Death of Yesterday (11 page)

“My car won’t start,” said Hannah desperately. “I’ve got to get to Strathbane.”

“I’m going there myself. Hop in.”

The conference room at the Red Hackle hotel was crammed with press and police. Ten o’clock came and went and there was no sign of Hannah. Her brother was there, having seen the news of his missing sister on television the night before, but he had not given the police the name of her new hotel.

By ten thirty, some of the press were beginning to drift towards the bar, saying it was nothing but a hoax.

Jimmy said furiously to Hamish, “There’s been a right cock-up. The police in Inverness say she wasn’t at the hotel. They’re searching the other hotels.”

His phone rang. He walked off a little way to answer it. When he had finished his call, he came back to Hamish. “She’d moved to a hotel on the outskirts, but by the time they got there, she had gone.”

“Anything on CCTV?”

“They’re looking. Her car’s outside.”

“She was using her own car?”

“Aye, but they only started searching last night.”

“Come on, Dick,” said Hamish.

“Where are you going?” asked Jimmy.

“I’m going to check the road between here and Inverness.”

* * *

It was a steel-grey day, weeping drizzle. The mountains were hidden, and all colour seemed to have been bleached from the sodden landscape.

“Why are you taking the Struie Pass?” asked Dick.

“If I wanted to dump a body, that’s the route I would take,” said Hamish. “Practically everyone uses the new road now.”

“Do you think she’s dead?” asked Dick.

“I cannae think of any other reason why the lassie wouldn’t turn up.”

“Could be anywhere,” said Dick gloomily.

“We’ve got to try. Keep looking.”

The Land Rover moved slowly up the twisting one-track road. They stopped from time to time. Hamish scanned the surrounding landscape with binoculars.

The day dragged on as they slowly approached the viewpoint. Hamish’s phone rang. It was Jimmy.

“You’re never going to believe this. The CCTV cameras outside the hotel and inside weren’t working. The guests were at breakfast, which is in the dining room at the back. No one saw her leave. What are you doing?”

“Still searching,” said Hamish gloomily.

“If she’s been hijacked, then whoever took her is right bold,” said Jimmy. “To take her off in broad daylight!”

“Someone was desperate,” said Hamish. “I’ll phone you as soon as I get anything.”

“We’ve got men over at the factory taking statements, finding out where everyone was this morning.”

“Pete Eskdale?”

“Over in Strathbane, drumming up publicity from a local paper.”

“Confirmed by the paper?”

“Aye. Mind you, his appointment was at ten in the morning.”

“What about the boss, Harry Gilchrist?”

“Down in Glasgow.”

“Where?”

“Got him on his mobile. He stayed with a friend. Strathclyde Police are confirming his alibi. He’s on his road back.”

“What about Freda?”

“At her desk all this morning.”

Hamish rang off and went back to searching.

He and Dick drove up to the viewpoint, parked, and got out. A wind sprang up, and the weather of Sutherland went in for one of its mercurial changes. The cloud was blown into grey rags and sent flying off to the east. The blue mountains appeared, range after range of them, stretching into Sutherland. The sun shone down on the purple heather. Rowan trees danced in the brisk wind, their leaves glittering with raindrops. It has been called “the million-dollar view.” Down below lay the inner arm of the Cromarty Firth. Over in the blue distance lay the Kyle of Sutherland.

“This is hopeless,” moaned Dick. “I’m hungry.”

“Let me think,” said Hamish. “Whoever took her was in a panic. So he wouldn’t go in for anything elaborate. He’d kill her and toss the body out by the road. We’d better keep looking.”

To Dick’s horror, Hamish said they should start going along the road on foot. “I’m tired,” he wailed. “My legs won’t take it.”

“You should lose weight,” said Hamish heartlessly. “Oh, take a seat in the car. I’ll go myself.”

Hamish trudged slowly along, looking to left and right.

The road began to descend. He stopped and stared around. She could be anywhere. Why had he thought of the Struie Pass? Because there’s a bit of a murderer in all of us, he thought, and it’s where I would have got rid of her.

At a hairpin bend in the road, he noticed a stand of silver birch and, at the base of the trees, uprooted piles of heather.

