solicitors so that she could pick up a cheque from them. He readily agreed. Alison, desperate to buy a new car right away, did not even want to wait until the cheque cleared so Peter said he would put a down payment on a car for her and she could pay him as soon as she got the money. Alison spent a happy afternoon at a showroom out on Inverness’s industrial estate looking at and trying out cars. To Peter’s surprise, she fell in love with a bright red mini, the cheapest new car in the showroom. Made bold by Alison’s timidity, he got the salesman to phone the solicitors and found to his relief that the showroom would accept Alison’s cheque right away and cash it as soon as the lawyer’s cheque cleared, for Peter knew he had very little left in his personal account.
That evening, it was Alison who was the centre of attention and she blossomed under it, convincing herself that her personal charms were the reason for all this sudden adoration.
And while they all fussed over Alison and paid her compliments, Donati was sitting with Hamish Macbeth in the Lochdubh police station. An efficient man, he had phoned Scotland Yard when he had first been put on the case, directly after Daviot returned from the pub after speaking to Hamish. He had asked Scotland Yard to phone all the private detective agencies in London. Scotland Yard had quickly found the right one and had faxed the agency’s report to Strathbane.
“And here it is,” said Donati, still with that precise, dry manner. “I’ll run through it for you. Crispin Witherington is in bad trouble. Financially, I mean. He’s been in trouble in the past. He was at the centre of an investigation into stolen cars a good time ago. He was making money hand over fist. Although nothing could be proved against him, it’s my guess he went straight and, not being a good car salesman or a good manager, proceeded to lose money.
“James Frame is another steady character. From research into Maggie Baird’s background, it seems she often moved about that half-world of the west end of London frequented by rich criminals, drinking with the Kray brothers, that sort of thing. Oh, he knows cars. He worked, get this, at one time for Witherington. Nothing ever pinned on him. That gambling club’s been raided several times for drugs but nothing ever found.
“Peter Jenkins. Good family. Educated Westminster and Christchurch, Oxford. Not a good degree. Fourth in history. Did what ex-public school boys with iffy degrees in history do – joined an advertising agency as a copy writer. Worked up to the management side. Got inheritance. Started his own firm. Did well for a bit, mainly owing to brilliant partner who recently pulled out and went into separate business and took some of the best accounts with him. Needs money or firm will fold. No money left in the family. Only child, parents dead, rich uncle was the last hope.
“Steel Ironside, nee Victor Plummer, comes from village in the Cotswolds, must have adopted that accent. Sprang to fame in the late sixties during the drug culture and anti-establishment years. Was quite good-looking in a pretty, unisex sort of way, you’d never think it now to look at all that grey hair. Back in prominence in the seventies with protest songs. His hit, “We’ll Change the World,” is still sung at demonstrations but hardly by the type of people who’ll pay any royalties. He wrote it. Married to some noisy slag in Liverpool. Two kids. Never sends them any money. Into drugs but who wasn’t in that sort of world, nothing serious. Done a few times for carrying hash through London airport but always for himself. Never pushed or supplied. What a right lot of lulus our Maggie Baird picked.”
“Who else would fall in love with a prostitute?” said Hamish primly.
Donati looked at Hamish in surprise, and then bent his head quickly to hide a smile. “Aye, maybe you’re right,” he said. “But the only one with a motive is Alison Kerr.”
Hamish clasped his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling. “I believe they all were in love with her at one time. She wasnae, I gather from Alison who was typing those memoirs which have mysteriously disappeared, the kind to just demand money for services rendered. It was all done under the guise of love. You know, clothes, jewels, payment disguised as presents. They’re all weak men with king-sized egos. Maybe one of them nursed a lifelong grudge and wanted to get back at her. She’d developed a real bitchy manner. Could have tipped one of them over the edge. One of them could have known about the will, the new one Brady told us about. Och, but he would have to get rid of Alison.”
“Exactly. I think we’d better warn her, don’t you?”
Alison was getting ready for bed when Mrs. Todd knocked at the bedroom door to say ‘thae polis’ were back again. Alison opened the door. “Do I have to see them?” she asked weakly. She was wearing one of Maggie’s white satin nightdresses with a white satin negligee trimmed with maribou. Mrs. Todd looked shocked. “I’m surprised at you, lassie. Wearing a dead woman’s clothes.”
“These were new,” said Alison defiantly. “She’d never even taken them out of the box.”
“Well, you are not seeing the polis until you make yourself look decent,” said Mrs. Todd, folding her arms across her aproned bosom.
Alison wanted to scream that she was mistress of the house and would wear what she liked, but she sulkily went back into the bedroom and soon reappeared in one of her old skirts and a sweater.
“Now, that looks like my wee lassie again,” said Mrs. Todd. “Come along and I’ll stay with ye. It’s that Macbeth that gets my back up. Too young for the National Service. He should hae been drafted as a young man. A stint in the army would hae knocked some o’ the laziness oot o’ him. I remember during the war when I was in the army…” But Alison closed her ears. She was tired of Mrs. Todd’s lectures. I’m fed up with her, thought Alison mutinously as she followed Mrs. Todd down the stairs, but how can I get rid of her? I know. I’ll sell this place and get away from her that way.
The new millionairess walked into the sitting room and both policemen rose at her entrance.
“You may leave us,” said Donati to the housekeeper.
“No, I’ll stay right here,” said Mrs. Todd.
“Do as you are told, woman!” snapped Donati.
“I’ll be in the kitchen, Alison, if you want me,” said Mrs. Todd, and Alison thought, She’ll need to start calling me “Miss Kerr.”
Donati said, “We have established that Mrs. Baird died because someone deliberately tampered with her car. It was manslaughter!”
Alison let out a whimpering sound. Her eyes sought those of Hamish Macbeth. Hamish stood like the epitome of the bone-headed police officer, hands behind his back, eyes on the middle distance.
“If you did not have any hand in this attempt, then we fear your life may be in danger,” said Donati in that emotionless voice of his.
“Me! Why?”
“Because the four men here stand to benefit from your death. Unless, of course, the criminal is lucky enough to get you to marry him.”
Alison began to cry. Hamish reflected he had never known anyone in his life before who could cry as much as Alison Kerr.
Donati remained unmoved. “A policeman will be on constant guard at the house. Tell him if you notice anything suspicious.”
Alison scrubbed her eyes. “Can I have Hamish?” she pleaded.
“No, I need Macbeth on this case and he has his village duties as well. A policeman from Strathbane will be assigned to you. Now, I am sorry to keep you further but you must tell me more about that book you were typing. Did she mention any of the four men in it?”
Alison shook her head. Hamish, glancing at her, noticed a sudden flash of alarm in Alison’s eyes and wondered what she had just remembered.
“Well, I must ask you for the names of some of the men in the book Also, did Mrs. Baird have any special friend in her heyday, I mean around about the time these four men here would have been on the scene?”
While Alison talked, Hamish found himself beginning to feel useless. Donati was asking all the questions that he, Hamish, would normally have asked behind Blair’s fat back. It was very hard to feel clever and superior with Donati around. And Blair’s hatred and jealousy of him, Hamish reflected, was a compliment in a way. Donati treated him as an intelligent policeman on the beat should be treated, nothing more. I’m jealous, thought Hamish ruefully.
When they had left, Alison threw herself into Mrs. Todd’s sturdy arms and sobbed her heart out. “Now, then,” said Mrs. Todd, “you come upstairs and I’ll tuck you into bed. There, there. You poor thing. Men!”
All Alison’s thoughts of asserting herself and getting rid of Mrs. Todd disappeared. It was lovely to be mothered.
