Hamish Macbeth 18 (2002) - Death of a Celebrity (22 page)

Elspeth ploughed on. The light had faded outside. She came to yet another name and began to go through the photographs. Not one single picture. She sat back and frowned. Of course Sam might have missed someone. But at the reception in the church hall he had taken sections of views of the room, capturing everyone present. She checked carefully again.

Hamish came back in carrying a thermos of coffee and a plate of sandwiches. “Lugs has stayed behind,” said Hamish. “I’ve told Willie Lugs can have something to eat just this once. Don’t want the dog to die of obesity.”

“Hamish, I’ve found something. Or rather, I haven’t found something.”

He sat down beside her. “What? Who?”

“Mary Hendry.”

“What! Her at the craft shop?”

“That’s the one.”

Hamish stood up and collected a couple of mugs from a shelf and poured coffee. “Eat,” he commanded. “We got to think.”

He took a bite of sandwich and then said, his voice muffled by ham, egg, and bread, “I should have looked at her more closely.”

“Don’t speak with your mouth full. I can hardly hear you.”

Hamish chewed and swallowed. “Felicity Pearson spent a full hour with her. They got on. People did not get on with Felicity Pearson or want her company. I wonder what they really talked about.”

“Say Felicity was crawling to Crystal and had found something out about Mary Hendry,” said Elspeth. “Say she
was
working on background for the behind-the-lace-curtains show. But what was there about Mary Hendry to find out?”

“Her husband died a couple of years ago,” said Hamish. “I was away on holiday at the time.”

“How did he die?”

“He was out fishing on the Anstey above the falls. He was drunk and fell over to his death.”

They both sat eating in silence.

At last Elspeth said, “And she had money enough to set up the shop?”

“Yes, but her husband, Frank, had a reputation for being a skinflint so it was assumed he’d left her pretty well off.”

“Was he usually drunk?”

“Quite often. I had to take his car keys away from him a few times.”

“Hamish, drinkers aren’t famous for saving money.”

“What are you getting at?”

“I don’t know. Just thinking.”

Lugs came panting in and slumped down on the floor and began to snore.

“Good night, you two,” called Sam from the outer office. “Lock up when you go.”

Hamish sat with his eyes half-closed. Lugs snored and a rising wind blew along the waterfront outside.

He opened his eyes. “How about this? Unless Felicity had something on Mary Hendry, then Mary Hendry wouldn’t have talked to her amicably for an hour.”

“She might have pleaded with her to leave her alone,” suggested Elspeth.

“I can’t see that cutting any ice with Felicity if she thought she was on to something. What if—just what if—Mary Hendry had seen something that incriminated Felicity and they did a deal? You leave me alone and I’ll leave you alone, that sort of thing. And then when there’s a paragraph in the papers about Felicity being presenter and doing the lace-curtains thing, Mary begins to think that silencing her might be a good idea. So she phones up and says something about how she can’t stand the guilt anymore. Mary says she’ll meet Felicity at the docks to tell all. Felicity is too excited to wonder why she should choose the docks. Her vanity makes her feel immune from danger. All she can think of is what a scoop it would be to have a real live murderess confess in front of the camera.”

“But when you came back from holiday, wouldn’t the village be buzzing if there had been a murder enquiry?”

“That’s true. But say it seemed a straightforward accident and that Frank Hendry was proved at the autopsy to be full of booze.”

He checked the list Mr. Patel had given him. “She was in the store when you fainted, Elspeth.”

“That must have been the first time she crossed my path,” said Elspeth. “I’d never gone to the craft shop. I was going to go nearer Christmas to get suggestions for Christmas presents. Do you want me to go and see her? I’ll do it if you want, but I’m frightened.”

“No, don’t do that. We need hard evidence against her, not psychic evidence. Let me think a bit more. There’s something running around in the back of my brain.”

Elspeth stifled a yawn. She was suddenly feeling weary and all she wanted to do was sleep.

Hamish suddenly heard the voice of that American, Mr. Kirk, saying that his work was like Hamish’s own in that he was an insurance investigator.

He sat up straight. “I wonder whether Frank Hendry was insured. I mean, look at it this way, Elspeth. The police have got so much work, they’d jump at the chance of it being a straightforward accident. But an insurance company would be reluctant to accept things just like that. What about that friend of yours at Strong Insurance? Do you think you could phone him up? Oh, it’s late. The office will be closed.”

