M. C. Beaton_Hamish Macbeth_11

by Death of a Nag

  He sat down on the bed and started to remove his shoes. It was then, with one shoe half off, that he suddenly realized that although Miss Gunnery had given him an alibi, by accepting her lie and going along with it, he had supplied her with a cast-iron alibi.

  And he was convinced someone in this boarding-house had murdered Bob Harris.

  When he went down to the dining-room in the morning, Cheryl and Tracey were there, both heavily made up and both wearing those short leather skirts and plunging tops.

  “Going to a party?” asked Hamish.

  Cheryl shrugged. “Thon policeman says we werenae tae speak tae the press but Tracey and me want our photos in the papers. The minute we’ve had our breakfasts, we’re goin’t oot there.”

  Andrew came into the room at that moment. He had dark shadows under his eyes, as if he had slept badly. He had just sat down when Doris arrived. She looked around the room with bleak, empty eyes and then, after a little hesitation, went and joined Andrew at his table. Then came the Brett family, the children wide-eyed and subdued.

  “You’re a policeman,” said Dermott, stopping at Hamish’s table. It was a statement, not a question.

  “That Crick told me,” Dermott went on. “So what are you going to do about this?”

  “I’m on holiday,” said Hamish, “and I’m still a suspect myself, so I can’t interfere.”

  Mr. and Mrs. Rogers came into the dining-room carrying plates of fried haggis and watery eggs. “Has it occurred to you,” pursued Dermott, “that one of us might have done it?”

  Mrs. Rogers was carrying three plates. She dropped them with a crash.

  “Look,” said Hamish, “that was the first thought about it I had. But just think. Which one of us here had a reason to murder Bob Harris?” All eyes slid to Doris.

  “Yes, I know the wife’s the first suspect, but can anyone see Doris actually killing anyone?”

  Andrew’s voice was hard. “Drop it, Hamish. Doris has enough to bear without having to listen to all this.”

  Hamish and Dermott murmured apologies. Dermott joined June and the children. Mrs. Rogers scurried about cleaning up the mess. “Some of you will just have to do without haggis,” said Mr. Rogers.

  “I think we could all do with a decent breakfast.” Hamish got to his feet. “I’ll cook it.”

  “No one is allowed in the kitchen this morning,” exclaimed Mr. Rogers, barring the doorway.

  “Then it’s time they were,” said Miss Gunnery. “Come along, Hamish. I’ll help you.”

  Despite the Rogerses’ protests, they collected up the plates that had been served, and walked through to the kitchen, where they scraped the contents into the rubbish bin. Hamish picked up a pot and took it over to the sink and washed it thoroughly. He began to scramble eggs while Miss Gunnery made piles of toast.

  It was voted the best breakfast they had ever had and was eaten deaf to the speech made by Mr. Rogers that they would all have to pay for the extra eggs.

  “Put on the radio over there,” said Dermott, “and let’s hear the news.”

  Hamish looked anxiously at Doris. “Do you think you can stand it?”

  She nodded. Andrew reached across the table and took her hand and pressed it.

  Hamish switched on an old-fashioned radio in the corner, the kind featured in old war documentaries with families listening to Churchill talking about fighting them on the beaches. It crackled into life in time for the nine o’clock news. “Police have discovered the remains of three bodies in the garden of a house in Tanwill Road, Perth,” said the announcer. “The house belongs to a builder, Frank Duffy. The area has been cordoned off and police are appealing to the public to stay away. We will bring you an update as soon as we have further news. An IRA attack on Heathrow Airport was foiled when . . .” And so the news went on without a single mention of Bob Harris.

  “Have the police here asked for press silence on our murder?” asked Dermott.

  Hamish switched off the radio and sat down again. “A man being hit on the head and pushed into the water is as nothing compared to these Perth murders. The only reason there were so many press around last night was because there was nothing much else going on. At least it means we’ll get peace and quiet today.”

  “Whit?” Cheryl and Tracey looked at Hamish in comic dismay. “Whit about us? We want our photos in the papers.” Cheryl went to the window and looked out. “Not a soul,” she said in disgust. “And we got up at dawn tae get ready.”

