Death of a Gentle Lady (6 page)

“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 canapés. 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.

Chapter Six

“Reeling and Writhing, of course, to begin with,” the Mock Turtle replied, “and the different branches of Arithmetic—Ambition, Distraction, Uglification 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 détente 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!”

“What are you up to?” asked Jimmy.

“Nothing. She’s probably found the cat in her bed.”

This turned out to be the case. Anna had awakened with the feel of a warm body stretched out next to her own.

When she was up and dressed and in her uniform, Hamish told her, “I’ve taken the liberty of booking a room at the Tommel Castle Hotel. There are three people there who might interest you—Harold Jury, an author; Patrick Fitzpatrick, an Irishman; and a Mrs. Fanshawe, who borrowed one of the bikes. I’ve yet to speak to her.”

Anna agreed. Hamish’s pets had made the novelty of a stay in a highland police station quickly wear off.

“There might be some press still here,” said Hamish as he walked into the hotel with Anna, carrying her two large suitcases, “but you’ll need to face them sooner or later. While you get settled in, I’ll see if I can find this Mrs. Fanshawe.”

Mrs. Fanshawe was having breakfast. She was a small, round, middle-aged woman with rosy cheeks and grey hair. She certainly could not have been the woman at the phone box.

In answer to his questions, she said she had borrowed a mountain bike. “I wanted to get some of the weight off,” she said with a jolly laugh. “One trip out was enough for me so I said to myself, Sadie, the Good Lord obviously meant you to be fat.”

She had not seen any mysterious woman. Anna walked into the dining room; at the sight of her uniform, several reporters and cameramen sprang to their feet, and soon she was surrounded. Hamish was about to interfere until he saw she was handling all questions coolly and efficiently.

When she finally said “That’s enough!” and joined Hamish, he said, “You’ve only had toast for breakfast. Would you like something here?”

“No, I would like to get started.”

They met Priscilla as they were leaving the hotel. Priscilla had seen Anna only very briefly. “Were you in the restaurant last night?” she asked Hamish when the introductions were over.

“Yes, we were going through the case.”Priscilla smiled. Anna, with her Putin-like features, was hardly the beauty she had imagined the night before. “Inspector Krokovsky is staying here,” said Hamish. “Then we will do everything we can to make your stay pleasant,” said Priscilla.

When they were both in the Land Rover, before driving off, Hamish phoned his friend Angela Brodie, the doctor’s wife. “Angela, I’m going to be out most of the day. Do you think you could look after Sonsie and Lugs?”

“Hamish, you’ll need to find someone to regularly take care of your pets. You’re always asking me.” “Just this once,” pleaded Hamish. “You always say that. Oh, all right, but I’ve got to rehearse my part.” “What part?” “I rather got bullied into playing Lady Macbeth.” “When did this happen?” “That author held a meeting in the village hall last night.

I rather got coerced into it.” “Mrs. Wellington thought she was up for the part.”

“She changed her mind.”

“Who’s playing Macbeth?”

“Geordie Sinclair, the gamekeeper.”

Anna was drumming her fingers impatiently on the dashboard. “Got to go,” said Hamish quickly.

“Are our investigations always to be delayed while you search for a sitter for your animals?” demanded Anna.

“Och, no,” said Hamish. “All settled now.”

“Is Lady Macbeth anything to do with you?”

“It’s Shakespeare. Amateur production.”

Anna settled back in the passenger seat with a sigh. In Moscow, she would have considered it well beneath her dignity to be escorted by a mere constable. She hoped the file she had read on Hamish Macbeth had not been mistaken. There was no time or place in a murder enquiry for eccentrics. And yet she had to admit to herself that there was something likeable about the man with his flaming red hair, gangly figure, and gentle hazel eyes.

“Is this a real castle?” she asked as Hamish drove up the drive.

“It’s what we call a folly.”

“Does it have a name?”

“I think when it was first built, it was called Braikie Castle, but for years now it’s only been known as The Folly. You can see why. It’s ower-small for a castle, like a stone box with towers stuck on.”