Elspeth took a thick book out of her desk drawer. “I have his home phone number.”

“Old boyfriend?”

“You could say that. I’ll fix up an appointment for you tomorrow. What time?”

“When he can manage. But it’s a long drive to Inverness. Make it about ten in the morning if you can.”

Elspeth dialled. Hamish heard her say, “George, it’s me, Elspeth. Yes, I’m fine. No, I won’t be down in Inverness for a bit. Our local policeman would like to have a word with you. I’ll let him explain. Could you see him at ten in the morning? No, I have to work, but I’ll fix up a date with you soon. His name’s Hamish Macbeth.” She said goodbye and rang off and stretched and yawned.

“Well, that’s that.”

“Don’t you want to come with me?”

Elspeth smiled. “No. George—his name is George Earle—he’s very clinging.”

“All right. Thanks, Elspeth. Keep away from Mary Hendry.”

“Oh, I will. I’m covering a school concert over in Braikie, so that’ll keep me out of the village tomorrow. It’s going to be hard to prove anything after all this time, Hamish.”

“Maybe George can help.”

“Frank Hendry’s life may not have been insured with Strong Insurance. But George might have heard something from one of the other insurance agencies. If you like, I’ll take Lugs to Braikie with me tomorrow.”

“That would be grand. The key to the police station is up in the gutter above the kitchen door.”

George Earle was not what Hamish had expected. He had expected to confront a clerk-type person, maybe with receding hair and glasses. George Earle was tanned and fit and handsome, with thick blonde hair and blue eyes.

“I was interested in finding out if someone from the village of Lochdubh, Mary Hendry, had her husband’s life insured with you. He died about two years ago.”

“Right.” George switched on the computer. “Is Elspeth well?”

“Yes, very well.”

“I don’t know why she has to go and lose herself up there. Has she got a boyfriend?”

“No.”

“Well, that’s something at least. Let me see. Yes, a Frank Hendry was insured by us.”

“How much?”

“One hundred and fifty thousand pounds.”

Hamish let out a whistle. “So your insurance investigator would be looking into that death. Any chance of having a word with him?”

“I’ll get my secretary to see if he’s in the office. His name’s Matthew Thorne.”

Hamish waited patiently. After about fifteen minutes, George came back with a small, dapper man. Everything about him was neat, from his well-brushed, thinning hair to the knife-edge creases in his trousers and the glassy polish on his shoes. “I’ll leave you to it,” said George. “You can use my office.”

“So,” said Thorne, sitting down and carefully hitching up the creases of his trousers, “you want to know about the Hendry business?”

“Yes, please.”

“It’s like this. When a wee woman in a Highland village insures her husband for a whack and then said husband plunges over a waterfall, I naturally get suspicious. Yes, he had gone out fishing in the pools above the waterfall. Yes, he was drunk. But I gather from the locals that he often went out fishing when drunk. And he wasn’t that drunk, not for a big man like that. He was over the limit for driving, but to my mind he was far from the staggering stage. Now, do you know the top of the falls?”

“Yes.”

“Well, the way the water rushes through the rocks, it might just possibly pull a man over, and yet the water is shallow. Mrs. Hendry suggested that her husband may have been playing a salmon that plunged over the falls and took him with it. The police recovered his rod. It had been in the pool at the bottom. No fish had been on that line. Then there was something else. By the side of the pool above the falls, there was the remains of a half-eaten lunch. Half a cup of coffee and half an eaten sandwich with two sandwiches left to go.”

“If he was eating his lunch, how could a wee woman like Mary Hendry get him to his feet and shove him over?”

“I know. It seems impossible. But what about this? She appears at the top of the falls. There are a few flat rocks. She walks to the middle and then calls out she’s got her foot stuck in the rocks, or that she’s afraid. He gets up and wades over to her. She gives him an almighty push. He goes over. She knows what she’s doing, for there’s sharp rocks at the bottom. She gets his fishing rod and throws it over after him. I think something must have disturbed her and that’s why she left the remains of the lunch.”

“Two years ago. I suppose the police combed every rock, every bit o’ heather, and searched the water.”

