Hamish Macbeth 09 (1993) - Death of a Travelling Man (12 page)

He had a sudden picture of Sean, smiling and lounging beside the bus, his hands thrust into his trouser pockets, and Hamish Macbeth felt that he could have murdered the man himself for wrecking such innocence. Hamish was sure Cheryl either did not know about the money or, if she had, had not been able to get any of it. If that was the case, it still had to be hidden somewhere. He looked slowly around. There was no outside toilet, and none on the bus. Sean had probably used one of the lavatories at the manse, the one situated just inside the back door. There was nothing outside except the packing case lying on its side, gaping empty, on which Sean and Cheryl had sat on the day he had come to search for morphine. He gave it a slight push and then peered inside. It was weighted down with rocks.

He placed the video carefully on the grass and crawled inside the packing case and dragged out the rocks. Then he pushed it aside. A square patch of bleached grass was revealed. He examined it closely and noticed that the square was made up of squares of long-grassed turf. Excited, he started to haul them up; a difficult job, for they had begun to grow together. Finally he got the last one clear and smiled with satisfaction. Buried underneath was a plastic rubbish bag full of something. He pulled it up and opened it. It was heavy but proved to be weighted with stones. But inside as well was a square cash box. The box was locked. “Tampering with the evidence,” screamed a voice of warning in his head, but he shrugged it away and took out a set of skeleton keys from his pocket and got to work. It took some time and he was glad the bus screened him from the manse windows. Finally the lock clicked and he opened the lid. The box was stuffed with pound notes—fifties, twenties, tens and fives. Underneath lay four packets of morphine. He counted the money carefully. Just over a thousand pounds. Hardly blackmail on a grand scale. He carefully replaced everything and put the bag back in the hole and covered it over with the turf and the packing case and then crawled inside to replace the rocks. Once the rocks were pushed to the back, he realized that to the forensic team, they would not be visible and it would have simply looked to them like an empty packing case on its side, showing the world that there was nothing there.

He consoled himself with the thought that he could always pretend to find the stuff later. Right now, he meant to confront the women on that video. But how to get them alone?

§

Two days later, Angela Brodie opened a thin envelope and stared mesmerized at the thin typewritten slip inside. It said, “Come to the police station at ten this morning. I have a film to show you. Hamish Macbeth.”

“What’s that?” asked Dr Brodie. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Nothing,” said Angela. “I thought it was my exam results and got all upset, but it’s just a note from Mrs Wellington. There’s to be a meeting at the church hall to discuss raising funds.”

“Hope nobody pinches them again,” said the doctor, losing interest.

Mrs Wellington at that same moment was reading a note from Hamish Macbeth. She let out a squawk and her husband lowered his newspaper and looked at her impatiently. “Another bill?” he asked.

“No, it’s nothing,” she said, crushing the envelope and slip of paper in her large hand. “Some Mothers’ Union business. I’ve got to go out this morning.”

But the minister was once more reading his newspaper and did not seem to care.

§

Nessie Currie twitched the slip of paper out of her sister Jessie’s trembling fingers.

“I’m ruined…ruined,” whispered Jessie.

“You’ll need to face up to him,” said Nessie. “I’ll come with you.”

“No, no. I’ll need to go on my own, on my own. Everyone will find out, find out. I cannae stay here.”

“You have sinned against the Lord,” said Nessie, “and you must take your punishment.” Then her face softened. “I’ll come along as well, Jessie. I’ll stand by you. We’ll face this together, and then we’ll sell up and go far down south, Inverness or somewhere like that.”

§

Willie, delighted to have a morning off, had actually offered to take Towser for a walk. He had finally taken an odd liking to Hamish’s yellowish mongrel of a dog, mainly because Lucia liked Towser and Towser had developed a taste for pasta.

Hamish had borrowed a video recorder from Mr Patel, not wanting to borrow the one from the bus in case anyone saw him with it and asked him what he was doing. Angela, Mrs Wellington and the Currie sisters arrived together.

Hamish silently ushered them into the living room, where they sat down with jerky movements, and all stared mesmerized at the still blank television screen.

