Death of a Nurse (2 page)

As they approached Strathbane, the skies darkened and a smear of drizzle clouded Hamish’s windscreen before he switched the wipers on and looked down the long road to where what he thought of as a boil on the Highlands appeared in the distance.

It had once been a thriving fishing port, but the fishing stock had declined and with it any heavy industry, leaving the town a sink of crime and drugs. The prison was a Victorian one, built to the same design as Wormwood Scrubs.

As they drove up to the entrance, the rain had become a torrent and the wind was rising, moaning in the turrets of the old prison. After they had been through security, a wooden-faced prison officer told them to report to the governor’s office.

The governor, Bella Ogilvie, was a small, plump woman. Beside her was a tall woman in police inspector’s uniform. She had high Slavic cheekbones, cold grey eyes, and a thin mouth.

“Where have you been, Anderson?” she snapped.

“Collecting reinforcements, ma’am,” said Jimmy. “You are…?”

“Fiona Herring. And no cracks about red herrings. I’ve heard them all. Who’s this?”

“Sergeant Hamish Macbeth, ma’am.”

“Heard of you. The pair of you get over to C Wing and search all the cells.”

“Where is Mr. Blair?” asked Jimmy.

“Mr. Blair is in hospital.”

“What happened?”

Her eyes lit up and she suppressed a laugh. “The detective inspector insulted a police dog called Fred. He told the dog it was a mangy, useless-looking cur and tried to kick it. Fred took offence and bit him in the arse. I have been called in from Inverness to take charge. Off with you.”

As Hamish followed Jimmy to C Wing, he reflected that when she had nearly laughed, Fiona had suddenly appeared a very attractive woman.

At the end of a long dreary afternoon, they took their finds back to the governor’s office: five knives, one replica gun, and a packet of Ecstasy tablets. The governor told them to take their contraband to the conference room.

Laid out on the long table was a depressing selection of drugs, phones, and weapons. The weapons consisted of knives, sharpened toothbrushes, shivs, and five guns.

“I have a list of the names and addresses of all the prison guards,” said Inspector Fiona Herring. “I will allocate names to each officer. I want their backgrounds checked thoroughly. What is it, Governor?”

Mrs. Ogilvie looked like a frightened rabbit. “The guards have gone on strike,” she wailed.

“Who is in charge of the union?”

“Blythe Cummings.”

“I want him here. Now!”

The governor hurried off.

When it came Hamish’s turn, Fiona said, “I think you may go back to your station, Sergeant. You have a large area to cover.”

Lovely woman, thought Hamish. The first person in authority to realise the extent of my beat. No rings. Wonder if there’s a man in her life.

When Hamish returned to his police station, he found Charlie loading up his old station wagon with his belongings. “You’d better come here every day and report for duty,” said Hamish. “I’ll miss your company in the evenings but not your big feet. You and Priscilla getting along all right?”

“She’s great. Just like a sister.”

Hamish pushed back his cap and scratched his red hair as he watched Charlie drive off. What man could survey the beauty that was Priscilla and look on her as a sister?

After Charlie had left, Hamish decided to drive to Braikie. His previous constable, Dick Fraser, had left to buy a bakery shop with a Polish woman called Anka. Anka was glamorous. Hamish had tried several times to get her out on a date but without success. Surely she and tubby Dick could not be romantically involved.

The shop had just closed for the night when he arrived. He noticed a shiny, brand-new BMW parked outside. If it was Dick’s, business must be very good indeed.

He rang the bell to the flat over the shop. Anka Bajorak answered the door. My world is beginning to be peopled by beautiful unavailable women, thought Hamish. But maybe Gloria is available. Anka walked ahead of him up the stairs, her auburn hair tied back in a ponytail and her long legs encased in tight jeans, giving one highland police sergeant a stab of lust.

Dick had slimmed down. But with his grey hair and small figure, he certainly did not look like the type of man to capture the affections of such as Anka. He was comfortably ensconced in an armchair by the peat fire.

“It’s yourself, Hamish,” cried Dick. “Like a dram?”

“Tea will be fine.”

“I’ll get it,” said Anka.

Hamish told Dick about the visit to the prison and then said, “There’s a newcomer in the neighbourhood.”

“That’ll be the wee nurse,” said Dick. “Talk o’ the place. Say she dresses like a nurse out o’ one o’ thae
Carry On
movies. They say she’s after the auld man’s money.”

