Part 10 (1/2)
”Had you ever seen the girl, Jessie Maclean, before?”
”No, first time I'd seen her.”
Hamish then took himself along the main street to Mrs. Bannerman's cottage. She was furious when he questioned her about her movements on the night of the murder, but eventually said she had been at a neighbour's party. Hamish checked with the neighbour, a Mrs. Gillespie, who confirmed that Mrs. Bannennan had been there all evening. But the murder could have been committed earlier, thought Hamish. No pathologist could ever tell the exact time of any murder. The closest he could come to it was between about four in the afternoon and nine in the evening. Hamish asked Mrs. Gillespie if she had seen Mrs. Bannerman earlier and got the reply that Mrs. Bannerman had also been there in the late afternoon, helping Mrs. Gfllespie with the arrangements for the party.
By the time Hamish returned to The Happy Wanderer, he was beginning to wonder whether Heather had actually fallen to her death after all. There did not seem to be any motive. He was told Diarmuid was stifl in his room. When Hamish opened the door, Diarmuid was lying flat on the bed, looking at the ceiling.
”I just want to ask you one thing,” said Hamish. ”On Christmas Eve, Jane slipped you a note. What was that about?”
Diarmuid struggled up and smoothed down his ruffled hair with a careful hand, looking across at himself in the mirror. ”Oh, that? I asked her if she had any contacts in the real estate business. I'm looking for a buyer. She gave me a note telling me to try James Baxter of Baxter, Fredericks and Baxter. James Baxter is an old acquaintance of hers. She bought the health farm from him. He's expanding his business.”
”I don't suppose you kept the note,” said Hamish suspiciously.
”Of course I did,” said Diarmuid crossly. He got up and went to the dressing-table and slid open one of the drawers. ”Here it is. I meant to give it to Jessie so that she could make an appointment for me to meet Baxter when we got back to Glasgow.”
”I'd just take this fora while,” said Hamish.
”Don't you think I have enough to bear?” demanded Diarmuid with a rare show of animation. ”Good G.o.d, man, my wife's dead! It's an accident. Jessie says, and quite rightly, that you have no authority.”
”I'll hae a word wi' the la.s.sie,” said Hamish grimly. ”But I'll be keeping this note for now.” He turned in the doorway, ”By the way, where was your wife's coat, the one she couldn't find?”
”Hanging in the wardrobe,” said Diarmuid. ”Overthere. The police examined it but could find nothing sinister about it.”
Hamish ran Jane to earth in the kitchen. ”I want to ask you about Diarmuid,” he said. Jane turned a little pink and stirred something she was cooking energetically. ”What?”
”This note.” Hamish held it out. ”Did you write h?”
Jane glanced at it. He sensed she was relieved and wondered why. ”Yes, it's the name of a big estate agent,” she said. ”He wants to sell what's left of his business.”
Hamish thanked her, returned the note to Diarmuid, and went back to the lounge, where Harriet drew him aside and repeated the conversation she had had with Jessie. ”Are you sure it isn't just an act?” asked Hamish. ”I mean, she's a wee b.i.t.c.h in my opinion, but there's something, well-s.e.xy-about her. Don't you think she and Diarmuid...?”
”Nothing mere that I can see except a lot of contempt for her employer on Jessie's side,” replied Harriet. ”How did you get on?”
Hamish told her in a low voice the result of his investigations while John Wetherby, reading a London newspaper that had come over on the Boxing Day ferry and had been delivered along with other newspapers and magazines, suddenly glared at mem suspiciously over the top of it.
”I would like to think there might have been some sort of collusion between Jessie and Diarmuid,” Hamish said.
”That contemptuous manner of hers could be all an act.”
”But she wasn't even on the island,” pointed out Harriet.
”Nonetheless, there could be something between them, and if there is, they'll drop their guard pretty soon. Icannae stand that Diarmuid. His vanity is pathological.”
”Are you sure you are not letting this dislike of Diarmuid colour your att.i.tude?” asked Harriet.
Hamish laughed. ”I'll try not to. Where's Jessie?”
”Watching television.”
Hamish went into the television room. Jessie was sitting with the Carpenters. Hamish looked thoughtfully at the Carpenters. Was he right to dismiss them so easily as possible suspects? But he leaned over Jessie and said quietly, ”A word with you, Miss Maclean, if you please.”
She followed him out. ”We'll use Jane's office,” said Hamish.
”I asked Jane about you,” said Jessie when they were seated on either side of the desk. ”You're nothing but a bobby from some hick Highland village, and you have no right to bother my employer or me with questions. It was an accident.”
”Then if it was only an accident, you should not object to my questions,” said Hamish mildly. ”I thought Diarmuid was your ex-boss anyway.”
”I'm working for him until the funeral arrangements are over and I've promised him I'll pack up Heather's effects.”
”And then what?” asked Hamish.
She shrugged her thin shoulders. ”Probably go abroad for a bit.”
”Where?”
”Spain, somewhere like that.”
”Did Diarmuid ever have extra-marital affairs?”
Her reply startled him. ”Lots.”
”And did Heather know about any of them?”
Again that shrug. ”I suppose she did. He's not good at keeping anything quiet.”
”Neither was she,” said Hamish drily, ”She must have given him a rare blasting.”
”Not she. She didn't mind what he did as long as he toed the line and paid out for all the entertainment for her parties and bridge clubs and golf clubs and what not. She wasn't interested in s.e.x. He tried to tell her the money was running out due to the housing slump. I tried as well. But she wouldn't listen. She couldn't imagine a life where she wouldn't be lording it at one of her get-togethers and fancying herself as a leader of Glasgow society. This year was the worst.”
”Why?”
”Well, Glasgow got the award of Cultural Capital of Europe, and that meant more celebrities to try to get into her home.”
”Have you ever had an affair with him?”
”Don'the daft,” said Jessie. ”The man's useless. All he's ever really fancied in the whole of his life is his own reflection.”
Hamish told her that would be all for the moment, and once on his own, thought about her. He thought she was as hard as nails. Had she been Diarmuid's Lady Macbeth?
After dinner, he tried to question John Wetherby, but John told him acidly that he had no right to question anyone.
Hamish retreated once more to the office and phoned Detective Jimmy Anderson in Strathbane. ”You're lucky,” said Jimmy. ”Blair's off on holiday. Never tell me it's murder or he'll be having your guts for garters.”
”I'ta trying to find out,” said Hamish. ”That John Wetherby. I was wondering if he's such a successful banister after all.”
”Believe me,” said Jimmy with a laugh, ”Blair checked into everyone when he returned, just to make sure. I'll get out the file if you want to hear it.”
Hamish readily agreed.