Death of Yesterday (7 page)

“Meaning my poor brother is still a suspect?”

“Something like that.”

“Shame on you, Hamish. Poor Geordie wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

Willie took their order. When he had left, Hamish said, “Have you come across anyone at all that you think might be capable of murder?”

“Not one,” said Hannah. “I think you’re wasting our time in Cnothan. I think you should be checking the London end. It’s all over the place that Morag was a lesbian and having an affair with Freda Crichton. What if she had some lover in London who learned of the affair and got mad with her and came up here?”

He shook his head. “Any stranger would stand out a mile in that pub. They may not remember exactly who was there on the night she got drugged, but they’d certainly remember a new face—and they would tell me, too, they’d be so anxious to get the heat off the locals. There is one case I can talk to you about, and one that still bothers me.”

Hamish told her about the Palfours. As they ate, she listened intently. As he talked, he felt they were enclosed in a little world of candlelight.

He then asked her about her work in Glasgow. As she talked, he barely listened, almost hypnotised by her beauty.

Over glasses of strega and coffee, Hamish said, “You shouldn’t be driving. I’ll take you home and we’ll bring your car over in the morning.”

She glanced at him from under those ridiculously long lashes. “I’m sure you can find me a bed for the night at the police station.”

“Of course,” said Hamish, wondering if she could hear his heartbeats from across the table. “I’ll be back in a moment. Just going to the men’s room.”

In the toilet, he phoned Dick and said urgently, “She’s coming back with me. I want you to take Sonsie and Lugs and clear off to the Tommel Castle Hotel for the night. Tell the manager, Mr. Johnson, I’ll pay him tomorrow.”

* * *

Hamish and Hannah walked together through the close, warm night to the police station.

Once inside, Hamish said, “The only spare bed is in the one police cell. I’ll take that and give you my bed.”

“Don’t be silly. We’ll both take your bed.”

“Fine,” said Hamish. “I’ll get you some clean towels and let you use the bathroom first.”

When Hannah went into the bathroom, Hamish rushed into his bedroom and changed the sheets. Then he sat down on a chair by the bed, almost trembling with anticipation.

He then put off the main light and left a little bedside light burning.

Time passed. She seemed to be taking a very long time.

At last, she appeared, wrapped in a large bath towel. She rushed to the bed and got under the covers.

“I won’t be long,” said Hamish hoarsely.

In the bathroom, he noticed three boxes on top of the bathroom shelf. Curious, he opened the first one. Two thick false eyelashes like dead spiders lay there. The second box revealed contact lenses; amber with flecks of gold. He felt he shouldn’t be searching through her stuff, but opened the third square box. It contained a pair of falsies—plastic breasts. And worse than anything, a tumbler held a dental plate with four front teeth.

He suddenly felt cheated and told himself he was being a fool. Surely all women enhanced their appearance one way or the other.

He undressed, took a shower, and with a towel round his middle he went into the bedroom.

After she fell asleep, he lay awake. He had done the best he could and she seemed satisfied, but it had been an unnerving experience. It was the first time he had bedded a woman who was completely flat-chested. What did it matter what she looked like? he scolded himself. But he had been so carried away by what he had thought her beauty that he had not really listened to her and so he did not know what she was really like.

Before he turned to switch off the light, he noticed a loose tress of black hair lying on the pillow. It had a little knob of glue at the end. A hair extension, thought Hamish miserably.

He rose early in the morning, feeling guilty and miserable. If only he was one of those men who cheerfully had one-night stands and gave the woman the brush-off in the morning without any conscience. He knew he could not do that. But he could play for time.

As he sat in the kitchen drinking coffee, he heard her get up and go into the bathroom. To delay the moment when he would have to see her again, he walked out to the waterfront and stared gloomily at the water. The humidity had lifted, and the air was fresh and cool.

When he returned, she was still in the bathroom. He had another cup of coffee. It was over an hour before she emerged, every bit as beautiful as she had been when Hamish had first seen her. He looked at her with admiration, thinking that she was, indeed, a work of art.

“Oh, coffee!” she said. “I could do with a cup. Are you going to be working all day?”

“Yes, I’d better phone in and get my orders,” said Hamish.

