“I think you were about to say
“I promised not to tell,” said Archie miserably. “I gave my word and I’ll not break it.”
Hamish gave up. He knew there were several brothels in Strathbane. What worried him was that one might have sprung up on his patch. It wasn’t like the old days. Now women from Eastern European countries were being forced into prostitution.
His mobile phone rang. He glanced down at the screen and recognised Blair’s home number. He was going to let it ring when he saw Blair standing outside the mobile police unit further down the waterfront. He realised it must be Blair’s wife who was calling him.
“Hamish?” Mary Blair’s voice came on the line. “I need to talk to you but I don’t want my old man to know about it. Can you come over?”
“I’ll do my best, Mary, but I don’t want your neighbours to see me and tell your husband. Meet me at Betty’s cafe in the main street. None of the police go there. Say in about an hour.”
“Grand. It’s important, Hamish.”
As it was Saturday, Hamish had hopes of finding the builder, Colin Framont, at home. He had torn down the old fishing cottage he had bought and replaced it with a bungalow with a fake Georgian portico made of wood at the front. Hamish thought it was lucky that Colin’s monstrosity of a house was up at the back of the village instead of spoiling the front.
Colin answered the door. He was a heavy, thickset man with grizzled hair, a beer paunch, and watery brown eyes.
“Whit?” he demanded curtly.
“It’s about Catriona Beldame,” said Hamish.
Colin’s faded-looking wife, Tilly, joined him on the doorstep. “Oh, Mr. Macbeth,” she said. “Would you like some tea?”
“No, he wouldnae like tea,” snarled Colin. “Get back in the kitchen.”
When his wife had scurried off, Colin said defiantly, “I only went tae her the once for indigestion pills.”
“There seems to be a fair amount of indigestion in Lochdubh,” said Hamish cynically. “Can you tell me what she said?”
“She gave me some tea and I went off.”
And with that, Colin slammed the door in Hamish’s face.
Hamish rang the bell again. No reply.
He banged on the door, which was swung open by a furious Colin.
“I’ve got naethin’ mair to say to ye!” he howled.
“Look, we can either do things here or at the station,” said Hamish. “Take your pick.”
To his surprise, me builder said, “The station’ll be fine.”
As they walked towards the police station, Colin said, “I know what you want to ask but you cannae be asking things like that in front of the wife.”
In the station Hamish served him tea in the kitchen and got down to business. “So what really happened?”
“It was around the men in the village that the witch could gie ye something tae make ye mair sexy to the wife, but the itch got so bad I went tae Dr. Brodie and he told me it was dangerous stuff. I went up there to have it out with her but there was no reply.”
“When exactly did you go up to her cottage?”
“The day before she was found. I swear tae God that’s the truth. You won’t be saying anything to the missus?”
“No, on my word. Have you heard any talk about a brothel?”
“No, but if you hear of one, let me know!”
¦
When Hamish entered the cafe in Strathbane, it was to find Mary Blair already waiting for him.
“So what’s the news?” asked Hamish.
“You know that woman that was murdered,” said Mary. “I think I met her.”
“Where? When?”
“I can’t remember exactly but it was about two years ago. There was this woman – I’m not giving you her name – and she was on the game. Would you believe it? She was a married woman and did it for a lark. Said her man was tight with money. She wasn’t on the streets like me. She had a wee flat that her husband didn’t know about. All high class. Advertised herself on the Internet. She liked to talk to us prossies – seemed to get a kick out of it. Well, one day she stops by me. She’d been crying and looked like a real mess. She said she was pregnant and since she hadn’t had sex with her husband in ages, he’d kill her if he found out.
So I said why didn’t she just go to the hospital and get an operation. Turns out her husband is a doctor and a member of the Rotary Club and the Freemasons and she said they all gossip and if she went for an abortion, it would get back to her husband. She said she’d heard of this woman who did abortions and she was going to her and she was right scared.
I was sorry for her and said I would go with her. Mind you, I tried to talk her out of it. Back-street abortions were dangerous, I said. Anyway, we went out to a wee house on the Drumlie Road. She wasn’t calling herself Catriona Beldame then. She was plain Mrs. McBride. The place was clean and nice and I hoped it would be all right. She took my lady off to the bedroom. When they came out, this Mrs. McBride said she would get her period like normal and abort and there would be no pain. I don’t know what that woman did to her but she was found on the street, dead, a week later. She’d bled to death.”
“You should have gone to the police, Mary.”
“Me, a prostitute, going to the police and saying a respectable doctor’s wife was on the game!”
“You could have written an anonymous letter.”
“And have forensics trace it back to me!”
“I doubt it,” said Hamish cynically.
“Anyway, I went back to that Mrs. McBride to tell her she was a murderer, but the place was closed up and she’d gone.”
“Still, you’ve given me a starting point,” said Hamish, “and you’ve also given me a motive for murder. What was the number of the house on Drumlie Road?”
“I can’t remember, but it was about halfway along and had a yellow privet hedge in front of it.”
After promising Mary that he would not reveal where he had got his latest information from, Hamish left and phoned Jimmy Anderson.
When he had finished speaking, Jimmy said, “I’ll meet you in the car park at police headquarters and we’ll go out to the Drumlie Road and see what we can find out.”
¦
They found the house with the yellow privet hedge in front. The door was answered by a small, neat-looking middle-aged man. He volunteered that he was a Mr. Southey and, yes, he had bought the house from Drummond’s, the estate agent. The previous owner had been a Mr. Tarrant.
“Not a Mrs. McBride?” asked Hamish.
“No,” said Mr. Southey. But he gathered that the house had been rented before he bought it.
Hamish and Jimmy got the address of Mr. Tarrant from the estate agent. Mr. Tarrant, said his wife who answered the door, was a solicitor and at his office. She gave them directions. Scottish advocates and solicitors are often, surprisingly, clever and charming, but Mr. James Tarrant was like a lawyer out of Central Casting. He was plump and pompous with slightly protruding brown eyes and a pursed little mouth. His voice was high-pitched and querulous.
“Yes, I rented the house to Mrs. McBride. Charming lady.”
“Do you still have the paperwork, her credentials and all that?” asked Jimmy.
He looked suddenly uncomfortable. “I got rid of it all when we arranged the house sale.”
Hamish’s eyes bored into him. “You didn’t ask, did you? She charmed you and paid cash.”
“She paid six months’ cash in advance and I was glad to rent it.”
“When did she tell you she was leaving?” asked Jimmy.
“Well…er…she didn’t. After the six months and there was no more rent, I called and found the place closed
