Death of a Dustman (6 page)

‘Aye, but when your man had the drink taken, he’d often wander up on the moors, so why would you think it was somewhere in the village?’

‘I think he must have been going to meet someone.’

‘Why?’

‘He put a clean white shirt on and a tie and his jacket. He liked his white shirts to be very white. That’s why I thought someone might have seen him, even in the
gloaming.’

‘So when he didn’t return, weren’t you worried about him?’

‘No. Any time before he had started to drink, he would disappear for a few days.’

‘But you thought he had gone to see someone.’

Martha burst out with, ‘Don’t you see? I was just so damn glad he had gone, I didn’t think. I lived for his disappearances.’

‘Did he often get phone calls?’

‘No. He wasn’t popular.’

‘I think that’ll do for now.’ Hamish looked around the bleak cottage. ‘Have they been to search his things?’

‘Yes, the detectives were here, looking for letters or papers. But there wasn’t anything.’

‘I’ll arrange for someone to come and help you clear out his stuff. Best to get rid of the reminders.’

‘Thank you.’

Hamish said goodbye and left. He made his way back to the police station. He walked into the kitchen. Clarry was sitting bouncing Martha’s baby on his knee while the children sat around
eating ice cream.

Hamish addressed Johnny. ‘You’d all better get home right away and look after your mother. She’ll be beginning to wonder where you are, and I don’t want her pestered by
reporters.’

Clarry carried the baby out to the pram. He would have gone with them, but Hamish ordered him to stay. When the children had gone, he said, ‘Clarry, you’ve caused enough gossip.
Leave the poor woman alone for a bit.’

‘She needs help!’

‘I’ll get her help. Now I’ve got to make a phone call.’

Hamish went through to the police office and dialled Strathbane headquarters. He asked to be put through to Blair and to his surprise the phone call was answered by Superintendent Peter
Daviot.

‘I was trying to reach Mr Blair,’ said Hamish.

‘I happened to be in the detectives’ room when the phone rang. There’s no one here at the moment. What’s it about?’

Hamish said, ‘I had a word with Martha Macleod, the dustman’s widow.’ He told Daviot about the phone call, ending with, ‘So I thought headquarters could get on to tracing
that call right away.’

‘Good work, Hamish. I’ll let Blair know.’

Back in the kitchen, Clarry was producing out of the oven a steaming casserole of boeuf bourguignon.

‘Smells great,’ said Hamish, ‘but I’ve got to go out for a bit, and, when I get back, until we hear from Blair, we may as well start questioning everyone in the village,
even if they have been questioned already.’

He made his way to Dr Brodie’s house and knocked at the kitchen door. Angela, the doctor’s wife, answered. ‘Oh, come in, Hamish. Terrible business about Fergus.’

Hamish followed her into the kitchen. ‘I’ve come about Martha,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you and some of the other women could call on her and give her a hand clearing out
Fergus’s old stuff.’

‘I was going to do that anyway. You’d best have a word with the Currie sisters.’

‘Why? Are they terribly upset over the murder?’

Angela pushed a wisp of hair away from her thin face. ‘It’s not that, Hamish. It’s Clarry.’

‘What about him?’

‘Jessie overheard him in Patel’s on the evening Fergus disappeared threatening to kill him. Martha’s neighbours heard him before that threatening to kill Fergus. You’d
better shut them up.’

‘Like I told you, Clarry’s already been grilled by Blair and wonder upon wonders, he hasnae been arrested. And talking about shutting people up, I’d best go round to the Currie
sisters.’

‘What?’ demanded Nessie Currie wrathfully. ‘Us gossiping? I thought it was too much to hope that a lazy loon like you might actually call to see how we
were.’

‘The situation is this,’ said Hamish severely. ‘I sent Clarry up to Martha Macleod to look after her. If he wasn’t with her, he was with me.’

‘Huh,’ snorted Nessie, ‘and why would she need looking after?’

‘This was afore the murder. Her husband had been beating her.’

‘Beating her?’ echoed Jessie. ‘But herself always said she was clumsy, was clumsy.’

‘Well, he was beating her, and she’s a poor soul in need of friends. Angela Brodie’s getting some of the women together to help Martha clear out Fergus’s
things.’

‘And I suppose you want us to help?’ demanded Nessie.

‘It would be a Christian act.’

‘But did I not hear Clarry Graham saying he would kill Fergus, would kill Fergus!’ exclaimed Jessie.

‘Come on. Half the village must have been heard saying they would kill Fergus.’

‘And he was beating her?’ said Nessie.