“But we can meet up this evening?”

Hamish was just wondering how he could possibly get out of it when Jimmy Anderson strolled in without knocking. He looked at Hannah and demanded, “Who’s this?”

Hamish introduced them. Jimmy’s face darkened. “A word in private with you, Hamish.”

“Come into the office,” said Hamish. Jimmy followed him in and slammed the door.

“Just what the hell are you playing at, Hamish?” he demanded. “Thon’s the sister of one of our suspects.”

“She chust called round,” lied Hamish, the strengthening of his highland accent betraying how upset he was.

“Pull the other one,” sneered Jimmy. “I was buying some whisky in Patel’s and thae Currie sisters thought fit to inform me of your romance. Now, I’ll keep it from Blair, but get rid of her and don’t go near her again until this case is closed. Get over to Cnothan and knock on doors and see if you can get anyone to talk.”

Jimmy had expected an argument but to his surprise all Hamish replied was a meek, “Yes.”

“I’ll be off then,” said Jimmy. “You get back in there and give the lassie her marching orders.”

“I’ve just had a rocket about seeing you,” said Hamish to Hannah. “I’ve been told not to see you again until the case is closed.”

Hannah looked dismayed. “But does he need to know?”

“You can’t keep anything quiet around here,” said Hamish.

“Except murder,” said Hannah cynically. “I could have helped you. I’m very good at judging people.” She began to tell him several very long and boring stories.

Oh, why didn’t I listen to her last night? wondered Hamish. I was so captivated by her beauty, I barely listened to a word she said. He also wondered if this was how women felt the morning after when they realised what a mistake they had made. He felt grubby, petty, and stupid.

He at last interrupted her by saying gently that he had to get over to Cnothan.

“I may have a surprise for you,” said Hannah. “I’ll bet I can find that murderer for you.”

“Don’t do anything,” said Hamish sharply. “It’s dangerous.”

“Pooh! Nothing frightens me,” said Hannah, with the insouciance of someone who has never faced any danger before.

She gave him a passionate kiss to which he tried his best to respond.

* * *

Hannah did not go back to her brother’s home. Instead she drove to Braikie. She remembered what Hamish had told her about the Palfours. He had said he was sure the boy wanted to tell him something. If she could get Charles Palfour to talk to her, then that nasty detective would tell Hamish it was all right to see her. Hannah could see herself as Sergeant Macbeth’s wife. She would be written about in all the papers as a sort of Watson to Hamish’s Sherlock. Hannah was possessed of a narcissistic vanity. She had once overheard her boss saying to someone, “Our Hannah has unplumbed shallows.” Hannah had simply thought he had meant
depths
and had made a stupid mistake.

She sang as she drove over the heathery hills to Braikie.

Although the locals referred to Braikie as “the village,” thinking it sounded posher than “town,” it was a town by highland standards, although not very large.

The appearance of a beautiful woman in Braikie, asking for the Palfours, set gossipy tongues wagging. One would say they had seen her on television, another in a Bond film. Even more imaginative were the ones who watched
CSI
programmes on television and swore she had come over from America because there had always been something suspicious about the Palfours.

So Hannah found it easy to be directed to Mrs. Mallard’s home. Mrs. Mallard was out shopping but Olivia answered the door and curtly asked Hannah what she wanted.

“I would like to speak to your brother, Charles,” said Hannah.

“Why?”

“I am making enquiries on behalf of Hamish Macbeth,” said Hannah importantly.

“Show me your warrant card,” snapped Olivia.

Hannah gave the girl what she hoped was a winning smile. “Hamish is very busy at the moment,” she said. “He believes that Charles was anxious to talk to him.”

“If Macbeth wants to contact my brother, then he may do so, instead of sending some tart to waste my time,” said Olivia, and slammed the door.

Hannah sat in her car outside the house. She saw what must be Mrs. Mallard coming home but nothing of any youth that might be Charles. She was stubbornly determined to talk to him. He had to return sometime. But night descended—or the gloaming that passes for night in the Scottish Highlands in summer—and lights went on in the house.

Her eyes began to droop and she fell asleep.

The click of the rear door of her car opening awoke her. The next thing a heavy blow struck her on the head and knocked her unconscious.

