gangs are joining up with the neo-Nazis to attack immigrants. That should be our first priority. Tell Anderson and the others that we can no longer spare any time on Hamish’s kidnap.”
“We’ve put a policeman on guard outside Macbeth’s station.”
“Call him off now!”
¦
Hamish was about to take a cup of tea out to PC Logan on guard outside when the man met him at the kitchen door.
“I’ve been called off,” he said. “They’re standing down the investigations.”
“Why?”
“Trouble with the gangs.”
After he had gone, Hamish sat down to think. But he could feel a migraine coming on, a result of the blow to his head. He quickly swallowed two migraine pills and went to lie down in his darkened bedroom.
He fell asleep at last and woke later, feeling better. His dog and cat now followed him everywhere. He turned his mind again to the problem as to why the investigation into his kidnapping had been abruptly ended. He left a message on Jimmy’s mobile phone, begging for information.
Jimmy phoned back an hour later. “I don’t know what happened, Hamish. One minute it was all systems go on your case, and the next we were being told to stand down. Blair knows something. All I could find out was that a letter to Daviot was delivered this morning. Blair was summoned, and after that everything to do with you stopped. I’ve looked for that letter but there’s not a sign of it, and no report has been written.”
“Whoever it was didn’t seem to want to kill me, just keep me prisoner,” said Hamish. “What would have happened if I’d been kept there several months, say?”
“If you’d ever got out of it, you’d have probably found they’d have closed up your station.”
“Blair!” said Hamish suddenly. “I bet he’s behind this.”
“Come on, Hamish. That’s going a bit too far.”
“Does Blair know any woman, sort of thickset?”
“Women run at the sight of Blair. The only people he knows are the prostitutes he used to nick when he was on the beat.”
“Like who?”
“I was leaving headquarters with him and he stopped to speak to one being brought in by Aileen Drummond.”
“Do me a favour and get her name and address.”
¦
Hamish drove down to Ruby’s flat in the docks. It was raining hard. He climbed up the stairs, wrinkling his nose at the smell. He hoped she had decided not to go out on her beat in such a filthy night. Maybe she didn’t have to. If Blair was behind this, he thought, then he would have had to pay her and pay her well.
He knocked on her door. A cautious voice from the other side asked, “Who is it?”
“Blair,” said Hamish.
The door swung open. Ruby let out a gasp as she recognised Hamish and tried to shut the door but he jammed his foot in it, wrenched it open, and forced her back into the room.
Ruby went and sat down on a sofa. She lit a cigarette with trembling fingers while Hamish locked the door and came to stand over her.
“How did you ken?” she asked.
Hamish pulled up a chair and sat opposite her. “Why did you let Blair put you up to this?” he asked.
“He asked me tae do it,” said Ruby. “You cannae refuse a polis.”
She crushed out the cigarette and began to cry. Hamish watched her heaving figure unsympathetically. He did not believe in tarts with hearts, and his recent experience with Irena had really soured him.
“I don’t want to go to p-prison,” wailed Ruby.
Hamish saw a box of paper tissues on the sideboard and took it over to her. “Pull yourself together,” he said.
Ruby gulped, shuddered, blew her nose, and wiped her eyes. “Can I have a wee dram afore you take me in?”
Hamish went back to the sideboard where there was a row of bottles. Blair must have been generous, he thought cynically, because Ruby can’t be making much on the streets these days.
Ruby asked for a rum and Coke. Hamish poured her a reasonable measure and took it back to her.
She gulped it down. He saw the fear in her eyes and felt a reluctant twinge of pity.
“How did you get into the life, Ruby?”
“I wisnae always like this,” said Ruby. “Ruby McFee is no’ my real name. I was born Mary Ashford and I was a nice child. This was down in Glesca. My dad died and my mother married again. When I was fourteen my stepdad took me round to his brother, Shuggie Leith, saying I had to stay with him for a bit. The brother raped me, his pals raped me, and then they put me on the streets. One o’ my punters fell for me, a nice wee man called Sandy McFee who worked on the Clyde ferries. I ran away with him and we lived in a wee flat in Gourock. We werenae married but I took his name. He called me his ruby and so I became known as Ruby McFee.
“I came back from the shopping one day and he was lying at the foot o’ the stairs leading up to our flat wi’ his throat cut. I didnae call the polis. I was that frightened. I thought they’d think it was me what done it and find out about the hooking.
“I packed up my stuff and came up here. I don’t know if Shuggie and his pals killed Sandy but I never wanted him to find me again. Somehow I just drifted back into the life again.”
Hamish sat staring at her. Here was his perfect opportunity to get his revenge on Blair. Blair as well as Ruby would go to prison. But Daviot, he knew, would blame
Ruby eyed him nervously, finished her drink, and mutely held out her glass for more. Hamish went to the sideboard and refilled it, his brain racing.
He handed her the glass and sat down and looked at her.
“How would you like to be a respectable married woman?” he asked.
“Stop making fun o’ me.”
“I’m serious.”
“That was always a dream I had when I was out in the streets, particularly in the winter.”
“Does Blair know your real name?”
“No. Why?”
“Were you ever charged under your real name?”
“No. When I was hooking in Glesca I was that young, somehow the polis never picked me up.”
“Here’s what I want you to do. I want you to write and sign a confession. Then I want you to go out tomorrow and get yourself some lady-like clothes and dye your hair a respectable brown. Then I want you to phone Blair and tell him he’s got to marry you or you’ll tell all. Don’t mention my name. I’ll keep your confession as security. You’ll tell him that you’ve written a confession and you’ve lodged it with a lawyer with instructions it’s to go straight to the police if anything should happen to you. Tell him about your real name and that no one will associate you with Ruby McFee.”
“He’ll kill me!”
“He can’t. He wouldn’t dare. You’ll never have to walk the streets again.”
? Death of a Gentle Lady ?
Epilogue
—Oscar Wilde
Christmas was over, the New Year’s celebrations were over, and a fine drizzle of snow was falling: tiny little flakes that spiralled upwards in the freezing air.
Hamish was coming back down to the station from the field at the back after giving his sheep their winter
