Gently North-West (13 page)

Brenda plumped down on the sofa. ‘Interesting,’ she said. ‘You could call it that.’

‘Did you go very far?’

‘Here and there. Awheel and afoot. We kept it varied.’

‘We strolled down to the loch,’ Geoffrey said. ‘And Bridget took off her shoes and paddled. There’s a skiff moored there I’d like to borrow. I did that sketch from the shore of the loch.’

‘Nice,’ Brenda said. ‘Nice. George should try his hand at sketching.’

‘Oh, it bores other people,’ Geoffrey smiled.

‘It wouldn’t bore me,’ Brenda said.

‘I was thinking, tomorrow,’ Geoffrey said, ‘we could take a picnic up Glen Skilling – Sunday, you know, we don’t want to go far – Glen Skilling is just the right distance. Where have you been?’

‘Visiting,’ Brenda said. ‘We met some old friends in Glen Knockie. They wanted to keep us, were rather pressing. But George insisted we shouldn’t stay.’

‘People do know George,’ Bridget said complacently. ‘He can’t get away from it wherever he goes. Why, he’s famous in the village already – somebody left a note for him while we were out.’

‘A note?’ Gently said.

‘Yes – here.’ Bridget moved one of Geoffrey’s sketches and produced an envelope. ‘Somebody pushed it under the door – we don’t aspire to a letter-box, as you may have noticed.’

Gently took the envelope. It was of cheap butter-paper, such as one buys in village shops, and was addressed to: The English Policeman Staying At Major Macfarlane’s Cottage. Gently slit it carefully with his knife and shook the contents onto the table. A single folded sheet of the same paper fell out. Still using the knife, he unfolded it, then laid the knife on it to hold it flat. It bore a rough drawing of a dirk and the words:
The dirk is never sheathed.

‘Good heavens!’ Bridget exclaimed. ‘What can
that
mean?’

‘Very simple,’ Brenda said. ‘This afternoon they couldn’t shoot George, so this evening they propose to stab him.’

They went to dinner. Gently left Brenda to relate their adventures to Geoffrey and Bridget while he used the Bonnie Strathtudlem’s phone to get in touch with Inspector Blayne. Blayne was elusive. Gently reached him at last at The Wild Highlandman in Balmagussie, and then found him very reluctant to agree to a meeting before the morning.

‘I’ve had a long, hard day of it, ye ken,’ he grumbled. ‘There’s maybe not just that urgency about the matter. If it’s a case of arrest I’ll be right there with ye, but a wee detail or two you can leave with Purdy.’

‘It’s more than details,’ Gently said. ‘And you may think it warrants an arrest.’

‘Can you give me no hint, man?’

‘No,’ Gently said. ‘There are too many cousins about the place.’

He heard Blayne chuckle. ‘Right – right! Perspicacity is one o’ the ten virtues – and the brew at the Strathtudlem is no’ a bad one – och well, I’ll spare the petrol. You’ll be at dinner, or I’m mistaken?’

‘I’m at dinner,’ Gently said.

‘Never spoil your digestion, man, for me. I’ll be lookin’ in about when you’re at coffee.’

The Bonnie Strathtudlem’s Saturday night dinner involved a haggis of some grease and pungency, served skinning hot with mounds of turnip, cabbage and potatoes mashed with butter. It was preceded by grilled trout, which may or may not have been to Knockie standard, and succeeded by bowls of thick cream laced with stewed cloud-berries and their syrup. The serving was done by two smiling girls and overlooked by the hostess, Mattie Robertson. She was a dark, sturdy woman with a lively eye and emphatic curves. Her lively eye was mostly on Gently and she stationed herself near their table, but Gently had dropped a quiet caution and Mattie heard nothing of cousinly topics. At last she took herself off to a small counter and busied herself brewing coffee.

‘She’s a beauty,’ Brenda said cattily. ‘I wouldn’t trust her with half a man.’

‘I imagine McGuigan has talked to her again,’ Gently said. ‘She wasn’t far away when I was on the phone.’

‘Your good looks,’ Geoffrey said. ‘The lady is a widow, I understand.’

‘Men,’ Brenda said. ‘Why don’t they learn?’

‘But she can cook,’ Geoffrey said.

Brenda made a face.

The coffee was excellent, like the dinner; Mattie Robertson served it herself. She lingered longest pouring for Gently, and somehow managed to spill some in Brenda’s saucer.

When Blayne arrived, driving a red Imp loaded with badges and spare lamps, he seemed unwilling to exchange the comforts of the Bonnie Strathtudlem for the cottage. His great nose had a coppery glow, which suggested he hadn’t wasted his time at The Wild Highlandman, and the eye he rolled on Mattie Robertson was quite as lively as her own.

