Death of a Nurse (14 page)

They seated themselves in the study and waited. Greta walked in, followed by her husband.

“We wish to speak to your wife alone,” said Fiona.

“This is an outrage,” spluttered Andrew. “I shall phone Mr. Daviot and—”

“Do that,” said Fiona, “and I will make sure the newspapers find out how you and your wife pass your time in Edinburgh.”

Andrew beat a hasty retreat. Hamish surveyed Greta. She was a big powerful woman with strong hands.

“Mrs. Harrison,” began Fiona. “You were odd woman out at that wife-swopping party. You could have left and driven up here to strangle Gloria Dainty.”

“Why on earth would I want to do that?”

“Perhaps you were afraid your father-in-law might change his will and leave everything to Miss Dainty.”

“I never even met the woman,” snapped Greta.

“When you left this Edinburgh party, where did you go?”

“I went back to the George Hotel and went to bed. I ordered room service. The staff will be able to vouch for me.”

“Why did you leave?”

Greta suddenly looked weary. “I don’t like the games Andrew likes to play. I find it all rather sad. But do check up on me by all means and if that’s all you’ve got, get the hell out of here.”

They looked at each other after she had left. “I’ve an awful feeling her alibi will check out,” said Fiona.

“What about the statements from the druggies?” suggested Hamish. “We could pull them in.”

“As you pointed out earlier, Mr. Daviot is so determined the case is closed,” said Fiona, “that he will simply insist that drug addicts will say anything. It’s a dead end. I’ve got time owing. I am going to Edinburgh for a break. A word in private with you, Carter. Wait outside, Macbeth.”

Hamish waited in the hall. Fiona came out after a few moments. Her colour was high. She did not speak to Hamish but went on through the hall, out into the snow, and slammed the door behind her.

“What happened?” asked Hamish when Charlie came out of the study.

“Just a private matter,” said Charlie. “Let’s go.”

Christmas came and went. The New Year dawned. Hamish and Charlie went about their duties. Only Charlie was happy. He and the colonel spent a great deal of time together. Hamish, however, felt the murders were unsolved. The fact that there might be a murderer out there, feeling safe and secure, kept coming back to haunt him. After Christmas, Andrew and his wife had gone back to London.

Then one fine day, he saw Juris and his wife coming out of Patel’s shop. “How is Mr. Harrison?” asked Hamish.

“Same as ever,” said Juris. “His son and daughter-in-law are coming up next weekend on a flying visit.”

“Is Mr. Harrison leaving you anything in his will?” asked Hamish.

“Oh, he says he is. But he tells everyone around he’s leaving them money. It’s to keep us all sweet. But the lawyer was round last week. I listened at the door. Andrew gets it all. I told the gamekeeper, Harry Mackay, and the shepherd, Tom Stirling. You should ha’ seen their faces. The old man had promised them the ownership of their cottages and a good sum when he died, because it’s no secret Andrew plans to sell the place off. Man. Harry was that furious, he said he felt like putting a bullet in the old man.”

“And what about you?” asked Hamish.

“Oh, me and Inga never believed him. I mean, it’s right typical of rich old people. They promise this one and that one to keep them all running around.”

Hamish uneasily watched them both go. He hoped Mr. Harrison’s promises would not turn out to be a sort of Russian roulette and someone might be tempted to help him to an early grave.

Chapter Ten

As a few weeks of rare fine weather continued, Hamish was almost able to put the murders out of his mind. He had dutifully called on Miss Whittaker and the accountant, Gerald Wither, to give an account of the closing of the case—an account he could not quite believe in.

He had a niggling worry to plague him which had nothing to do with the murders. He was walking his pets accompanied by Charlie when a pretty hitchhiker approached him and cried, “A wild cat! I never thought to be so close to one.”

“It iss not the wild cat,” said Hamish, his accent becoming stronger as it did when he was distressed or worried. “It is chust the large tabby.”

The girl was small, carrying a huge pack on her back. She had curly fair hair dyed with streaks of shocking pink and a cheeky face.

“Suit yourself,” she said. “But that’s a wild cat and it should be with its own kind. Unnatural to keep it as a pet.”

She waved to him and walked on, leaving Hamish worried. He looked down at Sonsie. Would the cat really be better in the wild? And what would become of Lugs without his friend?

“What do you think?” he asked Charlie.

“Maybe she’s right,” said Charlie awkwardly. “I’m always afraid that one day someone’s going to take you to court and get the beast. We could take her ower to Ardnamurchan and let her loose. If she doesnae run away, well, that’s that. We’ll take her home. But maybe give her a chance o’ freedom.”

“Oh, leave her be,” said Hamish.

But the next day, something happened to change his mind. He had forgotten about Blair’s long campaign against him. The detective chief inspector’s wife, Mary, had been reading about the extension of the Ardnamurchan sanctuary. She showed Blair the article, saying, “Doesn’t that wild cat look like Hamish’s pet?”

