Death of a Policeman (6 page)

“Is it that important?”

“I think so.”

“Wait there.”

Jimmy entered the building by walking against the wall so as not to contaminate the crime scene.

Hamish waited anxiously. Jimmy finally emerged, followed by the manager, Bruce Jamieson, who stared across the car park at Hamish. There was something peculiarly threatening in that stare.

“Got it,” said Jimmy curtly. “Have you any booze at that station of yours?”

“Whisky.”

“Lead the way.”

Dick was asleep on the sofa with the dog on one side and the cat on the other.

“Wakey! Wakey!” yelled Jimmy.

Dick woke with a start and grinned sheepishly. “I'm off to my bed,” he said. “I don't need to see it again.”

The dog and cat slid off the sofa and disappeared. Hamish fetched a bottle of whisky and two glasses from the kitchen.

He switched on the recorder and slotted in the tape. Jimmy sipped whisky and leaned forward. “Who's the fellow with Jessie?” asked Hamish.

“Car dealer. Johnny Livia. We raided him once. Tip-off he was shipping stolen cars abroad but we couldn't find anything.”

Again the maître d' appeared with the little salver. “And that's it?” asked Jimmy. “It isn't enough to raid the place.”

“It's enough to ask the maître d' what he gave her. Come on, Jimmy. An iffy car dealer and a well-known tart. I'll do it,” said Hamish. “The restaurant is on my beat.”

“No, I'll do it but you can come along. I'll meet you outside the restaurant at eleven thirty tomorrow morning when they'll be setting up for lunch. But after us wanting that particular tape, if there is anything going on at the restaurant then they'll make sure it's as clean as a whistle for the next month or so anyway.”

“Coming?” said Hamish to Dick the following morning.

“Don't feel like it,” said Dick. “Don't you sometimes feel worried about getting old?”

“Not yet,” said Hamish. “But you could do something for me. Could you check on the computer and see if Murdo owns anything else in Strathbane—pubs or clubs, say?”

“Will do.”

“Cheer up. It may never happen. Why are you looking so miserable?”

“I slept badly.”

“Nothing to do with that party?”

“No, why should it?” shouted Dick.

“Keep your hair on. I only asked.”

While Dick stayed behind to look after the animals and try to find any other businesses that Murdo might own, Hamish set off to meet Jimmy at the restaurant.

It was one of those steel-grey days in the Highlands. No mist, just a canopy of grey cloud overhead and a strange stillness in the landscape. The mountains looked like steel engravings.

A little cloud of midges had managed to get inside the Land Rover. Hamish pulled to the side of the road, took out a spray of insect repellent, and sprayed the inside of the car. Then he realised he had forgotten to open a window and was doubled up with a fit of coughing. He wiped his streaming eyes and set off again.

He parked outside the restaurant and waited until he saw Jimmy driving up before getting out of the Land Rover.

“What did Blair say?” Hamish asked him.

“I didn't tell him. If anyone's been getting free meals or drinks here, Blair's bound to be one of them. Let's get started.”

The manager, Bruce Jamieson, had little black eyes which shone with an odd light when Jimmy asked to speak to the maître d' who had been on duty the night before. “That'll be Paolo Gonzales,” said Bruce. “Only does evenings.”

“Then give us his address,” said Jimmy.

“What's this about?”

“Just want a wee word with him. Come on, laddie, get that address.”

They waited a quarter of an hour and were about to go in search for the manager when he reappeared and handed them a slip of paper.

“Thanks,” said Jimmy. “Come on, Hamish.”

Outside, Hamish asked, “Where does he live?”

“Got a wee cottage down the road from here towards Strathbane. Follow me.”

As Hamish was about to climb into the Land Rover, he turned and looked at the restaurant. Bruce was standing outside, staring at him.

The cottage turned out to be a low whitewashed building which had once served as a croft house.

Jimmy hammered on the door, and they waited. At last it was opened by the tall man they recognised from the tape. He had a cadaverous face and pale grey eyes under hooded lids.