“Help me get her in the boot,” said Olivia.

“We can’t do this,” wailed Charles.

“Yes, we can. It’s your fault for being such a wimp. She’s been asking questions all around the town. We’ll take her and her car up to that peat bog and shove the whole lot in.”

“You’re mad,” said Charles.

“You want to spend time in prison? Come on!”

They heaved the unconscious body into the boot of the car and slammed down the lid. Olivia settled herself in the driver’s seat with Charles beside her and drove off.

“What if Mrs. Mallard saw us?” said Charles.

“I drugged her cocoa. She’ll sleep all night.”

Charles felt numb cold with fear. He knew that when this woman was reported missing, then the police would quickly learn she had been searching for him. But Olivia had threatened to kill him if he talked, and he was sure she would do it. He began to contemplate the idea of suicide.

Olivia drove up to the peat bog several miles up on the moors outside the town. “Get out!” she ordered her brother. “The brake isn’t on. Help me push.”

“But she wasn’t dead!” cried Charles.

“She soon will be! Push!”

There was an incline down to the peat bog. They both pushed hard and the car gathered momentum until the front pointed down into the bog and began to sink.

“Right,” said Olivia. “Let’s go. We’ll let ourselves into the house the back way so no one sees us. If they don’t have a body, they can’t do anything to us.”

But the front of the car struck a large rock sunk in the peat bog and stopped sinking.

In the boot, Hannah recovered consciousness.

Shepherd Diarmuid Burns, walking back across the moors with his sheepdog at his heels, heard a faint cry coming from the direction of the peat bog. He saw the car upended and heard cries coming from the boot. He knew if he went up to the car, he might sink in the bog. He took out his mobile and urgently called the emergency services, saying to bring ladders as someone was in the boot of a car in the peat bog. He then shouted to whoever was trapped in the car that help was coming.

Hamish got a message from Strathbane, roused Dick Fraser, jumped in his Land Rover, and set off for Braikie with the siren howling.

Charles Palfour, crouched at the end of his bed, heard the sound of that siren. He knew he should wake his sister. Olivia had taken a sleeping pill. Then the thought of actually being caught and arrested came to him on a wave of relief. He hoped against hope it was all over and he could be free of his sister at last.

When Hamish arrived on the scene, the Braikie fire brigade had put a ladder across the bog and a fireman was cautiously crawling along it to the car. The fireman popped the lid of the boot. On a rise above the peat bog, Hamish saw the white face of Hannah Fleming.

Another ladder was produced. Two ambulances had arrived on the scene. A paramedic crawled along the second ladder, and he and the fireman gently drew Hannah out of the car. Together, the ladders side by side, they carried Hannah to safety.

“What happened, Hannah?” asked Hamish, noticing the dried blood matting her hair.

“I was at the Palfours’,” she said. “I was trying to help you.” Then she lost consciousness.

Hamish dialled Jimmy. “I’m up at Braikie. Those Palfours have tried to kill Hannah Fleming. They hit her on the head, stuffed her in the boot of her car, and dumped the car in a peat bog. It didn’t sink. Send backup fast.”

It was a long night. Charles and Olivia Palfour were arrested and charged with the attempted murder of Hannah Fleming.

Then Charles confessed that they had murdered the Russian, Andronovitch, and they were charged with that murder as well.

Olivia said nothing. Her eyes were glazed. Superintendent Daviot said they should wait for the results of a psychiatrist before questioning her further.

Jimmy took Hamish and Dick aside. “Look, Hamish,” he said urgently, “you’re going to be in trouble. When Hannah’s judged fit enough to speak, Blair himself is going to interrogate her and it’ll all come out about you having spent the night with her. He’ll get you suspended for starters.”

Dick slid quietly away. He usually masked his intelligence under a show of lethargy, but now his brain was working overtime. He knew Blair was always looking for an excuse to shut down the police station. It would mean the end of the best job he’d had in his life. He loved his usually lazy days and the comfort of the police station. He phoned up the manager of the Tommel Castle Hotel. “Hamish is in trouble,” he said. “I wasnae at the hotel. I spent the night at the police station as usual.”