Part 7 (1/2)
”Right, Hamish, where's the tape?” said Jimmy. Hamish took a small, powerful tape recorder out of his pocket and handed it to Jimmy.
”Odd that,” said Jimmy. ”I never think of you as being high-tech. I wouldn't have been surprised if you'd written your notes up in the snow. Come on, lads. I'll keep you posted, Hamish.”
The more she landed in disgrace with Hamish, the more Josie's obsession with him grew. As he was making his way back to Lochdubh, Josie sat in her room at the manse in front of the peat fire and dreamt of becoming his wife. In her mind, she remodelled the police station. There would need to be room for a nursery for the three children she planned to have.
It was only when she awoke in the morning with a hangover that she conjured up one sensible idea. If she worked hard investigating and maybe solved this case, Hamish would admire her. He would want her company instead of looking at her flat-eyed.
Hamish was relieved and surprised when Josie reported to the police station and suggested that she should do some investigative work in Braikie and go round the town and try to ferret out more of Annie's friends. Hamish filled her in with what he had found out about Bill Freemont.
Josie looked so neat and efficient in her newly sponged and pressed uniform that he offered her a coffee. Josie sat down happily at the kitchen table and looked around. It was a very small kitchen but could be extended. That old-fas.h.i.+oned stove would have to go. And the other thing that would have to go, she thought, eyeing the dog and cat who were slumbering together in front of the stove, was those wretched animals of his. She would get pregnant quickly and tell Hamish that his pets would cause allergies.
Hamish handed her a mug of coffee. ”It's odd, isn't it?” he said in his lilting highland voice. ”At first it seemed as if this murder was the work of some maniac. Now it turns out Annie was what Scotland Yard would call a murderee, someone who works people up so much that she's bound to get b.u.mped off sooner or later.”
”Or maybe it has something to do with drugs,” said Josie. ”I mean, Stardust, the disco owned by Barry Fitzcameron. He owns a couple of pubs as well. He plays the part of the good citizen, gives a lot to charity, that sort of thing. But when I was waiting for you at headquarters, I heard one of the policemen complaining about that raid on the disco. He said they couldn't even find an underaged drinker, let alone any drugs, and he thought Barry had been tipped off. Because one thing I did notice in that disco was that some of the drinkers were definitely underaged.”
Hamish looked at her thoughtfully. He wondered why Blair hadn't jumped at the idea of being there at the raid. ”Which pubs does he own?” he asked.
”The Clarty Duck and The Stag.”
”Interesting.”
The phone in the office rang. ”I wonder if I should answer that,” said Hamish. ”It's after nine and we should be at work. Better leave it.” He c.o.c.ked an ear as his answering machine picked up a message. ”Hamish, this is Jimmy. Jake Cullen made bail. He was shot dead on the steps of the sheriff's court.” Hamish rushed into the office and s.n.a.t.c.hed up the phone. ”You still there? It's me, Hamish.”
”Did you get that?” asked Jimmy.
”Yes, any witnesses?”
”Only the one. Some poor auld granny has a flat opposite the court. A masked gunman came in the night before and told her to shut up or he'd kill her. He tied her to the bed. Then she said he just sat there, smoking and waiting. She thought he was going to kill her. Then she fell asleep. She said she was exhausted with fear. She awoke to the sound of the shot. Then he just ran out. It seems he set up at the window with a rifle-maybe a deer rifle-and shot Jake. It smells of a professional hit. And that screams at me that our oh-so-clean and worthy citizen Barry Fitzcameron might be behind it. We're going to be tied up here for a good bit. You and McSween get over to Braikie and see what you can dig up.”
”On our way,” said Hamish. He went back into the kitchen. Josie wasn't there. He walked into his living room. Josie wheeled around and blushed.
”If you want to examine my home again,” said Hamish severely, ”ask! Now let's get going. You find out what you can about her friends. Start off with the school. Maybe her messing about started there. I'll check back with the neighbours.”
”I'm sorry,” whispered Josie. ”It's just I've never properly seen all round a highland police station before.”
