Death of a Nurse (13 page)

Hamish got a call from Jimmy Anderson, who gleefully related the whole scene. “It seems as if Harold reported you to headquarters for deliberately sabotaging his car and Blair came flying up. Harold insulted him. Blair arrested him and they’re on their way back.”

When she heard the story, Priscilla said in a voice as cold as the snowy scene outside the Land Rover, “I wouldn’t put it past you, Hamish.”

“Priscilla, I was nowhere around when the car wouldnae start. I thought someone was in trouble when a wee boy reported a woman was getting raped.”

“So how did you get here so quickly from Braikie?”

“False report of a burglary.”

Soon they heard the whir of a helicopter. When it landed, Hamish got out and went to meet Daviot.

He noticed Charlie had disappeared.

“Report, Macbeth,” commanded Daviot. Hamish said that a boy had reported a rape at the Falls of Shin and he had raced there. He found it was a false alarm. Then Harold’s car wouldn’t start so he had gone off to find a mechanic and had to wait until the man finished his dinner.

“I’ll hae the keys,” said the mechanic, and Harold passed them over. Soon they heard the engine of his car roar into life. “Seems just fine,” he said. “Maybe your spark plugs got damp.”

“Rubbish! The distributor caps had been stolen. Where is this schoolboy?” said Harold. “I don’t believe he exists.”

“Here,” came Charlie’s voice. He walked up to them leading two small boys whose faces were smeared with chocolate. “Go on, Declan,” he said to one of the boys. “Tell the nice superintendent what you saw.”

“Me and Rory was up by the falls making a snowman,” said Declan, “and we saw this wumman and a man seemed to be attacking her. I’ve got a mobile from my ma so I called the police.”

Daviot turned to Priscilla. “Is there any truth in this? Were you in difficulties?”

Priscilla turned red with embarrassment. “My fiancé was kissing me, but I struggled free because it didn’t seem the right place or time. I’m afraid these little boys got the wrong idea.”

Harold rounded on Priscilla. “I am going back to civilisation right now. We are going to the hotel and then we are going straight back to London.”

“Not here,” said Priscilla. “We’ll discuss this on the road back to the hotel.”

“I want pay for my time,” said the mechanic.

“You can take your time and stuff it up your highland arse,” shouted Harold.

“Send your bill to police headquarters in Strathbane,” said Daviot, “and maybe we’ll call it quits.”

“No, we won’t call it quits,” said Harold. “I’m suing you lot for wrongful arrest.”

“It’ll make a right amusing story for the press,” said Hamish, “when it gets to court. London stockbroker reported falsely for trying to rape his fiancée. Arrested and taken off in handcuffs. Although nothing up with his car, told hardworking mechanic to shove his bill up his arse. I can see the headlines now.”

“Oh, drop the whole thing,” said Harold.

He helped Priscilla into his car and drove off. Daviot nodded curtly to Hamish and climbed into the helicopter.

“Make that bill a big one,” said Hamish to the mechanic. “Come on, Charlie. Do the kids live nearby?”

“Aye, they’ll be all right. A croft just ower the brae.”

“We may as well follow them. We’re all going to Lochdubh anyway.”

As they drove along, Hamish asked, “How much did it cost you?”

“Two bars o’ chocolate and a fiver.”

“Parents all right with that?”

“The father, John Sweeney, is a friend o’ your mother’s. No trouble at all.”

“That’s them up ahead,” said Hamish, looking down the long road. “I don’t like this. I think he’s a brute. Priscilla’s always looking for someone suitable to please her parents. Now what’s happening? He’s driven off the road and up thon forestry track. We’d better follow them.”

“I wouldnae do that,” said Charlie. “You’ll give Harold a good reason to say we’re stalking him.”

“You’re right,” said Hamish. “You stay here and I’ll go on foot.”

“What on earth are we doing here?” demanded Priscilla.

“It’s time you got to know who’s boss in this relationship,” said Harold. “Get in the backseat.”

“No, I will not. Drive me back to the hotel immediately.”

Harold leaned across her, flicked open the glove compartment, and drew out a knife. He held it to her throat. “Do as you’re told.”

Priscilla wrenched off her engagement ring and threw it in his face. “The engagement is over.” She opened the car door and got out. “I’ll walk.”

Harold got out as well, seized her, and threw her down in the snow. He brandished the knife. “You are going to do exactly as you’re told, you frigid bitch.”