Hamish’s heart sank when he walked into the hall and saw the burly figure of Detective Chief Inspector Blair. The man must have a cast-iron liver, he thought. He introduced Anna.

“Well, Anna,” said Blair with a leer. “What’s a pretty lady like you doing up in peasantville?”

“My name is Inspector Krokovsky,” said Annie coldly, “but you may address me as ma’am.”

Blair scowled. “You, Macbeth, get back to your sheep. There are enough of us here.”

Anna’s voice was like ice. “Constable Macbeth is driving me. He will stay.”

Blair’s temper flared up. “May I remind you I am the senior officer here?”

Daviot loomed in the background. “A word with you, Mr. Blair, if you please.”

Jimmy came to join them. He said to Anna, “The family are gathered in the drawing room. Would you like to meet them?”

“I would like to see where Irena’s body was found first of all. Constable Macbeth can show me.”

“Is the cellar locked?” asked Hamish.

“No,” said Jimmy.

Hamish led the way. He switched on the light at the top of the stairs, and they both walked down.

“Irena’s body was found in the trunk here,” said Hamish, pointing.

“And she died from a blow to the head?”

“I think it was one sharp blow. I think it was delivered by someone she knew, someone she was not afraid of.”

“That would mean a member of this family.”

“Perhaps. Unless it was someone from the time she was working in London. The castle door, as I remember, often stood open.” Hamish struck his head. “I’m an idiot.”

“Why?”

“On the day of the wedding, Mrs. Gentle was catering for the reception. There were the usual fiddly bits on trays and a bar. Knowing what I do of the late Mrs. Gentle, she would not intend to pass the food round herself or serve the drinks. She must have employed a catering company. No, wait a minute. If, as I believe, she was being blackmailed into holding the reception, she would want it done as cheaply as possible. I’d better get into Braikie and interview Bessie Hunter, one of the women who was cleaning up afterwards. She might know.”

“I will come with you.”

“I’d better report to Detective Chief Inspector Blair.”

“I think we will leave him for the moment. Why is this the first time I have met him?”

“He’s just out of hospital.”

“What was up with him?”

“Alcohol poisoning.”

“We have that trouble with officers in Moscow. Let us go.”

Bessie Hunter was at home. To their questions, she said that she thought the catering had been done by two women, Fiona King and Alison Queen. She said they joked about themselves as being the royal caterers.

“They do the meals at the Glen Lodge Hotel outside Braikie,” said Bessie. “But they do a bit of freelance stuff, nothing big, church socials, things like that.”

As they drove north out of Braikie towards the Glen Lodge Hotel, the road curved until it was running along beside the sea. Although the sky was blue, the heaving water had turned black. “Storm coming,” said Hamish. “Did you notice when we were in the cellar that the pounding of the waves seemed very close, almost as if they were thudding right against the walls?”

“I didn’t notice. Why?”

“Bits of the cliffs have been falling away all along the coast. I was thinking the family won’t get much for the place if they try to sell it.”

“How do you know a storm is coming?”

“Experience. When the sky is blue but the sea turns black, it usually means there’s a big blow on the way.”

“Do you find this Blair creature difficult to work with?”

“Oh, dear. It could be that he doesn’t like me. I am after all only a policeman, and I have only myself to blame when I am kept out of the main investigation.”

“He struck me as being stupid.”

“I really can’t comment about a senior officer. Here’s the hotel.”

He drove up a short drive bordered by rhododendrons and parked in front of what had once been a large private home. “I remember this used to belong to an English family,” said Hamish, “but the winters drove them back down south.”

“Are the winters so very bad? The air still feels quite mild.”

“Nothing like the winters in Moscow. We’re near the Gulf Stream. But the wind blows a lot, and from now on we barely see daylight. It starts to get dark around two in the afternoon.”

They walked into the hotel. Hamish asked at the reception desk for Miss Queen and Miss King. They were told to wait in the lounge.

Two women in their late forties entered and introduced themselves. Fiona King was stocky with grey hair and an incipient moustache. Alison Queen was a fake blonde with a simpering manner. Both were English. They said they had always wanted to see the Highlands and had answered an advertisement for a cook. “We always travel as a pair,” said Alison. “The hotel said they would allow us to do some freelance work off-season.”

