¦
Hamish awoke the next morning to the sound of a gale hammering at the building. He sniffed. There was a nasty smell of stale booze and sweat that even the many draughts in the police station couldn’t dispel. Then he remembered Jimmy was sleeping in the cell.
He got up, washed and dressed, and roused a protesting Jimmy. He put out a glass of water and a packet of Alka-Seltzer on the kitchen table – Jimmy’s usual breakfast. He went into the bathroom and ran a hot bath. Jimmy was sitting on the edge of the bed, groaning.
“I’ve run a bath for you,” said Hamish.
“I don’t want a bath.”
“Yes, you do. You stink. Get to it!”
Hamish retreated to the kitchen, where he made a pot of strong coffee. Jimmy eventually emerged. He dropped two Alka-Seltzer tablets into the glass of water and then drank it.
“I don’t need a hair of the dog,” he said. “I need the whole coat.”
The wild cat jumped on his lap and sent him tumbling backwards onto the floor.
“Now, isn’t that amazing,” said Hamish. “Sonsie likes you.” He helped Jimmy back into his chair.
“If that’s the result of liking, I’ll settle for loathing any day. I hope Elspeth can get something.”
¦
Elspeth was sitting in the Currie sisters’ parlour, drinking tea. “You should get that big loon to marry you,” said Nessie.
“Marry you,” muttered her sister, her eyes glued to the television set, watching a rerun of a Jerry Springer show.
Elspeth ignored that remark. “I’d be interested to learn anything at all you know about Ina Braid.”
“Well, there’s not much,” said Nessie. The Greek chorus that was her sister was now thankfully immersed in the TV programme. “Have a biscuit. I baked them yesterday.”
Elspeth dutifully bit into a buttery biscuit and waited. The wind yelled and shrieked along the waterfront as if all the demons of hell had been let loose.
Jessie wrinkled up her brow in thought. A downdraught blew peat smoke around the room but neither of the sisters seemed to notice. “There’s not much to tell,” said Nessie. “Decent body and her sponge cake was as light as light. Not much to look at if you’d seen her afore she died but she was right pretty once. My, what a grand tennis player she was. Champion. Won the cup at the local championships over at Braikie. They’ve had grand courts there but a building developer got his greedy hands on them and they’re now houses where the courts were. My, that Ellie Macpherson, her what runs the post office in Braikie, was as mad as mad. Until Ina turned up, Ellie had been reigning champion.”
“Did they see much of each other?”
“No. Ellie was always a one to bear grudges.”
“Did Ina always get on all right with her husband?”
“Model couple, that’s what they were.”
Elspeth persevered, but it seemed as if Ina had led a blameless life.
She decided to drive to Braikie and see Ellie. Elspeth left her photographer at the hotel. He was a tedious man, and she wanted as little of his company as possible.
But first, bending against the wind and carrying her laptop, she went into the
“Sure,” said Matthew, who had once worked alongside Elspeth in Glasgow before he had fallen in love with the local schoolteacher and decided to settle in the Highlands. “Got anything interesting?”
“Not yet. Just a colour piece. You know, the hills and heather and blah, blah.”
“Take that desk over there.”
Elspeth switched on her computer and began to work. Hamish is going to hate me for this, she thought as she typed: “Does a serial killer stalk the mountains and glens of the Highlands?”
When she had finished and was about to leave, Matthew said, “Look, you could do me a favour. I’ve been getting our Angus to do the horoscopes, but he’s down with the cold. Could you just bash out something? You used to do them when you worked here.”
“Oh, all right.”
Elspeth had an idea and began to type busily. For each star sign, she put in a veiled warning, slightly changed in each one. For Gemini, she wrote, “Your sins will find you out. You were seen and whoever saw you is soon going to talk. You will have a sharp pain in your side on Thursday. Do not overwork and curb your volatile nature and propensity to indulge in violent rages.”
The others were all variations on the same theme. She printed it off and handed it to Malcolm. He read it with his eyebrows raised. “I’d better put a name other than Angus’s at the top of this or someone might murder him, too. Suggest something?”
“Gypsy Rose?”
“Without the Lee? Okay.”
¦
When Elspeth went out onto the waterfront to walk to her car, leaning against the force of the wind, it looked as if the whole countryside were in motion. Whitecapped waves scudded along the loch, clouds streamed across the sky, hedges in gardens sent out a mournful bagpipe sound as the wind whistled through them, and gates swung and banged on their hinges.
She hoped her small Mini Cooper was low enough on the road not to get blown over.
Fortunately the tide was out so that she was able to drive along the shore road into Braikie. The bungalows that overlooked the road were now closed and falling into disrepair. They had been flooded so many times, the owners had been unable to sell them.
The whole coastline of Britain is being eaten away, thought Elspeth, and yet no one does anything about it.
She parked in the main street and went to the post office, which was closed for the half day. Elspeth remembered there was a flat above the post office. There was a door at the side with an intercom. She pressed the bell. A high fluting voice demanded, “Yees?”
“My name is Elspeth Grant. I’m from the
She struck a pose in the doorway and said, “I see you have come to consult the Oracle.”
“The Oracle?”
“I know everything about everybody.”
“Well, that’s good,” said Elspeth, following her in.
Incense was burning in the living room. A sofa and two armchairs were draped in violently coloured material, all red and yellow swirls. The carpet and walls were bright yellow. A bowl of yellow silk flowers stood on a round table by the window. Beside the bowl was a large crystal ball. A mobile of various crystal shapes hung from the ceiling. A bookshelf was crammed with books on astrology and the occult.
“Sherry?” offered Ellie.
“Yes, please. I didn’t think anyone drank sherry anymore.”
“My father, God rest his soul, always said that sherry was the only suitable drink for a lady.”
Ellie disappeared and returned with a tray with a decanter on it. But instead of sherry glasses, she poured the drink into two whisky tumblers.
“Slainte,” she said.
“Slainte,” echoed Elspeth. The sherry was heavy and sweet and had a faint chemical taste.
“Now sit down and tell me how I can help you.”
Elspeth sat down in one of the armchairs. Ellie put a little side table next to her covered with a lace doily.
“First question,” said Elspeth. “Did you ever meet Catriona Beldame?”
“Yes. I suppose you heard that.”