“The things people say!” complained Hamish. “I’ve met her. She’s charming.”

“Oh aye? Got a date?”

“Next Sunday.”

“Well, she wouldn’t be going out wi’ you if she was after money,” said Dick.

Anka came back with a cup of tea for Hamish and two cakes. “How’s business?” asked Hamish.

“Booming,” said Anka. “We thought of opening another shop, but we decided to start a business on the Internet. It’s called BapsareUs. We send parcels of baps all over Britain.”

“I’m not surprised,” said Hamish. One of the usual Scottish laments was that it was almost impossible to get a decent bap, those large breakfast rolls. Anka’s baps were famous.

“We’ve had to build a new place to cope with all the baking and take on lots of staff,” said Anka. “Several of the big companies have tried to buy us over.”

Hamish told them about Charlie moving out. “Won’t you be lonely?” asked Dick.

“No, I’m delighted to get my station back. Charlie is great but he’s so clumsy, he’s a walking disaster.”

“I would like to meet him,” said Anka. “Bring him with you next time.”

“Will do,” said Hamish. “I’d better get back.”

When Hamish returned to the station, he found a note on the kitchen table from Charlie. “I’ve taken Sonsie and Lugs up to the castle. They were mooching at the Italian restaurant and we don’t want them getting fat. I’ll drop them back later.”

The wind had risen, moaning around the police station. Hamish fought off a sudden feeling of loneliness. But then he had a vision of the pretty Gloria, living with him at the police station. Three days to Sunday and then he would see her again.

Chapter Two

Colonel Halburton-Smythe arrived back at the Tommel Castle Hotel in a bad mood. He and his wife had been visiting Lord and Lady Fortross over near Oban. Unfortunately, their room had been directly above the bedchamber of their hosts and the fireplace chimney acted as a splendid conduit of sound.

So on the first night, as he was getting ready for bed, he heard Lord Fortross’s high complaining voice. “Why did you invite that boring little colonel? I can’t abide retired military men who insist on keeping their titles. And the man’s a damn stereotype.”

The colonel had backed away from the fireplace as if before a snake and had told his startled wife to pack up. They were leaving in the morning.

He was an insecure little man, product of an ambitious father who had made his fortune with a chain of popular shoe shops. Using his fortune, his father had sent him to Eton and then on to Sandhurst Military Academy. The colonel had quickly adopted a personality to fit what he fondly believed was required. He worked hard and, with his father’s money, entertained lavishly. He rose rapidly up the ranks and married Philomena Halburton, who hailed from an aristocratic family and had joined the name of Smythe to that of Halburton.

His happiest day was when he quit the army and bought the castle and estates, only to go nearly bankrupt after being tricked into bad investments. Hamish Macbeth saved the day with the hotel idea. Because of excellent fishing and shooting and a first-class manager, the hotel quickly prospered.

On his first day back, the colonel noticed a large man going down to the basement, someone he did not know. He went down and saw the man going into the old butler’s apartment and followed him in. He blinked and looked around. A small coal fire was burning briskly. Two comfortable armchairs were drawn up beside it. A faded Chinese carpet that he remembered used to be in the morning room, now the hotel bar, covered the floor.

Standing by the fire was a giant of a man with fair hair and child-like blue eyes.

“Who the hell are you?” demanded the colonel.

So Charlie, in his soft lilting voice, explained while the colonel paced up and down.

“She had no right,” raged the colonel. “Priscilla should have consulted me first.”

“Well, sir,” said Charlie. “Miss Priscilla did think it might be a good idea to have a resident polis, protecting the place. But I’ll pack up. Maybe a wee dram, sir?”

The colonel suddenly sighed and sat down in one of the armchairs, all bluster gone. The cosy little room reminded him of the days of his childhood, before his father had become so rich and ambitious. They had lived in a neat little bungalow, warm and safe.

“Yes, I will have a dram,” he said.

Charlie poured two stiff drinks and then sat down opposite.

“Tell me about yourself,” he said. So Charlie talked about his upbringing in South Uist in the Hebrides, his soft voice lulling the colonel into a rare feeling of peace.

The colonel was suddenly overcome with a desire to tell this gentle giant about his humiliation. Charlie listened carefully. When the colonel had finished, Charlie said, “I mind Lord Fortross. I was visiting relatives in Tiree and himself was over for the snipe shooting. Awful pompous git. Nobody liked him. Talk about bores! Man, he was describing himself.”

