Death of a Valentine (11 page)

But when they got there, it was to find the blackened shell of what had been Roger’s home being checked by a fire inspector.

‘I’m sorry, Hamish,’ said Jimmy wearily. ‘We should ha’ listened to you. Go home.’

Before he went to bed early that evening, an exhausted Hamish locked the door. As he fell asleep, he was dimly aware of Josie shouting through the letter box.

Josie was alarmed when she did not get a reply. She phoned police headquarters and learned of the attempt on Hamish’s life. Then she was told to hold on. Police Sergeant Mary Southern came
on the line.

‘Get over to Braikie right now and we’ll join you. A body’s been found at the war memorial.’

Josie scribbled a note to Hamish and pushed it through the letter box before driving as fast as she could to Braikie. Trails of dark cloud were streaming in from the Atlantic, and the wind had
begun to rise.

She stopped in the main street, asked for directions to the war memorial, and then set off again. As she climbed the hill to the memorial, she could see that a small crowd had gathered. She
pulled a roll of police tape and some posts out of the car and set off up the hill, shouting, ‘Get back! It’s a crime scene.’

The little crowd backed away as she secured the site. Then she went forward and looked down at the body. Here was no horror such as she had seen when she had viewed Annie’s body. Mark
Lussie lay as if at peace, his sightless eyes staring up at the windy sky.

‘Who found the body?’ asked Josie, walking back to the crowd.

A tall man stepped forward. ‘That’s me,’ he said.

‘Name?’

‘Alec Templar. I wass up the brae looking after my sheep and I saw what I thocht was clothes by the memorial and went for a look. Poor wee laddie.’

Josie felt the experience of being in sole charge of a murder case was very exciting, but it was short-lived. Police, detectives and SOCO headed by Superintendent Daviot came hurrying up the
brae.

Daviot glared at Josie. ‘Why aren’t you suited up?’

‘I was rushing to secure the crime scene,’ said Josie.

‘Don’t ever make such a mistake again. Where’s Macbeth?’

‘There was an attempt on his life last night and –’

‘I know that. So where is he?’

‘I think he must be asleep.’

‘Then get over to Lochdubh and wake him up. I need him here.’

‘I know the deceased,’ said Josie tremulously. ‘We interviewed him yesterday.’

‘Name and address?’

Josie gave them to him. ‘Shall I go and tell the parents?’

‘Just get Macbeth here!’

Josie drove miserably back to Lochdubh and hammered on the police station door. She jumped as a voice behind her said, ‘He keeps a spare key in the gutter or under the doormat. He used tae
leave it in the gutter, but he changed it. He telt it tae me the ither day. He often moves it around.’

She swung round. A small man in a very tight suit stood looking at her. ‘I’m Archie Maclean,’ he said. ‘Friend o’ Hamish’s.’

‘I’ve got to wake him up,’ said Josie. ‘He’s wanted over at Braikie.’

‘I’ll leave you to it,’ said Archie. ‘I only came for a wee crack.’

Josie found the key under the doormat and let herself in. She decided that instead of shouting to wake him, she would go into the bedroom and gently shake him by the shoulder. It was an intimate
scenario.

She went into the bedroom. The dog and cat were at the end of the bed. The large cat arched her back and hissed while her yellow eyes blazed. The dog barked.

‘Hamish!’ screamed Josie, darting out the door and slamming it behind her before the cat could spring.

The bedroom door opened and Hamish stood there wrapped in a shabby dressing gown. ‘What’s up?’ he demanded.

‘There’s been another murder, sir. Mark Lussie.’

‘Make coffee,’ ordered Hamish. ‘This all gets nastier and nastier.’

Josie took one look at the cheap jar of instant coffee on Hamish’s kitchen counter and ran to Patel’s to buy a packet of real coffee. Returning to the police
station, she made the coffee in a pewter jug by pouring boiling water over the grounds, sprinkling a little cold water on the top to settle them, and adding a small pinch of salt.

Then she lit the stove and put the pot on top to keep the coffee warm. Hamish shaved and showered. In the kitchen, he gulped down two cups of black coffee. To Josie’s dismay, he
didn’t seem to notice the difference from his usual brew.

Hamish had in fact noticed the difference and had seen the packet of real coffee but did not want to thank Josie in case she was encouraged to encroach on his home.

Before he left the station he phoned Jimmy, who told him that Hamish had the job of breaking the news to Mrs Lussie.

