“Right, Maggie. Can I get you another drink?”
She shook her head. “I’ve had my limit. It’s a good thing I’m slimming. I haven’t had anything to eat. Off with you before any of the coppers come in and find me talking to you.”
Hamish left feeling pleased with his morning’s work. He realized he was hungry and should have eaten something in the pub. He waited until Maggie left and then went back in and ordered some tired-looking sandwiches and a glass of ginger beer. He returned to the boarding-house by way of the beach and met Miss Gunnery walking Towser.
“What’s happening?” he asked.
“You’re to report to the police station, Hamish,” she said wearily. Her hair was once more scraped back and the pale light from the grey sea and milky sky reflected on her gold-rimmed glasses and gave her a blind look. “They’ve been questioning and questioning. Me and the Bretts, Andrew and Doris, and the Rogerses. They even had a word with the children, especially Heather. That boatman is a menace. He told them all about Heather discussing ways to make murder look like an accident.”
“I’d best be off then.” Hamish stooped and patted Towser. “You’d best go home with Miss Gunnery like a good boy. I’ll get you some ham.” He waved to Miss Gunnery and set off back to Skag.
At the police station, he caught a glimpse of Maggie. She was carrying a tray of dirty teacups. He was ushered into the interview room again to face Deacon and Clay.
“So you and that Miss Gunnery were lying,” began Deacon.
With all his heart, Hamish cursed the fickle Maggie.
But he folded his arms and faced them in silence. “You should be mair careful who you tell secrets to,” jeered Clay.
“So why am I here alone?” demanded Hamish suddenly. “Surely you should haff pulled Miss Gunnery in as well.”
“Give us time,” said Deacon sourly. “So where were you, laddie?”
Hamish told them slowly and carefully how he had spent his day, ending up with an exasperated cry of “If I had murdered the man, I would haff left the body where it wass for somebody else to find.”
“Aye, maybe,” said Deacon surprisingly. “We’ve been doing a bit more checking up on you. Some detective over at Strathbane, Jimmy Anderson, phoned to say we shouldnae give you a hard time, for you’re a dab hand at solving cases and letting your superiors take the credit.”
Hamish said nothing.
“And it is our opinion, having also checked on Miss Gunnery and found out she is who she says, a schoolteacher who took early retirement and one with an unblemished reputation, that we’ll leave you where you are, Hamish Macbeth, because you could be very useful to us. Now, Maggie tells us that what worries you about the wife, Mrs Doris Harris, is that she told you she was on the other side of the beach, away from Skag, on the day of the murder, and yet you yourself saw her heading towards the village.”
“Yes,” said Hamish bleakly, thinking women were the devil in general and Maggie in particular.
“But we took statements from the Brett children, or rather from the eldest, Heather, and she says she wandered off from her parents and saw Doris in the distance, exactly where she said she was.”
“I’m not mistaken,” said Hamish firmly. “I definitely saw Doris on the road to Skag that morning. Why should Heather lie? Since Maggie’s been shooting off her mouth all round, I may as well tell you that Dermott Brett and June are not married.” He paused for a moment, remembering that he had not told Maggie about the Bretts. “There was a scene last year when Dermott’s wife turned up. June and the children went off somewhere, but the Misses Blane, who owned the boarding-house then, told him they would have nothing of that kind under their respectable roof. Now Dermott told me that he did not know the boarding-house was under new management, but the surviving Miss Blane told me today that he was well aware of the fact that they meant to sell up at the end of the summer.”
“We’d better question them all again,” said Deacon heavily. “You’ve been busy.”
“I’m there,” said Hamish simply. “What about those two, Cheryl and Tracey?”
“We’ve put the wind up them. Couple of young slags. They’re silly and dangerous when they’re on the booze but pretty harmless off it. Keep an eye on them.”
“You mean you want me to work with you?” asked Hamish.
“May as well. You’re a copper. But no withholding any evidence or having silly biddies who ought to know better say you were in bed with them. So let’s go over it from the beginning again, Macbeth, and tell us all you know about them.”
So Hamish told every detail, right from the search of his suitcase through the day of the murder and what he had found out that day.
Deacon studied him with shrewd eyes while Hamish spoke. He was an odd fellow, thought Deacon. His voice was less sibilant than when he had first come in but still had a pleasant Highland lilt. His hazel eyes betrayed nothing of what he was really thinking as he spoke. Actually Hamish was experiencing an uncomfortable feeling of betrayal. The unfortunate residents of the boarding-house had become his friends in such a short time. He pictured them all as he spoke: pleasant Andrew Biggar and vulnerable Doris, dependable Miss Gunnery and the Brett family, and he still thought of them as a family, even the dreadful Cheryl and Tracey. How happy they had all been when they went to the fair. Not for the first time, he felt queasy about his job. But, his thoughts ran on, as his voice delivered the report in calm, measured tones, he could not protect a murderer. That was the one thing that had carried him firmly through several nasty murder cases – taking of life was wrong. No one had the right to snuff out even such a repulsive character as Bob Harris.
“Well, we’ll pull in Dermott Brett for questioning first thing tomorrow,” said Deacon when Hamish had finished.
“What was the final result of the pathologist’s report?” asked Hamish.
“Stunned by a blow to the head from, possibly, a piece of driftwood, and then died from drowning. Given an element of surprise and a heavy piece of wood, any of them could have done it, but the one thing in Doris Harris’s favour is that the blow was struck by someone the same height as Harris, or so we guess, and Harris was five feet ten and Doris is about five feet two inches.”
Hamish looked at both detectives sadly. “The boatman was the last to see him, and then he was standing, but had Bob Harris been drinking a lot?”
“Like a fish,” said Deacon.
“After the boatman saw him, he might have been sitting down, with his legs over the edge. Anyone then could have struck him hard and toppled him over.”
“Good point,” said Deacon and Hamish felt like a rat. He had successfully put them all back in the frame.
“That’ll be all for now, Macbeth. Off wi’ you and let us know how you get on.”
Hamish wanted to protest he was on holiday, that he did not want to have anything more to do with it, but he was suddenly desperate to get out of the stuffy room and away from the tantalizing smell of Clay’s cigarettes.
He nodded to both of them and went out. Maggie was crossing the entrance hall. “Hamish,” she began.
“Leave me alone,” he snapped. He shouldered his way past her and went out.
The day was full of sun and wind and movement. White sand glittering with specks of mica danced crazily through the streets. The calm grey of the morning had gone. Seagulls wheeled and dipped and screamed overhead. Children’s voices were carried on the wind, along with snatches of music from the fairground. There were smells of frying fish and chips – that shop never seemed to close – smells of salt water and tar, and smells from the fairground of hot oil, candy-floss and onions and hot dogs.
He went to the Asian store and bought a packet of cold ham for Towser. Then he reluctantly made his way back along the beach through the blowing sand and wheeling gulls to the point where he cut off inland over the shingle and over the dunes to the boarding-house.
He looked at his watch. Time for tea. What dreadful menu had the Rogerses thought up? And why did they, the guests, not complain more about it? Americans, say, would not have put up with such food for a moment, no matter how cheap the price.
He fed Towser the ham and then went down to the dining room, blinking a little in surprise as he realized they were all there. Cheryl and Tracey were subdued and their eyes red with recent weeping. He felt sorry for them and then reminded himself sternly that they were ex-criminals.
