Part 5 (1/2)
”I never heard a thing about it,” said Hamish, his mind racing. Relatives, however far away, always phoned the local police station.
”I had a letter,” said Jenny drearily. ”It came yesterday.”
”I am verra sorry,” said Hamish awkwardly. ”Is there anything I can do?”
”Just talk to me.”
”I think it's yourself that needs to do the talking,” said Hamish.
Jenny gave a weak smile. ”I'm being silly,” she said. ”I never liked my sister. We're not very much alike. It was the shock, that's all.”
”And will you be going to Canada for the funeral?”
”No point.” Jenny shrugged. ”We're not a close family.”
”What did she die of?”
”Look, Hamish Macbeth, it's over and done with. I don't want to talk about it. Now, have a drink and tell me about your witch-hunt.”
She produced a bottle of Barsac, a sweet dessert wine from the fridge, opened it, and poured it into two water gla.s.ses.
”Do you often drink this stuff?” asked Hamish, wrinkling his nose.
”What's up with it? It's a drink, isn't it? I forget when I bought it. Oh, I remember. It was last year. It was for some recipe. It's been in the fridge ever since.”
A fat tear rolled down her cheek and splashed into be gla.s.s.
Hamish decided to do what he'd been told and chattered on nervously about the fake a.s.sault, about how Diarmuk Sinclair was slowly coming out of his sh.e.l.l, about the difficulty of getting any information at all out of the locals.
She drank and listened and seemed soothed. Hamish finally felt he could not talk any longer. He got to his feet. ”I'll be off to my bed, Jenny,” he said. ”Maybe I'll drop by tomorrow, if it is all right with you.”
”Sure. I'll be here.” She came round the kitchen table and stood in front of him, her head bent. ”You don't need to go,” she said.
”Whit? ”
”Stay the night...with me,” said Jenny.
Hamish bent and kissed her cheek. ”It wouldna' work,” he said softly. ”Not when you're this miserable. I'd be someone tae cling to the night, and someone to hate in the morning.”
Jenny remained standing, her head still bent.
Hamish turned and walked away and let himself out in the night.
Hamish's first visitor early next morning was Jamie Ross. ”I don't know whether I'm doin' the right thing or not,” said Jamie. ”I got back last night and found everything in order, but no sign of Sandy. I went out to his place, but there was no one home.”
”Maybe he's indoors, dead drunk, and cannae hear you,” said Hamish.
”No, the door wasn't locked. I took a look inside. He's gone all right, but his Land Rover's still there. I'm wondering whether to report him missing.”
”It's early days,” said Hamish. ”Had he been drinking?”
”Well, that's what worries me. He had. Worse than that, he told Hector at The Clachan that I had kindly left a gla.s.s of booze for him on one of the tanks. I wouldn't dream of doing a thing like that. Hector said he was drinking himself silly. I got mad and asked why no one had stopped him. But far from stopping him, the locals seem to have gone out of their way to buy him drinks.”
”Why would they do that?”
”Jealousy,” said Jamie simply. ”You know what they're like around here. They don't like me showing I have any money at all. You're supposed to be like the crofters and plead poverty. That's why a lot of these crofters don't buy their land, you know. They could force the landowner to sell it to them for a song, but then that'd mean they'd need to pa.s.s a means test in order to get the government grants, and not one of them could pa.s.s it. Sandy's a good soul when he's not drinking. I'd hate to see him have an accident. It would be just like him to wander off and fall asleep somewhere and die of exposure. Besides, I owed him the second half of his wages and it's strange he didn't turn up to collect. He went away and left the office locked up and took the key with him. I had to break in.”
”I'll have a look around,” said Hamish. ”So you think someone deliberately left that drink so as Sandy would go on drinking, once started?”
”Aye, sheer spite.”
”I'll do my best. How was the wedding?”
”Oh, just grand. Everything went off like clockwork. They're off to the Canary Islands on their honeymoon.”
When Jamie left, Hamish washed his breakfast dishes and prepared to go out to look for Sandy Carmichael. He was on the point of leaving when Jenny arrived, looking shamefaced.
”Thanks for last night,” she said awkwardly. ”I wasn't myself.”
”That's all right,” said Hamish. ”I was just on my road out. Jamie Ross says that Sandy Carmichael is missing. But there's time for a coffee. You wouldn't happen to know if Sandy's ever gone missing before?”
”Not that I know. Drunk or sober, he always hangs about the town. Oh, here's Mrs. Mainwaring,” said Jenny, spotting a ma.s.sive figure pa.s.sing the kitchen window. ”I wonder what she wants.”
Hamish went through to the police station annex in time to open the door to Mrs. Mainwaring.
She was wearing a squashed felt hat and a waxed coat over a navy dress with a white sailor collar, a photograph of which had appeared several months ago in one of the Sunday colour supplements: ”Order now. Special offer. Flattering to the fuller figure.” A strong smell of peppermint and whisky blasted into Hamish's face as she cried, ”William is missing. He hasn't been home for two nights!”
”Come in, Mrs. Mainwaring,” said Hamish. ”Sit yourself down.” Jenny came through and stood in the office doorway. ”What's the matter?” she asked.
”Mr. Mainwaring is missing,” said Hamish. ”Look, Mrs. Mainwaring, has he done this before?”
”No, never. I mean, yes, he has, but he's always told me or left a note.”
”And where does he go?”
”Glasgow or Edinburgh. He likes to go to the theatre.”
”Alone?”
”Yes, of course.”
Hamish thought that William Mainwaring might possibly have a mistress in Glasgow or Edinburgh-either that or be staying away out of sheer malice. ”I think you should give it a little more time,” he said soothingly. ”He'll be back.”
Jenny came forward and stood with her hand on Mrs. Mainwaring's shoulder. ”And I think you ought to look for him,” she said sharply. ”Can't you see how distressed Mrs. Mainwaring is?”