Death of a Policeman (17 page)

Dick had a sudden impulse to visit Betty's grave. Hamish had gone out on his rounds to make sure people in the more remote crofts were all right. Dick had bought another old Ford.

He motored to the cemetery and began to wander through the graves, holding a vase and a bunch of white roses. At last he found the grave and crouched down and began to arrange the roses in the vase.

“Did you know my mother?” asked a voice behind him. Dick got to his feet and turned around. A lanky young woman with thick glasses stood looking at him.

“I was a friend,” said Dick.

“I'm her daughter.”

“I'm very sorry for your loss,” said Dick. “I thought you were at university.”

“Half term. The minister told me that mother helped a lot of people. She often worked in the soup kitchen.”

“She did indeed. A great lady.”

“Mother wouldn't have wanted you to waste your money in flowers. Here!” She took out a wallet and extracted a twenty-pound note. “Buy yourself a meal.”

“I do not need your money,” said Dick, outraged. He stalked off.

When he got to the car, he sat trembling with outrage. Then he looked in the rearview mirror. His face was covered in grey stubble. He looked down at his clothes. He was wearing an old donkey jacket over a washed-out T-shirt. He realised his hair was straggling down the back of his neck. No wonder she had taken him for a down-and-out!

He drove into a barbershop in the town and got a shave and a haircut. He then bought new clothes: an anorak, wool sweater, and new trousers. He changed in the public toilet and left his old clothes behind.

When he got back to the police station, there was a note on the kitchen table. “Gone to Braikie. Shoplifting. Hamish.”

Dick realised that he had been so sunk in gloom, he had barely noticed that Hamish had stopped taking him out on jobs.

He got back into his car and headed for Braikie. He cruised around but couldn't see Hamish anywhere. He phoned him. “Nothing but a couple of schoolkids,” said Hamish. “See you back at the station.”

Dick was just driving past the library when he saw Shona leaving for her lunch. He stopped the car, got out, and followed her into the café.

“Why, Dick!” she exclaimed. “You're so thin!”

“Been having a hard time o' it,” said Dick, sitting down opposite her.

“That makes two of us,” said Shona, and began to cry.

“Here, lassie. Dinnae greet. Tell Dick all about it.” He said to the waitress. “Leave us for a bit.”

He handed Shona a handkerchief and waited until she had finished crying. “It's Diarmuid,” she said. “He's broken off the engagement.”

“Why?”

“He says I've been sleeping with half the men in Braikie.”

“Oh, really? And what does dear Hetty have to say for herself?”

Shona looked at him in surprise. “What's Hetty got to do with it?”

“She's a spiteful, jealous cow. Where does this Diarmuid work?”

“In the town hall. In the sanitation department.”

“It's Diarmuid Hendry, isn't it?”

“Yes, but…”

“Eat something. I'll be right back.”

Dick went into the town hall and located the sanitation department. He flashed his warrant card and asked to speak to Mr. Hendry. He was ushered into a small cubicle of an office. Diarmuid rose to meet him. “What's this about, Officer?”

“Shona is very upset,” said Dick. “I believe you've been listening to malicious lies from Hetty, her boss. There's not a word o' truth in any of it. I'm surprised you even listened to the woman.”

Diarmuid looked awkward. “She was very convincing.”

“Well, now you know it's all lies, you can get engaged again,” said Dick.

Diarmuid sat down behind his desk and began to fiddle with a paper clip. Dick thought he looked like a geek with his oily black hair and thick glasses. He had expected Diarmuid to be handsome.

“There's a problem,” said Diarmuid. “I've met someone else.”

“You whit?” roared Dick.

“It just happened,” mumbled Diarmuid. “I'm in love with her.”

“You make me sick,” raged Dick. “You cannae have loved Shona one bit, and I'll tell you this, she's had a lucky escape.”

Dick went back to join Shona. “What did he say?” she asked.

“I'm afraid the turd has found someone else. Look, Shona, pet, he's useless. If he'd really loved you, he wouldn't have believed Hetty for a moment. Maybe he didn't. Maybe he was already involved with this other lassie and wanted out. He's nothing but a streak o' piss. What did you see in him?”

