Death of a Dreamer (18 page)

‘So you think the drugs were planted?’

‘Maybe. Let’s have a good look around.’

They searched the room thoroughly but found nothing incriminating. ‘I tell you what,’ said Hamish. ‘Do you mind if I leave you alone for a bit? I’ve a personal call to
make.’

‘And I’ve got someone to see in Strathbane,’ said Robin. She had decided to confront Daviot and see if she could use a bit of emotional blackmail on him.

‘Right. I’ll meet you back at the police unit at, say, three o’clock.’

Hamish headed up to the hotel. He had a sudden longing to see Priscilla, to sit in her calm presence as he had done in the past and talk about the case.

He found her in the gift shop, selling a mohair sweater to a tourist. After she had finished, Hamish asked, ‘Any chance of a talk?’

‘I’ll just close up the shop and tell Mr Johnson if anyone wants anything to tell them to come back later. You look worried.’

She locked the shop door. ‘We’ll use the gunroom.’

‘I hope it’s kept securely locked,’ said Hamish uneasily.

‘It’s locked and burglar-alarmed.’

Hamish waited while Priscilla unlocked the gun room door and reset the alarm. They sat down in battered old leather chairs. A reflection of Priscilla’s face swam in the glass of one of the
cabinets, and dust motes danced in the shafts of sunlight coming in through the windows.

Hamish began to talk, going over everything he had learned.

He wound up by saying, ‘I fear there is something far wrong with Jock Fleming. What sort of man sneaks out at night to have sex with his ex-wife up against a garden wall?’

‘It’s a new one for you, Hamish. You see, I don’t think you’ve come across someone so completely amoral as Jock Fleming before. It is my opinion he would screw the
cat.’

‘Has he made a pass at you?’

‘Not even a flicker. It’s my money he’s after. And there’s a point: You say drugs were found? Maybe Jock’s a drug addict.’

‘I don’t believe it. Neither Jock nor Dora show the slightest sign of drugs – unless you count alcohol as a drug. I think someone really did plant it there and someone very
clever who knew that with the sun shining through those cheap curtains, the envelope would be spotted.’

‘So either someone knew about the fire door or someone managed to get in during the day unseen. How could they do that?’

‘Mrs Dunne doesn’t lock the outside door during the day. It took a strong nerve to sneak in there and calmly sit sewing that envelope into the curtains. I’d better ask around
again. Maybe somebody saw someone who doesn’t live there going into Mrs Dunne’s.’

‘There’s something mad, calculating, and cunning about our murderer,’ said Priscilla. ‘And somehow, though Jock may not be the murderer, it’s something to do with
him. Unless, of course, Effie’s sister is right and she really did commit suicide and Hal’s wife knew about his will and decided to finish him off before he got married to whoever he
was talking about.’

‘That’s if there was another woman,’ said Hamish. ‘He could just have been saying that out of malice.’

‘And yet he went out in the middle of the night to meet someone.’

‘Could be someone from his past, someone we don’t know about.’

‘What about Betty Barnard?’

‘Hard to imagine,’ said Hamish stiffly. ‘Oh, well, I’d better get off and start questioning people. That means starting with the Currie sisters, since they’re next
door to Sea View.’

Hamish started by questioning Nessie Currie, mentally editing out the Greek chorus that was her sister.

‘I saw no one going in there that shouldnae be going in there,’ said Nessie. ‘There was just the folks that live there when I looked and the postie.’

‘What time of day did you see the postie?’

‘Must have been about lunchtime yesterday.’

‘But the postman only delivers at nine in the morning.’

‘Then it must have been a special delivery because he walked right in.’

‘Did you see him come out?’

‘I’ve got more to do with my day than stand on my doorstep and watch people.’

‘What did this postman look like?’

‘Tall. One of thae baseball caps. Couldn’t see his face.’

It could have been easy for someone to masquerade as a postman, thought Hamish. Navy clothes, a canvas bag, and a baseball cap pulled well down. Must have known Dora Fleming wasn’t due
back for a while. So we’re looking for a man. Maybe it’s Jock, after all.

He thanked Nessie and went along the waterfront, questioning one villager after another. A few had seen the postman. He had arrived on a bicycle, but they could not add anything further to
Nessie’s description of him.

