Death of a Valentine (12 page)

‘Is your coffee all right?’ asked Josie.

‘Yes, chust fine. Don’t sit so close to me. You’re crowding me.’

Josie blushed and drew her chair back.

‘Then there’s Jessie Cormack. Annie took her boyfriend away – and that boyfriend, Percy Stane, had better be on the list as well. I may as well put the minister, Mr Tallent,
down as well. I’ll swear he was in love with Annie.

‘But right at the moment, my main suspect is Barry Fitzcameron. He’s the spider in the middle o’ the web.’

The phone rang. It was Jimmy. ‘You’ll never believe this, Hamish. Blair went up the brae a bit for a nip o’ whisky out o’ his flask. A great gust o’ wind caught him
and sent him tumbling down the brae right on to the crime scene and he banged his head on the plinth o’ the memorial and went out cold. Daviot’s here and he’s furious.
Blair’s been taken to Braikie hospital.’

‘Hang on a minute, Jimmy.’ Hamish turned to Josie. ‘You may as well take the rest of the day off, what’s left of it. Run along.’

He waited until Josie had left and then spoke urgently. ‘Jimmy, raid that disco tomorrow.’

‘You mean . . .?’

‘I don’t want to think Blair was the informant, but do you think you could do it?’

‘I’ll tell Daviot I’ve had a tip-off.’

‘Just make sure Daviot doesn’t go visiting Blair!’

‘I’ll tell him he’s not allowed visitors for the next forty-eight hours.’

Mrs Wellington greeted Josie. ‘I’ve a nice venison casserole. You can have some of that. Sit down at the table. How’s Hamish?’

‘As usual,’ said Josie. ‘I’m thinking of getting a transfer back to Strathbane.’

Mrs Wellington was alarmed. The money she received for housing Josie had come in very handy.

‘You haven’t been having much fun here,’ she said. ‘You should go to the dance in the hall this Saturday.’

‘I don’t want to go on my own,’ said Josie.

‘Get Hamish to take you. That man needs a good woman.’

‘He won’t want to go,’ said Josie.

‘Oh, he will,’ said Mrs Wellington. ‘I’ll make him.’

Mrs Wellington thought that a nice clean girl like Josie McSween was just the kind to sort Hamish Macbeth out. That evening, her eyes gleaming with matchmaking, she made her way along to the
police station.

‘Come ben,’ said Hamish reluctantly.

Mrs Wellington followed Hamish into his living room and looked around in disapproval. There were two dirty coffee mugs beside his armchair and sheets of notes spread out on the floor. The dog
and cat lay sleeping in front of a smoky peat fire.

Yes, Josie was just what this lazy policeman needed in his life. ‘I want you to take Josie to the dance on Saturday,’ boomed Mrs Wellington.

‘I’m following up more than one murder,’ protested Hamish. ‘And it iss not the thing at all to be socializing with my policewoman.’

Mrs Wellington sank down in the little-used armchair opposite Hamish, sending up a cloud of dust.

‘You must make an exception,’ she said. ‘That young girl has had no social life at all since she came here. One evening won’t hurt you.’

‘But –’

‘No buts, young man. I expect to see you there. There’s been talk in the village about how lonely Josie must feel.’

Hamish suddenly just wanted to get rid of her. ‘Oh, all right,’ he said ungraciously.

Josie was elated at the news. She escaped to her room and poured herself a large glass of whisky to celebrate. But then she began to wonder what would happen if Hamish Macbeth
either did not dance or danced with her only once and then disappeared back to his station.

She drank more whisky and wondered what to do. She felt she wouldn’t get any sleep that night. Then she remembered that hidden in her luggage, she had a packet of Mandrax tablets. They had
been part of a drug raid when she was in Strathbane. She had not been on the drug raid but had been given various drugs and told by Jimmy to take them down to the evidence lockers. It was only when
she returned that she had found the packet in her pocket. Not wanting to get into trouble, she had taken them home with her. The missing tablets had not been noticed during the court case.

Mandrax, known as quaaludes in the States, was a banned drug. It was a powerfully addictive sleeping pill with dangerous side effects. Now, if she ground down some of the tablets and slipped it
into Hamish’s drink, he would start to get dizzy. She could help him back to the police station, get him into bed after undressing him, and then undress herself and climb into bed with him.
When he woke up, she could say they had had sex. He would feel obliged to marry her.

The mad idea fuelled by more whisky began to seem perfectly feasible.