“Mr. Gonzales?” asked Jimmy.

“That's me.”

Jimmy flashed his warrant card. “Just a wee word. Can we come inside?”

Gonzales shrugged and then stood aside to let them in. The front door led straight into a living-room-
cum
-kitchen. It was sparsely furnished with a round table and four upright chairs. A battered armchair was placed in front of a large television set. A peat fire smoked in the hearth. Gonzales waved an arm to indicate they should sit at the table.

“What's this about?” he asked. He had a faint Spanish accent.

“We've been checking the videotapes at the restaurant,” said Jimmy. “We are interested in two of your customers, Johnny Livia and Jessie McTavish. You presented Jessie with something under a silver salver. She put the contents in her handbag and then went to the toilet. What did you give her?”

Gonzales shrugged. “Oh, that? She's got a sweet tooth. The chef makes special marzipan sweets for her.”

“Pull the other one,” said Jimmy. “Why would she tip sweets into her handbag?”

“Only four of them,” said Gonzales blandly, “and they were wrapped in tissue paper.”

“Have you ever seen anyone dealing drugs in the restaurant?” asked Hamish.

“I'm shocked you should even ask such a question,” said Gonzales. “Seven Steps is a gourmet restaurant. All the best people come, including Superintendent Daviot and his wife.”

They persevered with questions but couldn't get anywhere and at last they left.

Outside the cottage, Jimmy's mobile phone rang. He listened and then said, “Right away, sir.”

He turned to Hamish. “Daviot's summoned us and he's furious. Let's get it over with.”

“What,” demanded Daviot as soon as they were shown into his office, “do you mean by questioning a respectable waiter from the best restaurant in the Highlands and implying they were dealing drugs?”

Jimmy patiently told him about the tape.

“You should have come to me or Mr. Blair first,” raged Daviot. “I eat there myself and I have never seen anything untoward.”

“I was there myself, sir, last night in the brasserie with Miss Halburton-Smythe,” said Hamish. “We were offered a free meal. That in itself is suspicious.”

Daviot turned pink. “What is so suspicious about a generous offer like that?”

“Restaurants or bars which offer coppers freebies are often trying to get favours. I mean, if someone as eminent as yourself were to be offered a free meal, of course you would turn it down.”

Suddenly it seemed as if Daviot could not wait to be rid of them.

“So our master and chief
was
taking freebies,” said Hamish as they walked down the stairs.

“Think so?”

“Aye, and he'll spread the word around the lodge. I think Murdo will find that his best customers suddenly don't want any presents at all.”

“What about going to see Jessie?”

“I've still got Cyril's murder to solve. You can go yourself.”

Hamish downloaded Jessie's address from a police computer. She had only been charged once, and that had been for drunk and disorderly. Nothing about drugs.

He met Constable Annie Williams on the road out. He showed her Jessie's address. “Do you know where this is?”

“Aye, went on a raid there once. It's a brothel. Just before you leave Strathbane on the Oban road, turn left down Glebe Street and it's the villa at the end. Fancy dinner tonight?”

Hamish had once had a one-night stand with Annie, only to find out the next day that she was married. “Things to do, people to see,” he said, brushing past her.

He found the villa, wondering why the brothel had not been closed down, and then realised whoever ran it was probably paying the police to be left alone.

He rang the bell. The door was opened by a small, grey-haired, sour-looking woman. Her face hardened when she saw him. “I'm not paying any mair,” she said.

Hamish hesitated for a moment. Should he demand to know which corrupt police or policemen were demanding money to leave her alone? Then he thought of the endless reports and investigations. Another time, he decided.

Aloud, he said, “I just wanted a wee word wi' Jessie McTavish.”

“She's left. Gone tae live wi' a car salesman.”

Hamish touched his cap, said, “Thank you,” and turned to go.

“Wait!” she called. “You seem like a nice lad. Like a bit o' something?”

“Forget it.” Hamish got into the Land Rover and drove off. Now for Johnny Livia. He stopped at the end of the street and fished out a battered copy of the Highlands and Islands telephone book. There was a private address for Johnny Livia on the other side of Strathbane.