“He was gentle. I had a boyfriend once who practically raped me. Diarmuid even said we could leave the sex bit until after we were married.”

“Michty me!” Dick looked at her with shrewd eyes. “Does he live with his mother?”

“Yes, I met her. She was very sweet. She told me just how he likes his coffee in the morning and all his favourite food.”

“Oh, she did, did she? Shona, look at me. The new lassie won't last long, either. Cheer up.”

“I'll try.”

“Want me to speak to Hetty?”

“Oh, no, please. It would be awful if you did. We've no proof. I'd better get back. Don't worry about me. I'll get over it.”

Dick went back to Lochdubh and told Hamish all about Shona's aborted engagement.

Hamish looked at him blankly for a long time. Dick was just beginning to wonder if Hamish had heard a word he had said, when Hamish finally said, “I'll be damned. Here we've got an unbalanced woman. We've got one dead policeman, namely Cyril. It must have been the biggest thing that ever happened to Hetty. Then he dumped her. Do you think the crazy bitch might have shot him?”

“It's more a man's murder,” said Dick. “Has she even got a shotgun?”

“If she has, I'll bet it isn't registered. For a moment, I was thinking of seeing the provost and getting her fired. Then I thought, she might kill Shona. The more I think of it, the more I think we've had a murderer right under our noses all this time.”

“But how can we prove it?” asked Dick. “We don't have enough to ask for a search warrant.”

Hamish seized the Highlands and Islands phone book and flipped through it. “Here we are. I'd forgotten the address. It's Number Four, The Loans. I'll get over there after dark and scout around.”

Hamish put on dark clothes that night and set out for Braikie. He decided he'd better be careful. He had walked into the Campbell brothers' trap like an idiot. He parked the Land Rover several streets away.

Hetty, he remembered, lived in a tall old house, divided into flats. Her apartment was on the ground floor. Thank goodness for the Victorians and their love of shrubbery, thought Hamish, easing himself into a thick clump of tall bushes near the entrance.

He crouched down further as the light went on in Hetty's flat. The door opened and a man came out. Hetty, wearing a pink dressing gown, wrapped her arms around him and kissed him hungrily on the mouth.

“Good night,” he said. “Don't forget Mother's invited us to tea tomorrow.”

“I won't forget, Diarmuid. Nighty-night, darling.”

Well, I'm blessed, thought Hamish. It's Shona's geek. He waited until Hetty had gone indoors again and Diarmuid had driven off and then wondered what to do. He could hardly break in while she was there.

Then he thought, she would be out for tea tomorrow.
Tea
would mean high tea, so probably around six o'clock. He decided to return the next day, stake out her house, and see if he could get in to make a search. He saw a lane up the side of the house and made his way there. There was a narrow road at the back. A gate led into Hetty's garden. It was shielded from the houses on either side by shrubbery and trees. That would be a good way to break in.

He returned to the station to tell Dick that Hetty was Diarmuid's latest love.

“What! Throw over Shona for that!” exclaimed Dick.

“I think sex is the answer. Maybe he was a virgin before she threw open her legs in welcome. I'll try to get into her flat.”

Hamish went to the church the next morning. He wasn't religious but felt it his duty to attend and add another body to the congregation because he liked Mr. Wellington, the minister. The day was cold with thick mist. Mist had crept into the building and lay in bands across the interior of the church. The Currie sisters were there, screeching out the hymns in high falsettos while Mrs. Wellington boomed beside them.

The reading was from Romans about people being like the flowers of the field. The wind passes over them and then they are gone. How many deaths have I dealt with? thought Hamish. At least living in Lochdubh let him keep a mental balance. He knew most policemen working in cities could end up believing everyone was evil, and trusting no one.

When the service was over, he quickly left the church, nipping past the Currie sisters, who were debating the sermon with the minister as usual.

He returned to the police station, collected the dog and cat, and went for a walk along the waterfront. The mist seemed thicker than ever. He hoped it would last all day. The nights were getting lighter, but he knew it would be still dark by six o'clock.