He walked over and tugged away the heather. Hannah’s white face stared up at him. He bent down and felt for a pulse. It was there, but very faint. He phoned Dick and howled for the Land Rover to be brought down the pass. He phoned for a rescue helicopter, shouting that any long delay could kill her.

He then knelt down in the heather and began to apply the kiss of life. The pulse grew slightly stronger. Dick drove up. “Oh, michty me!” he cried. “Is she dead?”

“Nearly,” said Hamish. “Where’s that damn helicopter.”

“I hear it!” said Dick. “Coming from ower there.”

The helicopter landed on the road. Paramedics rushed to Hannah and put an oxygen mask over her mouth before lifting her on board. “I’ll go with her,” said Hamish. “Phone headquarters and say she’s been found.”

Hamish was joined in Strathbane Hospital by Jimmy and Blair. Blair tried to send Hamish away, but Jimmy protested. “He found the lassie. If she recovers, he’ll be the first person she’ll want to talk to.”

The day wore on as the news of the discovery of Hannah Fleming went out over the airwaves.

Someone, it seemed, had tried to strangle her. Eventually a doctor joined them. “It looks as if she will recover,” he said. “But no one is to interview her at the moment. She’s still barely conscious.”

“I’m hungry,” said Jimmy. “Let’s go to the canteen and get something, Hamish.

“I’m off,” said Blair. “Phone me as soon as she’s ready to speak.”

After they had eaten, Hamish and Jimmy went back downstairs. They sent for the doctor they had seen earlier. “She has recovered consciousness,” he said. “You can have a few words, but that is all.”

Now, thought Hamish, we’ll get the identity of this murdering bastard at last.

The doctor followed Hamish and Jimmy into the room. Hamish took one look at Hannah and cursed. He had seen death many times before and recognised it in Hannah’s clay-white face.

“What’s happened here?” demanded the doctor, striding to the bed. “Her tubes have been pulled out, and what’s that pillow doing lying on the floor?”

“Don’t touch it!” yelled Hamish as he made to pick it up. “I think someone’s got in here and smothered her.”

Blair soon came roaring back followed by Superintendent Daviot. Blair raged that she should never have been left alone.

“We’ll get the CCTV stuff,” said Jimmy, “and find out who went into her room.”

“Won’t do you much good,” said Hamish miserably. “I took a look at the one in the corridor and it’s been spray-painted black.”

Blair howled with rage and cursed and stamped and then he clutched his throat and fell unconscious on the floor.

Medics rushed to bear him away. Daviot shook his silver head. “A guard should have been put on her door. This is terrible publicity. What am I to tell the press?”

Hamish finally got back to his police station at three in the morning. He could hear snores coming from Dick’s bedroom. He had developed such a rage, such a personal hate for this murderer, that he felt that if Hannah had lived and had told about her night with him, he would gladly have faced the music if it got him the identity of this killer.

He undressed and went to bed, falling into an exhausted sleep haunted by dreams of the people at the factory.

* * *

In the morning, Hamish phoned Jimmy. “There’s a back stair leading from the corridor outside Hannah’s room,” said Jimmy. “No cameras there. We’re getting statements again from everyone at that factory.”

“I’ll be right over,” said Hamish.

“I’m in charge of the case now,” said Jimmy. “Blair’s had a wee stroke and is being kept in. You just get on with your usual duties.”

Hamish sighed after he had rung off. If Blair’s condition turned out to be serious, then Jimmy saw promotion. Any kudos he would want for himself.

Dick arrived in the kitchen. “Where were you yesterday?” demanded Hamish.

“I didnae see that there was anything I could do,” said Dick plaintively. “Is she going to be all right?”

“She’s dead,” said Hamish and told Dick what had happened, ending with, “Blair got a stroke so Jimmy has dreams of glory and I’m being asked to keep clear.”

“It’s a grand day,” said Dick looking out of the window. “We both need a rest.”

“On the contrary,” said Hamish. “They’ll all be concentrating on alibis. We should go over to the hospital and ask around.”

“Don’t you want me to stay behind and look after Sonsie and Lugs?”

“I’ll take the beasts with me,” said Hamish curtly. “Get your uniform on.”

* * *

At the hospital, Hamish and Dick went up to the corridor outside Hannah’s room and walked along until they found the back stairs and then started to walk slowly down.

“Have forensics been over this?” asked Dick uneasily. “We could be charged with mucking up a crime scene.”