  “I think we are forgetting our manners,” said Miss Gunnery severely. “Doris, I am sure you know you have our deepest sympathy.” This statement was followed by rather shamefaced murmurs all round. And yet it was hard to feel sorry for Doris. She was now free of a dreadful husband.

  “A police car’s jist arrived,” said Cheryl, still looking out.

  After a few moments the door of the dining-room opened and Deacon came in. “Tracey Fink and Cheryl Gamble,” he said, “I must ask you to accompany us to the police station.”

  “It’s a fit-up. You cannae pin this one on us,” said Cheryl, whose home in Glasgow had satellite television.

  “You were heard by some of the lads at the dance saying as how ye would like tae bump someone off tae see whit it felt like,” said Deacon. “Come along. Ye’ve a lot of explaining to do.” He turned to Hamish. “And I haven’t finished with you by a long chalk. None of the rest of you leave Skag without permission.”

  Protesting their innocence, Cheryl and Tracey were led out.

  “I think we’d all feel more at ease with each other,” said Hamish into the following silence, “if we all got together and said where we were yesterday afternoon. Bob Harris was seen at two o’clock on the jetty by that fisherman and he says when he looked out half an hour later, there was no sign of Harris. So if we move through to the lounge, we could explain to each other where we all were at that time.”

  “And I think Doris has just as much as she can take at the moment,” protested Andrew.

  But Doris said in a small voice, “Don’t you see, we’ve got to know? I don’t mind.”

  And so they all went through to the lounge and sat round in a circle.

  “Maybe we’ll start with Doris and let her get it over with,” said Hamish.

  In a flat voice, Doris described her day. “I knew Bob was livid with me over protecting Hamish. I was terrified. I had never really stood up to him before. So I simply ran away. I did not go into Skag. I went the other way, along the empty beach. I walked miles. I didn’t have any lunch and I turned back and began to think that even this boarding-house tea might be bearable. I knew I had to face Bob sometime or other and suddenly I wanted to get it over with. There’s no point asking for witnesses. There weren’t any. I didn’t come across anyone.”

  “I’ll go next,” said Andrew. “I went after Doris. But I thought she might have gone to Skag. I went into a shop around lunch-time and bought a sausage roll and a carton of orange juice and sat on the bench outside and ate them. I didn’t want to come back here. I wanted some time to myself. The shopkeeper should remember me, but the murder happened later. I didn’t go near the jetty. I was beginning to hate this place. The only reason I came here was because it was cheap. I lost a lot of money on a stupid business venture after I was made redundant from the army. I began to wonder what I was doing in the wilds of Scotland in a seedy boarding-house. I hated Harris. I’m glad he’s dead, but I didn’t kill him. Someone must have seen me, apart from that shopkeeper. In the afternoon, I walked a little way out of Skag in the direction of the town. Cars passed me on the road, but as I didn’t know a murder was taking place, I didn’t take note of licence plates or anything like that. Then, because most of Skag is on the dole, I think the residents who were not at the fair were indoors watching soaps on television. That’s all I have to say.”

  Hamish looked at Dermott. “Were you all together yesterday?” he asked.

  “Yes, we went into Skag and bought stuff for a picnic and took the ki
ds to the beach,” said Dermott, “just along from the boarding-house. We were there all day.”

  Hamish’s sharp eyes noticed the way the children sat very still and quiet and how June looked steadily at the floor. He’s lying, he thought suddenly. Instead he said aloud, “Did anyone see you?”

  “Mr. Rogers might have seen us. He came out just after lunch-time and got in his car and drove off in the direction of Skag. I saw him through my binoculars.”

  “Miss Gunnery?”

  “I seem to have had the same uneventful day as the rest of you,” said the schoolteacher. “I went for a walk into Skag after lunch-time. I was getting bored. I thought I would see some of you in the village. I took a look around and then came back here and sat in my room and read a book. When you didn’t come back, Hamish, I took the key to your room and then took Towser out for a walk.”

