“We had to let her go for the moment. That night, she says, she wanted to go down to the garden at the back for a bit of fresh air. She said if she’d gone out the front, the sound of all the locks being unlocked would have woken Mrs. Dunne. Mind you, I’ve sent some men to go through that room of hers again, looking for the least little thing. That sounds like Jock arriving now.”
The artist was brought in. He looked at them wearily. “What now?”
“Sit down,” barked Jimmy.
Jock slumped down in the chair in front of him.
“A used condom was found in the back garden at Sea View. We found your DNA on it. Now your ex-wife says that on the night Addenfest was murdered, she went out through the fire door and down into the back garden for a bit of air.”
“It’s all very simple,” said Jock. “She wanted to talk about more money. One thing led to another. We had a quickie up against the garden wall.”
A policeman who had just walked in interrupted them. “Sir,” he said to Jimmy, “sorry to interrupt, but this was found stitched into the hem of the curtains.” He held out a glassine envelope full of white powder. “I tested a bit. It’s cocaine.”
“Get Dora Fleming along here.”
Jimmy glared at Jock. “Do you know what I think? I think you wanted that notebook of Addenfest’s because you were frightened that there was something in there that would incriminate you. I think you miserable pair – you and your ex-wife – got high. I think one of you lured him to the beach, and you both killed him to cover up the murder of Effie Garrard.”
“This is rubbish,” blustered Jock.
“And why should you want sex with a wife you divorced?”
“She’s got certain interesting tricks.”
I am slipping, thought Hamish ruefully. I had thought he was such a nice ordinary man.
Dora was brought in. Jimmy waved the envelope of cocaine in front of her. “This was found sewn into the curtains of your room.”
“That’s naethin tae dae wi’ me!” she shrieked. “You lot must ha’ planted it there.”
“Enough of this,” said Jimmy. He turned to his waiting police officers. “Take them over to police headquarters. I’ll interview them separately.”
As they were led out, volubly protesting, Hamish said, “That’s odd.”
“I’m off,” said Jimmy. “What’s odd?”
“Dora Fleming shows no sign of being a drug user. Someone
“Why?”
“To muddy the waters.”
“Go back to Mrs. Fleming’s room and see if you can see anything that might have been missed.”
¦
Robin felt uneasily that as the superior officer she should be taking the initiative, not Hamish. But Daviot’s rejection had thrown her, and she was sure he would do everything in his power to block any promotion. She wished these murder cases would get solved quickly now so that she could put in for a transfer.
Mrs. Dunne was furious. She followed them up the stairs to Dora’s room protesting that she kept a decent house and somehow it was all Hamish’s fault. Hamish and Robin went into Doras room, and Hamish shut the door firmly in Mrs. Dunne’s angry face.
There was a sour smell in the room. “She doesn’t believe in washing much,” said Robin, wrinkling her nose, “and her dirty clothes are lying everywhere.”
“Let’s see these curtains,” said Hamish. He knelt down on the floor and studied the unpicked hem. The curtains were acid green and of a cheap synthetic material. They were short, and when he drew them closed, the light shone through them. “That’s how they saw the envelope of drugs,” he said. “They would look at the curtains and see it outlined against the light. And look. The stitches are very neat. I cannot imagine one such as Dora Fleming being a good needlewoman.”
“So you think the drugs were planted?”
“Maybe. Let’s have a good look around.”
They searched the room thoroughly but found nothing incriminating. “I tell you what,” said Hamish. “Do you mind if I leave you alone for a bit? I’ve a personal call to make.”
“And I’ve got someone to see in Strathbane,” said Robin. She had decided to confront Daviot and see if she could use a bit of emotional blackmail on him.
“Right. I’ll meet you back at the police unit at, say, three o’clock.”
¦
Hamish headed up to the hotel. He had a sudden longing to see Priscilla, to sit in her calm presence as he had done in the past and talk about the case.
He found her in the gift shop, selling a mohair sweater to a tourist. After she had finished, Hamish asked, “Any chance of a talk?”
“I’ll just close up the shop and tell Mr. Johnson if anyone wants anything to tell them to come back later. You look worried.”
She locked the shop door. “We’ll use the gun room.”
“I hope it’s kept securely locked,” said Hamish uneasily.
“It’s locked and burglar-alarmed.”
Hamish waited while Priscilla unlocked the gun room door and reset the alarm. They sat down in battered old leather chairs. A reflection of Priscilla’s face swam in the glass of one of the cabinets, and dust motes danced in the shafts of sunlight coming in through the windows.
Hamish began to talk, going over everything he had learned.
He wound up by saying, “I fear there is something far wrong with Jock Fleming. What sort of man sneaks out at night to have sex with his ex-wife up against a garden wall?”
“It’s a new one for you, Hamish. You see, I don’t think you’ve come across someone so completely amoral as Jock Fleming before. It is my opinion he would screw the cat.”
“Has he made a pass at you?”
“Not even a flicker. It’s my money he’s after. And there’s a point: You say drugs were found? Maybe Jock’s a drug addict.”
“I don’t believe it. Neither Jock nor Dora shows the slightest sign of drugs – unless you count alcohol as a drug. I think someone really did plant it there and someone very clever who knew that with the sun shining through those cheap curtains, the envelope would be spotted.”
“So either someone knew about the fire door or someone managed to get in during the day unseen. How could they do that?”
“Mrs. Dunne doesn’t lock the outside door during the day. It took a strong nerve to sneak in there and calmly sit sewing that envelope into the curtains. I’d better ask around again. Maybe someone saw someone going into Mrs. Dunne’s who doesn’t live there.”
“There’s something mad, calculating, and cunning about our murderer,” said Priscilla. “And somehow, though Jock may not be the murderer, it’s something to do with him. Unless, of course, Effie’s sister is right and she really did commit suicide and Hal’s wife knew about his will and decided to finish him off before he got married to whoever he was talking about.”
“That’s if there was another woman,” said Hamish. “He could just have been saying that out of malice.”
“And yet he went out in the middle of the night to meet someone.”
“Could be someone from his past, someone we don’t know about.”
“What about Betty Barnard?”
“Hard to imagine,” said Hamish stiffly. “Oh, well, I’d better get off and start questioning people. That means starting with the Currie sisters, since they’re next door to Sea View.”
¦
Hamish started by questioning Nessie Currie, mentally editing out the Greek chorus that was her sister.
“I saw no one going in there that shouldnae be going in there,” said Nessie. “There was just the folks that
