clock.”

  “You’re on, copper. What did your hooker think of the possibility of sharing a home with your two other wives – Sonsie and Lugs?”

  “Get out!”

  “I’m going.”

  Hamish drove off, feeling highly irritated. He regretted telling Elspeth he would see her later. She had jeered at him in the past over his devotion to his pets.

  When he walked into the hotel, he glanced in the bar and then walked through to the lounge not just to see if he could find any odd-looking guests, but also to see if he could meet Priscilla again.

  Apart from Harold Jury and his laptop, there were no other guests in the lounge. But the surprise was that Harold appeared to be entertaining Mrs. Wellington and the Currie sisters. Hamish ambled over to join them despite a ferocious keep-out-of-this look on Mrs. Wellington’s face.

  Harold wanted to berate Hamish over the trick he had played on him, but bit his lip when he realised how silly it would make him sound.

  Nessie Currie said, “If you behave yourself, Hamish, there might even be a part for you.”

  “A part in what?” Hamish asked curiously.

  “The Mothers’ Union is going to put on a production of Macbeth and we are here to ask this distinguished author to help us.”

  “Has Mr. Jury any knowledge of the theatre?”

  “He is a cultured man, cultured man,” said Jessie. “Which is mair than what you are. Go and find your murderers, murderers.”

  Harold had been about to refuse, but the thought of becoming a presence in the village would wipe out his humiliation. From the look on the constable’s face, it would irritate him no end.

  Hamish walked back to the reception area. Priscilla was just coming out of the manager’s office.

  “Hullo again,” she said. “You look upset.”

  Hamish told her of the offer to Harold. “It’s not fitting. The man could be a murderer.”

  “Hamish, he is a famous author. That was a dirty trick you played on him. Fortunately I was able to soothe him by telling him you were by way of being the village clown.”

  “Priscilla! That’s an awfy harsh thing to say.”

  “I had to do something. The press will soon leave, and the hotel needs all the guests it can get. Having someone of Jury’s stature here is good for business.”

  “Why? Is business that bad?”

  “The European Union’s lousy economy and the weak dollar are killing off the tourists. In the grouse season, we used to get the French, and Americans in the fishing season. Now most of our guests, such as we have, are homegrown. We swore that next time the press arrived in Lochdubh, we would turn them away, but we can’t do that because we need the business.”

  “What about the Irish? They’ve done well out of the Union.”

  “We got one Irishman here, but he’s only interested in hill walking.”

  “What’s his name? You didn’t tell me about him.”

  “It slipped my mind. Patrick Fitzpatrick.”

  “What’s he like?”

  “Tall beanpole of a fellow. Very quiet. Courteous. Quite good-looking.”

  “I’d like to look at the shed where you keep the bikes.”

  “Most of them are falling to bits. Any keen cyclist usually stays at a youth hostel. The ones we get either drive or walk. I’ll get the key.”

  Hamish waited. Mrs. Wellington’s voice suddenly boomed from the lounge, “All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand.”

  And Harold’s amused cry of “Splendid.”

  The bastard’s going to treat the whole thing as a joke, thought Hamish.

  Priscilla came out with the key. They walked together out of the hotel and round to the shed in back where the bikes were kept. Hamish examined the lock. “It hasn’t been forced, but it’s a simple lock, easily picked. Did Johnson say anything about anyone asking for a bike?”

  “Yes, just one. A Mrs. Fanshawe. But she’s so deadly respectable, it couldn’t be her.”

  “I’ve got to meet her.”

  Priscilla opened the door and they went into the dusty darkness of the shed. “Mr. Johnson said she borrowed the mountain bike. We’ve only two of them. The rest are pretty old.”

  “And shoogly,” said Hamish. “You’re right. Half of them look as if they would fall to bits.”

  “Yes, but the thing is, Hamish, I can’t remember us having a bicycle like the one in the river.”

  She went over to straighten a bike which had fallen, but Hamish said, “Don’t touch it. Might be an idea to get this place dusted for fingerprints. Let’s go back to the hotel. I’d like to meet this Mr. Fitzpatrick.”

  “He usually turns up about now for afternoon tea.”

  Hamish’s stomach rumbled. He had not yet had time to eat anything. “Is there any hope of tea for me?” he asked. “I’m awfy hungry.”

  “You don’t change,” laughed Priscilla. “All right. Mr. Fitzpatrick is a bit cheap. I’ll offer to pay for his tea and order one for you.”

  ♦

  Patrick Fitzpatrick was delighted to accept Priscilla’s offer of afternoon tea. He was a slim, fit-looking man in his forties with a shock of ginger hair, a thin face, a small pursed mouth, and skin reddened by walking in the cold.

  Priscilla said, “Mr. Fitzpatrick – ”

  “Patrick, please.”

  “Very well. Patrick. Hamish Macbeth here would like to ask you a few questions.”