‘We’re off to see Mark’s mother,’ said Hamish as they drove off. ‘What was that boy up to? Some way he put himself in danger by not telling us all he knew. Either
that or he suddenly remembered something. Did he phone his killer and make an appointment? I wonder if he had a mobile phone. I hope we can find something to narrow the suspects down. I hate this
sort of job – breaking bad news.’

But when they arrived at Mark’s home, it was obvious the news had already been broken by the highland bush telegraph. Neighbours were crowded into a small living room, murmuring
condolences as Mrs Lussie sat and wept.

‘I would like a word with Mrs Lussie,’ said Hamish. ‘Will you all please wait outside?’

A large woman protested. ‘Cannae ye leave the wumman alone?’ she cried.

But Mrs Lussie rallied. She dried her eyes and said, ‘I’ll speak to the sergeant. I want to find out who killed my boy.’

‘Now, Mrs Lussie,’ said Hamish. ‘Did you hear Mark go out last night?’

She shook her head. ‘The baby was quiet for once so I got the first good sleep I’ve had in ages.’

‘Did he say anything at all that might be significant? Or did he look excited in any way?’

She dabbed at her eyes with an already sodden handkerchief. ‘He didn’t say anything. He was reading a fillum magazine. Then we watched a bit o’ telly and he said he was tired
and wanted an early night.’

‘Did he have a mobile phone?’

‘Yes, but he didn’t use it much. Poor lost soul. He didn’t seem to have that many friends. When we was with the church, he knew some young people, but he gave up the
church.’

‘May we see his room?’

‘It’s up the stairs, first left.’

As Hamish and Josie went up the stairs, the neighbours who had been watching through the front window crowded in again.

The room was unexpectedly neat for a young man. It was quite small. There was a narrow bed, neatly made up, with a bedside table and reading lamp. A desk by the window with a hard upright chair
in front of it held a pile of comics and film magazines. There was no computer or posters or pictures on the walls, which were covered in an oatmeal patterned wallpaper. A tall, thin wardrobe
fronted by a long glass mirror stood against one wall, and a chest of drawers against another.

Hamish put on gloves and so did Josie. ‘You search the bedside table,’ he said, ‘and I’ll have a look in the wardrobe.’

There were few clothes hanging up: one dark blue suit and black coat, three long-sleeved shirts, a puffa jacket and a tweed jacket. Underneath the clothes were a pair of black shoes and three
pairs of sneakers. He searched in all the pockets but did not find anything. He even ran his gloved fingers along the insides of all the footwear in case anything had been hidden there.

‘I’ve got his bank book and phone bill,’ said Josie.

Hamish took them from her. Mark had had a post office savings account with fifty pounds in it. The phone bill only listed five numbers. One was to his home; Hamish’s sharp eyes had taken a
note of the phone number on the receiver dial when he had been downstairs. The other four were to a Strathbane number. Hamish thought they would probably turn out to be made to the wildlife park.
He took out his mobile, dialled directory inquiries, asked for William Freemont’s phone number, and gave the address of the wildlife park. The operator gave him the number. It was the same
number as the four on the phone bill.

‘Bag them up,’ he said to Josie. ‘That’s the old phone bill. We’ll need to get Strathbane to check with the phone company and find out if he phoned anyone last
night. I’ll just look in the chest of drawers.’

The top drawer contained underwear, the second socks, and the third T-shirts. In the bottom drawer, there was a small photo album and a selection of soft porn magazines. Hamish flipped open the
photo album. It contained pictures of Annie: Annie as the Lammas queen, Annie at various church functions, and a few of Annie taken when she was leaving her home. Apart from the ones of Annie,
there were no family pictures.

‘Bag that as well,’ said Hamish, handing her the album. ‘I’m just going to move this chest of drawers in case something’s fallen down the back.’

There was no carpet on the floor, only a sort of spongy linoleum. He heaved the chest of drawers away from the wall. ‘What’s this?’ he exclaimed. He stretched down and brought
up a chemistry set. He sat down on the bed and carefully opened it. Most of the chemicals had been used.

‘That’s it!’ said Josie, leaning over him. ‘He was the bomber!’

‘I think this is too basic to make such a sophisticated bomb,’ said Hamish. ‘It’s probably just an old Christmas present.’

