“I wrote it in my diary. I’ve got it here.” He pulled a fat little leather-bound book out of his anorak pocket and thumbed the pages. “Here we are.”
“There you are.”
Hamish’s highland curiosity overcame him. “That’s all verra boring. Why do you bother to write it down?”
“It’s a sort of aide-memoire. The minute I see those brief notes, I can conjure up the whole day.”
“Have you been near The Folly up near Braikie?”
“No.”
“Can you be giving me your name and address?”
“I’ve got a card here.” Once more he ferreted in the capacious pockets of his anorak until he found a small card case. He extracted one and handed it to Hamish. “Why don’t you arrest Harold Jury?”
“What for?” asked Hamish quickly.
“Being the most arrogant man on the planet. What Miss Halburton-Smythe sees in him is beyond me.”
“Likes him, does she?”
“Well, they’ve always got their heads together.”
Hamish walked into the hotel in a thoroughly bad mood. He found Priscilla in a corner of the lounge, poring over a book, a small frown marring her smooth forehead.
“Studying?” asked Hamish.
“I’m studying
“But Angela was going to do that!”
“Harold decided she wasn’t tall enough.”
“I’m surprised you should bother.”
“The village is all excited about it. It’ll be good for the schoolchildren.”
“Fond of this Harold Jury, are you?”
“A very interesting and intelligent man.”
“Aw, come on!”
“Hamish, let’s face it, the conversation around here can get a bit tedious. There are only four subjects – sheep, fishing, the weather, and more sheep.”
“And murder,” snapped Hamish, turning and stalking off.
¦
Hamish decided to go back to the castle. He wanted to look in Irena’s room again. If she had been blackmailing someone and it had something to do with the family, she might have hidden something somewhere. It was a faint hope because he had checked the room thoroughly – and the forensic team would then have gone over it.
There were no press waiting outside the gate. He stopped and spoke to the policeman on guard. “Still busy up at the castle?”
“No, they’ve all gone back to Strathbane. The family’s still here.”
“What about the Russian?”
“Herself’s gone back to Lochdubh.”
Hamish drove on. No attempt had been made to put anything in the way of a garden in front of the castle. The locals must have been allowed to graze their sheep on the turf or – most likely – have just driven their sheep in when the castle was empty. The turf of what had once been a lawn was short and springy.
He was met in the hall by Andrew – short, hairy, and truculent Andrew – who glared at him. “What now?” he demanded.
“I’ll just be having a wee keek at Irena’s room again.”
Andrew stared at him for a long moment and then said, “You’re that copper she was going to marry, aren’t you?”
“That’s right.”
“Could you do with a drink?”
“A coffee would be fine.”
“Come into the kitchen. There’s still some in the pot.”
Wondering at this sudden friendliness, Hamish followed Andrew into the kitchen.
The kitchen was half modernised with gleaming fittings along one wall, but the old kitchen range still dominated the other, and the floor was stone-flagged and cold. In fact, the whole kitchen was cold.
Hamish asked for a black coffee. “Sit down at the table,” said Andrew. “This is a bad business.”
“I’m sure the police will soon decide they have questioned you enough,” said Hamish, “and then you can all leave. Will you sell this place?”
“I honestly can’t think anyone would want it. Why did you want to marry Irena?”
“She came to me in great distress. Mrs. Gentle had fired her. She was worried about her visa and what she would do when it ran out. I know it sounds silly now, but she was so upset that I decided to marry her. That way she could stay. I don’t want to distress you, but you must have heard by now that Mrs. Gentle, or someone who was helping her, may have killed Irena.”
“That’s ridiculous. Think of the difference in size alone. Irena was a great big strapping girl, and my mother was old and frail.”
“I don’t think she was exactly frail. Irena was killed by a sharp blow to the head. Given enough time and peace and quiet, your mother could well have dragged her over and tipped her into the trunk.”
“I still can’t believe it. Did Irena confide in you much?” asked Andrew.
“No. It stands to reason,” said Hamish. “I thought I was helping a Turkish girl called Ayesha, not a top-flight Russian hooker.”
“I’ll leave you to finish your coffee,” said Andrew abruptly, and rose and left the room.
Hamish stared after him. Now, there’s someone worried that Irena told me something the family don’t want me to know. He was suddenly hungry. There was a loaf of bread on the counter. He cut two slices, then opened the fridge, took out a packet of butter and one of ham, and made himself a couple of sandwiches. He poured another cup of coffee and sat down at the table.
He was interrupted by daughter Sarah. “What do you think you are doing?” she demanded.
“Mr. Andrew Gentle kindly offered me coffee and told me to take my time finishing it,” said Hamish blandly. “I brought my sandwiches with me,” he added, hoping that Sarah would not notice the loaf was now missing two slices.
She sat down suddenly next to him and ran her fingers through her hair. “This is awful.”
“It should be over soon.”
She clutched his arm. “You
“I simply meant you should be able to leave very soon. Do you think it possible that your mother could have killed Irena?”
“I confess I found my mother pretty cruel. But murder! No, it’s ridiculous. She liked power over people, you know. She often wondered out loud why Irena put up with it, and wondered whether she were an illegal alien. If only my mother hadn’t been murdered after Irena was killed, I might have thought Irena had done it.”
“At the family party, could Irena have possibly overheard anything that might lead her to blackmail your mother? I mean, why should Mrs. Gentle, after having treated her so badly, suddenly decide to give her a wedding reception and ten thousand pounds?”
“Nothing I can think of. There was a lot of friction because Mark was stirring things up, oiling to Mother and being poisonous to all of us behind her back.”
“He must be delighted that he benefits from the will and Mrs. Gentle didn’t have time to change it.”
“He should be the prime suspect, but it appears he has a cast-iron alibi.”
“Do you all have alibis?”
