“Thanks, Hamish,” she said. “I’m so awfully sorry.”
“Just get up here. You can stay in the cell here.”
“I’ll be there by this evening.”
¦
Hamish drove up to the Tommel Castle Hotel. He sat for a moment in the car park, looking at the hotel and remembering simpler days when it was a private residence.
Then he got out of the Land Rover, entered the hotel, and went into Mr. Johnson’s office.
“Hullo, Hamish,” said the manager. “Help yourself to coffee. I wish you’d solve these murders. Bookings are a bit thin on the ground.”
Hamish poured himself a mug of black coffee and sat down wearily. “Tell me, Mr. Johnson, if someone wanted to hide a diving outfit – you know, diving suit and tanks and all that – is there anywhere in this hotel they could hide the stuff?”
“Let me see. It’d need to be someplace the maids don’t clean. They’re good girls and not lazy, so there are few places. There’s the storage room in the basement, but if someone wanted to leave anything there, they’d need to ask me for the key. We had a couple here last year who skipped out without paying. They’d run up a huge bill. They left their suitcases behind, and I put them in that storage room. I thought they’d turn out to be full of rocks, but there was some expensive clothes in there. I keep meaning to sort them out and give them to charity.”
“I’d like a look at the place.”
“I’ll give you the key. Just walk down the back stairs and you’ll find it.”
He opened the safe, saying over his shoulder, “I keep all the spare keys here. We used to have them up on a board, but in these evil days, we decided it was a bit too risky. Here you are.” He extracted a large key and gave it to Hamish.
Hamish thanked him and made his way down the back stairs. In the old days, he thought, the servants’ quarters would all be down here. He was wishing he’d asked Mr. Johnson which one was the door of the storage room. There were so many doors. He tried them one after another until he came to one that was locked.
He unlocked the door and swung it open. Maybe Betty had just taken the diving gear up to the moors and sunk the lot in a peat bog. But diving equipment was expensive. Yet how would she get the key to this storage room if it was locked in the safe?
There was a window letting in pale light, set high up on the wall. He edged his way through broken furniture, suitcases, and old steamer trunks until he was under the window. There was a steamer trunk under it. He climbed up on it. He put on gloves and pushed the window upwards. It opened. And it opened enough, he noticed, to let someone climb in and drop down into the room.
He turned and looked around. If he found anything, he needed witnesses. He took out his mobile and called Jimmy and spoke rapidly.
Hamish waited until he heard footsteps on the stairs coming down. Jimmy came in, followed by two detectives and a policeman.
“What have you got for us, Hamish?”
“I haven’t searched yet. I need witnesses in case I find anything.” He told Jimmy his theory about the diver and how Betty Barnard had taken a course in scuba diving.
Jimmy sighed. “Sounds like a complete flight o’ fancy to me, Hamish. But now we’re here, we may as well get on with it.” He turned round and said, “We’re looking for a diving suit and diving gear. It means opening up any cases or boxes. Get to it.”
Hamish went back to the window and looked round the room. She wouldn’t have carried the gear openly. Maybe she put it in a big strong garbage bag. If she met anyone, she could say she was looking for somewhere to dump extra rubbish. She would slide down from the window after throwing the stuff down first. She would pull the steamer trunk under the window so that she could climb out again.
He studied the dusty floor and then the pile of trunks nearest him. He took out a magnifying glass and began to study the trunks. He saw faint marks in the dust. He moved the top trunks until he got to a large leather-bound one at the bottom.
He lifted the lid. I really didn’t want to know, he thought sadly. Lying in the trunk was a rubber diving suit, with goggles and tanks.
“Here, Jimmy,” he said.
Jimmy came hurrying over. “I’d better get the forensic boys in here. Should be enough DNA on that mask.”
Hamish gingerly lifted an edge of the diving suit. “Leave it!” ordered Jimmy.
“Look at this,” said Hamish.
Under the suit was a notebook Hamish recognised. “That’s Hal’s notebook,” he said.
“Right. We’d better take her in for questioning. Good work, Hamish. How on earth did you think of it?”
“It was the heron,” said Hamish sadly.
“Are you sure you’re all right? You’re rambling.”
“Never mind.”
“Want to come up and make the arrest? It’s your collar.”
“No, that’s fine. I’m feeling a bit shaky. I’ll chust get back to the police station.”
¦
Hamish sat down at the table in his kitchen and stared into space. How could he have been so stupid?
He remembered the laughter and the sunny days. He remembered how Betty had looked after him when even Priscilla had cleared off and left him alone. He had even been thinking of marrying her. There had been no sign of wickedness in her. I think it’s the first time I’ve been well and truly fooled, he thought miserably, and all because I was starting to dream of getting married. Maybe we’re all dreamers and fantasists, like poor Effie.
The phone in the office rang shrill and loud. He went to answer it. It was Jimmy, his voice sharp with anger.
“She’s gone!”
“Whit?”
“Gone. And it’s all the fault of that gabby porter and even gabbier manager. Sammy, the porter, asks Johnson what the police are doing now. Johnson says Hamish Macbeth is down in the storage room looking for diving gear. “That should help with his poaching,” said Sammy, who considers himself no end of a wit. So when Betty Barnard walks into the hotel, he decided to try the joke out on her. Result: she’s gone. Left everything behind and scarpered. We’ve got roadblocks set up, and police are watching all the ports, railway stations, and airports.”
“I’m going to see Dora Fleming,” said Hamish. “I think that one knew more than she was telling us.”
“Okay. Get back to me.”
Hamish went out and walked along to Sea View. He turned in the doorway and saw that the cat and dog had followed him. “Stay there,” he ordered.
“What now?” asked Mrs. Dunne.
“I want to see Mrs. Fleming.”
“I telt her to pack her bags and get out. I won’t have drugs in this house.”
“Where did she go?”
“I don’t know. But I tell you this: No one in Lochdubh would have her. That artist came and helped her with her bags.”
Hamish ran back for the Land Rover, the dog and cat loping behind him. He put them in the police station and drove up to the Tommel Castle Hotel.
“Is Jock Fleming in?” he asked Mr. Johnson.
“No, he wanted his ex-wife to move in, but enough’s enough. I only gave him a free room because he was painting Priscilla’s portrait. I told him to find other accommodation.”
“Do you know where they went?”
“They wanted cheap accommodation, so I told them to try the caravan park over at Cnothan. Hamish, I’m right sorry about Sammy…”
But Hamish was already out the door.
¦
The caravan park was situated outside Cnothan. Hamish went to the office and asked if a Mr. and Mrs.