Hamish slid the cassette into the recorder. He ran the film. When it had finished, he looked at them. Angela and Mrs Wellington were sitting together on the sofa, and they were holding hands. Nessie had an arm around Jessie’s shoulders. But despite their distress and obvious strain, there was a faint air of surprised relief about them all. They were not alone, he realized, in their misery and shame, and that was the reason for the faint air of relief.

“The situation is this,” said Hamish. “I have found the money and the morphine, but I cannot do anything about returning it. I should be down in Strathbane showing this video at headquarters. The reason I have not done so should be obvious to all of you. For some reason you let this man trick you and blackmail you. The only way out of it is to try to find the murderer and get the case closed.”

“But if you find the murderer,” said Angela in a croaky voice, “it will all come out in court and the video will be shown as well.”

“Not necessarily. I am in as bad trouble as the rest of you, for I could easily lose my job for suppressing this evidence. If I find the murderer, it is possible I can do a deal. I will promise him or her not to mention the blackmailing so that charge will not be added on to the one of murder. But I’ll never find out who murdered Sean unless everyone here tells the truth.” He turned to Angela. “You first.”

She pushed her wispy hair back from her eyes. “It was a sort of madness,” she said. “He was so handsome. He made it clear that he had no interest in Cheryl, other than giving her a home, and I believed him. He was so interested in this degree I am studying for, the only person who has ever shown any interest.”

Except me, who pushed you into doing it, thought Hamish huffily.

“It was easy to forget Cheryl,” went on Angela, “because as soon as I arrived, she went out. I’d never even looked at any other man since I married John. Oh, I was flattered that such a young and good-looking man seemed to find me attractive. If he’d come on too strong at the beginning, I would have shied away, but I am very romantic and he used the romantic approach. He asked me to come one evening and said he had some films to show me. I told John I was going to see Mrs Wellington. Instead of any films, he produced a bottle of champagne. I’m not used to drinking—I had told him that—and I got drunk pretty quickly. We were sitting on that bench at the end of the bus. He began to kiss me and I…responded. And then I heard this whirring sound, very faint, and I looked down the bus and I could see the video camera propped on the table facing us and I realized it was running. I pushed him away and stumbled out of that bus and ran home and I vowed never to go near him again. I only thought he was weird because he was prepared to film our love-making without telling me.”

“He stopped me in the street a few days later. He said he would show the film to my husband unless I paid him. John and I have a joint account. I panicked and said I couldn’t. He laughed and told me to get him some morphine and then he would leave me alone.”

“I took the keys to the surgery that night when John was asleep and got the drugs. I thought that would be an end of it, but next week he was back, asking for money. I was frantic with worry. He said he didn’t want much. At first he asked for fifty, then it was a hundred, then another hundred, and so on. I pretended to John that I was buying expensive dresses in Inverness and paying cash for them when, in fact, I was buying them cheap from the thrift shops. I was so glad when I heard he was dead and then, when I realized the police would probably find that video, I was frightened to death all over again. Oh, Hamish, John must never find out.”

“I’ll do my best,” said Hamish heavily. He faced Jessie. “Now you.”

Jessie sobbed and stumbled over the words and repeated everything, but the sad story slowly emerged. She, too, had been flattered by the attentions of this young man. She had gone to the bus. He gave her something to drink and she didn’t remember a thing after that until somehow she was in her own bed at home and Nessie was sitting next to her.

“He must have put something in her drink,” said Nessie, “for she was raving and seeing things. I didnae call the doctor, thank the Lord for that, for I thought she maybe had the DTs and that would have been a shame and disgrace. When she told me she had had one drink and didn’t remember anything after that, I didnae believe her. Then Sean Gourlay called, as bold as brass. He asked to see her alone. After he had gone, I could see she was frightened to death and so I got it out of her. He wanted twenty pounds. That’s a lot for us. Dad left us the house and a bit in the bank, but just enough for us to get by on if we watch carefully. I told Jessie to give him the twenty but warned her he would probably be back. And so he was. So I said to Jessie we should sell up and get out of Lochdubh where he could never find us…” Her voice trailed off and she sat in dumb misery.