The next moment he was seized by the collar and jerked backwards. Hamish Macbeth stamped on his wrist. Harold let go of the knife. Hamish picked it up and threw it off into the trees.

“I am charging you with attempted rape,” said Hamish, “and with carrying a dangerous weapon. You—”

“Hamish,” pleaded Priscilla, “let it go. I can’t bear the scandal. I feel like an absolute fool. Please, Hamish.”

“Oh, all right,” said Hamish. Harold was still lying on the ground. He gave him a vicious kick in the ribs to relieve his feelings. “Go down to the road, Priscilla. You’ll find Charlie there. I’ll join you in a moment.”

He walked to Harold’s Range Rover and took the keys out of the ignition. “You can walk back to the hotel, you scunner,” he raged.

He put the keys in his pocket and strode back down the track.

Harold had to wait two hours before the Automobile Association, already overloaded with emergency calls, managed to get someone out to him. He was freezing because without his car keys, he had been unable to put on the car heater. By the time he had thought to phone the hotel manager and ask that someone should go up to his room and find his spare keys, Hamish had already been on to the hotel. He was told that his cases were packed and waiting for him in the hall and he was no longer welcome.

Hamish kept Priscilla at the police station until he heard that Harold had left. He then asked Charlie to take her back. Priscilla was badly shaken. She had told him that Harold had seemed so romantic. He had sent her roses and taken her out to the best restaurants in town. Hamish felt he was listening to a description of a psychopathic control freak. He had heard of cases where men like Harold would start off as loving and caring. But usually they waited until the woman was secure in marriage before they started making life a hell.

Would Priscilla ever realise that there was something up with her? He remembered when they were engaged, how her coldness had made him want to weep.

He was just settling comfortably in front of the television with Lugs and Sonsie beside him on the sofa when his mobile rang.

It was Fiona. “I’ll be with you in an hour. There’s a lot to discuss.”

Chapter Nine

By the time the inspector arrived, Hamish was fast asleep. Fiona had let herself in. She stood looking down at him and made to shake him awake. The cat’s eyes blazed with a yellow light and she let out a warning hiss.

“Macbeth!” Fiona shouted.

“What?” Hamish struggled awake and then got to his feet. “Sorry, ma’am. It’s been a long day.”

“Where’s Carter?”

“At the hotel.”

“Get him here!”

Charlie arrived in ten minutes’ time, glad to escape from a dinner with the Halburton-Smythe family. Priscilla was miserable and her parents looked wretched.

He shied like a large carthorse when he saw Fiona, but all she said coldly was, “Now you are here, Carter, we can get down to business.” She took her laptop out of its case and switched it on. “Here’s what I have found. Yes, Andrew and Greta Harrison were at this wife-swopping party. The people who indulge in that sort of thing! There was even a judge there.”

“Not your husband, I hope,” said Hamish.

“Don’t get cheeky with me, Sergeant. Now, how this sleazy party works is that they draw out slips of paper, and whoever’s name’s on it chooses a partner. It’s a great big place out at Morningside. That couple go off to one of the many bedrooms. But the one who was not chosen was Greta because there was one woman too many. What did she do then? Nobody knows. Her husband tried to swear she was waiting for him when he had finished his business. That was how he put it. But all the others, now terrified of scandal, and promised secrecy provided they were honest, all swore that Andrew had left alone. She could have driven to the hunting box, lured Gloria outside, and strangled her. She and Andrew may have been terrified that old Harrison would leave everything in his will to her.

“I am keeping quiet about this for the moment until we talk to her. That will be all. I will see you both here at nine in the morning.”

“How do you feel about her now?” Hamish asked Charlie.

“I don’t feel anything. In fact, it’s all like some sort of dream. Herself will be staying at the hotel. Maybe I should stay here.”

“Oh, you’ll be all right,” said Hamish. “She’s taken to calling you Carter and there was anything but lovelight in her eyes when she looked at you.”

When Charlie returned to the hotel, he asked the night porter if he had a key for the door at the top of the basement stairs.

“I’ll look in the office,” he said. He was only away a few minutes before coming back and handing Charlie an old-fashioned rusty key. He had a job turning the key to lock the door but at last succeeded.

Half an hour later, the night porter looked up from the sports page of the newspaper he was reading to find Fiona Herring in front of him. She held out an imperious hand. “I need the key to the basement,” she said. “The door is locked.”

