Death of a Kingfisher (14 page)

‘Go on,’ he said to Dick. ‘Watch your precious TV. I’ve got to think.’

He went into the office and sat down. What if the two men had set up the chair lift, but it was Palfour who had lit the rocket? Somehow, the murder of Gloria was too violent and vicious for Ralph Palfour. And he certainly hadn’t poisoned the prisoners.

But he could imagine a scenario where Mary knew something and tried to blackmail Palfour. How easy for Palfour to creep up behind her after arranging a meeting at the pool, strike her down, and then drown her.

He switched on his computer and began to trawl through the reports. The Palfours had said that on the night of Mary’s murder, they had been staying at the Dancing Scotsman Hotel in Inverness. Hamish phoned the hotel and introduced himself to the manager.

‘When Mr and Mrs Palfour were staying with you,’ he said, ‘was their room near a fire escape?’

‘Wait a minute and I’ll check,’ said the manager.

Hamish waited impatiently. At last the manager’s voice came back on the phone.

‘They were in room one hundred and sixty-three. It’s at the end of the second-floor corridor. Yes, there is access to a fire escape.’

Hamish thanked him and rang off. The dog and cat were fast asleep after their long walk. He went out to the Land Rover and drove to Strathbane.

Blair had fortunately gone home but Jimmy was still there, tired and rumpled and smelling of whisky. He tuned blood-shot eyes on Hamish and said, ‘What brings you?’

Hamish sat down and patiently began to outline
everything
he had found out, from Charles Palfour’s remark about dressmaking to Scotland Yard’s discovery of a
connection
to a Russian who wanted to buy the nursery, and then to the idea that Ralph Palfour could have sneaked out of the hotel to kill Mary, while his wife drove back the next morning with the dressmaker’s dummy in the front seat made up to look like a man.

‘Och, Hamish,’ said Jimmy wearily, ‘why on earth wouldn’t Palfour then just drive back to Inverness and sneak back to his room? And how did he get to Braikie if he left the car with his wife?’

‘I know, I know,’ said Hamish impatiently. ‘But who else has a motive for the murder? He’s got a big people carrier. He could have stashed a motorbike in the back o’ it. Get a search warrant for their house and their vehicle. See if there’s a dressmaker’s dummy in the house and get forensics to search the car to see if there’s a trace of a motorbike.’

‘Hamish, hear this. Ye havenae a hope in hell. The Palfours have hired James Farquhar-Symondson. He’s a
Freemason. So is Daviot. So dear James is rumbling about police harassment and Daviot has told us to back off.’

‘You mean I can’t do anything!’

Jimmy chewed his knuckles. Then he took a half bottle of Scotch out of his top drawer and took a slug.

‘I’ve an idea,’ he said. ‘Look, it’s the best I can come up with. You call on Palfour tomorrow as the sympathetic local bobby who just wants to know how they’re getting on. Check with the maids. Ask them if they’ve seen a dummy anywhere.’

‘Right,’ said Hamish gloomily. ‘Meanwhile, I’d like to see the CCTV from that garage where they were supposed to be on the road back from Inverness.’

Jimmy went away and then came back with a disk. ‘Help yourself.’

Hamish studied the screen. The quality was not very good. There was Fern driving up. He froze the screen and focussed on the figure beside her. Baseball hat pulled down low and scarf over the lower part of the face. He sighed. It was impossible to tell whether it was a man or a dummy. He could only hope he could find out something the next day.

After checking his notes in the morning, he told Dick to try to speak to the maids at home as it was their day off. Dick was to ask them if they had seen a dressmaker’s dummy anywhere in the house or had seen a motorbike.

He told Dick to use his own car, a battered old Honda, and set out leaving the dog and cat behind.

He was glad it was a weekday, which meant the children were in school. In a way, they unnerved him with their flat grey eyes and insolent faces.

The first thing he noticed was that the Palfours had a new car, a large BMW. What had happened to the people carrier?