  He paused, a scone dripping butter in his hand. “What could I possibly know that could help the police?” His Irish accent was light, and his voice unexpectedly high and reedy.

  Hamish gulped down a tea cake and asked, “You do a fair bit of walking. Have you seen a strange woman around? She’s tall, possibly wearing dark glasses, headscarf, breeches.”

  “Oh, her,” said Patrick, reaching out for another scone.

  “Where?” asked Hamish urgently. “Where did you see her and when?”

  “It must have been the day before yesterday. I was walking along the upper reaches of the river, must have been about two o’ clock. She was coming the other way. I shouted out, “Fine day,” but she stared at me for a moment and then turned and hurried off up the brae. Then I heard the sound of a car starting up.”

  “Can you remember exactly
at which point on the riverbank you saw her?”

  “It’s where the river makes a loop and there’s a stand of silver birch.”

  “I know it. I’d better go and have a look.” Hamish grabbed two tiny sandwiches and hurried off, eating them as he went. He realised he would need to go back at some point and ask Patrick what he did for a living and why he was at the hotel.

  ♦

  He drove up into the hills and followed the narrow one-track road which ran along beside the River Anstey. He parked on the road above the bend in the stream described by Patrick and looked around. He searched the road, then went down and searched along the river. He had recently seen a detective series on television where the detective had found a book of matches with the name of a sinister nightclub. The only things he found were two rusty tin cans.

  The nights were drawing in. He looked at his watch. It was just coming up to five o’clock. He’d better get back to the station.

  ♦

  He found not only Elspeth but also Jimmy waiting for him. “There’s no time to talk to your lady friend,” said Jimmy. “We’ve got to get down to headquarters. Some Russian detective’s come over.”

  “I didn’t think the death of a prostitute would rank high on their list of investigations.”

  “It’s an inspector called Anna Krokovsky. She’s been visiting the Met in London to study British police methods. She read about our case in the newspapers and asked to be sent north. You’re to come with me to headquarters.”

  “I’m sorry, Elspeth,” said Hamish. “I’d better go. But you’ve got a wee bit of a story.” He turned to Jimmy. “I don’t suppose there’ll be anything wrong in Elspeth writing about her visit?”

  “Shouldn’t think so, Hamish. Come on.”

  “I’ll lock up when I go,” said Elspeth. Her laptop was on the kitchen table.

  “Right. Put the key back up on the gutter. What’s this Russian woman like?”

  “Don’t know. Haven’t met her yet. I only just got the summons.”

  ♦

  Does anyone still drink sherry? wondered Hamish as Helen, Daviot’s secretary, tried to whip a tray of glasses past him so that he couldn’t have any – without success, as Hamish had long arms. But then, the murderer had tempted Irena with Amontillado.

  Daviot was beaming. He was at his most avuncular. “This pretty lady has come to watch our methods. Inspector Krokovsky, may I present the detective at the moment leading the investigation with my help – Detective Inspector Jimmy Anderson. Then there is Detective Sergeant Andy MacNab and now our local constable, Hamish Macbeth.”

  Anna Krokovsky nodded and sipped her glass of sherry. She was of medium height with a face that somehow reminded Hamish of Putin. Her grey eyes were watchful and her trim body, in a well-tailored uniform, slight but muscular. Her hair was her one beauty, being very thick, wavy, and dark brown.

  “Perhaps,” said Daviot, “you would like to say a few words, Miss Krokovsky.”

  “It’s Inspector Krokovsky,” she said. “I took this opportunity to investigate policing in the provinces, particularly as the investigation concerns one of our nationals.” Her English was obviously fluent and carried faint tones of an American accent.

  Hamish’s highland curiosity overcame him. “Is that an American accent, ma’am?” he asked.

  “I studied at Harvard Business School before I entered the force,” she said.

  “So what can you tell us about Irena?” pursued Hamish.

  “Irena ran away from an orphanage in Moscow and lived on the streets. She was subsequently employed in a brothel, a top-class brothel, which is where she met her protector, Grigori Antonov. She travelled with him on business and, as you now know, stole a passport while they were in Istanbul and escaped.

  “You are Hamish Macbeth. You were engaged to be married to her. I would like to speak to you as soon as possible. Where is your office? Here?”

  “No, ma’am. In Lochdubh, a village about half an hour from here.”

  “Is that near this castle?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes what, Hamish,” barked Daviot.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Then I would like to make a start. You will take me to your police station and we will talk on the road.”

  “It’s getting late, Inspector,” said Daviot. “Would you not like to wait until the morning?” He cast his eye over the trays of canapes. Helen would just need to parcel them up, and he could take them home.

  “I would like to go now.”

  ♦

  Hamish fumbled for the key in the gutter, hoping that Elspeth had left, and heaved a sigh of relief when his fingers closed on it. Anna, who had driven in her own car, stood behind him and remarked, “You are not very security-conscious.”

