“Oh, Jamie,” wailed Cora. “This terrible man is accusing me of murder!”
“This is too much, Macbeth,” said Jamie. “Get out of here this minute and don’t ever bother my poor wife again.”
Hamish tried to protest that he was only doing his duty but he was firmly shown the door.
He trudged along to Mrs. McGirty’s. As the frail old lady answered his knock, Hamish realised that she was the last person in the world to make a letter bomb, but maybe she heard useful gossip.
“Come in,” said Mrs. McGirty. “I’ll put the kettle on. Go into the living room and take a seat.”
He was glad to see she had a real fire. He remembered his mother telling him that at one time when the Hydro Electric Board had started up, the Highlands were promised cheap electricity. Fireplaces were blocked up and electric fires placed in front of them: old oil lamps which now would fetch a good bit of money in some auction room were tossed out with the rubbish. The electricity turned out to be expensive but a lot of people kept the electric fires, the house-proud ladies of the Highlands claiming that peat and coal fires caused dust.
The small room was cluttered and cosy, the sofa and armchair being covered in paisley- patterned cotton slipcovers. There was a highland scene above the fireplace, darkened by years of smoke from the coal fire.
Mrs. McGirty came in carrying a laden tray. “Now there’s tea and some of my scones, Mr. Macbeth. Help yourself.”
Hamish did, realising he was hungry. When he had drunk two cups of tea and eaten two scones, in between times talking about the weather, he asked, “Have you heard any gossip in the town about anyone who might have wanted to murder Annie?”
“Too much gossip,” said Mrs. McGirty, shaking her old head. “Quite terrible it is. Who would have thought that Annie Fleming was so bad? Folks have only just started telling me about her.”
“The thing is,” said Hamish, “thon letter bomb would have to have been made by someone with a knowledge of chemistry.”
“Maybe not.” The old lady’s shrewd eyes looked up at him. “You can get all the information on stuff like that off the Internet these days.”
“How do you know?”
“I looked it up myself. I have the computer. That way I keep in touch with the relatives in Canada.”
“But where would anyone get the chemicals?”
“They’re easily come by. Any schoolboy could probably pinch them out of the laboratory at school.”
Hamish stared at her, his cup of tea halfway to his mouth. Sol Queen, the chemistry teacher, was too sane, too old, and too respectable. But what about a schoolboy? Annie had only really been interested in older men, except that she had wound up with Mark Lussie and Percy Stane.
He put his cup down in the saucer. “Did you see Bill Freemont visiting Annie when her parents were out?”
“I saw his van outside and then after a bit I saw him come out of the house and get into it. I never thought one bad thing. I only thought it was nice of her boss to call on her when she was off sick.”
“No one else?”
“Not that I know. But I spend a lot of time on the computer. It’s the great thing for an old body like me.”
“I have so many suspects my head’s in a whirl,” said Hamish. “But there was some phone call from Mark to the town hall before he died.”
“Maybe the girl on the switchboard could help.”
“ Iona Sinclair? I’m afraid not. She gets so many calls asking to be put through to one department or another.”
“I did hear there was a bit of a row over Annie being the Lammas queen two years running. Iona was bitter, folk are saying. But, och, it is terrible in the town with everyone hinting that it could be this one or that one.”
“I forgot to ask Iona,” said Hamish, “if there is someone who relieves her at the switchboard. I mean, what happens when she goes for lunch?”
“The town hall shuts between one and two.”
“But say she wanted to go to the ladies’ room?”
“You’ll just need to ask.”
When Hamish left her, he looked at his watch. It was just before one o’clock. He sped off to the town hall and parked outside.
He waited, hoping that Iona would emerge and not settle for sandwiches at her desk. When he saw her come out, he jumped down from the Land Rover and went to meet her.
“ Iona! I would like to be having a wee word with you. What about lunch?”
“Wouldn’t mind. I usually go to Jeannie’s in the High Street.” Jeannie’s was a cafe run by a bad-tempered matron but popular because of the good quality of the snacks she served.
They both ordered Welsh rarebit and a pot of tea. “Now, Iona,” began Hamish, “what happens when you have to leave the switchboard? Who relieves you?”
“Anyone who happens to be passing. Or I phone someone like, say, Jessie Cormack and ask her if she would mind taking over while I have a pee.”
“So,” said Hamish, “let’s go back to the day Mark Lussie was murdered. Just before you closed for the evening, did anyone take over for you?”
She wrinkled her brow. Then her face cleared. “Oh, I mind fine. I was bursting and Mrs. Baxter was just coming out of her husband’s office. So I called to her and asked if Jessie was very busy because I had to go to the loo and herself says, ‘Run along. I’ll do the board for you.’ ”
“You’re sure about that?”
“ ’Course I’m sure. I’m hardly likely to forget Mrs. High and Mighty stooping to help someone like me out.”
“But you didnae say anything about this when I first questioned you.”
“You were asking me about calls I put through and it fair flustered me and I forgot about Mrs. Baxter.”
“I heard you were bitter about Annie being made Lammas queen two years running,” said Hamish.
“I was right furious. I went around swearing I’d kill the conniving bitch.” Iona turned red. “I didn’t, mind. I wouldn’t. The provost, Mr. Tarry, got to hear about my complaints and he sent for me and told me if I wanted to keep my job, I’d better shut up. He said the council had voted unanimously for Annie. Annie flirted with anything in trousers. She probably went out of her way to make sure she’d be elected.”
Hamish drove her back to the town hall and then braced himself to go and confront Cora again. To his relief, he saw that her husband’s car was no longer outside the house.
The curtain twitched as he walked up the front path and rang the bell.
Cora answered the door, her well-upholstered bosom heaving with outrage. “You dare to come here again!”
“Now, now,” said Hamish soothingly. “We may haff got off on the wrong foot. I haff chust learned that on the day Mark Lussie was murdered, you took over the switchboard for a wee while. I need to ask you about that for, you see, the last call Mark Lussie made was to the town hall.”
She stared at him with those eyes of hers which were like Scottish pebbles and then said abruptly, “You’d better come in.”
Hamish followed her back into the living room and removed his cap.
“Sit down,” she barked.
