Fleming had booked a caravan, and he was directed to one over against the wall near the entrance.
He knocked at the door. Jock opened it and scowled. “What now?”
“Let me in,” said Hamish. “You’ve been withholding valuable information.”
Jock stood aside. Hamish removed his cap and walked past him. Dora was sitting at a table at the far end.
“Betty Barnard,” said Hamish, “killed Hal Addenfest, and so she killed Effie as well. I do not believe you pair divorced because Jock discovered that you, Dora, had been a prostitute. I think you found out that Jock had been having an affair with Betty. Maybe after the divorce, Jock, you went off Betty, but she was still in love with you. The hold she had on you was that she sold your paintings like no one else could sell them. But she was crazy about you. Crazy enough to kill, and I think you suspected it all along. You may as well tell me, because when she’s caught, it’ll all come out. She’s made a run for it. Where would she go?”
Jock hung his head. “I can’t think. Maybe Glasgow.”
“Betty wouldn’t go back there when she knows the police are looking for her.”
“Honestly I can’t think of anywhere else.”
“When that cocaine was found in Dora’s room, didn’t you suspect Betty?”
“I didn’t. Honest. I thought there was some madman on the loose.”
“You should have told me about Betty. It might just have stopped that American from being murdered. I’ll get back to you, Jock. Not only me but Jimmy Anderson will have a lot of questions to ask you.”
After Hamish had left them, he phoned Jimmy and told him where they were.
“Still not a sign of the Barnard woman,” said Jimmy. “That bleeding artist can get his paints out and draw us a picture of her.”
“No need,” said Hamish heavily, “I have a photo of her.”
“How did you get that?”
“We were friendly. We went out on a picnic once, and I took my camera. The film hasn’t been developed, but I’m heading back to Lochdubh. I’ll meet you at the police station and give it to you.”
¦
“Everyone’s on to digital cameras these days,” grumbled Jimmy. “This camera of yours should be put in a museum.”
“Don’t complain. There’s the film.”
“Why did we never think of Betty Barnard?”
“Because she seemed the only sane one of the lot of them,” said Hamish. “I thought the hotel was searched from top to bottom.”
“Not really their fault. They were concentrating on the rooms, not the basement. I’ll get off to Strathbane with this film. If I hurry, we can just make the morning edition of the newspapers with her photo.”
After he had gone, Hamish decided to visit Caro. He felt she had a right to know that her sister’s killer had been found.
Caro eyed him warily when she opened the door to him. “What now?”
“Can I come in? We’ve found who killed Effie.”
She looked at him with startled eyes and then turned away as he followed her in.
“Who is it?” she asked.
“Betty Barnard.”
“What? But she was up here the other day. She was going to be my agent, and I was very excited because she is so high-powered. How? Why?”
“The how is because she turned out to be a champion diver. She came out of the loch to attack the American. She killed him, so it stands to reason she killed Effie. I can only guess she was crazily in love with: Jock. When Effie said she was pregnant, Betty must have been so mad with jealousy that she believed her.”
“What did she say when you arrested her?”
“We haven’t got her. She’s on the run. But don’t worry. We’ll catch her.”
Caro sat down and looked up at the tall figure of the policeman. “So,” she said slowly, “she must have been as obsessed as poor Effie.”
“Though in her case, a fantasy turned into reality,” said Hamish. “Most people just dream of killing someone. She put it into action. What is it about Jock Fleming that drives women mad? He just seemed at first like a nice, easy-going fellow.”
“He exudes a strong sexual excitement and danger. I think some people carry around a sort of strong chemical in their make-up. I was drawn to him myself.”
“Will you go back south now?”
“I don’t know. Brighton is so noisy and crowded. It is so beautiful here.”
“Don’t leave Brighton yet,” said Hamish. “The winters here can be awful, long, and dark.”
“Do you get much snow?”
“Occasionally we get terrible blizzards, but we’re near the Gulf Stream, and that keeps us a bit milder than central Scotland. But it’s a lonely life up here on the moors.”
“I’m only a short drive from the village. If I stay, the first thing I’ll do is get that corrugated iron off the roof and replaced with tiles. When it rains, the noise just goes on and on.”
¦
When Hamish got back to the police station, it was to find Elspeth had arrived. Although he had locked up the station, Elspeth, like the locals, knew he kept a spare key in the gutter above the door.
“Right, Elspeth,” he said. “Get out your notebook, and I’ll tell you what I know.” Hamish experienced a sudden guilty pang. He had promised Matthew the story.
Elspeth wrote busily. Hamish broke off to say, “Remember, you got this information from the hotel staff. You can say we’re hunting for Betty Barnard, because her photo’s going out to the papers tonight. Chust say she’s wanted for questioning.”
“Why did she do it?”
“I don’t know if you can say this. Well, maybe you can say it’s local speculation that she was in love with Jock Fleming. It was well known in the village that Hal took notes. He may have seen something relating to the murder and told Betty. I think she romanced him when nobody was looking and then phoned him that night and arranged to meet him on the beach. She probably drove down to the far side of the loch and got into her diving gear in the shelter of the trees, dived into the loch, and swam across. He was so intent on staring up at the waterfront, waiting for her to arrive, that he didnae hear her coming.”
“I’ll say it’s thanks to your brilliant deduction that they found out it was her,” said Elspeth.
“No, give Jimmy Anderson the credit. He’s been marvellous to work for.”
“If you say so.”
“Go into the office. You can use my computer, type it out, and e·mail it across. I’ll make up the bed in the cell. I’d give you my bed, but” – he hesitated and then went on defiandy – “die dog and cat aye sleep wi’ me.”
“The cell is fine, Hamish.”
When Elspeth went off into the office, Hamish took the dog and cat out for a walk and then returned to get dinner ready. Archie had left six mackerel on the kitchen table. Hamish cooked one for Sonsie and then fried some liver for Lugs. He boiled potatoes, and when they were nearly ready, he took two of the mackerel, gutted them, dipped them in egg, rolled them in oatmeal, and fried them in the pan.
He then put a bowl of oatmeal on the table and a block of butter.
When Elspeth came back in, he asked, “All done?”
“Yes, finished and sent over.”
“Sit down and help yourself.”
Elspeth speared a fluffy potato, rolled it in the oatmeal, and ate it with a lump of butter before tackling the fish.
At the end of the meal, the phone in the office rang. Hamish went to answer it.
“Liddesdale here,” said the voice at the other end. “Remember me? I’m the editor of the
“Yes?”
“Elspeth Grant has filed a great story, but we’re nervous about using it before checking with you first.”