And never will again, thought Hamish. He ushered her out and then went out to his Land Rover followed by his dog and cat.
Josie drove miserably in the direction of Braikie. Before Hamish had caught her, she had opened the door of the spare room which led off the living room and had blinked in amazement at the amount of rusty junk. And he had just been beginning to thaw towards her. She was determined to work hard all day and not give up until she came up with just one clue.
Hamish followed her, his mind turning over thoughts about Blair. Then he mentally shrugged. It need not have been anyone as high up as Blair. It could have been anyone at police headquarters, down to the cleaners. If Josie was right, and there was underaged drinking usually at the disco, then it stood to reason that Barry had been tipped off.
The day was fine and cold. He slowed down on the sh.o.r.e road. Men were working on the seawall. The tide was out. They were working hard. He stopped and rolled down the window. ”Got your funds?” he called to the foreman.
”Aye, but we can only work when the tide's out, otherwise we get battered wi' the waves.”
Hamish drove on until he reached the quiet street where Annie had lived. He decided to call on Cora Baxter first. The councillor's wife answered the door. ”Oh, it's you,” she said. ”Come in.”
Hamish wondered at first if everything in the living room was new and decided he was looking at terrifying housekeeping. The sun shone through the glittering windows onto a gla.s.s coffee table where magazines were arranged in exact precision to line up with the edges of the table. The three-piece suite was in red leather, and the hair-cord brown fitted carpet was covered in hooked rugs. Hamish reflected she had probably made them herself. He had seen many like them at church sales. One bar was lit in an electric heater in front of the fireplace. The mantel was covered in little gla.s.s figures: he noticed a Bambi and a Snow White along with the Seven Dwarfs.
On a round table by the window was a cut-gla.s.s vase full of silk flowers. To one side of the fireplace was a large flat-screen television.
Hamish removed his cap and sat down on the sofa. The leather made an embarra.s.sing fart noise. Cora stood in front of the fireplace. She was a stocky woman with bright blonde hair set in tight curls over a pugnacious face. She had small blue suspicious-looking eyes.
”Well, Constable Constable?” she demanded.
Hamish repressed a sigh. From his experience councillors like Jamie Baxter, no matter how easygoing, often had wives who considered themselves a cut above the local community.
He stood up and approached her, looming over her. It had the desired effect.
”Oh, do sit down,” said Cora. Hamish went back to the sofa, which welcomed his bottom with a loud raspberry. Cora sat in one of the leather armchairs, but the chair, no doubt knowing what was due to her dignity, did not make a sound.
Hamish opened his notebook. ”I am making enquiries about Annie Fleming.”
”Yes?”
”Did you phone Mrs. Freemont and tell her that her husband had been seen going into Annie Fleming's house to spend the afternoon with her? I must remind you that phone calls can be checked.”
”Well, I felt it my duty,” said Cora truculently.
”Do you know if this happened more than once?”
”I only saw him the one time.”
”And when was this?”
”About a month ago.”
”Any other men?”
”Just once. An unsavoury-looking character. He had gelled hair and one of those black leather jackets. I would say he was around thirty years old.”
Jake, thought Hamish bitterly. That's a dead end in every sense.
”What did you think of Annie?” asked Hamish. ”And did you tell any of this to her parents?”
”First, I did mention both visits to her parents. Her father was furious with me. He said his daughter was pure and I was a malicious woman who would burn in h.e.l.lfire. Annie wouldn't burn anywhere, she was as cold as ice-b.u.t.ter wouldn't have melted in that girl's mouth. I saw them going off to the kirk a few Sundays before she died. Mr. and Mrs. Fleming put their noses in the air. But Annie turned round and gave me a nasty little smile before she walked on. I thought she was a devious tart.”
”Why didn't you tell the police any of this?” demanded Hamish. ”You've been withholding vital evidence.”
”I wasn't going to sully her memory until after the funeral.”
”But you did just that by phoning Mrs. Freemont, and by trying to blacken the girl's name with her parents. Is there anything more?”
”No, but I don't like your att.i.tude. Do remember my husband is a town councillor.”