the dog first before scrambling some eggs for himself. He was just sitting down at his computer when Elspeth walked in.
“Do you never knock?” he asked angrily.
“Come on. Out with it. I helped you, remember?”
“Oh, all right. Sit down and be quiet.”
“Wait a bit,” said Elspeth. “What’s that about Archie seeing a seventeen-year-old lurking near the post office?”
“I’ve thought about that. It could have been someone much older. All Archie could really describe were the clothes.”
“Where were you today?”
“Down in Perth.”
“Find out anything?”
“Keep it to yourself. I found out why Amy Beattie ran away from home.”
“Why?”
“She was pregnant.”
“Goodness,” said Elspeth. “Was it Stoddart?”
“No, it was the bank manager, Graham Simpson.”
“So where’s the child?”
“Elspeth,” said Hamish angrily, “if I knew that, I’d…” He suddenly gazed blankly at the computer screen.
“What?” demanded Elspeth.
“I’m thinking about that letter, the one found with Miss Beattie’s body. It said: “I have proof that you’re a bastard. Your father never married your mother and I’ll tell everyone.” What if that was a letter sent to someone else? Let me think. Chust suppose for a minute Miss Beattie’s child is alive and well in Braikie. Adopted, maybe. The adopted parents are desperate to protect the child and intercept that letter sent to the child.”
“But if they adopted the child, they had nothing to fear. Doesn’t add up, Hamish.”
“You’re right. Shut up and let me go back over my notes.”
“When did Miss Beattie arrive in Braikie?”
“Folks say about sixteen years ago. I said shut up, Elspeth.”
Elspeth sat quietly and impatiently. Then Hamish said, “Why did you ask when she arrived in Braikie?”
“I was thinking of the one person who seems to have caused strong emotions and she’s sixteen.”
They looked at each other and both said at the same time, “Penny Roberts!”
“Miss Beattie had changed a lot in appearance,” said Hamish. “Billy said she had survived cancer. But in the early photographs she’s attractive, and Graham Simpson used to be a good-looking young man. Now, Mr. and Mrs. Roberts are far from lookers. I remember wondering how they had managed to produce such a beauty. What if Miss Beattie wanted to claim her daughter? What if Miss Beattie wanted Penelope to know that she was her real mother? What if Miss McAndrew had found out the secret of Penelope’s birth?”
“That would certainly tie the two murders together,” said Elspeth slowly. “Miss McAndrew may have guessed the truth. She wanted Penny to go to university. Just suppose she threatened to tell Penny the name of her real mother unless they helped her get Penny to university?”
“The problem is how to go about it,” said Hamish. “If I tell all my suppositions to Blair, he’ll demand evidence and I haven’t got any.”
“Someone must have known Miss Beattie was pregnant when she arrived.”
“Not necessarily. She did some cleaning work when she first arrived. What if she cleaned for the Robertses and blurted out her secret? Maybe Mary Roberts had always wanted a child. Maybe she arranged that she would masquerade as the pregnant one while Miss Beattie went away somewhere arranged by her. The baby is born. Mary Roberts discards the cushion she’s been wearing and produces the newborn baby. I’d better start by going to see them in the morning.”
Elspeth heard a sound. She held up a hand. “Did you hear something?”
They listened but could only hear the sound of the wind.
¦
Jenny crept away from the police station, her heart beating hard. She had entered the police station hoping for a word with Hamish. Elspeth had left the door open. Jenny heard the sound of voices coming from the office and decided to listen.
Here was a story! What if she could find out the truth herself and tell Pat? She looked at her watch. Nearly eleven o’ clock.
She had caved in and rented the Morris Minor from Iain after having beaten the price down. It was a sad rust bucket of a car, but it went all right. She went to it, got in, and drove in the direction of Braikie. The cast on her arm itched and was beginning to look dirty. Jenny decided to confront the Robertses, tell Pat what she had found out, and then go back with him in the morning. He could then see the Robertses himself and she would go to the hospital and ask them when the cast could be removed.
To her relief, when she parked outside the Roberts house, she saw a light burning in a downstairs window. They had not yet gone to bed.
Mary Roberts answered the door. “Oh, it’s you,” she said. “What on earth brings you calling at this time of night?”
“I’ve found out something important that may interest you.”
“Come in, then. But don’t stay long. We were just about to go to bed.”
“Where’s Penny?” asked Jenny as she was ushered into their living room and Cyril Roberts rose to meet her.
“It’s half-term. She’s gone to stay with my sister and her family in Lochinver,” said Mary. “So what brings you?”
Jenny sat down. Now she was here, she felt embarrassed and awkward. “I was thinking about that poison- pen letter that was found with Miss Beattie’s body. What if that letter had originally been meant for someone else? And someone didn’t want anyone to know their child was not their own?”
Mary Roberts looked puzzled. “But what’s that got to do with us?”
Jenny braced herself. “I thought Penny might not be your daughter.”
The Robertses exchanged glances and then burst out laughing. Mary said, “You think because we’re a right ugly pair that we couldn’t have had a beauty like Penny? Oh, don’t blush. We’ve heard that one before. Have you told anyone about this daft idea of yours?”
Jenny did not want to admit she had been eavesdropping in the police station. “I haven’t told anyone. It just came to me. You see, that reporter, Pat Mallone, and I are thinking of getting married and I wanted to give him a story. I hope you’re not offended.”
“Och, you’re young and the young can be silly. I’ll get you a cup of tea and then you can be on your way.” Mary stood up and went behind the sofa.
“I don’t really need anything,” said Jenny. Then a savage blow struck her on the back of her head and she lost consciousness.
“What did you do that for?” cried Cyril as Jenny’s body slumped across the sofa.
“She’s a chatterbox,” said Mary. “She’ll go chattering to that reporter. We can’t risk it.” She fished in Jenny’s pocket and drew out the car keys. “Go and drive that car of hers up in the hills and lose it. I’ll see to her.”
¦
Hamish was driving towards Braikie the following morning, wishing the case were closed, so that he could go fishing and enjoy this rare fake spring day. A warm wind was blowing in off the Gulf Stream and great white clouds scudded across a pale blue sky. He had almost reached the outskirts when a small figure hurtled in front of the police Land Rover and held up its arms.
Hamish swore and screeched to a halt and looked down at the excited features of Archie Brand.
He got down from the Land Rover and said severely, “I could have run you over. Don’t ever do that again.”
“But I saw something awfy weird last night.”
“What?”
“I sometimes sneak out at night and go for a walk. Don’t tell my ma.”