Blair studied the article and his bloodshot eyes gleamed with malice. When his wife had left to meet friends, he found the e-mail address of the trust and informed them that one local policeman in Lochdubh was keeping a wild cat as a pet.

Fortunately for Hamish, a scientist and his assistant called at the hotel first for lunch and told the waiter that they were going to the local police station because there had been a report of a wild cat. The waiter told the manager, who phoned Hamish. Charlie took Sonsie off. Hamish ran to the vet and borrowed a large domestic tabby and sat down to wait.

The scientist and his assistant when they called were plainly disappointed. When they left, Hamish had a sudden intuition that Blair was behind it. He managed to get Mary on the phone when Blair was out and asked her if her husband had shown any interest in wild cats.

“Funny you should say that,” said Mary. “I was looking in the papers about the wild cat sanctuary and there was a photo and I said to him that it looked like your cat. He grabbed the paper and shot out the door.”

When he had rung off, Hamish put his head in his hands. He knew Blair would never give up. Somehow, the wretched man would get a photo of Sonsie and then the game would be up. When Charlie returned, he told him what had happened.

“Well, now,” said Charlie. “We’ll drive to Ardnamurchan and let her out. If we’re stopped, we can say we’re going to visit the lighthouse. If she comes back, we’ll take her home and find some way to get Blair to shut up.”

Ardnamurchan is wild and very beautiful with only a sparse population. The tip of the peninsula—Britain’s westernmost point—extends between the islands of Mull to its south and Eigg, Rum, and the more distant Skye to its north.

They had left Lugs at the hotel in the care of the chef. A magnificent sunset was blazing across the sky as they followed a one-track road, looking nervously to right and left in case any scientists leapt out of the heather.

“Here’ll do,” said Hamish, pulling onto the side of the road. “We’ll settle down and light the stove as if we’re having a picnic and see how Sonsie reacts.”

“Cats are very territorial,” said Charlie. “What if she gets mauled?”

“Then her attacker is going to be one stun-gunned cat.”

Hamish got out and lifted out the stove. “I brought sausages,” said Charlie, producing a pack. “Sonsie is right fond of sausages.”

“Grand,” said Hamish, feeling suddenly cheerful. He felt sure Sonsie would not leave him.

Soon the sausages were frying and Charlie was pouring cups of coffee from a thermos. “Let the cat out, Hamish,” said Charlie. “We’ll need to try sometime.”

Suddenly uneasy, Hamish let the cat out. Sonsie’s great head turned this way and that and then she bounded off across the heather.

“She’ll be back,” said Hamish. “I’ll put a couple of sausages on a dish for her.”

They waited and waited. Then Hamish whistled, that whistle that had always brought Sonsie running back, but there was nothing but the sound of the breeze soughing through the weather.

The stars blazed overhead. “I’d better go and look for her,” said Hamish.

Charlie put a hand on his arm. “Something’s there. Sit right quiet.”

Creeping out of the heather came Sonsie and what looked like a great wild tom cat. They grabbed a sausage each and fled back into the heather.

“I think that’s that,” said Charlie. But Hamish would not be moved. Charlie got a sleeping bag out and made himself a bed in the heather, but Hamish sat all night long, his heart heavy.

When Charlie awoke in the morning, he found Hamish slumped against the side of the Land Rover, fast asleep. He gently shook him awake. “Come on home. It’s all over.”

“What about Lugs?” asked Hamish on the road back.

“We’ll see if the vet has any strays,” said Charlie. “Get him a wee puppy to look after. You get some more sleep and I’ll see to it.”

Hamish awoke later in the day. He and Lugs walked slowly along the waterfront. Charlie’s car screeched to a halt. He got out carrying a small white poodle in his arms.

“Meet Fifi,” he said proudly.

“That’s no dog for a man,” said Hamish. “Take it away.”

“Oh, Hamish. It belonged to old Mrs. Murchison what died last week and no one wants her wee pet. It’s got no home.”

Charlie put the poodle down. She pranced up to Lugs and nuzzled his ear.

Lugs licked her face.

“See?” said Charlie. “Isn’t she cute?”

“I’m not having any animal called Fifi.”

“Then call her something else.”

“Look, Charlie. Okay. So long as Lugs is happy. Could you settle them in and feed them? I’ve got to be somewhere.”

All day long, Hamish sat in Ardnamurchan where he had left Sonsie and called and whistled. Night fell and still he waited until he fell asleep.

In the morning, stiff, cold, and miserable, he drove the long way back. As he drove along the waterfront, he saw Charlie standing in the middle of the road, waving his arms.

“Just in time,” said Charlie. “Got a call. Andrew Harrison has been murdered!”

It became clear to Hamish and Charlie when they arrived at the hunting box that they were no longer to be privileged investigators. Fiona, Jimmy, Blair, and two detectives were waiting outside for the forensic team to finish their work and for the pathologist to give his report.

Fiona swung round when she saw them and said loudly and clearly for all to hear, “Your presence will not be necessary. Get back to your normal duties.”

Blair gave a fat grin. “Well, that’s that,” said Hamish as they both climbed back into the Land Rover. “Talk about hell having no fury.”