Hamish rang the bell. After what seemed a long time,
Ralph Palfour opened the door. ‘This is police harassment,’ he shouted. ‘I’m calling my lawyer.’

Hamish put a vacant expression on his face and said mildly, ‘Och, it iss nothing but the neighbourly visit. I chust wanted to see you were all right and that the press havenae been bothering you, sir.’

Palfour visibly relaxed. ‘They were all round yesterday but our lawyer dealt with them.’

‘Thon’s a grand car,’ said Hamish, grinning foolishly. ‘What happened to your old one?’

‘I sold it.’

‘Who to?’

‘A garage over in Dingwall.’

‘All the way there?’ marvelled Hamish. ‘Now which garage would that be?’

‘Ferry’s Motors. Look, I have things to do so shove off!’

He went in and slammed the door in Hamish’s face.

Hamish drove as far as the car park in the glen. It was deserted. A cold wind was blowing from the north,
sending
discarded rubbish running across the gravel of the park. The half-finished gift shop looked bleak. Police tape fenced off the entrance to the glen.

He took out his phone, got the number of Ferry’s Motors, and dialled. He asked to speak to the manager. After
introducing
himself, he said, ‘I believe a Mr Ralph Palfour sold his Peugeot people carrier to you.’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘When was that?’

‘That would be on the twelfth.’

Two days after Mary’s murder, thought Hamish. ‘Could you give me the address of the customer who bought it?’

‘Hold on.’

Hamish waited. The wind rustled through the coloured leaves of the autumn trees in the glen, making a
whispering
sound. Hamish had an uneasy feeling of being watched.

At last the manager’s voice came back on the phone. ‘The buyer was a Mr James Petrie of The Loans, Glebe Street, Cnothan.’

Hamish thanked him and rang off, relieved he would not have to go all the way to Dingwall. Cnothan was on his beat.

As he drove in the direction of Cnothan, the wind had risen and was buffeting the car. He was driving through an expanse of moorland where a winding river already had angry little waves speeding across its surface.

When he reached the village of Cnothan, he noticed angrily that double yellow lines had been painted down both sides of the main street to prevent parking. Why? he wondered. Why try to take away trade from the shops?

He noticed a few cars were nonetheless parked in the main street, but he had no intention of ticketing anyone.

Glebe Street, he remembered, was a narrow lane parallel to the road running alongside the loch.

The Loans was a sandstone villa, Scottish Georgian from the look of it, and Hamish guessed it had once been a manse.

He parked in the short drive, got out, and rang the bell. A haggard blonde woman answered the door. She was wearing a red sweater and jeans so tight they looked as if they had been pasted on to her thin, middle-aged figure.

As soon as she saw Hamish, she said, ‘And about time!’

‘You mean you were expecting a visit from the police?’

‘Of course. You’ve come about our stolen car, haven’t you?’

Hamish’s heart sank. He removed his cap. ‘May I come in? This is verra important.’

She stood back to let him past and then ushered him into a soulless living room. A mushroom-coloured three-piece suite decorated with gold fringe stood on a
mushroom-coloured
fitted carpet. Two nests of tables were on either side of the sofa.

A huge flat-screen TV dominated one wall and
steel-framed
pictures of angry-looking abstracts were hung on the others.

‘My work,’ said Mrs Petrie proudly, waving a hand with long French nails at the paintings.

‘Very fine,’ said Hamish. ‘Now, about our car.’

‘It happened last night. We were having our dinner and the TV was on.’

‘In here?’ asked Hamish.

‘Yes, those tables. We didn’t hear a thing. James went to put the cat out and found he was looking at an empty space where the new car had been. We reported the loss to the police.’

‘Did you tell them that the previous owner had been a Mr Palfour?’

‘No. Why? Oh! You mean that man whose mother-in-law was murdered?’

‘The same.’

‘Are we in danger?’

‘I shouldn’t think so. I’ll get on it right away. Where is your husband?’