Hamish was awakened two mornings later by the ringing of the telephone. He struggled out of bed, glancing at the clock in alarm, realizing he had slept in, and rushed to answer
it. It was Jimmy. ‘Och, man,’ he said. ‘You’ll never believe what’s happened.’

‘What?’

‘Roger Burton’s escaped, but before he did he got into Barry’s cell and killed him.’

‘How the hell did that happen?’

‘Roger knocked out the copper who took him his breakfast. He dressed himself in the copper’s clothes, put his own clothes on the policeman, and put the policeman in the bed in the
cell wi’ a blanket over him. He took his keys and found Barry’s cell. He stabbed him to death.’

‘What with?’

‘A sharpened toothbrush.’

‘What on earth was left in his cell to sharpen the damn thing?’

‘Didn’t need a knife. There’s rough concrete on that ledge by the window. He just rubbed it and rubbed it down to a point.’

‘So you’d arrested Barry?’

‘Aye, I forgot to tell you. We’d raided thon disco yesterday and found the stash o’ drugs. Oh, God, we’re all in deep crap here, right up to our oxters. Daviot is
screaming blue murder and says if Blair had been around it wouldnae have happened. I tried to say that maybe we’d got Barry because Blair wasn’t around and Daviot says I cannot defend
myself by libelling a good officer.’

‘Any clue as to where Roger Burton is?’

‘By the time they found out the fellow in the bed wasn’t Roger, he’d long gone.’

‘What about the barman at the disco? He must know something.’

‘It gets worse. He was bailed and now he’s disappeared as well. You’re on your own wi’ that valentine case. Getting anywhere?’

‘Not so far. I’ve interviewed all my suspects again.’

‘Keep at it. Daviot’s rampaging around. The duty officer’s been suspended, poor bastard, although it had nothing to do with him. We’ve got the press baying outside for
blood and Daviot baying inside.’

When Hamish rang off, he thought that Blair must be thrilled to bits. If there was a connection to Barry, it would be hard to find it now.

There was a knock at the kitchen door. He opened it. Josie stood there, smiling up at him.

‘I’m late,’ said Hamish. ‘I was interviewing people until late last night.’

‘You should have let me help you, sir,’ said Josie.

‘Get the coffee on and I’ll be ready in a minute.’

When Hamish finally appeared, dressed and shaved, Josie said, ‘It’s kind of you to offer to take me to the dance tomorrow.’

‘I didn’t offer,’ said Hamish, helping himself to coffee. ‘I was bullied into it.’

He waited for Josie to say something like,
Oh, well, in that case, I’ll go myself,
but she merely hung her head and looked miserable.

Hamish was suddenly sorry for her. ‘Don’t worry, Josie,’ he said. ‘We’ll probably have a good time.’

He’d called her Josie! All Josie’s dreams flooded into her brain. But she said, ‘Where are we going today?’

‘I want to try to get Jocasta on her own. If I’m right, she’s fed up with the marriage and might talk a bit freely if we can get her without her husband around.’

The first thing they saw as they drove up to the wildlife park was a large FOR SALE sign. ‘Now, that is very interesting,’ said Hamish. ‘The marriage must be
breaking up. Bill would never have let her sell.’

He drove down the muddy slope to the office.

Jocasta was found poring over accounts books. ‘Oh, it’s you,’ she said curtly. ‘Find a chair. I’ll be with you in a minute.’

They sat waiting patiently while Jocasta turned pages, muttering, ‘Bastard!’ and ‘Unbelievable.’

At last she sat back in her chair and said, ‘What?’

‘Where is your husband?’ asked Hamish.

‘I neither know nor care. I’m filing for divorce. Bill ripping me off is one thing, but Annie Fleming was raiding the petty cash.’

‘You’re sure of that?’

‘Quite sure.’

‘And you really don’t know where your husband is?’ said Josie.

‘No. We had a row. I said I was filing for divorce and he took off after I said I was selling the place. This folly is fortunately in my name. I told him I was going to sell the place to a
builder. You should have seen his face! The idiot considers himself an environmentalist. Oh, he’ll catch some other poor woman the way he caught me. I met him at one of those save-the-planet
get-togethers in Edinburgh and he courted me and as soon as we were married, he sweet-talked me into this piece of rubbish. I used to be concerned about things like my carbon footprint. Now I
don’t give a damn if it’s a carbon hobnailed boot. I want out.’