  Obviously, thought Hamish, the police had not told the others of Miss Gunnery’s tale of sleeping with him. He had a sudden longing for his own police station and his own phone. If one of these people had murdered Bob Harris and that someone was not his wife, then there might be a clue in their backgrounds.

  He stood up abruptly. He wanted to get away by himself. There were Mr. and Mrs. Rogers still to question, but they could wait.

  “It looks as if not one of us has a decent alibi,” he said, standing up. “I’m going for a walk.”

  “I’ll come with you.” Miss Gunnery got up as well.

  “Not this time,” said Hamish. “I want to think.”

  “Sit down, Hamish,” said Andrew sharply. “We haven’t heard your story.”

  “Sorry,” said Hamish, feeling sheepish. “I forgot I wasn’t on duty. I went into Skag. I bought a couple of books and spent the day reading them on a bank of the river on the far side of Skag. I don’t know if anyone saw me. You see, people in Skag don’t know who we are and they wouldn’t have bothered to take any particular notice of any of us, them not knowing there was going to be a murder. Then around tea-time, I went and bought a fish supper and took it to the jetty to eat. I finished it and went to look over the edge of the water. That’s when I saw Harris. I tried to revive him even though I was pretty sure he was stone-dead. Sorry, Doris.”

  “But why should the police think you a suspect when you’re a policeman yourself?” asked Dermott. “And considering you were trying to save the man?”

  “During the questioning, Deacon told me that they thought I had dragged the body clear to cover any clues and then had tried to revive Harris to throw them off the scent. I’ll go for a walk and see if I can think of something.”

  Hamish collected Towser and went outside. “Where are you going?” demanded Crick, who had replaced Emett to take over guarding the boarding-house. “We havenae finished with you.”

  “I’ll be back,” said Hamish. “I’m chust taking my dog along the beach for a bit.”

  “Well, see you don’t go far,” said Crick sourly.

  Hamish walked sadly away. Not only had the local police found out that he had been demoted from sergeant but that he was the type of man who seduced otherwise respectable spinsters, for Miss Gunnery, even with a layer of make-up, always succeeded in looking just what she was, a retired unmarried schoolteacher.

  With Towser loping at his heels, he walked away along the beach. Pink shells sparkled in the blowing white sand and the wind had risen again. The waves were choppy, blown blue and black with fretting white caps. A sun-blackened piece of seaweed blew against his legs.

  He sat down and considered the case. As it stood at the moment, the only one with a motive was Doris. It was a crime which could have been committed on the spur of the moment. There was Bob looking down into the water. A piece of wood lying handy. One quick blow to the head in a fit of rage and murder was done. But Doris did not look the impulsive type. He was sure that she would think too much about the action to perform it. She would think that before she struck him he might turn round. She would think about the consequences. Still, he did not know Doris very well. What if she had fallen in love for the first time and with Andrew Biggar? What if they had planned the murder between them? And what was he to do about Miss Gunnery’s alibi?

  He had allowed her to lie to the police. But if he told them she had been lying, they might well charge her with obstructing the police in their inquiries. And while he was on the subject of lying, Dermott had most certainly been lying. The children had been told not to say anything. But why on earth would Dermott want to murder a double-glazing salesman? Wait a bit. They had met before. Dermott had been at the boarding-house before when Bob Harris had been there. It had been owned by a couple of women, the Misses Blane, that was it. They had retired to a house in Skag. He would take Towser back and tell Crick he was going into town for lunch. And he might as well call round at the police station and see if he could find out what they were doing with Cheryl and Tracey. He could not believe for a minute that the couple had done murder for kicks. Still, it might be a good idea to find out if either of them had a criminal record.