‘He was late for work because he did not get the
courtesy
car delivered from the insurance company until ten this morning. His company is along the waterfront. It’s called Shopmark Fashions. It’s doing grand. He got a good grant from the Highlands and Islands Board because we employ a lot of the local people.’

‘I’ll be off then.’

As she walked him to the door, she hooked an arm through his and smiled up at him. Hamish marvelled than any woman could be bothered sticking on false eyelashes so early in the day. ‘Call anytime,’ she murmured huskily, giving his arm a squeeze.

‘Aye, right,’ said Hamish, gently disengaging himself.

As he drove off, he felt a stab of pity for her. What a life, stuck in a grim Highland village like Cnothan with winter on the threshold. All dressed up and nowhere to go.

He drove to the factory and was soon ensconced in James Petrie’s office. Mr Petrie was a small, round, florid man. He could only repeat what his wife had said. ‘My car’s probably on its way to Bulgaria now,’ he complained.

When Hamish left him, he phoned Dick. ‘Neither o’ the maids has seen anything like a dressmaker’s dummy in the house,’ said Dick. ‘And they havenae seen a motorbike, either.’

Hamish then phoned Jimmy. ‘Damn!’ said Jimmy. ‘Maybe I’ll see if I can get a forensic team over to the Petries’ house. I’ve got the registration number of the Palfours’ old car and I’ll put out an alert. We’re being blocked at every turn, Hamish. Get back to Ferry’s Motors and see if Palfour tried to sell a motorbike as well. If you’ve no luck there, phone all the motor sales places you can think of.’

Hamish spent the rest of the day on the phone without success. He went out to shut his hens up for the night and check on his sheep when he noticed a saucer of milk
outside
the kitchen door. He went back inside, where Dick was once more in front of the television. Hamish switched in off. ‘Did you put that milk outside the door?’

‘Well, yes, but …’

‘The cat is not allowed milk. It gives her diarrhoea.’

‘It’s no’ for the cat.’ Dick’s face turned red.

Hamish looked at him in amazement. ‘Neffer tell me it’s for the fairies!’

‘You see,’ said Dick, ‘there just may be something in it. Better be safe. I thought you needed some help.’

‘Of all the superstitious twaddle …’

Hamish stomped off to do his chores. The wind buffeted him on his way back to the police station.

The saucer of milk was empty. ‘Hedgehog,’ muttered Hamish.

Beyond the shelter of the side of the police station, the wind screeched down the loch. Better get the candles out, 
thought Hamish. There’s bound to be a power cut if this storm goes on.

The phone was ringing when he went in. He rushed to answer it. It was Nessie Currie. ‘Can you help me, Hamish?’ she asked.

‘What’s up?’

‘It’s our dressmaker’s dummy. Mrs Palfour lent it to us the other day but nobody wants to use it. She’s just phoned and wants it back but it won’t fit in our little car and …’

‘Don’t touch it!’ shouted Hamish. ‘I’ll be right along.’

‘Why are you so interested in our dummy?’ asked Nessie. ‘Is it your feminine side? I read this article …’

‘No,’ said Hamish. ‘I must take it with me.’

‘It’s in the front room.’

Hamish went into the front room carrying a roll of plastic and tape. He proceeded to carefully cover it up and seal it.

Then he dug out a receipt, filled it in, and gave it to Nessie. ‘Thanks,’ he said.

‘But what do you want it for?’ wailed Nessie.

‘I’ll let you know,’ said Hamish, trundling the dummy on its wheels out of the door.

Jessie came in and said to her sister, ‘Was that Hamish?’

‘Aye, the man’s mad keen to get that dummy.’

‘He’s not married,’ said Jessie with a sly look at her sister.

‘Do you think he’s homosexual?’

‘Maybe. I mean a man his age and not wed.’

They settled down to a delicious and scurrilous gossip.