‘We’ll have a dram, man,’ he said to Gently. ‘You must let the West Perthshire buy you a drink. Ay, we’re on business, I ken that, but it’ll go better with a wet whistle.’

The dram became two drams when the resident accordionist threw off a strathspey, and Blayne’s large feet thumped the floor and his glass waved and slopped aloft. Then he led a chorus of ‘Down In The Glen’ in a strong and unctuous tenor, and whooped and spun himself round with the others after the final clashing chord. At last Gently edged him through the door, and with Brenda, led him gangling down the street.

‘Och, it does no harm, man,’ he vociferated. ‘You canna always be in the saddle – a polisman should mix wi’ people, you ken that – an’ that Mrs Robertson is a braw woman.’

‘I hope you’re single, Inspector,’ Brenda said archly.

‘Oh, ay, I’m much o’ that category, Miss Merryn. An’ though I’m a member of such a sober calling – she’s a braw woman, and I’ve often thought so.’

But when he was sat down in the cool of the cottage, Blayne seemed to cast his vapours from him. He listened solemnly to their account of what happened in Glen Knockie, and showed real concern when he saw Gently’s letter.

‘The wuddie idiots!’ he exclaimed. ‘Have they no respect for a man o’ your standin’? Lockin’ you away in gamecupboards – shootin’ at you – and sendin’ you threatenin’ letters too! A fine account of us you’ll be takin’ back to the great men in Whitehall – leave alone the publicity here. You’ll be for pressin’ charges, of course?’

Gently shook his head. ‘McGuigan offered us satisfaction, and we accepted it. I think his men made a genuine mistake. Apparently they need to be vigilant up Glen Knockie.’

‘That may be – but shootin’ at you! And now this ugly sort of missive.’

‘The letter,’ Gently said, ‘belongs to a different department. It couldn’t have originated in Glen Knockie.’

‘You’re sure o’ that, man?’

‘Pretty sure. It was delivered about the time we were talking to McGuigan. The nearest phone is at Brigg o’ Shotts, and the distance and times would make it impossible. Also, the writer of the letter didn’t seem to know my name, which the Knockie people certainly did. No: the letter originated right here – with someone who didn’t like me talking to you.’

‘Wi’ the murderer, you’re sayin’,’ Blayne said.

‘With the murderer or murderers,’ Gently said. ‘With someone who saw me on the braes last night – and saw me visit you this morning. On the face of it this letter exonerates McGuigan by the simple fact that he couldn’t have sent it, but if there are those who are watching his interest then that line of reasoning doesn’t apply.’

Blayne sucked in his cheeks. ‘Is that what you’re thinkin’?’

‘I’m not sure,’ Gently said, ‘what I’m thinking. I’m inclined to believe McGuigan’s story, and the letter helps, though it isn’t proof.’

‘He might have arranged for it earlier,’ Blayne suggested. ‘When he was in touch with Mattie Robertson, God help us!’

‘It isn’t his style,’ Gently said, frowning. ‘Neither the letter itself nor the extravagant manner. What it suggests is fanaticism – hate – unbalance – a strain of puerility. That isn’t McGuigan. But it sounds very like a person who would plot to stab a man in the back. Have you no ideas?’

‘De’il a one,’ Blayne said. ‘I cannot raise a prospect, man. I’ve a pretty guid picture now o’ Donnie’s acquaintance, but there’s never a one you can tie in with this.’

‘Mrs Dunglass mentioned a woman he was seeing in Balmagussie.’

Blayne grinned. ‘Ay – Poppy Frazer. I was havin’ a crack with her this afternoon. She’s, ah – beggin’ Miss Merryn’s pardon – one o’ the quality circuit from Glasgow. Dunglass fetched her up here some weeks since – he’s no’ much use to Poppy dead.’

‘Had he any other connections with women?’

‘Nave I’ve heard of up to date. But Donnie was a canny laddie, that I’m learnin’. He’s not easy to back-track on.’

‘So,’ Gently said. ‘No other prospects – it lies between McGuigan and you-know-who. I don’t like McGuigan, you don’t like the others – and McGuigan agrees with you up to the hilt.’

‘It’s a deeficult situation,’ Blayne said, working his shoulders. ‘I ken you’re for McGuigan, in spite o’ his sodjers.’

‘I’m for him too,’ Brenda said. ‘Though you can hang his sodjers from the next tree.’

‘Still – I canna quite overlook that mannie – and fine the Superintendent kens my position – I’ll be for a session or two wi’ Mr McGuigan – and for clearin’ up the lady’s lees.’

‘That’s understood,’ Gently said.

‘Ay – and as for the other, I’ve no done wi’ that. An’ you’ll give me credit I’ll have words wi’ McGuigan touchin’ the impropriety of private militia. But – when all’s said and done – there’s not much to go on save the lady’s haverings and maybe the weapon. And on the other hand there’s motive and opportunity – which are powerful factors in court decisions. Och, it’s just the way I was tellin’ you this mornin’. There’ll be small credit in it for Alistair Blayne.’