“Don't get caught,” urged Dick as Hamish set out. “If that one catches ye, she'll scream rape.”

“I'll be careful,” said Hamish.

He took Dick's car and drove to Braikie. Because the mist was still thick, he was only just able to see Diarmuid drive up and collect Hetty.

When they had gone off, he walked round to the road that led to the back of the villa. There were lights in the flats upstairs, but the flat next to Hetty's was in darkness. He climbed over the gate and went through the garden to the back door. It had only a simple Yale lock, which he sprang easily. Wearing latex gloves, he began his search.

He could not find anything incriminating. He even searched under the mattress in her bedroom. Then he heard the sound of a car arriving and stopping outside. He scuttled through to the kitchen and then stopped as he heard Hetty shouting, “What do you mean your mother doesn't like me?” And then came Diarmuid's voice. “Did you need to put so much make-up on? I think we should cool it, Hetty. I'll phone you.”

“You dump me and look out!” screeched Hetty.

He heard the front door open and then slam. He crept out of the kitchen door, shutting it quietly behind him, and made his way down the garden. It was then that he saw a shed to the left of the gate. The light from the kitchen suddenly streamed down the garden. Hamish nipped over the gate and crouched down. He decided to wait until the coast was clear. He was suddenly determined to see what was in that shed.

He poked his head over the wall. Hetty was sitting at the kitchen table, a glass in her hand.

The evening dragged on. The cold mist seemed to be creeping into Hamish's very bones. He suddenly flattened himself lower to the ground when he heard the kitchen door open. He heard Hetty come down the garden. He heard the click of a key and the rattle of a chain. She was opening the shed.

He risked a look over the garden wall. She was carrying a large bag. Hetty went into the kitchen and closed the curtains.

What was in the bag? More booze?

Or what if, thought Hamish, his mind making a sudden leap, it contained a shotgun. If Hetty rejected by Cyril had shot him, maybe she planned to do the same to Diarmuid.

He sprinted to his car and drove nearer to her villa with the lights off and waited.

After ten minutes she appeared, carrying the bag. She put it in the boot of her car, got in, and drove off. Hamish let her get a bit ahead and began to follow. But after several turnings, he lost her.

Suddenly afraid, he went straight to Shona's flat. She would know where Diarmuid lived.

Diarmuid and his mother, Abigail Hendry, were drinking cocoa in front of the television.

“I'm sorry, Mother,” said Diarmuid. “I didn't know she was such a harridan.”

She was a small woman, neatly dressed with short grey hair in the helmet fashion so beloved of Braikie hairdressers. “Quiet, now, darling. I do so love David Attenborough. Look at the funny penguin.”

There came a hammering at the door. “Who can that be?” wondered Diarmuid.

“Don't answer!” said his mother sharply. “Someone should have had the decency to phone.”

There then came the sound of breaking glass. Diarmuid ran into the hall in time to see a hand stretch inside the door and unlock it. He stood there, paralysed with fright, as Hetty entered wearing a long cloak.

“Hetty, I'm calling the police,” he babbled.

“What is it, dear?” called his mother.

Hetty thrust Diarmuid aside, went into the living room, took out a sawn-off shotgun from under her cloak, and shot Mrs. Hendry full in the chest.

She reloaded and went back into the hall. Diarmuid had fainted. He was slumped against the wall. He had peed himself, and his trousers were wet.

“Now, you,” said Hetty. “But I want you awake to see this.” There was a vase of flowers on the hall table. She tipped the contents, water, flowers, and all, over him.

He opened his eyes and screamed with fear.

“Think you can dump me,” said Hetty, raising the gun.

Hamish Macbeth hurtled through the open door and crashed his full weight right into Hetty, sending her flying. The gun went skittering across the tiles of the hall. He jumped on top of her, flipped her over, and handcuffed her while she let out a stream of swear words.

When she fell silent, he took out his phone and called Strathbane. “You can just see the tiger closing in on his prey,” said David Attenborough's voice from the television in the living room.