“What’s this got to do with anything?”
“Up on the cliffs, the other side o’ Braikie, I was up there last night. I like lying on the top of the cliffs and looking down at the waves. So I was lying in the heather when I hear this car. It drives offa the road and right to the edge o’ the cliff. Then this man gets out and he gets behind the car and gies it a God Almighty shove and it goes right o’er the cliff and down into the sea, just like in the movies. I hid right down in the heather until he had gone.”
“Get in,” said Hamish. “Show me where.” Archie clambered in beside Hamish. “What did this man look like?”
“Couldnae tell. It was right dark and I was feart. There wasnae any moon.”
What now? wondered Hamish grimly. He drove through Braikie and out and up on the cliff road until Archie shouted, “Right here!”
Hamish stopped and he and Archie got out. “tide’s out,” said Archie, tugging Hamish along by his sleeve. “We might see something.”
Hamish went to the edge and then lay down on his stomach and peered over. Large glassy waves were crashing on the rocks below and pouring over a shattered Morris Minor.
“Och, it didnae burst into flames,” said Archie’s disappointed voice at his ear. “In the fillums, they aye burst into flames.”
Hamish recognised Iain’s Morris Minor. He went to the Land Rover and radioed for help. Then he phoned Iain and asked him if he’d rented the car to Jenny. “Yes, I rented it to the lassie yesterday,” said Iain.
“You’d best get out here fast and identify it because it looks as if it’s your car that’s in the sea.”
Hamish gave him instructions and sat down to wait. “Will I have to say I was out here at midnight?” said Archie.
“I’m afraid so,” said Hamish. “You saw the man. You may remember something about him. Your mother will forgive you. It’s not a crime.”
“You don’t know my ma,” mumbled Archie miserably.
“Does she have a car?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, what’s your phone number? We’d better have her up here while they interview you.”
Hamish phoned Mrs. Brand, who said she would be with him as fast as she could.
It was as well she arrived the same time as Blair, or Hamish was sure the bad-tempered detective chief inspector would have tried to shake information out of the boy.
¦
It was a long morning. Policemen in climbing gear went down the cliff and reported that there was no body inside the car but that the driver’s window was open and that Jenny might have tried to swim to safety. Hamish was then sent back to Lochdubh to see if Jenny had been seen in the car.
Her landlady said her bed had not been slept in, Pat Mallone was nowhere to be found, and Hamish drew a blank right, left, and centre until he met the minister’s wife, Mrs. Wellington.
“I thought you would have been the last person to see her,” she boomed, fixing Hamish with a gimlet eye.
“Why’s that?”
“I saw her in the distance late last night. She was leaving the police station and she got straight into her car and drove off.”
Hamish stood staring down at her, deaf to Mrs. Wellington’s lecture about the seduction of innocent maids from London. Elspeth thought she had heard something. What if Jenny had been listening to their conversation? What if Jenny had decided to go and see the Robertses?
He should phone Blair. But Blair would go crashing around to the Roberts house and they would deny it and that would be that.
Hamish jumped into the Land Rover and sped off back in the direction of Braikie.
¦
Jenny recovered consciousness. She was bound and gagged. She felt terribly sick and was terrified of vomiting into the gag and choking. All around was blackness. Where was she?
Memory came flooding back. She had been talking to the Robertses and then she had received a blow on the head. She kicked out with her feet, which met a wooden door. She kicked again.
Cyril Roberts’s voice came from the other side, low and menacing. “I’ve a shotgun here. If you make a sound, I’ll blast you through the door.”
Jenny slumped back in terror.
Then she heard Mary Roberts’s voice. “We cannae keep her in that cupboard forever. When are you getting rid o’ her?”
“When it’s dark.”
“Why didnae ye just shove her over the cliff in her car?”
“I don’t know. I don’t want another killing.”
“Too late for that,” came Mary’s grim voice.
“Well, it was your idea to get rid of the car. You said you’d see to her.”
Their grumbling voices faded away.
Jenny began to pray. If only God would get her out of this, she vowed, she would go back to the safety of London, work hard at her job, and forget about men.
¦
Pat Mallone arrived at the office, late as usual. The phone on his desk was ringing. He picked up the receiver. “Jack Pelting here,” said a voice at the other end. “I’m the news editor of the
Pat’s heart beat hard with excitement. “Yes, I could,” he said eagerly. “In fact, if I leave now, I could put up somewhere in London overnight and be ready for an interview in the morning.”
“We’ll book you in at the Jessop Hotel near St. Katherine’s Dock. Know it?”
“I’ll find it.”
“Right. I’ll see you tomorrow at eleven in the morning.”
Pat thanked him and rang off. He punched the air. Sam came in and glared at him. “Get yourself over to Braikie. Jenny Ogilvie’s car has been found at the bottom of a cliff and she may have drowned.”
Pat hesitated for only a moment. Jenny could take care of herself if she was alive, and if she was dead, there was nothing he could do about it.
“Right,” he said cheerfully. “On my way.”
He went straight to his digs and packed up. He left a note for his landlady to say he would not be back, packed a suitcase, slung it in his car, and drove off whistling, taking the long road south.
? Death of a Poison Pen ?
10
—William Makepeace Thackeray
Hamish parked outside the Roberts house. What had seemed so clear-cut now began to seem like nonsense. They were a respectable couple who doted on their daughter. They were not serial killers. And how should he approach the subject? But concern for Jenny gnawed at him. He climbed down from the Land Rover, went up to the front door, squared his shoulders, and rang the bell.
Mary Roberts answered the door. “Oh, it’s you,” she said. “We were just going out.”
“Husband not working?”
“He had time owing, so he’s having a bit of a holiday.”