‘It is very hard to get building permission,’ said Hamish.

‘I’ve got a loophole. I got building permission for this ratty office and the house and believe me that’s going to cover a multitude of sins, meaning a few rows of nasty little
bungalows.’

‘Have any of the creatures been returned to you?’

‘Not a one. They were all, apart from the minks and the lion, from the local countryside. They’re all probably happy in their natural habitat. And they hadn’t been in the cages
long enough to get used to being fed.’

‘Have any of the animal libbers been caught?’

She gave a cynical laugh. ‘No. I think you lot have enough on your hands, what with an escaped hit man and a murder in the cells, to bother about a few idiots.’

‘What did you think of Annie Fleming?’ asked Hamish.

‘A right little tart she turned out to be. I suspected there was something going on with Bill. I don’t think she could leave anything in trousers alone.’

‘What about a kilt?’ asked Josie seriously.

Hamish burst out laughing and Josie blushed. But Jocasta said, ‘About a month ago, I was walking out to the cages when I saw her up on the main road beside a four-by-four talking to a man
in a kilt. He was all dressed up in the full rig like men wear when they’re going to a wedding or an official function.’

‘What did he look like?’

‘He was too far away. Medium height, dark hair. They saw me watching and he jumped in his vehicle and drove off.

‘Then there was a weedy-looking youth hanging around. He kept trying to speak to Annie but she told him to get lost. I think she called him Percy.’

‘I know who you mean,’ said Hamish. ‘I think we’ll be having a wee word with that young man again.’

Back at the Land Rover, Hamish phoned police headquarters and asked for Mark Lussie’s mobile phone number. He waited patiently until he got it. Then he said to Josie, ‘Before we go
and see Percy again, I’ve got an idea. Maybe Mark’s murderer threw that phone away in the heather.’

Josie shivered as she bent before the wind and followed Hamish up the brae to the war memorial. Out to sea, dark clouds were massing, and she hoped Hamish would either find the phone or give up
before the threatening rain arrived.

Hamish took out his own phone and dialled Mark’s number. He began to walk away from the war memorial down the sloping hill on the other side. At the bottom of the hill was a small grocery
shop with rubbish bins parked at the back.

‘I wouldnae be surprised if he didnae dump the phone in one o’ thae bins,’ he said.

‘But the bins would have been cleared by now,’ said Josie.

‘Aye, and that’s why we’re going to the council tip.’

They reached the Land Rover just as the rain came down in sheets. ‘I haven’t got a raincoat with me,’ said Josie.

‘Did you bring your coveralls?’ asked Hamish, meaning the plastic suit police wore at a crime scene so that they would not contaminate it.

‘Yes, I got them.’

‘They’ll do. Suit up when we get to the tip.’

The tip was down at the end of a long lane leading to the sea between Lochdubh and Strathbane. Josie’s heart sank when she saw the acres of rubbish stretched out under a
stormy sky full of screeching, diving seagulls.

Hamish went into the office wearing black oilskins. He asked about the rubbish from the grocery and if the man in charge had any idea which part of the acreage it would end up in.

The man said vaguely it might be over to the far left of the dump.

With Josie trailing miserably behind, Hamish went over to the left, took out his phone, and dialled Mark’s number.

The wind dropped and he swore he could hear a faint ringing sound. ‘Come on, Josie,’ he urged. ‘I think there’s something here under this pile o’
rubbish.’

That use of her first name spurred Josie into action. ‘I won’t dial any more until we’ve dug down a bit,’ said Hamish.

He paused occasionally to admire Josie’s diligence. He had been too hard on the lassie, he thought. After they had searched down a certain depth, he dialled again. ‘Hear that!’
he cried triumphantly. He scrabbled down to the ringing sound, tossing filthy rubbish over his shoulder.

‘Got it!’ he cried at last. ‘Let’s get back into shelter. This is grand.’ He seized hold of Josie and waltzed her round on top of the rubbish.

Josie walked back to the Land Rover as if she were walking on air. ‘We’ll get back to Lochdubh, dry out, and I’ll get you something to eat,’ said Hamish once they were in
shelter again. ‘Let me check this phone. What was the last call he made? Here, write this down.’

Josie took out her notebook and wrote down the number. ‘Right,’ said Hamish. ‘Give it to me. Let’s phone up and see who’s at the other end.’

He dialled and waited. A clear highland voice came on the line. ‘Town hall, Braikie,’ said the voice. ‘Which department?’