“Now,” said Hamish, “what have you got?”
Elspeth’s grey eyes gleamed silver. “Miss Beattie was having an affair.”
“I’d got that far,” said Hamish. “Any idea who it is?”
“Billy Mackay.”
“What! The postman? But he’s married.”
“Why do you think she kept it so secret?”
Hamish half rose. “I should go and see him right away.”
“Sit down, copper. You wouldn’t have found out for ages if I hadn’t told you. He’ll wait and I’m hungry.”
“Who told you?”
“I cannot reveal my source,” said Elspeth primly.
“All right. How did you manage to find out?”
“I’m known in Braikie more for being an astrologer than for being the local reporter, and they’re a superstitious lot. Some woman asked me to read her palm. I told her the usual and then said she was holding back some secret about Miss Beattie.”
“How did you know that?”
“Just a guess.”
Mrs. Harris, thought Hamish. I bet she knew.
“She got frightened and asked me not to put a curse on her if she told me. I promised I wouldn’t use it in the paper.”
“So Mrs. Harris knew you were of Gypsy blood?”
Elspeth’s face fell. “How did you know it was Mrs. Harris?”
“An educated guess. And let’s hope the food comes quickly. I can’t wait to hear what this postman has to say for himself.”
The food was excellent and both enjoyed their meal. Elspeth drove Hamish back into Braikie. He refused to let her come with him to Billy Mackay’s but promised to meet her afterwards, outside the post office in an hour, and tell her what he had found out.
By asking around, he found that Billy Mackay lived in public housing at the edge of Braikie. He knocked at the door. It was answered by a slattern of a woman wearing a stained apron and with her hair in rollers. “Mrs. Mackay?”
“Aye, that’s me.”
“I would like to talk to your husband.”
“What about?”
“I’m making general enquiries, that is all.”
“He’s gone fishing as usual.”
“Where?”
“Up on the Stourie. The pool below the falls. And you tell him the sink still needs fixing and he can stay away as long as he likes but he’ll still have to fix it when he comes home.”
Hamish touched his cap and strode back to the Land Rover. He drove out of Braikie and up into the hills. The Falls of Stourie were a tourist attraction in the summer, but now the car park above the falls was empty except for a red post office van parked against some railings.
He made his precipitous way along a muddy path that led down the side of the falls. The sun was already going down and the cascade of water shone red in the setting rays.
Billy Mackay did not hear him approach because of the sound of the falls. He was a thickset little man in, Hamish judged, his late fifties. Hamish tapped him on the shoulder and he swung around, his face a picture of dismay.
“Up to the car park,” shouted Hamish. “I cannae hear anything here.”
Billy reeled in his line and meekly followed Hamish up the path. He turned and faced Hamish in the car park, wearing a defeated air. He had thin brown hair, a bulbous nose, and surprisingly beautiful blue eyes.
“It’s about Miss Beattie, isn’t it?” he said. “The wife’ll kill me.”
“How long had your affair with Miss Beattie been going on?”
“About ten years.”
“Man, weren’t you frightened of anyone finding out?”
“We kept it really quiet. I’m the postman, see, so no one thought anything of me being around the shop. I don’t know if you could really call it an affair. It was the talking, you see. The companionship. Her at home, after the children grew up and left, she let herself go and nag, nagged, nagged from morning till night.”
Hamish judged that Billy’s parents had probably brought him up to speak Gaelic. He had the clear perfect English of someone who had started his life translating in his head from Gaelic to English.
“When did you last see Miss Beattie?”
“Last time was two weeks ago.”
“Why such a long gap?”
Billy hung his head. “I got one of those filthy poison-pen letters. Whoever wrote it said he knew about the affair and if I didn’t stop seeing her, the whole of Braikie would know. I told her about it and we were both frightened, so we agreed to stop seeing each other. Man, if I had known it would have driven her to take her own life, I would have risked the scandal.”
Hamish sighed. “Billy, you’re in for a shock. Miss Beattie was murdered.”
“But she hanged herself!”
“Someone drugged her first.”
“Who?”
Hamish was sure that Miss Beattie had guessed the identity of the poison-pen writer and that somehow Miss McAndrew had killed her and then someone had killed Miss McAndrew. And Billy was a prime suspect. He would need to take him in for questioning. He knew that probably someone other than Mrs. Harris would know about the affair.
He said gently, “I’m afraid I can’t hush this up, Billy. I’ve got to take you in for questioning.”
He gave a weary shrug. “I’m glad in a way it’s out. I was proud of her friendship. She was a grand lady.” He began to sob, dry racking sobs.
Hamish went to the Land Rover and came back with a flask of brandy. “Get some of that down you, Billy. There, man. I’m right sorry.”
¦
It was Blair’s bad luck that Daviot should still be in Braikie at the mobile unit which had been set up outside Miss McAndrew’s bungalow when Hamish turned up with Billy and explianed why he was taking him in.
“We’ll take him down to Strathbane,” said Daviot. “Anderson, you come with us. Detective Chief Inspector Blair will stay here to supervise the ongoing investigation. You’d better come with us, Hamish.”
Blair scowled horribly. He knew that when the boss used Hamish’s first name, the constable was in high favour.
¦
At Strathbane, it was a long interrogation. But it transpired early on in the interview that on the Saturday evening that Miss Beattie was murdered, Billy had been down in Strathbane for a reunion with some of his old army friends and had not got back to Braikie until the small hours of the morning. His alibi checked out. He was to be kept in the cells overnight, however, for further questioning. He was now a suspect in the death of Miss McAndrew. They would hold him until they discovered from the autopsy some idea of the time of her murder. Hamish was dismissed.
He left headquarters to find Elspeth waiting outside for him.
“You stood me up,” she accused.
“We’ll have something to eat and I’ll tell you about it,” said Hamish.
¦
In the Italian restaurant, Jenny sat alone at one table and Pat sat alone at another. At last Pat called over, “My date hasn’t turned up.”
“Neither has mine,” said Jenny gloomily.
“So why don’t we have a meal together?” suggested Pat.