Hamish asked if they had seen anyone apart from Mrs. Gentle when they arrived to do the catering on the morning of the reception.

“No, only Mrs. Gentle,” said Alison. “She seemed very flustered and told us we would not be wanted to serve out the canapés and drinks at the reception. She had originally said that she meant to use some of the wine from her cellar, but then she told me there was nothing down there worth bringing up.”

Fiona chimed in. Her voice had a slight lisp. “I told her I was by way of being an expert on wine and if she would give me the key, I’d go down there and take a look for her. She fairly screamed at me, didn’t she, Alison pet? She said she’d ordered drinks from the wine merchant in Braikie, and when the stuff arrived it was the cheapest of cheap. Of course, Henry’s isn’t really a wine merchant, just an off-licence, and there was also whisky with names I’d never heard of, cheap gin and vodka along with the usual mixes. So we decided that she wasn’t going to waste any good wine on the guests.”

“Did you see her Russian maid?” asked Anna.

“The one that was to get married? No. We assumed she was upstairs getting ready,” said Alison.

Hamish asked, “Was there a limousine waiting to take them to the wedding?”

“That was your wedding, wasn’t it, you poor soul,” said Alison. “No, when we left she was fretting, saying they would be late, but there was only her own car outside and not even a bit of ribbon on it, if she had meant to use that.”

Anna asked, “At any time you were there, did she go upstairs to find out what was keeping Irena?”

“Come to think of it,” said Fiona, “that’s a bit odd. She was pacing up and down, muttering she was going to be late. Alison said, didn’t you, ducks, that she could run upstairs to the girl’s room and find out how she was getting on, but Mrs. Gentle said, ‘If you’ve finished, just go.’ Thank goodness we got a cheque from her there and then because we might not have got paid, considering she got shoved over the cliff.”

“And if she hadn’t have been shoved over the cliff, I might have thought she killed the girl,” said Alison.

“Why did you not come forward and give the police this information?” asked Anna.

“Because we got two other jobs and put it out of our minds,” said Alison. “I mean, when we read in the papers that Mrs. Gentle had been murdered, well, we assumed that whoever killed her, killed the maid.”

“I am afraid I will have to ask you to accompany us to headquarters,” said Hamish. “We will need to take statements from both of you.”

“Ooh! This is exciting. I’ll just tell the boss where we are going.”

When they came back, they said they would follow in their own car and do some shopping in Strathbane.

“I hope it’s still low tide,” said Hamish as he drove off with the cooks following, “otherwise the shore road will be flooded.”

Great buffets of wind shook the Land Rover. Water was only just beginning to reach the shore road as they drove along beside a mountainous sea.

Blair had been sent back to headquarters by Daviot, who was angry over Blair’s insulting Anna. He saw them arriving and rushed down to waylay them. Anna gave him a concise report about what they had learned from the two women.

“I’ll take over here,” said Blair. “The inspector and I will take statements from these ladies. Get off wi’ you.”

“I haff to drive the inspector here back to her hotel,” said Hamish.

“I’ll do that. Move, laddie. That’s an order.”

Blair had conducted a bullying interview and the statements had been taken. He was just leaving the police station with Anna when Daviot met them. To Blair’s fury, Anna described succinctly the latest discovery and credited Hamish with finding it all out.

“And where is Macbeth?” asked Daviot.

“This man sent him away,” said Anna coldly.

“I’ll have a word with you later,” said Daviot. “Where are you off to?”

“Just taking this lady back to her hotel.”

Blair tried to converse with Anna on the road to Lochdubh, but she maintained a mutinous silence. To his surprise, though, when she reached the hotel she suddenly smiled at him.

“I think this bit of success demands a Russian celebration,” she said.

“And what’s that?”

“Vodka, of course.”

Anna strode into the bar and ordered a bottle of vodka and two shot glasses. “Now,” she said, filling up the glasses, “we drink Russian style.”