The colonel beamed and stretched his feet out to the fire. “Any more whisky, laddie?”

Hamish heard a knock at the door later that day and found Priscilla on the doorstep. “I came to say goodbye,” she said. “I’m off to London tomorrow. Dad has discovered Charlie.”

“Oh, my,” said Hamish. “Is he out on his ear?”

“It’s the oddest thing. He’s taken Charlie trout fishing.”

“It isnae the season.”

“Sea trout. The pair of them are out on the loch.”

“Well, I’m blessed. Aren’t you surprised?”

“Not really. Charlie is so kind. All sorts of people gravitate to him.”

Hamish’s hazel eyes narrowed with jealousy. Did Priscilla fancy him? Then he relaxed. If she was interested in Charlie, she would not be leaving for London.

When they had been engaged, she had been so passionless. Had that been his fault?

“You’ve gone off into a dream, Hamish,” said Priscilla.

“Sorry. I was just thinking how nice and quiet it is now.”

“Are Dick and Anka an item?”

“No. Business partners. No romance there.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure.”

“C’mon, Priscilla. Don’t be daft. Tubby wee grey-haired Dick and the glorious Anka!”

That evening in the bakery, Anka went upstairs to the living room and found Dick dressed in his best suit. “Are you going out somewhere?” she asked. “That’s the suit you wear when we’ve a meeting with the bank manager. And roses and champagne! What’s the occasion? Dick, you’ve gone quite white.”

Dick sank to one knee and held up a small jeweller’s box. “Will you do me the very great honour of marrying me?” he said.

Anka threw back her head and laughed. Red in the face, Dick got to his feet. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have known there wasnae any hope.”

“Give me the ring, open the champagne, my love. I thought you would never ask.”

Charlie went about his duties during the day, visiting the outlying croft houses to make sure everything was all right. In the evenings, he was now expected to take his dinner with the colonel and his wife and then they all retreated to his little flat for a nightcap. Mrs. Halburton-Smythe was delighted with her husband’s new friendship. She had never before known him to be so relaxed and so amiable. She would have liked to invite Hamish to join them, but the colonel stubbornly refused to have anything to do with that “lazy, mooching copper.” He had snobbery enough to hope that his beautiful daughter might make a good match and he always feared she might have the folly to become engaged to Hamish again.

On Sunday, Hamish brushed his red hair until it shone, put on his best suit, and made his way to the restaurant. He had reserved a table by the window. The evening was still and the first frost had arrived. The waiter, Willie Lamont, who was once his constable before he married the restaurant owner’s daughter, approached with the menu.

“Two menus,” said Hamish. “I’m expecting company.”

“And who would that be?”

“Mind your own business.”

Willie went off and came back with another menu. “What’s special tonight?” asked Hamish.

“Something sounds like awfy bokey.”

“Probably osso buco,” said Hamish, who was used to Willie’s malapropisms.

Hamish waited and waited. At last, he found Mr. Harrison’s number and phoned. An Eastern European voice answered—the Latvian, Hamish guessed.

“May I speak to Miss Dainty?” he asked. “This is Hamish Macbeth. She was supposed to meet me for dinner this evening.”

“Mr. Harrison said she went for a walk. Hasn’t come back.”

Probably forgot, thought Hamish dismally, after he had rung off. He ordered the osso buco but picked at it, finally gave up, paid the bill, and went back to the station.

“For the first time in my life,” he said to his animals, “I could do wi’ a nice wee crime to take my mind off things.”

Two days went by while Hamish stubbornly stopped himself from phoning the hunting lodge to find out why Gloria had stood him up. It was a fine autumn day. The rowan trees planted at some of the cottage gates to keep the fairies away were bowed down with scarlet berries. The lower slopes of the two tall mountains behind the village were purple with heather.

He took a stroll along the waterfront. He saw the Currie sisters, Nessie and Jessie, approaching and looked wildly round for some means of escape, but they had seen him, so he waited reluctantly until they came up to him. They were unmarried twins and looked remarkably alike with tightly permed grey hair, thick glasses, and identical camel-hair coats.

“I’m glad to see Mr. Harrison’s got himself a proper nurse,” said Nessie, “and not some wee flibbertigibbet.”

