Part 7 (1/2)
He smiled at Hamish and waited for a look of grat.i.tude to appear on the constable's face at the compliment. Hamish looked stolidly back, and Blair scowled with irritation.
”Yes, well, I suppose they all know they're supposed to stay put until I'm satisfied that no one in this school did it. School, indeed. All that money and fuss just to catch a fish.”
”I think it would be better if I told them they are not to leave Lochdubh at the moment,” said Hamish. ”Them not having the ESP.”
”Enough of that,” snapped Blair. ”Before I have the rest in, what do you think the motive was for this murder?”
”I think it had something to do with Lady Jane's job,” said Hamish slowly.
”Job? What job?”
”Lady Jane Winters was, in fact, Jane Maxwell, columnist for the London Evening Star Evening Star.”
”That rag! Well, what's so bad about being a columnist?”
”I understand she specialized in taking holidays where there were going to be small groups of British people. She would find out something nasty about each one, since she liked to prove that everyone has a skeleton in the closet. There have been complaints to the press council, but her column's been too popular. Folks chust lap it up and think it will never happen to them. Maybe someone in this group knew about her column, although the fact that she was Jane Maxwell was kept a closely guarded secret.”
”And how did you you find out if it's that much of a secret?” asked Blair, his eyes raking over the lanky length of the village constable. find out if it's that much of a secret?” asked Blair, his eyes raking over the lanky length of the village constable.
”I naff my methods, Watson,” grinned Hamish.
”I am not putting up with any cheek from a Highlander,” snarled Blair. ”How did you find out?”
”I have a relative that works in Fleet Street.”
”And which of these fis.h.i.+ng lot knew about her being Jane Maxwell?”
”I do not know,” said Hamish patiently. ”I was just beginning to find out when you arrived. I have talked with John Cartwright and you interrupted me when I was in the process of talking to Mrs Heather Cartwright.”
”Before I start with the rest, I'd better fix up accommodation for me and my men. I'll stay here myself, but it's a bit pricey for the lot of us. We've got five officers combing the bushes along with the forensic team at the moment. I saw that police station of yours. You do yourself very well. Any chance of a spare bed or two?”
”I have not the room. I have the one bed for myself and the other bedroom has not the bed but the gardening stuff and the poultry feed and the bags of fertilizer...”
”Okay, okay, spare me the rural details.” Blair looked piercingly at Hamish, who gave him a sweet smile.
Simple, thought Blair. Would have to be to live here all year round.
He placed his beefy hands on the desk and looked at Hamish in a kindly way. ”I'm thinking you're a wee bit too inexperienced for this sort of high-cla.s.s crime,” he said. ”We'll use your office at the station because I'm d.a.m.ned if I'll pay hotel phone prices. I have to fight hard enough to get my expenses as it is. Just you attend to your usual rounds and leave the detective work to us. We're all experienced men.”
Hamish looked at the detective chief inspector blankly. Only a few minutes before he had been wondering how to keep out of the case. He had taken a dislike to the chief detective and his sidekicks and did not want to tag around after them. But now he had been told to keep clear, well, all that did was give him a burning desire to find out who had killed Lady Jane.
”I'll be off then,” said Hamish. Blair watched him go and shook his head sadly. ”Poor fellow,” he said. ”Never had to do any real work in his life before, and, like all these Highlanders, fights shy of it as much as possible. Send in that American couple, MacNab. Typical pair of tourists. May as well get rid of them first.”
Hamish ambled along the front, gazing dreamily out over the loch. The early evening sun was flooding the bay with gold. A pair of seals were rolling and turning lazily, sending golden ripples was.h.i.+ng about the white hulls of the yachts and the green and black hulls of the fis.h.i.+ng boats.
He saw the slim, elegant figure of Priscilla Halburton-Smythe walking towards him, and, suddenly overcome with a mixture of shyness and longing, he stopped and leaned his elbows on the mossy stone wall above the beach.
She stopped and stood beside him. ”What's all this I hear?” said Priscilla. ”The hillside's crawling with bobbies, putting things in plastic bags.”
”Lady Jane Winters has been murdered.”
”I heard something to that effect. Big, fat, nasty woman, wasn't she?”
”Aye, you could say that.”
”And who did it, Holmes?”
”I chust don't know, and I've been more or less told to go home and feed my chickens by the detectives from Strathbane.”
”Well, you must be pleased about that. I mean, you never were exactly one of the world's greatest workers.”
”How would you know that, Miss Halburton-Smythe? It is not as if I have the murder on my hands every day of the week.”
”You must admit when Daddy wants to talk to you about poaching or something, you're never where you should be. I told Daddy not to worry you about, poachers since you're one yourself.”
”That is not a very nice thing to say.”
”I was only joking. Do you really want to find the murderer? Do you need a Watson? I shall follow you about saying, 'By Jove, you're a wonder. How on earth did you think of that?'”
”Oh, I suppose I'll do as I'm told and keep out of the way,” said Hamish equably.
”Funny, I thought you'd have been dying to find out for yourself. All that Highland curiosity.” Priscilla sounded disappointed.
”Aye, well...” began Hamish, and then his gaze suddenly sharpened. Mrs Baxter and Charlie could be seen leaving the hotel.
”Are you going to ask them questions?” asked Priscilla, following his gaze. ”Can I listen?”
”Och, no. The wee lad has a very interesting stamp and I wanted to have another look at it.”
”Hamish Macbeth, I give you up!”
He gave her a crooked grin. ”I did not know you had ever taken me on, Miss Halburton-Smythe.”
He pushed his hat up on his forehead, thrust his hands in his pockets, and strolled off to meet the Baxters.
Highly irritated, Priscilla watched him go.
Day Five
A counsel of perfection is very easy advice to give, but is usually quite impracticable. -Maxwell Knight, Bird Gardening
Alice started to dress hurriedly, although it was only seven in the morning. She wanted to escape from the hotel before they were besieged by the press again. They had started to filter in gradually, and by late evening they had grown to an army: an army of questioning faces. Alice's juvenile crime loomed large in her mind. If Lady Jane could have found out about that that, then they could too. Normally Alice would have been thrilled to bits at the idea of getting her photograph in the papers. But her murky past tortured her. Jeremy had been particularly warm and friendly to her the evening before. She felt sure he would not even look at her again if he found out. The major had howled at the hotel manager over the problem of the press, and the manager had at last reluctantly banned them. He was thoroughly fed up with the notoriety the murder had brought to his hotel and had hoped to ease the pain with the large amount of money the gentlemen of the press were spending in the bar. But guests other than the major had complained, guests who came every year. And so the reporters and the photographers were now billeted out in the village, most of them at a boarding house at the other end of the bay.
Alice was just on the point of leaving the room when the telephone began to ring. She stared at it and then suddenly rushed and picked it up. Her mother's voice, sharp with agitation, sounded over the line. ”What's all this, luv? Your name's in the morning papers. You didn't even tell us you was going to such a place. We're that worried.”