“As a matter of fact they didn’t,” said Thorne. “I was up against Detective Chief Inspector Blair. Know him?”

“Oh, yes,” said Hamish gloomily.

“He berated me and said us insurance investigators were all the same, do anything not to pay out. In their opinion, it was an accident, and so we had to pay.”

“And what did you make of Mary Hendry?”

“Not much. She burst into tears every time she saw me. I couldn’t tell whether she was acting or not. I don’t see what you can do.”

“I hope I think of something,” said Hamish. “If there’s anything at all, I’ll let you know.”

“Here’s my card with my home phone number and mobile phone number.”

Hamish rose and made for the door. Then he turned. “I was away on holiday at the time. Who was with Mary Hendry? I mean, who in the village was there to comfort her?”

“The minister’s wife, Mrs. Wellington.”

Hamish went out. “Oh, Mr. Macbeth,” said the secretary. “Just a minute.” She handed him a large bunch of red roses. “Mr. Earle says, Would you give these to Miss Elspeth Grant?”

“Yes, I’ll be seeing her later.” Hamish took the flowers.

Back in the village, he left the flowers at the newspaper office for Elspeth and then went up to the manse to speak to Mrs. Wellington.

“What brings you, Hamish?” demanded the minister’s wife. “I’m going out shortly, so I haven’t time to make you tea.”

“I wanted to ask you about Mary Hendry. Are you close to her?”

“Not close, no.”

“But you spent time with her after her husband died?”

“That is part of my duties as minister’s wife.”

“Would you say she was in a bad state of shock?”

“Yes, I would. And very frightened, too.”

“Why frightened?”

“Those dreadful insurance people sent a man to hound her. I told him that Frank Hendry was dead drunk and had an accident and that they should be fulfilling their obligations instead of making a poor widow’s life a misery. I’m glad she set up that shop soon after. Took her mind off the tragedy. I thought at one point she might lose her mind.”

“Oh, really? Why?”

“I couldn’t sleep one night and I thought I would go downstairs and make myself some hot milk. I took it into the living room and looked out. It was a clear starry night and there was a phosphorescent glow from the loch. I saw Mary, walking along the waterfront. I went right out, nightgown and dressing gown and all. I said, “Mary, where are you going? It’s two in the morning.” She was muttering, “I must find it. I must find it.” I asked her what it was, very gently you know, because I feared her mind might be going. She said she had lost a Celtic cross that she wore on a chain round her neck. I took her arm and guided her back to her home, got her into bed and gave her a sleeping pill. Poor woman. I blame that insurance company. They nearly turned her mind.”

Hamish drove to the Tommel Castle Hotel, past the hotel entrance and down a bumpy track that led through the estate. He stopped at the water bailiff’s cottage. Joe Kennedy, the water bailiff, was at home. “What d’ye want?” he demanded with a scowl. He had been trying to catch Hamish poaching for years.

“I want to search up at the top of the falls and I don’t want you charging at me, messing up the ground.”

“Go ahead,” said Joe, “but if I catch you with a rod, I’ll have you this time.”

Hamish climbed up to the top of the falls and put on his waders, which he had fetched from the Land Rover. The peaty brown water of the River Anstey swirled around the rocks. Curlews piped dismally from the heather. He moved slowly through the water. How on earth could he hope to find anything after all this time? And it was a beauty spot. Hotel visitors came here to fish or just to admire the view. The strong flow of water tugged at his feet and ankles, but it was not powerful enough to drag a man over.

Right, thought Hamish, let’s suppose the scenario that the investigator conjured up was true. If I were a small woman who wanted to get a large man off balance, where would I stand? He moved to the centre of the river right above the falls. Yes, I think right here. The riverbed dips right here.

He bent down and began to search in the water, feeling round and under stones until his hands were numbed by the icy water.

Wait a bit, he thought. It wouldn’t come off just like that. Say he grabbed at her and caught the chain. It would be wrenched off. It might be down in the pool below.

He made his way down the side of the falls. The water plunged with a roar into the pool below. Hamish looked at it helplessly.

Then he suddenly remembered that Ian Chisholm went scuba diving. He went back to the Land Rover and then drove quickly to Ian’s garage in Lochdubh.