‘That he was. Can you imagine what her life was like, ladies?’

‘So she must be feeling glad that he’s dead.’

‘Dead,’ echoed her sister.

‘It’ll be a long time afore she feels that way. She feels guilt, anger, remorse and fear. She’ll be worried sick about money.’

‘She could get a job, get a job,’ said Jessie.

‘How? She’s got four young children.’

‘Eileen, who works up at the Tommel Castle Hotel, told me she has an arrangement with the other workers. They work shifts, and the one that isn’t working at a specific time looks
after the children of the others,’ said Nessie.

‘I’ll be looking into that. So you’ll help?’

‘Yes,’ said Nessie. ‘Only, if more women stayed unmarried like us, there’d be less grief in the world. And by the way, the new schoolteacher is arriving in a couple of
days. I hope you’re not going to chase her like you did the last one.’

‘Good evening,’ said Hamish firmly, and made his escape.

So Maisie, the previous schoolteacher, had decided not to come back. Hamish wondered what the new one would be like. Then he remembered Priscilla’s friend who would have
arrived by now. He wished he had some lady friend to show Priscilla that he definitely did not care any more who she invited or what she did.

But curiosity overcame him. He returned to the police station and got in the Land Rover. Before he switched on the engine, he heard Lugs scrabbling at the kitchen door. He sighed and got down
from the Land Rover and opened the door. ‘Come on, boy,’ he said. ‘I’ve been neglecting you.’ When he straightened up after fastening a leash around the dog’s
neck, he saw an empty plate on the kitchen table with a note beside it. It was from Clarry. ‘I heard you coming so I left your dinner on the table.’

Hamish looked down at his dog, who licked his lips and hung his head. ‘You’re full o’ boeuf bourguignon you lousy animal.’ Lugs looked up at him imploringly out of his
odd blue eyes.

‘Oh, come on anyway,’ said Hamish crossly. ‘But if you go on like this, you’ll be as fat as Clarry.’ Hamish lifted his dog into the passenger seat, got in himself
and drove off.

It took him just five minutes to drive to the Tommel Castle Hotel. The car park was full. He walked into the hotel foyer with Lugs on a leash. He looked in the bar and hurriedly retreated. It
was full of journalists. One was trying to balance a glass of whisky on his nose and the others were cheering him on. Hamish retreated and then looked in the dining room. Priscilla was sitting at a
table with a tall, good-looking man. She looked up and saw Hamish and waved him over.

Her companion, advertising executive Jerry Darcy, was a kind and amiable man. But the sight of the tall, gangly policeman with the flaming red hair leading an odd mongrel with big ears and blue
eyes was too much for him. He began to laugh helplessly.

‘Jerry, please,’ admonished Priscilla. ‘This is our policeman, Hamish Macbeth. Hamish, Jerry Darcy.’

Jerry wiped his streaming eyes and got courteously to his feet. ‘Something amusing you?’ demanded Hamish.

‘Sorry,’ said Jerry with a grin. ‘It was you and that dog.’

‘And what iss up with my dog?’

‘It’s an odd-looking animal, you must admit.’

‘There iss nothing whateffer up wi’ my dog,’ said Hamish, furious because he felt ridiculous, furious because Priscilla’s beau was handsome and well-dressed.

Lugs, sensing his master’s rage, grabbed hold of the tablecloth and began to back away, pulling it. Wineglasses and two plates of food tumbled on to the floor.

‘Lugs!’ shouted Hamish, his face red with embarrassment. ‘I’m sorry, Priscilla. I’d better take him away. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.’

Hamish dragged Lugs back into the foyer, only to find himself surrounded by reporters. To all their questions, he said, ‘Call Detective Chief Inspector Blair at Strathbane,’ and made
his escape.

Once in the Land Rover, he sat there for a few moments, cursing Lugs and cursing his own bad temper. Lugs let out a pathetic little whimper, and Hamish patted the animal’s rough coat.
‘It wasnae your fault, laddie. But he shouldnae have laughed at me.’

Hamish had set the alarm and woke early and roused Clarry. ‘I want you to go to the Currie sisters and take them through their story again. I mean, that pair are always
peering through their net curtains at what’s going on. I’ll start with the fisherman. Blair’ll be here soon so we’d best get out and about. I gather you got out of being
arrested. How?’

Clarry told him how and Hamish laughed and laughed. ‘Man, I’d have liked to see Blair’s face when you threatened him with the Race Relations Board. Now let’s get a move
on.’