Hamish phoned Jimmy with the news then set off to Strathbane. An excited Jimmy was outside police
headquarters
, waiting for him.

‘Don’t bring it out,’ he said, when Hamish arrived. ‘Take it straight to the lab. We’re getting an expert up from Glasgow to enhance that garage CCTV. Daviot’s right pleased with you.’

‘I noticed it had been sawn and then glued together again. They’d need to have done that to reduce the size and to make it look like a man.’

The Currie sisters’ phone rang as Hamish Macbeth was driving back to Lochdubh.

Fern Palfour’s voice came on the line. ‘Miss Currie,’ she said, ‘I thought you were going to bring that dressmaker’s dummy back to me.’

‘I was that,’ said Nessie. ‘I asked Hamish Macbeth for help with it because it’s too big to get in our wee car and he … Hello! Hello!

‘She’s rung off,’ said Nessie to her sister. ‘Some folks! But that’s the English for you.’

At Strathbane the next morning, Hamish found to his
disappointment
that the CCTV images couldn’t be enhanced enough to give any proof that it was a dummy and not a man in the car sitting next to Fern Palfour. The lab,
however
, reported that both Fern and Ralph Palfour’s
fingerprints
were on the dummy. There were also traces of glue at the neck showing where something could have been stuck on.

‘Where’s Jimmy?’ Hamish asked Annie Williams.

‘He’s gone with Blair to pull the Palfours in for questioning.’

Hamish felt uneasy. They could of course say that it was natural that their fingerprints were on it as they had both
carried it to the car when they were delivering it to the Currie sisters.

Daviot would eventually cave in and let them have their high-powered lawyer and that would be that.

And that was that, as Jimmy confirmed later. ‘Nothing to hold them on,’ he said gloomily. ‘Thon pair were the height of hurt and furious respectability. Daviot let them have their lawyer in and everything was over bar Blair’s shouting.’

When he had rung off, Hamish went into his living room, prised the remote control from Dick’s fingers, and switched off the television.

‘Dick, when you questioned the maids about that dummy, are you sure they said it was nowhere in the house? What about the attics?’

‘They said that they were asked when they started the job to clean the place from top to bottom, attics and all.’

Hamish went into the police office and sat down and stared into space.

If it wasn’t anywhere in the house, he suddenly thought, maybe they bought it. But where? Then he remembered the auction rooms in Inverness.

He phoned up and asked to speak to Mr Simon, one of the auctioneers. ‘Do you remember selling an
old-fashioned
tailor’s dummy?’ he asked.

‘I’ll need to check the records. Can you wait?’

Hamish waited impatiently. The man seemed to be gone a long time. Then he came back on the line and said, ‘Yes, it was sold with a lot of junk a few days ago.’

‘Who bought it?’

‘A Mr Hamish Macbeth. Was that you?’

‘No, it wasn’t. What address?’

‘The police station, Lochdubh. That is you.’

‘No it’s not, I can assure you. Do you have CCTV in the auction room?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you still have the old disks?’

‘Yes, we keep them for three months.’

‘I’ll be down there as soon as I can,’ said Hamish.

Hamish set off with the siren wailing and the blue light flashing, breaking the speed limit to Inverness. He
collected
the CCTV disk which covered the day of the sale of the dummy and then headed full speed to Strathbane after phoning Jimmy.

‘I hope you’ve got something,’ grumbled Jimmy. ‘Let’s have a look.’

He slotted the disk into the computer. ‘Go forward to the tenth September at eleven in the morning,’ urged Hamish.

‘Here we are. No sound but, by all that’s holy, there’s the dummy on top of a box of stuff.’

The camera panned over the auction room. ‘There!’ said Hamish. ‘Freeze it!’

At the back of the auction room, his catalogue raised to place a bid, was Ralph Palfour.

‘Gotcha!’ shouted Jimmy.

Blair suddenly appeared. ‘Whit’s going on?’

Jimmy told him.