  “Oh, no one steals anything here,” said Hamish.

  He ushered her in. The kitchen was warm. Elspeth had lit the stove. Lugs and Sonsie came running to greet him.

  “That is an odd cat, like a lynx,” said Anna. “Is it safe?”

  “Yes.”

  She took off her huge peaked cap and placed it on the table.

  “Before we begin, ma’am…”

  “You may call me Anna when we are not officially on duty.”

  “Very well, Anna. I am very hungry and I’m sure you haven’t had time to eat anything. There is a very good restaurant here. Please let me take you for dinner.”

  “I would like that.”

  “Oh, I forgot. You are in your Russian uniform, and there are still a number of press about.”

  “I have my suitcases in my car. I will bring them in and change.”

  ♦

  Hamish changed into a suit, collar, and tie while Anna was in the bathroom. He had helped her carry in two huge suitcases. One lay open on his bed.

  Anna eventually appeared wearing black velvet trousers, a white silk blouse with a low neckline, and a black velvet jacket encrusted with gold embroidery. Pay must be good in Moscow, thought Hamish. She went into the bedroom, opened the other suitcase, and dragged out a sable coat, which she put on. “I am ready,” she said.

  ♦

  To Hamish’s relief, the restaurant was quiet. “You should ha’ been here earlier, Hamish,” said the waiter, Willie Lamont. “So many folk! Your lady is new to the village?” He hovered hopefully.

  “Just give us a couple of menus, Willie, and go away,” said Hamish.

  Willie came back with the menus. “Would you like some vodka?” asked Hamish.

  “I will take some wine.”

  “Would that be an American accent?” asked Willie.

  Anna turned pale eyes up to him. “You are a waiter, are you not? So wait. Do not ask impertinent questions.”

  When Willie had gone off again, Hamish said awkwardly, “You must forgive Willie. He used to work for me but he fell in love with the restaurant owner’s daughter. This is a very democratic village. You see, in the Highlands, everyone considers himself equal to everyone else. There are few class distinctions. If, for example, I considered myself superior to the villagers in any way, they would not gossip to me – and in the past that gossip has helped me solve cases.”

  “I looked up your file,” said Anna. “You have had a lot of success and yet you are still a village policeman.”

  “I am not ambitious. I love this village. I do not want to leave.”

  “Odd. Let us choose what we are going to eat.”

  Hamish, mindful of his budget, settled for minestrone followed by spaghetti Bolognese. Anna chose a dish of antipasti and then an escalope Milanese.

  Willie came up again and asked them stiffly what they wanted to order. This time Anna smiled at him. “I am not American. I am Russian.”

  Willie looked alarmed. “Might I be having a wee word with you, Hamish?”

  “This lady is an inspector in the Moscow police,” said Hamish, sure that Willie thought he had hitched up with another hooker.

  Willie’s face cleared. “Welcome,�
� he said. “I thought – ”

  “Never mind what you thought, Willie. Take the orders.”

  When they were alone again, Anna said, “Now, tell me how it was that you came to propose marriage to Irena.”

  Hamish explained how he had thought he was doing a good turn. And then over the rest of the meal, he outlined what he knew about Mrs. Gentle and how he was sure that Irena had overheard something at the family reunion that had made her a danger to someone.

  “We will start first thing in the morning,” said Anna. She looked over Hamish’s shoulder. A strikingly beautiful blonde woman was staring in the window at them with a look of dismay on her face.

  “I’d better take you up to the hotel and find you a room,” said Hamish.

  “No need. I am used to roughing it. I will sleep at your station.”

  Anna looked again but the beautiful woman had gone.

  ♦

  Priscilla hurried back along the waterfront to the police station, where she had left her car. On impulse, she took down the key from the gutter over the kitchen door, unlocked the door, and went in. She looked in the bedroom. She looked at Anna’s cases on Hamish’s bed. Anna had hung away her uniform in Hamish’s wardrobe.

  Priscilla left and shut the door behind her. For the first time she thought that she did not really know Hamish.

  She saw that bright little picture in her mind again – Hamish in his best suit talking intently to a woman as if she were the only thing that mattered in his world.

  ∨ Death of a Gentle Lady ∧

  6

  “Reeling and Writhing, of course, to begin with,” the Mock Turtle replied, “and the different branches of Arithmetic – Ambition, Distraction, Unification and Derision.”

  —Lewis Carroll

  Hamish received a phone call from Jimmy early next morning, asking him to bring Anna to the castle.

  “Daviot was worried when she didn’t turn up at her hotel in Strathbane last night, but then she phoned and said she was staying with you. Our boss hopes you’re not carrying any detente further than it should go.”

  “I’ve been sleeping in the cell,” grumbled Hamish. “I’ve got to get her to the Tommel Castle Hotel this morning, somehow, and then I’ll bring her over.”

  He heard a loud scream from the bedroom and a shout of “Get off!”