Hamish headed for the harbour. He saw Callum McSween, who said he was ready to start work. Hamish gave him the keys to the rubbish truck. Callum walked off. Hamish saw Archie, sitting
disconsolately on the harbour wall.

‘Nowhere to drink?’ asked Hamish, who knew the fisherman usually headed for the Lochdubh bar after a night’s work.

‘That foreigner bought it,’ said Archie, ‘and he iss going to turn it into the gift shop. So I’m stuck out here in the open where the wife can find me.’

‘Archie, you didn’t like Fergus much, did you?’

‘No, that I didn’t, and nobody else did either. We didnae notice him much until he got that stupid uniform and started bossing us all around. But none of us would ha’ touched
him, Hamish. You know that.’

‘Any gossip? Anyone see him around?’

‘Well, there was one odd thing. One person seemed to like him.’

‘And who was that?’

‘Josie Darling.’

‘Her? She’s getting all ready for her wedding.’

‘Aye, she’s taken time off work, too.’

Hamish thought hard. Josie was young and frivolous. She lived with her mother in a cottage up a lane at the back of the new hotel. ‘I’ll go and see her.’

He walked towards Josie’s cottage, glancing up at the sky. It was a milky blue but there was a dampness in the breeze on his cheek. Rain coming soon, he thought.

He turned over in his mind what he knew about Josie. She worked in a bank in Strathbane and was engaged to someone from Inverness. Her father was dead. Her mother worked as a maid at the Tommel
Castle Hotel. She planned to live in Inverness after her marriage. A big wedding was to be held in the Church of Scotland in Lochdubh and, as was the tradition at Highland weddings, the whole
village was going. The wedding was to be in two weeks’ time.

He knocked on the cottage door and then turned around and surveyed the view while he waited for someone to answer it. Down on the waterfront, he could see the white-overalled figure of Callum
McSween working busily. He turned back as the door opened.

Josie stood there. She was a small girl with dyed blonde hair and a pug face. She had large, rather protruding eyes. She was wearing a short skirt which displayed fat legs to disadvantage and a
low-cut blouse. Those eyes goggled when she saw Hamish.

‘What is it?’ she asked harshly.

‘Can I come in?’

She backed away reluctantly. He followed her into the living room. On a coffee table were many glossy magazines,
Brides, Your Wedding, Hair and Beauty.

‘Getting ready for the wedding?’ asked Hamish.

‘Oh, that. I’m not having it in Lochdubh.’

‘Why not? Everyone’s been looking forward to it.’

‘Murdo wants to have it in Inverness.’

‘Murdo being your fiancé?’

‘Yes.’

‘I thought the wedding was usually held in the bride’s parish.’

‘Yes, but I’ve only got Mother. Murdo’s got loads of relatives, so we thought it would be more reasonable to have it in Inverness. Anyway, I’m sick of this
place.’

‘Lochdubh?’

‘Where else?’

‘Why?’

‘It’s so provincial,’ said Josie.

Hamish privately thought that Josie was hardly the picture of sophistication.

‘Anyway,’ said Josie, ‘is that why you came? To ask about the wedding?’

‘No, it’s about Fergus.’

‘The dustman? What about him?’

‘I believe you were friendly with him.’

‘Och, no. I just gave the wee man a cup of tea from time to time. That way he took all our rubbish.’

‘Did you like him?’

Again that sort of false grande dame air. ‘He was just a dustman. I sometimes chat to the postman as well.’

‘So is there anything you can tell me about him? Did he look frightened about anything? Did he say anyone was out to get him?’

‘No, he just said they were all bastards, and he hated them. He didn’t say whether anyone hated him.’

‘Well, if you remember anything, let me know.’

Hamish said goodbye. But as he walked down from the cottage, he thought, she’s lying. There’s something there. I’ll let her think she’s safe, and then I’ll go back.
I’ll try Mrs Darling up at the hotel.

He went to the police station to collect the Land Rover and was confronted by a raging Detective Chief Inspector Blair. He pointed to a torn trouser leg. ‘Look what your dog did!’ he
shouted.

‘Did you just walk into the station?’ asked Hamish.

‘Yes!’

‘Well, there you are. Lugs is a guard dog.’

‘You’ll pay for this.’ Blair was in a foul temper. Peter Daviot had called him in and had told him that Hamish had secured an excellent interview with the widow Macleod, much
better than anything Jimmy Anderson had got out of her. Blair had gone in to see him with the full intention of asking that Hamish Macbeth be kept off the case. Instead, he had been told that
Hamish had to be brought into everything.