  Priscilla Halburton-Smythe was staying with an old school friend at her family mansion outside Chipping Norton in Gloucestershire. She was enjoying a late leisurely breakfast. She had read The Times and the Daily Telegraph. She now picked up a copy of the Daily Bugle and idly turned over the pages, stopping suddenly as the face of Hamish Macbeth stared up at her under a headline of MAN MURDERED AND THROWN INTO SEA, the gentlemen of the press considering a body in the sea more exciting than one in a river. She read it carefully. The caption under the photograph merely stated: “Mr. Hamish Macbeth and Miss Felicity Gunnery leaving the police station in Skag by car after helping police with their inquiries.” In the story, it listed the residents at the boarding-house, and among them were the names of Hamish Macbeth and Miss Gunnery. The flash photograph had been kind to Miss Gunnery’s heavily made-up face. To Priscilla it was all too clear. Hamish had taken a holiday in Skag with this Felicity Gunnery. And to think she had occasionally thought about him and wondered what he was doing!

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Oh, thou demon Drink, thou fell destroyer;

  Thou curse of society, and its greatest annoyer.

  What hast thou done to society, let me think?

  I answer thou hast caused the most of ills, thou demon Drink.

  —William McGonagall

  After having left Towser at the boarding-house, with the plea to Miss Gunnery to take the dog out for a walk if he was not back until late, Hamish set out for the village. He had to find the Misses Blane and he also had to find someone friendly to him in the police inquiry. He wondered whether he would find anyone at all. No doubt it was all round those involved in the murder inquiry that he was a womanizer, a failed policeman, and a suspect.

  He went to the post office, or rather sub–post office, a hatch at the back of the Asian store, and asked for the voters’ roll. He slid his finger rapidly down the names until he located Blane. The address was Glebe Street, near the Church of Scotland.

  He made his way there and ended up outside one of the thatched cottages which crouched at the end of Glebe Street like old shaggy animals. Sea-gulls screamed and wheeled mournfully overhead. He rapped at the polished brass knocker and waited. After some moments, he heard shuffling footsteps. Then the door opened and an elderly woman with a toad-like face peered up at him. “What do you want? I’m not buying anything.”

  “I’m not selling anything,” said Hamish amiably. He smiled at her. “It is one of the Misses Blane, is it not?”

  “I’m Elizabeth Blane. Only one of us. Nancy died last month.”

  “I wanted to ask you about The Friendly House.”

  Her eyes gleamed behind her thick spectacles. “Making a mess of it, are they? Good. Come in.”

  He followed her into a dark parlour. A squat woman with sparse grey hair and a yellowish skin, she walked leaning heavily on a stick. She kept running her tongue over her pale, thick lips, looking more than ever like a toad in search of
a juicy fly.

  “Murder,” she said with satisfaction. “I knew they’d make a mess of it. But this is better than I hoped.”

  Hamish sat down opposite her, wondering why she had not asked who he was or why he had come to see her.

  “Why did you think the Rogerses would make a mess of it?”

  “Me and Nancy ran a good house, good food, nice rooms. We tried to train Rogers in our ways. But he said he could make a fortune by cutting prices and cutting costs, more fool him. Cocky idiot.”

  “So why did you sell to him?”

  “Nobody else wanted it. We were getting too old to cope. So Harris is dead. Well, that’s hardly a surprise. I suppose Brett did him in.”

  “Dermott Brett? Why on earth him?”

  “Oh, because of that scene last year. Yes, we ran that place like clockwork, me and Nancy. My scones are still a legend in Skag. Did you hear about my scones?”

  “Not yet. What was the scene about?”

  “Brett’s wife turned up for the day, so that June, who calls herself his wife, had to make herself scarce and take the children with her. Me and Nancy didn’t rat on Brett, but as soon as his wife had left, we told him we were having nothing of that sort here and he would have to go. Harris jeered at him and said he would tell his wife that he was spending his holidays with another woman.”

  “But Dermott Brett said he didn’t know the boarding-house was under new management, so if he thought it was still you and your sister, why did he come back?”

  “That’s havers. He knew we were selling all right because we told him we were putting the place on the market at the end of the season.”

  Hamish sat thinking. Dermott had said he and “his family” had been on the beach at the time of the murder and that Rogers might have seen him. But the beach was a quarter of a mile from the boarding-house, across the dunes, and then shielded by that bank of shingle. How could Dermott even have caught a glimpse of Rogers through binoculars, and there was no way that Rogers could have seen him.