an accident.”
“Then if it was only an accident, you should not object to my questions,” said Hamish mildly. “I thought Diarmuid was your ex-boss anyway.”
“I’m working for him until the funeral arrangements are over and I’ve promised him I’ll pack up Heather’s effects.”
“And then what?” asked Hamish.
She shrugged her thin shoulders. “Probably go abroad for a bit.”
“Where?”
“Spain, somewhere like that.”
“Did Diarmuid ever have extra-marital affairs?”
Her reply startled him. “Lots.”
“And did Heather know about any of them?”
Again that shrug. “I suppose she did. He’s not good at keeping anything quiet.”
“Neither was she,” said Hamish drily, “She must have given him a rare blasting.”
“Not she. She didn’t mind what he did as long as he toed the line and paid out for all the entertainment for her parties and bridge clubs and golf clubs and what not. She wasn’t interested in sex. He tried to tell her the money was running out due to the housing slump. I tried as well. But she wouldn’t listen. She couldn’t imagine a life where she wouldn’t be lording it at one of her get-togethers and fancying herself as a leader of Glasgow society. This year was the worst.”
“Why?”
“Well, Glasgow got the award of Cultural Capital of Europe, and that meant more celebrities to try to get into her home.”
“Have you ever had an affair with him?”
“Don’t be daft,” said Jessie. “The man’s useless. All he’s ever really fancied in the whole of his life is his own reflection.”
Hamish told her that would be all for the moment, and once on his own, thought about her. He thought she was as hard as nails. Had she been Diarmuid’s Lady Macbeth?
After dinner, he tried to question John Wetherby, but John told him acidly that he had no right to question anyone.
Hamish retreated once more to the office and phoned Detective Jimmy Anderson in Strathbane. “You’re lucky,” said Jimmy. “Blair’s off on holiday. Never tell me it’s murder or he’ll be having your guts for garters.”
“I’ta trying to find out,” said Hamish. “That John Wetherby. I was wondering if he’s such a successful banister after all.”
“Believe me,” said Jimmy with a laugh, “Blair checked into everyone when he returned, just to make sure. I’ll get out the file if you want to hear it.”
Hamish readily agreed.
After a few moments, Jimmy came back on the line. “Here we are. Wetherby, John. Yes, rolling in money. Got family money as well as earned money. Very successful.
“Carpenters. There’s a surprise. Now they’re rich. Own a good part of north Yorkshire. Told friends they were looking forward to a free holiday. Like all rich people, they seem to love getting something free.
“Jane Wetherby. Good family. Not all that much money. Made a success out o’ that health farm o’ hers. Got a reputation of being a loose woman.” Hamish grinned: nothing like the Scottish police for using old–fashioned terms. If Jimmy had called her a harlot, it wouldn’t have been surprising either. “Not much known about her. Seems to have hundreds of dear acquaintances and not a single friend. Got a younger sister, Cheryl, who says Jane’s bats.
“Harriet Shaw. Successful writer. Talks on cookery on television and radio. Moderately well off. Knew Jane slightly, I gather. Widowed.
“Diarmuid. Well, we really dug into him. Business on the skids but nothing to gain from his wife’s death. Few affairs on the side but no grand passion.”
“What about the secretary, Jessie?” asked Hamish.
“She turned up on the island after the death. But she’s been employed by him for six years. One of the office staff said she ran the business, not Diarmuid.”
“So why did it become so unsuccessful? Jessie?”
“Naw. There’s estate agents closing down all over the place.”
“Well, thanks, Jimmy; I’m only surprised Blair went to so much trouble.”
“Blair! It was me he got to go to the trouble, Hamish. He’s that frightened you’ll spring a murder on him and make him look a fool.”
Hamish thanked him and rang off. He sat chewing the end of a pencil, thinking over the case. Why? Why had anyone wanted to murder Heather? She had been a nasty woman. But there was no motive. Diarmuid did not stand to get any money from her death. Why?
He decided to stay awake that night, to wait and watch and see if anyone else also stayed awake. If, say, Jessie and Diarmuid were involved, then they would be desperate to speak to each other.
He waited until they had all gone to bed and then went into the lounge and sat down in the darkness. The hours passed slowly. There was still no wind outside and the silence was eerie.
And then, at two in the morning, just as he thought he could not keep his eyes open any longer, the light in the corridor leading to the bedrooms went on.
Hamish rose silently and crossed to the window and hid behind the curtains. He peered through the thick folds.
Jane came in, followed by Diarmuid. “What is it, darling?” asked Diarmuid. “What’s happened?”
“I’m worried,” said Jane in a low voice. “That secretary of yours is very much in your confidence. You must not ever tell anyone what we did.”
“Are you mad?” demanded Diarmuid. “Get rid of that tame copper of yours, for God’s sake.”
“There’s a ferry the day after tomorrow,” said Jane. “Believe me, you’ll all be on it.”
“But the ferry left on Boxing Day. There won’t be another for a week. I was going to hire Angus to take me across.”.
“This is an Oban company. It’s a small ferry which doesn’t take cars, only passengers. I suggest you and Jessie get on it. You can hire a car in Oban and get from there to Strathbane.”
Diarmuid shivered. “I’ll send Jessie. I couldn’t bear to see Heather’s face again.”
“That’s understandable. Now get off to bed, Diarmuid, and let me get to mine. I’m tired.”
He stretched out his arms. “Jane…”
“Oh, leave me alone,” said Jane crossly.
Hamish waited until all was quiet and went to Harriet’s room and walked in. He woke her up and then switched on the bedside light and sat on the edge of her bed.
“What is it?” demanded Harriet.
“I hid in the lounge and heard Diarmuid and Jane talking.” Hamish told her what they had said. “So it’s plain to me they arranged this murder between them.”
“No, Hamish,” said Harriet. “Look, Jane would never be involved in any murder. I’ve changed my mind about her. She couldn’t hurt a fly.”
“Oh, no? What do any of us really know about Jane? Everyone here only knows her slightly. Diarmuid’s had affairs before because Jessie told me. But just think. Jane is now rich. She’s attractive. Without Heather around, he can marry her.”
“But you have no proof,” wailed Harriet. “An overheard conversation is no proof. What are you going to do?”
“Shock tactics,” said Hamish. “Just wait and see.”
???
Hamish waited until they were all gathered in the lounge after breakfast and then stood in front of the fire facing them.
“I think I have discovered why the murder of Heather Todd was committed,” he said.
There was a long silence and then a babble of outraged voices. “It was an accident,” snapped Jane. “You
