Hamish scrambled up after him and lay on his stomach on a small triangle of mossy grass. The crag overlooked the sea. Huge waves were racing in, black and green and dashing themselves on a small pebbly beach. The thunder of the waves was deafening. The whole world seemed to be in motion.
Waves reared up to tremendous heights before tumbling down with a powerful roar.
Hamish put his lips to the boy’s ear.
“Where?”
Again the boy pointed down.
Hamish craned over the crag. And there down below, just beyond the fanning spread of the crashing waves, he saw a woman’s foot.
Balancing against the ferocity of the wind, he turned and signalled to the driver, a small figure in the distance, and waited impatiently until the man crawled up to him. “She’s here,” bawled Hamish. “Get the doctor and get help, but take this lad away first.”
When the boy had gone, Hamish slowly began to ease his way down to the small beach.
Heather Todd lay under a curve of overhanging rock. He stooped down and felt her pulse. Nothing. He examined her head and then gently lifted it. Her neck was broken and there was an ugly bruise on the side of it. He drew his knees up to his chin and waited, shivering, beside the dead body, for help to arrive.
? Death of a Snob ?
5
I hope I shall never be deterred from detecting what I think a cheat, by the menace of a ruffian.
—SAMUEL JOHNSON
Hamish supposed there would be a doctor on the island. There must be. He stood up and stretched and looked up at the crag above him and then at Heather’s body. The only heights on the island were the crags at various parts of the coast. How could she have broken her neck? The crag was only about fifteen feet above the beach. It was no enormous cliff with a fall onto jagged rocks. Admittedly, if she had bounced against one of the sharp projecting edges, that might have done the trick.
The wind was less savage now and he could clearly hear the sound of voices above him. Occasionally a torch beam searched him out as more islanders began to gather. And then he heard Sandy Ferguson’s voice. “Is that you, Hamish? I’ll send a couple of men down to collect her so that Dr. Queen can have a look at the body.”
“No, you won’t,” shouted Hamish. “Nothing has to be touched. Get him down here and bring a tent to cover the body until the pathologist arrives.”
There was the sound of swearing and then a scuffle followed by the clatter of falling debris as Sandy and a thin elderly man made their way down.
“This is Dr. Queen,” said Sandy.
The doctor was a thin, spare man with a face set in lines of permanent arrogance. “I gather you’re some sort of local bobby from the west coast,” he said. “Well, stand aside, man, and let’s have a look at her.”
“Gently, now,” warned Hamish. “Don’t disturb anything.”
The doctor ignored him. “Bring that lantern closer, Sandy,” he said. “Mmm, yes. As I thought. She was blown off the top of the crag and broke her neck. Sad but straightforward. Get some men to take her up, Sandy, and get her put in my surgery while I prepare a report for the procurator fiscal.”
“You are not to touch her.” Hamish Macbeth stood foursquare beside the body.
“Why not?”
“Because I think it might be murder. I think someone struck her a savage blow on the neck wi’ a rock.”
“Dear me, don’t be a fool, there’s a good fellow,” said the doctor.
“I repeat: no one touches this body until a team from Strathbane arrives,” said Hamish stubbornly.
“You have not the authority. This is my island,” protested Sandy.
“Aye, and you’ll find yourself off it soon enough if I have my way,” snapped Hamish. “I’m telling you to leave it where it is or, by God, I’ll make trouble for both o’ ye.”
The doctor glared at him, but snobbery came to Hamish’s rescue. Had Hamish been a holidaying policeman who was bird-watching or hiking, then Dr. Queen would have ignored him. But this Macbeth was a guest at The Happy Wanderer where, the doctor had learned, there was a barrister in residence. He and the other guests might back Hamish.
“Have it your way,” he said haughtily. “But you’re going to look a right idiot, wasting the taxpayers’ money like this.”
Hamish turned to Sandy. “Are you going to phone headquarters, or am I?”
“Oh, you do it, laddie,” jeered Sandy.
“Then get a tent over the body and set two men to guard it. I’ll be back.”
One of the islanders ran Hamish to The Happy Wanderer. When he went into the lounge, the guests started up. There were also five of the island women there who, it turned out, worked as servants at the hotel during the season. Hatred for Jane seemed to have disappeared with the tragedy, and they were all exclaiming and commiserating in their soft island voices, changed from sinister threatening figures to a group of ordinary women.
“This is terrible,” said Jane.
“Where is Diarmuid?”
“In his room. He’s phoned his secretary, Jessie Maclean, and told her to get up here as fast as possible. I’ve heard of Jessie. Seems she does everything for him, including thinking, or that’s the way Heather put it once.”
“I’ve got calls to make,” said Hamish, and Jane led him into the office and left him.
Hamish decided to phone the bane of his life, Detective Chief Inspector Blair, and make his report to him direct. If he did not, it was ten to one that it would be Blair who would arrive anyway, and a Blair sulky that Hamish had not told him about it firsthand.
Blair gave Hamish his customary greeting in his heavy Glasgow accent. “How are ye, pillock?”
“Listen,” said Hamish. “I’m staying at a place called The Happy Wanderer on Eileencraig. One of the guests appears to have fallen off a crag and broken her neck, but I’m convinced it’s murder.”
There was a silence, and then Blair said sharply, “Are ye sure? Working in the holidays is a pain in the arse as it is, and ah’m no’ that keen tae get the police helicopter oot on a wild-goose chase.”
“I promised if there wass ever another murder, I’d let ye in on it,”said Hamish. “I think you ought to come and bring the works.”
“Oh, well, ah never cared much for Christmas anyways. As long as I’m back for Hogmanay, it’ll suit me. I could be daein’ wi’ the overtime.”
Hamish briefly gave a description of where the body was to be found, what the local doctor had said, why he, Hamish, thought it might be murder, and a brief summary of the little he knew of the Todds. Blair recorded it all and told Hamish to watch the body and that he and the forensic team should be with him in a couple of hours.
Hamish rang off and then rested his elbows on the desk and wondered if he was making a fool of himself. The wind had been savage. She could easily have been blown off flat crag.
The office door opened and Harriet came in and stood looking at him quietly. “Surely an accident,” she said.
“It could be murder, Harriet.”
“But we were all here!”
Not when we were searching for her, thought Hamish. Someone could have found her when they were out searching and struck her down.
“It’s got to be investigated anyway,” said Hamish wearily. “I’ve got to get back and make sure they don’t move the body.”
“Give me a few minutes and I’ll come with you. I can make a thermos of coffee and some sandwiches and take blankets along. No, don’t protest. It’s better than waiting here. There are more islanders arriving, men this time. They’re all being terribly nice to Jane. It’s a great pity it had to be Heather’s death that brought this about. I won’t be very long.”
Hamish went back to the lounge. Jane had found a long black dress and put it on. She was dispensing large