As they drove off, Daviot was arriving.

In the rearview mirror, Hamish saw Blair taking Daviot to one side.

Despite all the detective chief inspector’s frequent gaffes, Daviot felt comfortable with him. They were members of the same lodge. Blair always kowtowed to him and never made him feel like a fool.

“It looks as if Malky could not have been the murderer,” said Daviot.

“Isn’t that just what I was thinking,” said Blair eagerly. “And I know who’s to blame for that.”

“Who?”

“Our inspector. Didnae you think it weird, sir, that instead of investigating the murders with professional detectives, she should go out on her own and demand the presence of two local highland bobbies?”

“Yes, that does seem strange,” said Daviot. He had not liked Fiona’s high-handed attitude.

“I mean, sir, the police commissioner would be quite shocked if he heard. There were rumours around that she was sweet on Carter and her a married woman and to a judge, too.”

“Keep your eye on things here,” ordered Daviot. “I’m going back to police headquarters.”

Once back at his desk, Daviot sent a long e-mail to the police commissioner, putting the blame for pinning the murders on Malky fair and square on Fiona’s shoulders. He felt a warm glow of gratitude towards Blair, feeling that the detective had managed to exonerate him, Daviot, from blame.

In the police station, Hamish absentmindedly patted the little poodle and scratched Lugs’s ears. His dog looked up at him out of his odd blue eyes. “Sorry, old boy,” said Hamish, “but Sonsie isn’t coming back.”

“I’ll make us some tea,” said Charlie.

“Good idea.” Hamish stretched and yawned. “Then I think I’ll catch up on more sleep. I’m so tired I can’t think straight. Do me a favour, Charlie, and take Lugs and that other ridiculous animal out for a walk after we’ve had some tea.”

“You’ll have to give the wee poodle a name.”

“I’ll call it It for the moment.”

“What about Frenchie? Pretty wee thing.”

“If you want.”

They drank their tea in silence. Then Hamish said slowly, “Fiona is going to be in trouble over this.”

“Why?”

“Just a feeling. As we drove off, I saw Blair talking to Daviot. Daviot won’t want to take the blame for a botched case. What if it came out that she took us around with her, instead of proper detectives?”

“She seems to have a lot of power. Probably won’t come to anything. I’m off. I’ll wake you later. It’s a good thing old Harrison didn’t promise to leave us something in his will or we’d be dragged in for questioning as well.”

“They won’t get far,” said Hamish. “Juris won’t tell Blair a thing once he starts his usual shouting and bullying.”

Charlie walked the animals, glad in a way to be off the case and away from Fiona. The little poodle was a big hit with the locals. Even the Currie sisters bent down to pet her. He then drove them up to the hotel, had a cosy chat with the colonel, and promised to go fishing with him the next day.

When he returned to the station, he saw with a sinking heart that Fiona was sitting in her car outside. She got out and waited while he parked and let the dogs out.

“I’ve been suspended,” she said abruptly.

“Why, ma’am?”

“Some malicious bastard put in a report that instead of using highly trained detectives, I was covering the case with two highland coppers. I mistakenly relied on reports of Macbeth’s successes.”

“Ma’am, he was the one who told you that I did not think the murderer was Malky.”

She looked at him sullenly, got into her car, and her driver drove off.

“Will Daviot call us in for an explanation?” asked Charlie when he had told Hamish what had happened.

“He can’t,” said Hamish. “He knows damn well we were following orders and that he went along with it. I’m sick o’ the whole business. I need to think. I’ll do some chores.”

“I’ll help you,” said Charlie.

Hamish was well aware that Charlie was capable of breaking more things around the station. “No, you take the day off,” he said. “I’ll phone you if I think of anything.”

Hamish went indoors, made himself a cup of coffee, and then went into the office to go through his notes on the computer. Lugs came in and put a paw on his knee and stared up at him. “She isnae coming back,” said Hamish sadly. “You’ll just need to make do wi’ that piece of fluff called a poodle.”

After a few minutes, Hamish heard the large flap on the kitchen door bang. He rose and went through to the kitchen to get a piece of shortbread. He looked out of the kitchen window. Lugs and the poodle were chasing each other round the back field in the sunshine.

I wish I could get ower the loss of Sonsie that easy, thought Hamish.

He went back to the office, put his hands behind his head, and stared into space, letting all the scenes from the investigation run through his head. Forget about old Harrison’s will, he thought. I wonder if his life was insured. I wonder if they needed money. But Andrew must have been making a fair whack as a London barrister. But maybe Greta was sickened by the sex games. Still, if she wanted rid of her husband, surely the time to do it would have been at the height of the murder investigations.

How had Andrew been murdered and where? He phoned Jimmy on his mobile.

“I’ll lose my job if they know I’m talking to you,” whispered Jimmy.

“How was Andrew murdered and where?” asked Hamish.

“Savage blow to the head out in the grounds. Look, get the whisky ready and I’ll drop in on you later.”