‘But there are no other toys or presents in the room,’ said Josie. ‘I mean, you’d think he would have old schoolbooks, or stuffed toys, or model airplanes, or something
like that.’

‘We’ll bag it up and take it. Let’s see Mrs Lussie again. It means getting rid of the neighbours.’

Once more, Mrs Lussie’s sympathisers were told to wait outside. ‘We found a chemistry set in Mark’s room,’ said Hamish. ‘When did he get that?’

‘That was a while ago. A gentleman friend of mine gave it to him. He played with it for a bit and then forgot about it.’

‘We’re taking it and some other things,’ said Hamish. ‘Mark didn’t seem to keep anything much in his room. I thought we would find old toys or something like
that.’

‘It was the church. They were collecting toys for the poor. Mark was told it was his Christian duty to bring everything in.’

Hamish scribbled out a receipt and handed it to her. ‘Mrs Lussie, if you can think of anything at all, please call me at the station in Lochdubh.’

‘When can I bury my son?’

‘I’ll tell the procurator fiscal to get in touch with you. They’ll be calling soon anyway. I’m afraid they will want you to identify the body. Is there no relative who
could do the identification instead? Where is your husband?’

‘I don’t know. He ran off after Mark was born.’

‘Name?’

‘Sam Lussie.’

‘What did he do for a living?’

‘Nothing much,’ she said bleakly. ‘He was on the dole.’

‘Is there anyone who could identify the body other than yourself?’

‘I’ll do it,’ she said tearfully. ‘I want a last look at my son.’

Outside, Hamish phoned Jimmy. He said he was sending Police Sergeant Southern to collect Mrs Lussie and take her to the procurator fiscal’s office. Hamish told him about
finding the chemistry set but added that it looked like too amateur a kit to have made the bomb. Jimmy said he was still up at the war memorial and if Hamish brought the chemistry set up to him, he
would take it over to the forensic lab in Strathbane. They would start by checking with the phone company as well.

The wind was screaming around the war memorial when they arrived. Above them, the black bronze statue of a Boer War soldier stared out across Braikie to the heaving sea.

‘Can’t find a thing what with this heather all about,’ complained Jimmy. ‘Oh, here comes our lord and master. Afternoon, sir, has Roger said anything yet?’

‘Not a thing,’ said Blair, lumbering up to them, the cold wind raising red patches on his groggy face. ‘What have ye got?’

‘Macbeth’s just found a chemistry set in Mark Lussie’s room,’ said Jimmy.

Blair visibly brightened. ‘That’s it. Case closed.’

‘Not really, sir. The chemistry set looks like a kid’s one. And we’ve still got to find out who murdered Mark.’

‘You,’ said Blair in a sudden fury, glaring at Hamish, ‘take your wee sidekick and get down there to thae houses and see if anyone saw anything.’

Hamish repressed a sigh. As he looked down the hill, he could see police officers going door to door, but he said meekly, ‘Yes, sir.’

He walked down the hill to where his Land Rover was parked. ‘Get in,’ he said to Josie.

‘Aren’t we going to . . .?’

‘No. Waste of time. That ground’s being covered. We’re going back to Lochdubh. I’ve got to think.’

Once back at the police station, Josie followed him quietly in, not wanting him to be too aware of her presence and send her away.

Hamish went straight to the police office. Josie was glad the dog and cat were nowhere around. They came and went by a large cat flap on the kitchen door. Hamish sat down at his desk, and Josie
pulled a chair up next to him.

‘What I want to do,’ said Hamish, taking a notebook out of his desk, ‘is to make a list of all the suspects, and then we start somehow to check up and see if there is anything
in any of their backgrounds to show they had the knowledge to make a bomb.’

‘Shall I make some coffee, sir?’ asked Josie.

‘Yes, that would be grand.’

Josie went happily off to the kitchen where she was soon lost in a rosy dream of being Hamish’s wife.

When she came back with two mugs of coffee and a plate of biscuits, Hamish was checking down a list he had made.

‘I can’t leave out Jake Cullen,’ he said. ‘I know he’s dead but he might have murdered her before that. Maybe Annie knew something about drugs at that club and had
threatened to tell the police. Now, I can’t forget Bill Freemont.’

‘He seemed a stupid man,’ said Josie.

‘He could have got someone to do it for him. I wonder if he has any criminal connections? Or Jocasta, his wife? No, scrub that one. I should think she’s been too out o’ love
wi’ him for a while to get jealous enough.’