want promotion and all that. I didn’t believe it. Everyone is ambitious. But I can see what you mean now. My husband’s business is doing well, and there’s no need for me to work. I listen to Blair yapping, and I think, I don’t need this. No more being dragged out of bed in the middle of the night with a phone call. No more nasty remarks against women in the police force. No more horrible surprises dumped in my locker. I’ll see this case through, and then I’m off. I’d better get back to the scene and give this to the forensic boys. Have you an evidence bag?”
Hamish nodded. He went to the office and brought a large one back. Mary put the address book and notebook in the handbag, and Hamish sealed it up.
“Mrs. Gillespie is being buried at eleven o’clock today,” said Mary, getting to her feet. “I suggest you attend the funeral. It’s at St. Mary’s. See who turns up, and then I would like you to get into plain clothes and something to cover that red hair of yours and keep a watch on the professor. See what he does and where he goes. Leave it to the afternoon because he’ll be interviewed in the morning. Police and detectives will interview the other suspects. We’ll get onto this Creedy woman you mentioned in your notes and see if we can get her to confess she rigged the bingo. I managed to pick up a copy of your notes tonight before I left headquarters and read them on the road over. Get some sleep. I’ll tell Blair I sent you off somewhere.”
Hamish let her out and locked the door again behind her. If only someone like that had Blair’s job, he thought before taking himself off to bed.
? Death of a Maid ?
7
—Harry Braisted
Hamish thought that the day of the funeral for such as Mavis Gillespie should be black and ominous. But the sun shone and the birds twittered in the trees surrounding St. Mary’s. Heather, her daughter, was there with her father. That was the sum total of the mourners. There was not even one elderly soul of the kind who loved to attend funerals in the church.
Father McNulty did his best. Hamish, Heather, and Mr. Gillespie sang the hymns and listened dry-eyed to the service. Then they followed the coffin to the public cemetery, where the body was interred.
“That’s that,” said Heather. “Now we can get on with our lives. Come along, Dad.”
“A moment of your time,” said Hamish. “Are you sure neither of you have any idea who might have killed Mrs. Gillespie?”
“I can’t think of anyone,” said Heather. “I’ll need to get Dad home. He’s not well.”
Hamish went back to the police station, in front of which a mobile police unit had been set up. Television crews and reporters were everywhere. Avoiding questions, he went into the station and changed into a sweater and jeans and pulled a black wool cap over his hair.
Then, running the barrage of press questions again, he got into his Land Rover and headed to Angela Brodie’s home.
“What is it, Hamish?” she asked.
“I’ve two favours to ask. May I borrow your car? I’ve got to follow someone, and I can’t do it in a police vehicle.”
“All right. I’m not going anywhere today. That poor little girl! What an awful thing to happen. I’ve been interviewed five times since last night. The whole thing is so badly coordinated. What’s the other favour? Oh, I know. That dog and cat of yours.”
“You don’t need to take them in,” wheedled Hamish. “I’ve left food for them on the kitchen table, and all you need to do is feed them and let them out for a walk.”
“Hamish!”
“I know, I know. But when this case is over, you’ll never need to see them.”
“This is the last time.”
“Okay, Angela. I’m off.”
“Wait! You forgot my car keys.”
¦
Hamish parked Angela’s small Ford Escort at the end of the cul-de-sac where the professor had his house, and waited. He wondered whether the inspector really hoped he would find something out or whether she was smarter than Blair at getting him out of the case. And did she realise how hard it was to tail someone on usually empty highland roads?
The morning wore on. Hamish had packed a flask of coffee and a packet of chicken sandwiches and was just thinking about getting out an early lunch when the professor’s car backed out of his driveway.
Hamish waited until he had driven past, then eased out and followed him as far back as he could without losing sight of the professor.
Professor Sander parked in the main street and got out. Hamish parked between two other cars and watched. The professor went into the butchers and emerged holding a carrier bag. Then he went into the greengrocers. Hamish waited glumly while the professor did his shopping, going from shop to shop. When he stowed his groceries in his car and moved off, Hamish followed. Back to his home went the professor.
Hamish parked again at the edge of the cul-de-sac. He moodily drank coffee and munched sandwiches and waited.
It was a rare fine day with little wisps of cloud drifting across a pale blue sky. He began to feel sleepy. He hadn’t had much sleep the night before. His eyelids drooped. He let out a gentle snore. He drifted into a dream of chasing a black figure up and over the heather. He was just gaining on the anonymous figure when it turned around, revealing the face of Detective Chief Inspector Blair.
Hamish awoke with a jerk. Had he missed the professor? He climbed stiffly out of Angela’s small car and walked along the cul-de-sac. The professor’s car was not in the drive.
Hamish raced back to the car and drove into Braikie, scanning the parked cars as he went along. He drove out of Braikie. The professor’s car was a black BMW. He came to the crossroads where one road led to Strathbane and the other to Lochdubh. He took the Strathbane road.
He drove quickly, the twisting road in front of him so far empty of any other vehicle.
He topped the rise where a long, straight stretch of road led down from the hills and into Strathbane, and in the distance he saw a black car. He raced the car up to ninety, hoping it would stand the strain.
He put on the brakes just as the thirty-mile-an-hour speed restriction loomed up. He now recognised the BMW ahead.
He followed carefully, glad of the town’s increased traffic. The professor drove to the multi-storey car park in the centre. Hamish followed. The professor parked. Hamish parked a little way away and then, getting out, followed at a discreet distance.
He had a sinking feeling that Professor Sander had come to Strathbane for no other reason than more shopping.
They were on the fourth floor of the car park. The professor walked to the lift. Hamish took the stairs and waited outside the car park.
The professor emerged and Hamish followed. First the professor went to a large bookshop and spent a considerable amount of time inside. When he finally emerged carrying a plastic bag full of books, he headed straight back for the car park.
No, thought Hamish, I am not going to follow him all the way back to Braikie. What a waste of time! He suddenly wanted food, and good food at that.
He saw a small French restaurant and decided to eat there. Occasionally good restaurants would spring up in Strathbane, only to close down after a few months, defeated by the local population’s desire for nothing other than junk food.
He glanced at his watch. Seven in the evening. He pushed open the door and went in. The restaurant was divided into booths, separated from each other by wooden partitions topped with curtained brass rails.