‘Take some men and bring them in,’ said Blair. ‘Take Annie Williams with you in case the children are there. I want her tae stay wi’ them. Right?’

‘Right, sir,’ said Jimmy. ‘Aren’t you coming, sir?’

‘No, I’ll just tell Mr Daviot.’

When Hamish and Jimmy had left, Blair went outside to the car park. If this proved to be successful, then all the kudos would go to Hamish Macbeth and he felt he couldn’t bear that. He phoned Ralph Palfour from a public phone box and said, ‘Just to let you know, Mr Palfour, that I have sent men to arrest you. We have proof that the dummy was bought by you at the auction house in Inverness.’

Then he rang off.

Hamish Macbeth was puzzled as he drove back to Lochdubh. He was sure that they were on the edge of solving the murders, and yet he felt uneasy. The Palfours should have burned that dummy. Their arrogance in
thinking
they could get rid of it by giving it to the Currie sisters was nearly beyond belief. But Hamish knew from
experience
that villains were always arrogant. That probably explained why Ralph Palfour had been stupid enough to use a policeman’s name in the auction room.

He stopped off in the village to buy groceries.

When he returned to the police station, the phone was ringing. Dick had the sound on the television up so high, he did not hear it. Hamish ran into the office and answered it. It was Jimmy, his voice high and angry with frustration.

‘They’ve gone, Hamish, the kids as well.’

‘They may just be out for the day.’

‘Mrs McColl, the maid, said they packed up a lot of stuff including the remaining stuff they hadn’t already sold from the strong room and took off. They said they were going abroad on holiday. We’re checking their bank accounts. We hope to put a freeze on them but they may have got there before us. There are no CCTV cameras north o’ Strathbane. They could be anywhere. We’ve set up roadblocks.’

‘Scotland Yard should be keeping an eye on the
movements
of that Russian,’ said Hamish. ‘Jimmy, it was unlike Blair not to want to be with you.’

‘What are you saying?’

‘What if the auld scunner tipped them off?’

‘Och, come on, Hamish. He can be daft at times but not that daft. I’ll keep you posted.’

A week went by. The Palfours seemed to have disappeared into thin air. If this Russian were behind the whole thing, thought Hamish gloomily, they might even be dead.

A hard frost settled on the Highlands. It was so cold that slivers of ice began to appear along the shore of the sea loch. The Fairy Glen was deserted. White trees with a few remaining leaves studied their reflections in the pool.

The mountains loomed up against a pale blue sky. Smoke from peat fires rose straight up into the air from cottage chimneys.

During the week, Hamish had questioned as many people as he could in Braikie, hoping someone might have seen the Palfours, but without success.

He was awakened on Saturday morning with a ferocious banging at the door and Archie Maclean, the fisherman, shouting, ‘There’s a woman drowning in the loch, Hamish! I’ll get the boat out.’

Something made Hamish pause to strap his skean dhu on his ankle. He was afterwards to put it down to a sixth sense of fear.

In his vest and underpants, he ran out of the police station, vaulted over the seawall, and waded into the icy waters of the loch, gasping at the cold as he swam out to where a figure was struggling. As he swam near, he
recognized
the features of Fern Palfour. He had almost reached her when he was seized by the ankles and dragged down into the icy black depths.

A black figure with a light on its head and scuba diving equipment was below him. He drew his dagger and sliced the air pipe, feeling his ankles released. He gave the figure as hard a kick on the head as he could manage.

He shot to the surface, dropping the skean dhu to the bottom of the loch, then swam to Fern, grabbed her, and began to pull her to the shore. Villagers were waiting with blankets. Fern was a deathly colour. Hamish crouched down by Fern, performing every lifesaving technique he could remember, until water gushed from her mouth. She recovered consciousness for a moment and whispered, ‘They made me,’ before relapsing.

‘An ambulance is coming,’ said Mrs Wellington. ‘Here’s Dr Brodie.’

