Part 8 (2/2)
”You'd be amazed if you knew how news travels up here,” said Hamish. ”They've got the wind of whisky. In another hour, an awfy lot o' islanders will have found their way to The Happy Wanderer.”
A small tent had been erected over Heather's body, much to Harriet's relief. The wind had dropped and the tide had started to go out. They sat down on the beach a little way away from the tent, wrapped in blankets, sipping hot coffee and eating turkey sandwiches.
”If it is murder,” said Harriet suddenly, ”have you taken into account that Heather was wearing Jane's oilskin?”
”Yes, I've thought of that. But we all knew Heather was wearing it.”
”But listen! The islanders didn't know, and Jane was wearing another of her yellow oilskins, an older one, when we went out searching. In the dark, someone with a torch bent on murder might only see the gleam of yellow.”
”Could be. But I've a feeling, if it is murder, that the intended victim was Heather.”
”Wait a bit. Diarmuid could have staged that row. Instead of going back to the hotel, he could have followed Heather. It's always the husband, isn't it?”
”Yes, quite often,” said Hamish slowly. ”But keep this to yourself. I thought Diarmuid had maybe staged that row soas to go back and be alone with Jane.”
”I don't think that can be right.” Harriet s.h.i.+vered and Hamish put an arm about her shoulders. ”lane actually thought Diarmuid was a bit of a silly a.s.s. She said he had only married Heather for her money because his real estate business was going down the tubes. She rather liked Heather's adulation for her. I can't really see lane pinching anyone else's husband.”
”But I saw her slip him a note on Christmas Eve.”
”Oh, well, you'll have to ask him about that. Let's talk about something else. Tell me about your other cases.”
Hamish talked on and they sat huddled together while the receding sea grew quieter.
Harriet was never to forget that night, sitting on a lonely Hebrkiean beach with a constabk's arm around her shoulders aad a dead body only a few feet away.
And then after a long time had pa.s.sed and both were getting sleepy, they heard the roar of helicopters. Hamish jumped to his feet and picked up the lantern and began to wave it. The forces of law and order from Strathbane had arrived.
Harriet watched, fascinated, for the next hour as photographs were taken and samples of pebbles and grit put into envelopes as a forensic team got to work. Detective Chief Inspector Blair and his sidekicks, Detectives Jimmy Ander-son and Harry McNab, stood silent. Blair made a sour remark that Macbeth always seemed to have some female hanging about and retreated to the shelter of the helicopter which had brought him to the island and waited for the pa-thologist's report.
The pathologist eventually emerged from the tent. ”Well?” demanded Hamish.
”Could be,” he said laconically. ”On the other hand, ten to one she broke her neck in the fall. The forensic boys are crawling over those rocks on the way down to see if they can find anything.”
Blair's bulk appeared on the crag above their heads. ”Is it murder?”, he asked.
”Maybe,” said the pathologist. ”You can get the body photographed now. The forensic team'll probably be here the rest of the night and then I'll get the body flown over to the procurator fiscal in Strathbane.”
Blair heaved a great sigh. ”Come on up, Macbeth,” he said. Blair was feeling thoroughly fed up. He wished he had not come. But Hamish had a gift for nosing out murders and Blah- was frightened that, had he not come, the case might have been given to some young up-and-coming rival. Hamish and Harriet scrambled up after Harriet had neatly stowed blankets, thermos, and sandwich paper wrapping into the bag.
”Show us where this Happy Wanderer place is,” said Blair. ”We'll take the helicopter over. It's on the east, isn't it?”
Hamish nodded. He told one of the hovering islanders to take the car he had borrowed back to its owner. Harriet was tired. Everything was becoming unreal.
The helicopter lifted them over the island and landed on the beach in front of the health farm.. It took a very short time, Eileencraig being only about thirty miles long and fifteen miles across at the widest part.
They all climbed down. Blair stood outraged.
AH the lights in The Happy Wanderer were glaring out into the night. They could hear raucous 'hoochs' and the sound of fiddle and accordion.
”Jings,” said the pilot, sounding amused. ”They've got a ceilidh on.”
And sure enough, as Blair strode into the lounge, a full-scale party was in progress. Couples were dancing Scottish reels while the rest were clapping and shouting and cheering. Jane, face flushed, was enjoying herself, dancing a reel with a small bent man. The Carpenters were clapping in time to the music. There was no sign of either John or Diarmuid.
”Shut that b.l.o.o.d.y row!” bellowed Blair, his piggy eyes blazing with fury.
He stood blocking the doorway, a heavy-set figure of officialdom. The music stopped abruptly. As Blair, his detectives, Hamish, and Harriet walked into the room, the islanders slid past them and melted away silently into the night.
”Mrs. Wetherby?” demanded Blair, approaching Jane.
”Yes?”
”I am Detective Chief Inspector Blair from Strathbane. I am investigating the death of Heather Todd.” With heavy sarcasm, he added, ”I am right sorry to have broken up yer wee party.”
”You mustn't be shocked, Mr. Blair,” said Jane earnestly. ”It's like a funeral, you see. People react to death in this way. It's shocking, but people are always jolly glad they're alive when anyone else has died. I read an article-”
”I'm no' interested in any article,” glowered Blair. ”Is there a room I can use for interviews? Ah'll need tae see the husband.”
”I'm afraid that is not possible,” said Jane firmly. ”Dr. Queen has given nun a sedative.”
”Oh aye? Well, I'll start wi' the rest o' you. Macbeth, you can go tae yer bed. I'd let ye know if ye'r' needed.”
”That's not fair,” protested Harriet. ”It's his case.”
”Neffer mind,” said Hamish, although he was furious with Blair. ”I need some sleep and so do you.”
”After I've interviewed her,” said Blair pompously, looking Harriet up and down.
Jane was efficiently clearing up dirty gla.s.ses and plates and stacking them on a tray. ”You can use my office,” she said, ”but you had better let me know now how it is that the constable who found the body is being barred from the investigation.”
Her upper-cla.s.s accents fell unwelcomely on Blair's ears. Blair had made up his mind it was an accident and wanted to get back to the mainland as soon as possible, and he didn't want Hamish Macbeth around, throwing a spanner in the works. On the other hand, he didn't want to offend anyone who might raise a dust with headquarters. ”I was merely concerned for his welfare,” he growled. ”All right then. You can stay, Macbeth. Show us to the office, Mrs. Wetherby, and we'll start with you.”
Soon he was seated behind Jane's desk, with his detectives standing respectfully behind him. That was the way he liked it. Jane sat opposite and Hamish lounged over near the door and tried not to yawn.
”Now, Mrs. Wetherby...oh, we'd better have a copper take doon yer statement. Got yer notebook, Macbeth?”
”I'm on holiday,” said Hamish patiently.
”All right, Anderson, you do it.”
Jimmy Anderson found a hard chair in the corner and pulled out a notebook.
”I saw three policemen in the other helicopter,” said Hamish, and Jimmy Anderson flashed him a grateful look.
”I toi no' going oot tae look for them,” said Blair.
”Where is...the body?” asked Jane.
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