Then Hamish remembered that the hotel had a few bicycles for use by more energetic guests.

He headed back to the hotel and asked the manager if he could take a look at the bikes.

‘Go and take a look yourself,’ said Mr Johnson. ‘They’re in a shed by the kitchen door. It’s not locked during the day. No one’s taken one out for
months.’

Hamish went round to the back of the hotel. He could hear the clatter of dishes from the kitchen. He went to the shed and opened the door. There were six mountain bikes.

At first, they all seemed to be clean and oiled. The roads had been dusty. He went from one to the other. The one at the end had a thin film of dust on it. Need to get this fingerprinted, he
thought. Things are looking bad for Jock.

He went back to the mobile unit to meet Robin. Her face was flushed, and she looked as if she had been crying.

Robin had gone to Strathbane to see Daviot. He had received her coldly. Robin asked him what had happened between them, and he had said his affair with her had been nothing but a bit of
dangerous folly and that he loved his wife.

Upset and furious, Robin tried to hint that she could make life difficult for him if the affair ever came to light.

‘If you do that,’ Daviot had said, ‘I will deny everything. I should never have got mixed up with a harpy like you. I am arranging for you to be transferred to Inverness. You
start there next week. My secretary will give you the details.’

Robin knew she was beaten. If she did make the affair public, then she would be found to be the guilty one in the chauvinistic world of the police force.

She seemed barely to listen when Hamish told her about the bicycle and suggested they both go to Strathbane to interrupt Jimmy’s interview.

‘You go,’ she said. ‘I’ll keep on asking questions.’

Robin wandered along the waterfront. The air was close and warm, and midges stung at her cheeks and bare arms. She stopped to slap at them when she heard herself being hailed
by Elspeth. ‘You should go to Patel’s and get some repellent,’ said Elspeth. ‘In the meantime, have some of mine.’

‘Thanks.’ Robin took the stick from her and applied it.

‘How’s the case going?’ asked Elspeth.

‘Who cares?’ said Robin bitterly. ‘I’m sick of the police. You know, I always thought policemen would be honourable, but they’re just rats like any other men. Take
you to bed one night and claim the moral high ground the next. Makes me sick.’

She handed back the repellent and strode off, leaving Elspeth staring after her in dismay.

Faithless, philandering Hamish, thought Elspeth bitterly. She went back to the local newspaper office and phoned the news editor in Glasgow.

‘Things have ground to a halt up here,’ she said.

‘We could do with you back in Glasgow,’ said the editor. ‘But your colour pieces have been very good. What about a piece on that local copper? File it and then come back. We
can always send you up again if anything breaks.’

Elspeth switched on her laptop and began to write. Her fingers seemed to fly across the keyboard.

Hamish pulled Jimmy out of an interview to tell him about the postman and the hotel bicycle which looked as if it had been used.

‘What are they playing at?’ asked Jimmy, meaning Jock and his wife.

‘I cannae see that either Jock or Dora would put those drugs in Dora’s room. Why should they?’

‘I’ll get someone to check with the post office and see if there was any delivery made to Sea View that day. Get back to Lochdubh and see if you can find out more.’

‘Will you have to release them?’

‘I’ll need to release Jock when six hours are up, but I can hang on to Dora with a drugs charge.’

‘Get the medical examiner to look at both of them,’ said Hamish. ‘I’ll bet anything you don’t find a single bit of evidence of drugs.’

‘She could have been selling the stuff.’

‘Who to? It’s mostly alcohol here and a bit of pot. Why come up here to sell drugs when she could be doing a roaring trade in Glasgow?’

‘Anyway, go back and check. Meanwhile, the FBI are checking Hal’s background. They’ll let us know if he had any enemies.’

Hamish did not immediately head back. He wanted to walk and think. There was something tugging at the back of his mind. He felt that if he could get to it, he might have an
inkling about the identity of the murderer.

He wandered past shops and pubs, lost in thought.

The sky above was changing from grey to black. Thunder coming, thought Hamish. I hope it clears the air.

He realized he was hungry and went into a café and ordered a mutton pie and peas and washed it down with strong tea.

As he glanced out of the window, he saw Betty Barnard walking past. He half rose to his feet to go outside and hail her but then sank back down. He must not socialize with a suspect. Then he was
suddenly curious to find out where she was going.

