“May I come in?”
She looked reluctant. “I haven’t got round to cleaning up. Oh, well, just for a minute.”
Hamish followed her into the living room. Cyril Roberts rose to meet him, putting down the morning paper as he did so. “What brings you here, Officer?”
“Jenny Ogilvie’s gone missing and her car’s been found at the foot of the cliffs.”
“That’s terrible,” said Cyril. “Was the poor lassie drowned?”
“We’re still searching. The passenger window of the car was open and she might have escaped that way and the body taken out to sea. Have you seen her recently?”
Upstairs in her cupboard prison on the landing, Jenny heard the sound of voices. She tried to summon up courage to scream, but she was feeling weak and sick. And what if whoever was visiting the Robertses was in on the plot?
“No, we haven’t seen her since she was last here with you,” Cyril was saying. “Do you need any help in the search?”
“No, we have enough men on it. Where is Penny?”
“Half-term. She’s over at my sister’s in Lochinver,” Mary said.
“When Miss Beattie first came to Braikie, she did house cleaning. Did she clean for you?”
“Yes, she did, for a bit, and then she found they needed a postmistress and took the exams and got the job. She was lucky, although, mind you, no one in Braikie wanted the job and folks from Strathbane usually don’t want to live anywhere so remote.”
Hamish’s confidence in his theory was ebbing by the minute. They both seemed so relaxed.
“Did you hear a car round about midnight last night?”
“Not a sound,” said Mary.
Hamish gave up. “Well, if you hear anything, let me know.”
Mary Roberts showed him to the door.
Upstairs, Jenny slumped in the cupboard, weak tears running down her face.
¦
Hamish called at the villas next door and asked if they had heard a car around midnight. But no one seemed to have heard anything. Yes, said one, he might have heard a car, but he took no notice of cars passing on the road.
Hamish leant against the Land Rover and thought hard. Surely, the Robertses could not be guilty. It would be a mad risk to drive Jenny’s car off when any of the neighbours might just have been looking out of the window. But the neighbours were all elderly and could be guaranteed to go to bed early.
And yet he had a feeling that the murders had been committed by rank amateurs, and amateurs with an amazing amount of luck; amateurs who barely stopped to think what they were doing. And Jenny had last been seen hurrying away from the police station. If she had heard what he was discussing with Elspeth, then maybe she had decided to play detective herself.
¦
“What’s he doing?” hissed Cyril Roberts. Mary turned away from the window where she had been keeping watch. “He’s just standing there.”
“I don’t like it.”
“They’ve got no proof.”
“Och, why didnae ye just have the girl in the car when you pushed it over the cliff?”
“Stop saying that. You were the one who told me to get rid of the car. You were the one who said you would see to her.”
“He cannae stand there all day,” said Mary. “He’s been to the neighbours and thank God they don’t seem to have seen anything. We’d best get her out and kill her and that way there’ll be no danger of her making a noise in case Macbeth or anyone else calls.”
“Is there any way we can get out of this without killing her?”
“Don’t be daft. Are you going soft?”
“It’s getting like a nightmare. I can’t just go up there and kill her in cold blood. If I shoot her with the shotgun, the police will call in every registered shotgun in Braikie. I can’t thole the idea of bashing in her head in cold blood. You do it.”
“Might make too much of a noise. That call from the police will have alerted the neighbours to something. We’ll need to wait until dark. We’ll drive her up in the hills to that old quarry and throw her in. The sides are so steep, no one could get out of there.”
¦
Hamish’s mobile phone rang. It was Priscilla, phoning from London. “Hamish, what’s happened to Jenny? She has sent a sick note but I’d swear Jenny was never sick.”
Hamish told her briefly about Jenny’s car. “Oh, Hamish,” cried Priscilla. “What’s become of her?”
“I hope to find out before it’s too late,” said Hamish. “I’ll call you back as soon as I hear anything.”
¦
“He’s still there,” said Mary Roberts, “and we’ll need to go out.”
“Why?”
“I told him we were on our way out, and if we don’t go, he might get suspicious.”
¦
Hamish’s mobile rang again. It was Elspeth. “Hamish, Pat Mallone has done a bunk. He was supposed to go to Braikie, but he left a note for his landlady to say he wouldn’t be coming back, and all his stuff has gone. Do you think Jenny’s gone with him?”
“Let’s hope so. Have you got a note of his car registration number?”
“Yes, I got it out of the records.” She gave it to him. “What about the Robertses?”
“Cool as cucumbers. I’ll get back to you.”
Hamish phoned Jimmy Anderson and explianed about Pat Mallone and that Jenny might be with him. Then he said, “I’d better check if her stuff’s been packed up as well. But I still think it might be worth pulling Mallone in for questioning. Why should he run off today of all days?”
“I’ll get on to it,” said Jimmy.
Hamish phoned Jenny’s landlady and asked if her clothes were still in her room. “Aye, I’ve just been up there to clean,” said Mrs. Dunne. “Everything’s there.”
Hamish’s heart sank. For one wild moment, he had hoped Jenny had gone off with Pat and that they had shoved Iain’s car over the cliff out of mischief.
He turned round as the door of the villa opened and the Robertses came out. “Do you mind moving?” shouted Cyril. “You’re blocking the drive and I have to reverse out.”
Hamish moved the Land Rover and watched as the couple got into their car and drove off. He began to follow them.
¦
Pat Mallone was cruising along the A9, whistling to the radio. The tall Grampian mountains soared up on either side of the car. A golden future stretched out in front of him. He realised he was glad to be leaving the Highlands behind, glad to be returning to civilisation. He was just debating whether to go into Aviemore and have a late breakfast when he heard the sound of a police siren behind him. He slowed down to let the police car past, when to his horror, it swung in in front of him and a police hand flapped out of the window indicating that he should stop.
Pat stared at the speedometer as he stopped the car. He hadn’t been going over the limit.
He rolled down the window.
“Yes, Officer? Is it important?” he said to the policeman who was staring down at him.
“Are you Patrick Mallone?”
“Yes, but…”
“You are to accompany us back to Strathbane for questioning.”
“Why?”
“Miss Ogilvie has gone missing.”
“Well, that’s her problem,” said Pat furiously. “Look, I’ve got to get to London.”