Oh, may you burn in hell, Sean Gourlay, thought Hamish. Jessie was probably, at the age of fifty-something, still a virgin. She and Nessie were staunch church-goers. No one would ever think, looking at the pair of them, that there would ever be anything about either of them to blackmail. They both had brown hair, permed ferociously into small tight curls, and thick glittering glasses and thin spare figures.

“Now, Mrs Wellington,” he said, “what is your story?”

“He said they were Turkish cigarettes,” said Mrs Wellington bitterly. “And how would I know any different? He made me feel young and reckless and I had never felt young or reckless before. I haven’t even any children.”

Hamish did not feel like asking her what she meant by that. “I married a suitable man and settled down to do good works. I was tired of good works,” she said, tears starting to her eyes, “and now look what my wickedness has brought me to. I’m a silly old fool. I, like Mrs Brodie, have a joint account, and Mr Wellington checks it every week!” Hamish had always considered it odd that Mrs Wellington always referred to her husband as ‘Mr Wellington’, like a Victorian lady. “I was so desperate, I thought if I gave him a big sum, he would go away. He promised to go away. I stole the money from the Mothers’ Union. But he came back for more. I sold some of my jewellery to keep him quiet. When he died, I was so glad it was all over.”

“And did any of you kill him?” asked Hamish.

“No,” said Mrs Wellington.

“No,” squeaked Jessie.

“I wanted to,” said Angela heavily. “I dreamt about it every day. But I didn’t kill him. What happens now, Hamish?”

“I’ll need to keep this evidence here, in my room where Willie won’t find it, and then try to see Cheryl again. She must have known about the blackmailing. She knew what she was doing when she went out for those walks and left Sean alone with one or other of you.”

“Surely she murdered him,” said Angela.

“I would like to think that,” sighed Hamish. “But at the time of the murder she was performing with a pop group in front of witnesses, and I canrtae break her alibi. Keep quiet, all of you, and we might come out of this. But if I find one of you killed Sean Gourlay, then there will be no more covering anything up. I’ve got a week. In a week’s time, Sean’s mother comes up here to take away a few things and try to sell the bus. Of course, I could always put the video with the other things I found,” he added half to himself.

“You mean you found the missing drugs?” asked Angela eagerly.

“And the money?” put in Mrs Wellington.

“Yes.”

“Where?” asked Angela. “Can’t we have the money back, and the drugs?”

“No, I’m sorry. They’ll have to stay where they are for now.”

When the women had gone, Hamish went through to the office and made notes, writing down what he knew, but without seeing any glimmer of hope.

The phone beside him rang. It was a tearful woman calling to say a truck had crashed into her car up on the moors. He drove off to deal with that but all the while his mind was turning over what he knew and worrying in case one of the three women was a murderess.

It was during that evening when the light began to fade and Willie was whistling to himself in the kitchen as he prepared the supper that Hamish, with a sudden lurch in his stomach, wondered if either of the three might go to the bus to try to find the money or drugs.

He shouted to Willie that he had to go out and to keep his dinner warm and made his way up to the manse field. The bus stood dark and forlorn. Hamish crouched down behind the packing case, deciding to give it an hour or so. Mrs Wellington and Angela, if they wanted to make a move, would do so before bedtime so as not to rouse their husbands’ suspicions by getting up and going out in the middle of the night.

By eleven o’clock he was beginning to shiver, for the night was getting cold. He rose stiffly up from behind the packing case and then crouched down again. Three shadowy figures were at the edge of the field. He waited a moment and then switched on the large torch he was carrying, stood up and shone it straight at the bus. Angela, Mrs Wellington and Jessie Currie swung round and stood hypnotized in the light like startled rabbits.

Hamish walked towards them. Angela was carrying a hammer, no doubt to break the lock.

“I know what you’re after,” said Hamish severely, “and you’re not getting it. Now, I’m going out on a limb and putting my job on the line for the lot of ye. The least you can all do iss not to try to tamper wi’ the evidence more than it’s been tampered with already. Off tae your beds, ladies, and if I see just one of you near this bus again I’ll take the whole lot, video and all, and let Strathbane see it.”