He sipped his whisky, calling himself all kinds of fool, aware the whole time of that passport lurking at the bottom of the stove.
Angela came back in. “It’s very odd, Hamish. Didn’t you notice her clothes?”
“Not particularly.”
“They are very, very expensive. For example, there are a couple of Versace dresses and an Armani jacket.”
“Maybe her family are wealthy. I’ve a bad feeling about this. Why didn’t she take her clothes? Why did Mrs. Gentle who wanted to fire her suddenly decide to give her a wedding reception and pay her ten thousand pounds?”
“I don’t believe she’s gone,” said Angela. “No woman would leave behind clothes like that, not to mention ten thousand pounds. She’ll turn up.”
“I hope to God I never see her again,” said Hamish bitterly.
“Poor Hamish, you have no luck with women. It’s cold in here. I’ll light the stove for you.”
“No!” yelled Hamish.
Angela, who had half risen to her feet, looked at him in surprise. “I’m sorry,” said Hamish quickly. “It’s been a bad day.”
“I’ll leave you. Don’t get plastered. You’ll only wake up in the morning with a hangover.”
¦
Hamish awoke the next morning with a feeling of bleak emptiness. Never before in his life had he felt such a fool. If there was anything sinister about the disappearance of Ayesha, then he had compromised the investigation by lying about her and hiding that passport. But if the police ever got their hands on that passport and sent it away from the incompetent forensic department at Strathbane to Glasgow, say, some eagle-eyed boffin might recognise Peter’s handiwork. He had been allowed two weeks’ holiday for his honeymoon. Because of Ayesha turning out to be such a blackmailer, he had cancelled any idea of it.
Blackmailer!
Had the girl found out something about Mrs. Gentle and been blackmailing her?
Hamish decided to get out of Lochdubh for the day, away from sympathetic callers. He loaded up the Land Rover with his fishing tackle along with his dog and cat and set off for the River Anstey. He didn’t have a fishing permit but knew that the water bailiff was lazy; he was sure he wouldn’t be discovered.
He returned in the evening with eight trout to find Jimmy Anderson pacing up and down outside the police station.
“Where have you been?” howled Jimmy. “It’s a murder hunt!”
¦
In the kitchen, Jimmy explained what had happened. Mr. Tahir had been located in Turkey, and yes, he had a daughter called Ayesha. But his Ayesha was married and living right there in Izmir. And she
This was her story. A few years before, the Tahir family had been dining at Istanbul’s Pera Palace Hotel. Ayesha had completed her studies at Istanbul and had just received her visa to go to London for her PhD. She had been celebrating with her family. At the next table was a party of thuggish-looking Russians, along with the girl from Hamish’s photograph. The Tahirs had been sure that these Russians were mafia, and they were sorry for the girl who, said Ayesha, was being treated like dirt. They thought she was a Natasha, the slang name for a Russian or Eastern European prostitute.
When the Tahirs returned to Izmir, Ayesha realised that her passport was not in her handbag. She thought it must have fallen out somewhere, but while applying for a new one and facing up to all the formalities of getting the visa again, she had fallen in love with a local man and decided to get married instead of furthering her education. So she put the passport right out of her mind.
The police now believed that the fake Ayesha had stolen the passport and run away from whoever was keeping her. Because of the Tahirs’ conviction that the men with her back then had looked like Russian mafia and had been talking in Russian, and because she had now left her clothes behind, it looked as if she might have been snatched – or murdered. Her photograph would appear in the local Turkish papers. Istanbul police had a copy and were checking at the Pera Palace Hotel to see if anyone knew anything about the missing girl.
“I think she was blackmailing Mrs. Gentle,” said Hamish.
“Why?”
“Mrs. Gentle gave her ten thousand pounds cash as a wedding present, she said. Now, one minute Ayesha’s sitting here weeping and telling me that Mrs. Gentle has given her notice, and the next minute she’s telling me that Mrs. Gentle is not only giving her money but hosting the reception.”
“Her passport?” asked Jimmy. “Did you find it?”
Hamish rose and took a bottle of whisky down from a cupboard. With his back to Jimmy, he said, “No.”
“You know,” said Jimmy, “I wouldnae mind a black coffee with my whisky.”
“The electric kettle’s broken,” said Hamish.
“You never used it. Light the stove. It’s cold in here.”
Hamish blushed. “Can’t. The chimney’s blocked. The sweep’s coming the morrow. Help yourself to whisky. I’ll chust put some o’ these trout out in the freezer. You’ll stay for dinner?”
“No, I’d best be getting back.”
Hamish went out to the shed where he kept the chest freezer. As soon as he had gone, Jimmy took the cleat and lifted the lid of the stove. He felt inside. His hand touched something. He lifted it out. Ayesha’s passport. “Oh, Hamish,” he muttered. “What have you done?”
Hamish came back and stiffened when he saw the passport lying on the table.
“Sit down, laddie,” said Jimmy grimly, “and spit it out. No lies this time.”
Suddenly weary and ashamed, Hamish sat down at the table and began to tell his story, leaving nothing out.
“You see,” he said finally, “they’ll examine that visa and check with the authorities. They’ll realise it’s a forgery and start looking around for highland forgers. They’ll get to Peter, and he’ll sing like a canary to shorten his prison sentence. Not only will my police station go, but my job as well.”
“But why, Hamish? Why did you do it?”
“It was a quixotic gesture. She was so beautiful that all I could think about besides saving my home and animals was letting folk know I wasn’t a failure in love. What a mess. I suppose you’d better do your duty.”
Jimmy took a gulp of whisky.
Then he rose and took the passport. He lifted the lid of the stove and dropped it in. He picked up a packet of firelighters, extracted one, ignited it with his lighter, and dropped it in on top of the passport.
“Now we’re partners in crime.”
“Thanks, Jimmy. I don’t know how…”
“Forget it. Let’s suppose she had something on Ma Gentle. So Gentle kills the girl. What does she do with the body? Ayesha, or whoever she is, is a great big girl. Mrs. Gentle is a wee old woman. Say she hit her hard. With the reception and the house full of people, it would need to be down in the cellar or in one of the upper rooms. Look, I’m off-duty tomorrow. Put me up for the night and we’ll go over, all innocent like, and ask if we can see her room. Mrs. Gentle can hardly refuse. If she follows us around and looks nervous, say, we might get an idea she’s guilty of something.”
¦
Mrs. Gentle opened the door to them the next morning, looking flustered. “What is it? You can’t come in. I’ve got some women from Braikie clearing up the mess.”
“We’ve found out that Ayesha had stolen someone’s identity,” said Jimmy. “We would just like to look in her room to see if we can find any clues to who she really is.”
“Oh, very well. Follow me.” The sounds of energetic cleaning met their ears. “I’ll be glad when the house is clean again. I spent all day yesterday recruiting women to do the job.” Mrs. Gentle walked up the stairs ahead of them, her back erect. A faint smell of lavender perfume drifted back to them.
Mrs. Gentle pushed open a door at the top of the house. “This was her room,” she said.
“Was?” repeated Hamish. “Do you think she’s dead?”