“Mr. Carter locked it,” he said. “But there’s nothing down there but old rubbish apart from Mr. Carter’s wee flat. Can I get you anything?”

“No. I can wait until morning,” said Fiona harshly.

Charlie awoke very early the next morning to get down to the police station before Fiona. The night porter was about to go off duty. “Oh, Mr. Carter,” he said. “Thon inspector wanted the key to the basement last night, but I told her you had it.”

Charlie blushed red. “Oh, it’s nothing but work with that woman,” he said, and made his escape.

Hamish was up early as well and listened in dismay to Charlie’s news. “The trouble is,” said Charlie, “she might want to get her own back by saying I wasnae living in the station.”

“I think she’d be too frightened to do that,” said Hamish, putting a frying pan on the stove. “If she’s got her wits about her, she might be worried you’d bring a case of sexual harassment. Sit down. What we both need is a good breakfast.”

After a large fry-up of haggis, black pudding, eggs, and bacon, Charlie took a saucer and poured milk into it, and then salt into another.

“What the hell are you doing?” demanded Hamish.

“I’m putting this out for the fairies,” said Charlie stubbornly. “I’m going to ask them for another blizzard. That way, we cannae go up there and I’ll hae another day where I don’t have to look at her.”

“You’re daft.”

Charlie disappeared. When he came in, he tripped over the dog, clutched the kitchen table, and fell down in a rain of crockery.

“Och, get a dustpan and brush,” said Hamish, helping him to his feet. “You should have asked the wee folk to help you stop breaking up my home. Hurry up, man. It’s nearly nine o’clock.”

Charlie hurriedly cleaned up the mess and had just finished when Fiona walked in.

“Any sign of snow, ma’am?” asked Charlie.

“No. Make me a strong coffee, Macbeth, and then we’ll get off. You can both follow my car.”

They had just crossed the humpbacked bridge leading out of Lochdubh when a great gust of wind rocked the Land Rover and then the view ahead disappeared in a blinding snowstorm. Hamish gave a superstitious shiver and felt like crossing himself.

Fiona’s driver turned her car into the hotel car park. Her driver got out and rapped on the window of the Land Rover. “The inspector says we can do nothing today,” he said. “She will call you when the storm is over.”

“A reprieve,” said Charlie. “I’ll keep to the station all day.”

“I keep hoping Priscilla will be all right,” said Hamish. “I sent Lochy a photo of Harold so he knows what he looks like. I also told him what happened.”

While Harold was still stuck by his car, Priscilla had gone back to the hotel, packed her bags, taken a cab to Inverness airport, and caught a flight to London. She could not bring herself to face her parents with another broken engagement.

Upon her return, she switched on the television and settled down for a quiet evening. That whole episode with Harold seemed like a horrible dream. She switched on the news. She saw a report that an enormous blizzard had blanketed the north of Scotland and passengers had to be lifted off by helicopter from the Wick-to-Inverness train.

Harold stood outside on the pavement, swaying slightly, for he was very drunk. He wondered if Priscilla had changed the locks, for she had given him a set of keys. He thirsted for revenge. He walked into the entrance hall of the flats.

Priscilla had been so glad to be back in her flat that she had failed to either change the locks or to tell the porter to stop Harold from entering.

Harold nodded to the porter and made his way up the thickly carpeted stairs to Priscilla’s flat on the first floor.

The porter stared as a huge man like a heavyweight boxer strode into the hall.

“Here! Where are you going?” he demanded.

Lochy flashed a fake warrant card and growled, “Police.” He strode up and listened at the door. Silence. He took out the keys he had been given and quietly opened the door.

He heard movement from a room at the end of the corridor. He gently tried the door. It was locked. Oh, well, thought Lochy with a mental shrug. Here goes. He raised one metal-capped boot and kicked the door open. Harold was in the act of handcuffing Priscilla to the bed.

Harold swung round. Lochy gave him a savage uppercut and knocked him unconscious. Priscilla stared up at him, speechless with horror.

“There now,” said Lochy soothingly. “Let’s get you out of this. Charlie Carter told me to look after you, lassie.” He unfastened the handcuff and helped her to sit up. “Do you want to call the police?”

“Yes. No,” said Priscilla. “The newspapers. The scandal.”

“All right, miss. I’ll just handcuff this bastard. Right. Got anything to tie his feet?”

Priscilla climbed out of bed and staggered over to a drawer where she extracted a leather belt. “That’s the ticket,” said Lochy. “You’d better get the locks changed and a burglar alarm. Do you want me to get rid of this?”