Johnny Livia's home turned out to be fake Georgian. It had once been a Victorian villa, but he had put a pillared entrance on the front. There was a short drive leading to the house, lined on either side with laurel bushes.

Hamish rang the bell, which tinkled out a chorus of “Scotland the Brave.” The door was jerked open and Jessie McTavish glared up at him. Her bleached hair was tousled, and she was wrapped in a silk dressing gown.

“Whit now?” she demanded. “I ain't done nothing.”

“Just a talk,” said Hamish.

“Go away!”

“I can stand out here and shout,” said Hamish. He bellowed, “I want to ask you about drugs!”

“Come in, for God's sake,” said Jessie.

The living room into which she led him looked as if it had been little used. It was crammed with reproduction Louis Quinze furniture, gilt-framed mirrors, and a white-leather-padded bar.

“I have naethin' tae dae wi' drugs,” said Jessie fishing in the pocket of her dressing gown and producing a packet of cigarettes.

“I just wanted to ask you what the maître d' gave you last night when he brought that small silver salver over to your table?”

A phone beside Jessie on a small table rang shrilly. She picked it up and listened and then said, “Aye, right,” and rang off.

“You was asking about last night?” said Jessie. She lit a cigarette and puffed a cloud of smoke in Hamish's direction. “That was some sweeties I'm partial to.”

“Why put them in your handbag and go to the toilet?”

“I had tae pee. Right? Now if that's all you want…”

“I'll be watching you from now on,” said Hamish.

She rose to escort him to the door. Just as he was going to leave, Hamish turned suddenly and thrust up a sleeve of her dressing gown.

“Those are track marks, Jessie.”

“I'm clean!”

“Those are fresh. You are playing a dangerous game, whatever you've got yourself into.”

Her eyes blazed with anger. “They'll sort you out, copper. I've got powerful friends.”

“I'll be back with a search warrant.”

Jessie slammed the door on him. Once inside, she rushed to the phone, dialled a number, and spoke rapidly.

Hamish phoned Jimmy and reported on his visit. “I can't see us getting a search warrant because some brass nail has fresh tracks on her arms,” said Jimmy. “If we got search warrants for every prostitute in Strathbane wi' track marks, we'd never get through the work. Get back over to Sandybeach and search around again.”

When Hamish returned to the police station, Dick said, “Nothing on Murdo, but that manager owns a club in Strathbane.”

“Now, that's odd,” said Hamish. “If he owns a club in Strathbane, what's he doing managing a restaurant? What's the club called?”

“Queen Draggie.”

“A drag club! I suppose you can find everything in Strathbane if you lift enough stones. We'll try it later. I've got to go back up to Sandybeach.”

“I'll keep on looking,” said Dick, hoping for a lazy day.

“All right. I'll leave you to look after Sonsie and Lugs.”

Hamish called in at the Tommel Castle Hotel, where he found Priscilla in the gift shop. He told her what he had found out so far.

“I don't like this,” said Priscilla. “I think you might be in danger.”

“If they killed Cyril, they won't want to bump off another policeman. I might try visiting that drag club.”

“I'll come with you.”

“It might be dangerous.”

“We could just suss out the place.”

“All right. I'll pick you up at nine o'clock this evening. Might take Dick as well. The very sight of us might shake something loose.”

Hamish felt he had spent a wasted day by the time he returned to the police station. Dick looked sulky at the idea of the visit to the drag club.

They got dressed in smart casual clothes and collected Priscilla from the Tommel Castle Hotel. She was wearing a sequinned top over tight black velvet trousers. She wrapped herself in a scarlet mohair stole.

“We'll take my car,” she said.

“No, we'd better use Dick's old banger. This club is down at the docks and your Mercedes might get stolen,” said Hamish.

As they drove off through the darkness of the Highlands and then looked down on the orange sodium glow that was Strathbane, Hamish said, “Every time I approach the place, I wonder that such a hell can exist in the beauty of the Highlands.”