“They’ve been and gone,” said Hamish. “There’s fingerprint dust all over the banisters.”

At the bottom of the stairs, there was a fire door. They pushed it open and found themselves at the back of the hospital. Hamish turned and scrutinised the building. “Not a camera in sight,” he muttered. “Our murderer either knew about that or was lucky in his desperation.”

He scanned the ground. A little way away was a small patch of earth, still damp from the previous day’s rain. There was the mark of a single tyre. “Looks like a bicycle track,” said Hamish. “They should have taken a cast of it.”

He walked back to the fire door. “Cigarette butts all over the place,” said Hamish. “This must be one of the places where the staff nip out to have cigarettes. We’ll go back in and see if there’s any of them in the canteen.”

In the canteen, he tried to pull Dick back from heading for the service counter but Dick said, “We need to eat and get something for the beasties.”

Hamish released him and then started to go round the tables where staff were having coffee. Not one admitted to having seen anything.

Dick came back with two coffees, buns, and pies for Sonsie and Lugs. Hamish gulped down his coffee and said, “You go and feed Sonsie and Lugs and then meet me round at that door. The ones in the canteen were probably not smokers. I’m going to wait there and see if anyone comes out.”

Hamish waited patiently outside. After half an hour, a hospital porter came out and lit a cigarette. “Were you out here yesterday?” asked Hamish.

“Aye, but I wasnae murdering anyone.”

“Did you see anyone at all?”

“Cars down on the road. I was on my own. Oh, I mind, there was a hoody on a bike just going round that corner on the left.”

“What did he look like?”

“I only got a glimpse. You ken what these hoodies are like. They aye look the same.”

“What colour of hoody?”

“Grey.”

“Small, fat, thin?”

“Medium built, average size. It was one o’ thae wee collapsible bikes folks carry around in their cars. Hood right ower his head.”

“What time was this?”

“Be about dinnertime.”

Correctly understanding that by dinnertime, he meant midday, Hamish asked, “That was about the time the murder was committed. Didn’t you think to tell the police?”

“Didnae think.”

“Did you see any other members of the staff when you were out here smoking?”

“Naw. On my lonesome.”

Hamish took down his name and address and said they would be in touch with him.

Dick arrived, brushing crumbs from his regulation shirt. Hamish told him what he had found out. “I’d better phone Jimmy,” he said. “We’ve got to find out if anyone in Cnothan owns such a cycle.”

Jimmy listened in silence, and then, as if realising he might be missing out by keeping Hamish out of the investigation, said, “Get over here. I’ll let you look through the statements. You might see something I’ve missed.”

Once in Cnothan, Hamish sent Dick back to Lochdubh with his pets. The village was now swarming with press, and he didn’t want any photographer snapping a picture of his wild cat and starting up arguments about the legality of having such an animal as a pet.

He found Jimmy outside the factory. “I could do with a drink,” said Jimmy. “Let’s go along to the Loaming. I’ll go over the statements with you.”

When they entered the pub, Hamish recognised Maisie Moffat, sitting at a table with some of the staff. When they saw Hamish and Jimmy, they finished their drinks and hurried out.

Jimmy ordered a double whisky for himself and an orange juice for Hamish and then settled down at the table recently vacated by the factory staff.

He put a laptop on the table and switched it on. He tossed back his drink. “Help yourself, Hamish. I need another. It was worse than interviewing the mafia. Talk about omerta!”

Hamish began to read. He had given up smoking some time ago but he suddenly longed for a cigarette. Then he found himself yearning for the cool company of Priscilla Halburton-Smythe who had acted as his Watson on so many cases. He sighed and began to concentrate.

Hannah’s brother had been sedated and could not be interviewed. Pete Eskdale had been out of the factory the previous morning. He said he had gone down to Strathbane to interview a secretary as Gilchrist was complaining that the new one was no good. The applicant, a Miss Henrietta Noble, confirmed that he had called and had said he would let her know. But it left a time lag where he could have gone to the hospital. Warrants had been issued to search the premises of all suspects to look for a hooded outfit or a collapsible bicycle. A team of detectives and police were currently operating the searches.

Harry Gilchrist had returned from Glasgow after lunch the previous day. He said he had left Glasgow early in the morning and had driven straight to Lochdubh.