“Don’t kill him,” said Priscilla through white lips.

“I’m no’ in the killing game. But I wouldnae mind a wee dram.”

“Of course,” said Priscilla weakly. “Come through to the sitting room.”

She led the way and Lochy lumbered after her. She poured a generous measure of Glenlivet into a glass and handed it to him, then poured one for herself.

“I feel so stupid,” she mourned. “I should have changed the locks. What happens now?”

“I’ll take him away somewhere and make sure it disnae happen again.”

There came thumps and yells from the bedroom. “Didnae hit him hard enough,” said Lochy. “Back in a minute.”

He went into the bedroom and took a roll of tape out of his pocket, sliced off a section, and pasted it across Harold’s mouth.

Then he returned to the sitting room and picked up his glass. “That should shut him up for a minute. Aye, it was Charlie and Hamish were right worried about ye and asked me to keep an eye on ye.”

“I must pay you something.”

“No, your pa did that.”

Priscilla began to cry. “I’m useless,” she said at last.

“We all make mistakes,” said Lochy sententiously. “Now, I’d better do my job and get him out of here.”

“Won’t the porter call the police?”

Lochy grinned. “He thinks I am the police.”

He went back to the bedroom and ripped the tape from Harold’s mouth. “I’ve got a gun,” said Lochy. “One peep out o’ you and you’re a dead man.” He unfastened the belt from round Harold’s ankles but kept the handcuffs on him.

Harold in all his bullying life had never known such terror. He allowed Lochy to march him past the porter without saying a word. Outside, Lochy shoved him into the passenger seat of his car, got in himself, and drove off.

“Do you want money?” pleaded Harold.

“I want you to shut up. There’s brandy in the glove box if you need some Dutch courage.”

“I’m handcuffed.”

“Poor wee soul.” Lochy jerked the car to a halt. He fished out the flask of brandy, opened it, and held it to Harold’s lips. Harold took a great gulp, not knowing it was heavily drugged. In no time at all, he was fast asleep.

Lochy drove steadily northwards until he reached one of the less salubrious parts of Birmingham. He stopped his car, went round, and hauled Harold’s body out of the car, took off the handcuffs and dumped him on the pavement, and then drove off.

Harold awoke at dawn the next morning. He stumbled to his feet and looked wildly up and down the deserted street. He tried to find out the time but discovered his gold Rolex had gone. Terrified, he felt in his pockets. No wallet, no phone, no driving licence. Nothing.

He saw a sanitation truck coming down the street and stood in the road waving his hands for it to stop. He shouted that he had been mugged.

“You’ll find a police station round the next corner,” said the driver.

Harold thirsted for revenge. But outside the police station, he stopped in dismay. If he told them about Lochy, the man would be arrested, but the whole story of his own attempted rape would come out.

He squared his shoulders and walked in. He told the desk sergeant that he had been drinking in a pub in London when someone must have slipped him a mickey. The next thing he knew, he had woken up in a Birmingham street to find he had been mugged. It seemed to take ages to give a statement to a detective. Then a wait until the firm he worked for started for the day to confirm his identity and say they would send a car for him.

At last, having been told to take the day off, he returned to London to find his apartment had been burgled. He sat down amid the chaos and began to phone to cancel all his credit cards and phone the insurance company and the police.

Charlie was awakened during the night by a call from Lochy and listened in horror to his story of the attempted rape. Before Fiona arrived at the station, he told Hamish what Lochy had said.

“What’s up with her?” howled Hamish. “Why does she always pick losers?”

Charlie politely forbore from pointing out that Hamish himself had been one of the losers.

Fiona arrived. “The snow has stopped and I think we can make it,” she said briskly. “I don’t like all this havey-cavey stuff but we’ll need something concrete to take to Daviot.”

“All she had to do is deny it, ma’am,” said Hamish.

“We’ll interview her on her own and see if we can break her.”

“Fairies aren’t working today,” said Hamish as they followed Fiona’s car. The snow ploughs and gritters had done a good job. It was still dark because in winter in Sutherland the sun only crept over the horizon around ten in the morning.

“Don’t mock the wee people,” said Charlie.

They made their way slowly to the hunting lodge. A grey dawn was beginning to cover the sky as they moved up the now familiar drive. Juris answered the door and told them that the family were at breakfast.

“We wish to interview Mrs. Harrison,” said Fiona. “We will use the study.”