‘Tell me something,’ Gently said. ‘Did you trace that call Dunglass received?’

‘The call – ay,’ Blayne said slowly. ‘In a manner o’ speakin’ we did that. One o’ the Forestry boxes had been tampered with – there’s two, you ken, along the braes – the lock was forced with a knife or the like. McMorris, the ranger, drew our attention to it.’

‘Where is that box?’

‘At the Skilling end – no’ far from where McGuigan would have left his car.’

‘Is there a record of the call?’

‘Just a local call. We have the misfortune to be automatic up to Lochcrayhead.’

‘When was it timed?’

‘At 8.22. I’m thinkin’ there’s small doubt it was the call to Dunglass. And to anticipate the natural curiosity of a man like yourself – ay, we have a braw set o’ dabs off the instrument.’

‘Do you know them?’ Gently asked.

Blayne wagged his head. ‘You’d not expect them to be on record. But we have them – and soon we’ll have Mr McGuigan’s – and comparin’ the two will be vastly informative.’

‘Oh, what nonsense!’ Brenda exclaimed. ‘You can’t suspect Jamie of making that call.’

‘I didn’t exactly say I did, Miss Merryn,’ Blayne said. ‘But there’ll be proof goin’ there of one way or the other. If the dabs do not match we ken fine there was another body about the braes – an’ if they do, well, they do, and Mr McGuigan must tell us why.’

‘But meanwhile,’ Gently said, ‘there’s another comparison you can make.’

‘Which is that?’

‘Between the dabs on the phone – and any dabs you can find on this letter.’

‘Ay,’ Blayne said, pausing and hollowing his cheeks. ‘That’s true – very true. A match there would be full of interest.’

‘In my book it would mean almost certainly that the owner of the dabs was the murderer.’

‘I ken that – I ken that. The mannie was very rash wi’ his letter.’

He stared for some moments at the letter, which still lay weighted with Gently’s knife; then, using the knife, he folded the sheet and juggled it back into its envelope.

‘I don’t need to ask – you didn’t touch it?’

‘Not the sheet,’ Gently said. ‘The envelope was handled.’

‘Then I’ll just away back with it to Balma’ and give it the benefit o’ Purdy’s science. You’ll be wanting to know the result, I’m thinkin’.’

‘Yes,’ Gently said. ‘Ring me at the Bonnie Strathtudlem.’

‘The Bonnie Strathtudlem.’ Blayne’s face twisted. ‘I nearly forgot – I must talk to the lady.’ He sighed, tucking the envelope into a shabby wallet. ‘This is not an auspicious occasion,’ he said. ‘You cannot well make a right impression by pokin’ into a lady’s private business. An’ Mattie Robertson – I don’t ken – she’s as handsome a female as the next. I’d sooner be callin’ her to a private interview on some other subject than bloody murder.’

They accompanied Blayne back to the Bonnie Strathtudlem and watched him accost the handsome Mrs Robertson, then Gently proposed a walk up the back road to look for the spot where McGuigan had parked. The bar was crowding with Saturday trade, so Bridget graciously gave her consent, and the four of them set out across the bridge and turned right towards Glen Skilling.

They passed the Lodge, where a glimpse of a blue Sunbeam Alpine indicated the return of Mary Dunglass from Glen Knockie, and soon were climbing a steady gradient through silent stands of oak and ash. Rightward the trees were spaced thinly, giving some views across the strath, but leftward, where they climbed the braes, they were densely massed and filled between with hazel bush. There was an air of moistness and growth. All along the track small rivulets were crossing and flooding the hollows. Huge black slugs, mostly in pairs, were gliding confidently on the wet surfaces. At length the road levelled out, while at the same time becoming rougher and muddier; and began to display that penchant for endlessness which is the hallmark of Highland roads.

‘Must we go on
much
farther,’ Bridget wanted to know. ‘There really is a great deal of sameness about it. And I don’t think George knows what he’s looking for anyway – and I’m certain he won’t find it.’

‘Bear up, old dear,’ Geoffrey said. ‘It’s only five miles to Glen Skilling.’

‘But I didn’t offer to walk to Glen Skilling,’ Bridget said. ‘And if it’s only five miles, we’ve probably passed it.’

‘I think we can’t be far off now,’ Gently said. ‘What we’re looking for is a gate or driveway – anywhere you could run a car in out of sight. We know it isn’t very far from the road.’

They turned a bend by a big outcrop and the twilight of the trees suddenly lightened. A short distance ahead they could see a great crag slanting up nakedly from the track. The trees hung back from it; to the side of the crag was a steep incline of crumbled rock. It seemed to flow out from behind a low rockrim that guarded the flank of the crag.