‘Help me get her along to the surgery,’ said Dr Brodie, ‘and send the ambulance there. Hamish, you come, too. It’s a wonder you aren’t dead.’

‘There’s a man in the loch, a scuba diver, who tried to pull me down,’ said Hamish. ‘Get a boat out to Archie and tell him to search around. I’ll need to phone Strathbane.’

He returned to the police station, wrapped in blankets. His teeth were beginning to chatter as the adrenaline that had fuelled his rescue began to ebb.

‘I’ve run you a hot bath,’ said Dick. ‘Get in it and I’ll bring you some tea.’

‘Got to phone first.’

‘I’ve done that,’ said Dick. ‘Off you go. I’ll put two
hot-water
bottles in your bed.’

Hamish did not go to bed. Relieved to find he had stopped shivering, meaning that any hypothermia he was suffering must be mild, Hamish dressed in a flannel shirt and sweater and his thickest trousers, socks, and boots. He took the two hot-water bottles out of the bed and clutched them to him.

‘I’ve made you a glass of toddy,’ fussed Dick. ‘Nothing like whisky, sugar, and lemon wi’ a wee drop o’ water to get you on your feet again. Then you havenae had any breakfast. A plate of porridge is what you need.’

‘Yes, Daddy,’ said Hamish. ‘I’m right grateful. But before that, could you go outside and see if they’ve got that diver? I’m still feeling a bit cold, and I don’t want to go outside yet.’

After a long while, Dick came back with Jimmy. Hamish explained what had happened.

‘I’m waiting for the police divers,’ said Jimmy. ‘How did you manage to escape?’

‘I kicked him,’ said Hamish. He knew that any mention of the dagger would lead to endless paperwork and endless inquiries. Blair would try to get him accused of culpable homicide.

‘He could have got out of the loch on the other side and made his way off through the forestry,’ said Dick.

‘Fern said, “They made me do it,”’ said Hamish. ‘How is she?’

‘By the time she got to the hospital, she was hanging on by a thread. The way I look at it,’ said Jimmy, ‘whoever “they” are, they forced her into that loch. Somehow, they blame you for the whole thing coming apart. We’ll need to hope she recovers. When you’re feeling better, send over your report.’

The dead body of the diver was caught in a strong current as the tide went out, and pulled out to sea. When the tide turned, the body was carried towards the cliffs at the entrance to the loch. There giant waves hammered it time and again against the cliffs and jagged rocks, before
turning
again and dragging the remains back out to sea.

Fern Palfour died in hospital without saying another word. Britain from the north to the south was scoured for the missing Palfours, but without success. For a week, the press besieged the police station in Lochdubh before finally giving up. Hamish had been ordered by Daviot to stay indoors and not to speak to them.

The Sutherland weather performed one of its changes as the wind moved round to the west and brought mild weather.

It was sheer desperation that prompted Hamish Macbeth to pay a visit on the seer Angus Macdonald. He did not
believe in Angus’s second sight, but knew he had a vast fund of knowledge of the area.

He bought a packet of good coffee from Patel’s and set off up the brae to the seer’s, rubbing repellent on his face and neck, for the milder weather had brought the midges out again. He marvelled at their survival, wondering how the hard frost hadn’t killed them off.

‘What brings ye, Hamish?’ said Angus, opening the door to him and then ushering him in.

‘You’re the seer. You’re supposed to know,’ said Hamish, sitting down in a chair by the peat fire where a blackened kettle on a chain hung over the flames. Angus had a perfectly good electric kettle in the kitchen, but he liked to create an old-fashioned atmosphere for visitors.

‘Stop joking and tell me,’ said Angus, lowering himself into a battered armchair opposite and stroking his long grey beard.

Hamish handed him the packet of coffee, which Angus took with an appreciative grunt.

‘It’s like this,’ said Hamish. ‘We’ve searched high and low for the missing Palfours. You’ve a grand knowledge of the county. Can you think of any old building or ruin we might not have searched?’