“Flibbertigibbet,” echoed the Greek chorus that was her sister.

“You mean Gloria Dainty has left?” exclaimed Hamish.

“Went off wi’ her suitcase,” said Nessie. “Never even left a note.”

“When was this?”

“Sunday evening.”

Hamish felt a sharp pang of unease. He touched his cap to them and moved on. Suddenly he decided to go out to the hunting lodge.

Juris, the Latvian, answered the door. He was a tall, powerful man. Hamish asked to see Mr. Harrison but was told the old man was lying down and did not want to be disturbed.

“Why did Miss Dainty leave?” asked Hamish. “You were supposed to run her to Lochdubh to have dinner with me on Sunday evening.”

“I went to fetch her but she was not there and all her belongings had gone,” said Juris. “On Monday, Mr. Harrison got a new nurse up from an agency in Inverness.”

“Didn’t she leave a note?”

“No, nothing.”

“But when I phoned, you said she’d gone for a walk.”

“That’s what Mr. Harrison told me. The next day, my wife looked in her room and saw all her things were gone and told him, and he said, ‘Good riddance.’”

“Was Miss Dainty involved with a man?”

“If she was, she didn’t talk about it.”

Hamish could not get any further. He went back to the police station and rang around all the local taxi companies, but Gloria had not called for a taxi. So it followed that someone must have been waiting for her at the end of the drive.

Well, she had gone, and that was that.

A day later, a burglary was reported at an ironmonger’s in Braikie. Hamish called Charlie, picked him up at the hotel, and sped off. The owner, a tall highlander called Josh Andrews, pointed to the door. “It looks as if they opened it with a crowbar,” he said.

“What was taken?” asked Hamish.

“I have a list right here.”

Hamish looked down a long list of expensive power tools. “I’d better get the forensic boys over,” he said. “We’ll need to look for fingerprints. Have you contacted the insurance company?”

“Not yet.”

“They’ll want to send an investigator.”

“What for?” demanded Josh angrily. “You see the door’s been jemmied. You’ve got the list. Chust put in your report, laddie.”

“It is like this,” said Hamish gently. “Shopkeepers often stage a burglary when they fall on hard times. And their investigators are like ferrets. They’ll search and search to make sure you’re not pulling a fast one. I ’member some poor soul ower in Cnothan. Faked a burglary and got a criminal record.”

“Are you calling me a liar?”

“Waud I dae a cruel thing like that,” said Hamish, his accent strengthening. “I’ll chust be having a wee keek out back.”

“What for?”

“They could have escaped that way. I gather it took place at night?”

“Must have done.”

“So they would not want to be seen loading stuff out on the main street. Stand aside.”

“No, you need a warrant.”

“Don’t be daft,” said Charlie. He moved forward and picked up the large man as if he weighed nothing at all and set him to one side.

“
No!
” shouted Josh, and a tear rolled down one cheek.

Hamish looked at Charlie. “Do you see any signs of a break-in?”

“Cannae say I do, sir.”

Hamish handed Josh back his list. “Listen to me. I cannot be bothered charging you. I know times are hard. Put a big sign in your window saying ‘Autumn Sale. Everything Must Go. Everything Reduced.’ Then you knock a couple of quid off the items you said were stolen, along with everything else. Folk love to think they’re getting a bargain.”

“I’m sorry,” said Josh brokenly.

“Oh, get off your sorry arse and get to work,” said Hamish. “Come along, Charlie.”

“It’s a shame,” said Charlie as they climbed into the Land Rover.

“Never mind,” said Hamish. “There’s a grand wee café up the coast on the road to Kinlochbervie. We’ll have a cup of coffee and a bun. It’s a grand day.”

The café was called Westering Home. There were two tables outside facing a long curve of white sandy beach. Hamish and Charlie contentedly drank coffee and munched currant buns until Hamish reluctantly said they had better be getting back.

They were driving along the one-track road beside the beach where two boys were playing when Hamish suddenly flung on the brakes and screeched to a halt. Lugs, in the back, let out a startled yelp.

“What’s up?” asked Charlie.

But Hamish was out and running towards the boys.

“Where did you get that?” he demanded.

A small tousle-haired child held up a dripping wet nurse’s cap. “It just floated in,” he said. “We wasnae doing anything wrong.”

Charlie had followed Hamish. “What’s up?”