He paid for his food and went out. He could just see her at the end of the street, turning the corner, and hurried after her. She went into a small picture gallery which showed touristy scenes
of hills and heather. He went up and looked quickly in the window. She was talking to someone in the gallery and looking at a painting.

Well, what else did I expect? thought Hamish. Something sinister?

He heard a low rumble of thunder in the distance and made his way back to police headquarters, where he had parked the Land Rover.

As he drove up into the hills, one fat raindrop slid down the windscreen to be followed by another. Then the heavens opened and the rain poured down. The thunder boomed and rolled round the
mountains and glens, and jagged lightning jabbed down on the road ahead.

When he reached the police station, he rushed indoors and switched on the kitchen light. Nothing. A power cut.

He found an oil lamp, lit it, and put it on the kitchen table and began to prepare food for Sonsie and Lugs.

He realized he was very tired. After the animals had been fed, he put out the oil lamp and locked the kitchen door.

Hamish went through and lay on his back on his bed. Lugs climbed up and lay on his feet, and Sonsie stretched out beside him. Just a few minutes’ peace and quiet, thought Hamish.

Hamish awoke with a start to find it was early evening. The clouds had rolled away, and a shaft of the setting sun shone into his bedroom.

He rose and went outside to check there had been no storm damage to the outbuildings and then locked up his hens for the night.

Then he made his way along to the police unit, but it was closed and locked, and there was no sign of Robin. He walked round to see Matthew Campbell. The reporter answered his door in his
shirtsleeves.

‘Come in, Hamish. Got a story for me?’

‘I wish I had. All the press still around?’

‘No, most of them have gone. It’s yesterday’s story. Besides, guess what: Someone’s seen the Loch Ness Monster and claims to have a photograph.’

‘Convenient in the middle of the tourist season,’ said Hamish cynically. ‘Is Elspeth still around?’

‘She wrote some colour piece that she wouldn’t let me see and then cleared off to Glasgow.’

Hamish felt a sharp pang of loss. He should have been nicer to her, but, then, she’d said some dreadful things to him.

‘Are you still enjoying it up here?’ asked Hamish.

‘Yes, I do pretty well. The local job’s not very demanding, but I make a good bit covering for the nationals.’

‘I’ll tell you about the latest development,’ said Hamish, ‘and see what you think. But, mind, you didn’t hear it from me.’

‘Okay.’

Hamish told him about the postman, the drugs, and the questioning of Jock and Dora.

‘Can I use this?’ asked Matthew eagerly.

‘I don’t see why not. The locals have all been questioned, so you would have heard about this postman sooner or later. Help me. I’m tired of questioning and questioning. See if
anyone can tell you anything more about this postman. All I’ve got is he was in dark clothes and wearing a baseball cap with the peak pulled down over his face.’

‘I’ll get on to it.’

‘Where’s Freda?’

‘At the school, answering a ton of government questionnaires. She says she can do them better there than at home.’

Hamish went back to the police station to find Jimmy waiting outside for him.

‘Whisky, Hamish, quick.’

‘Come ben. You’re lucky I’ve still got some. How’s it going?’

‘It’s not going anywhere. You were right. No drugs in either of them. No fingerprints on that cocaine packet. Does look like a set-up.’

‘What about the postman?’

‘The main post office said no deliveries were scheduled for Lochdubh after the usual nine-in-the-morning post. Whoever rode that bike wore gloves. But there is one thing: Strathclyde
police found out that Jock has two addictions – whores and gambling.’

‘I wish I could go down to Glasgow,’ said Hamish.

‘Why?’

‘To find out more about Jock’s background.’

‘Man, Strathclyde police have been into it, and they wouldn’t welcome you on their turf. Are you going to pour that whisky or not?’

‘Sorry I haven’t had a day off since this all started. What’s to stop me taking a wee trip in a private capacity?’

‘I’d never get it past Daviot.’

‘He wouldnae need to know.’

‘All right. But just the one day.’

‘Where’s Robin?’

‘She’s being transferred to Inverness next week. And the latest is she’s been pulled off duties as well until she goes. Haven’t seen that woman reporter friend of yours.
Hey, no romance there, is there? You’re not really going because of her?’