she hissed. “You got my man in trouble.”
“He got himself in trouble.” Hamish looked at her coolly. “He should ha’ been more careful with a policeman in the house. He knew I wass a policeman because he searched my suitcase.”
“Havers,” said Mrs Rogers, moving away. “Who told you that?”
“He did,” lied Hamish blandly.
She gave him a shifty look and backed towards the dining room door. “Oh, well, we have tae check up on folks.” She went inside the dining room and slammed the door.
Hamish grinned to himself. Only a tiny part of the mystery solved, but a satisfactory one.
PC Crick came in, saw Hamish and said, “I’m here to collect Mrs Harris and Mr Biggar. You’re tae come as well.”
“I’ll go ahead and see them at the station,” said Hamish, feeling squeamish at the thought of a journey with Doris and Andrew.
It was one of those still, grey days, reminding him of when he had first arrived in Skag. The sea was flat and a thin mist lay over everything.
He felt hungry but had not wanted to risk breakfast with Miss Gunnery, whose gaze on him appeared to be becoming more intense. When he arrived at the police station, Maggie was talking to Deacon in the entrance hall. “Ah, here’s Macbeth,” said Deacon. “Get us some coffees, Maggie.” A spark of malice glinted in Hamish’s hazel eyes. “Just the thing,” he said amiably, “and since I havenae had any breakfast, a few doughnuts would be welcome.”
“I do have police work to do,” said Maggie tartly.
“Hop to it, Constable,” snapped Deacon. “Come along, Macbeth.”
The detective, Johnny Clay, was already in the interviewing room.
“Sit ower there, Macbeth,” said Deacon, indicating a chair in the corner.
Hamish took off his peaked cap, put it under his chair, and drew out his notebook and a stub of pencil.
“What are the reports on Alice Brett?” he asked. “I was thinking about her. I mean, is she as hysterical as Dermott made her sound? He seemed to think she might kill herself if he asked for a divorce.”
“She’s here.”
“What? In Skag?”
“We brought her up for questioning. If you want a wee look at her, we’ll hae her in after we’ve spoken tae these two.”
The door opened. Maggie Donald put a tray with paper cups of coffee and a plate of jam doughnuts on the table. Hamish rose and helped himself, ignoring a fulminating glare from Maggie. He knew the fact that he was being allowed to sit in on the interviewing when he was only an ordinary police constable like herself had infuriated her more than being ordered to fetch doughnuts.
But when she had left, he couldn’t help asking mildly, “Doesn’t it ever get up Maggie’s nose, being treated like a skivvy? I mean, what about equal opportunities and no sex discrimination?”
“When that one stops trying to get favours by batting her eyelids and wiggling her bum, we’ll maybe take her a bit more seriously,” said Deacon. “And address me as ‘sir’, when you talk to me, Macbeth.”
“Yes, sir.”
The door opened again and Doris and Andrew were ushered in. Andrew’s face appeared strained and Doris looked even more buttoned down than ever, mouth tucked in at the corners, hair rigidly set, neat little blouse and straight skirt and low-heeled shoes.
“You cannot keep questioning and questioning us like this,” protested Andrew. “We’ve told you all we know.”
Clay switched on the tape. “Beginning interview with Mrs Doris Harris and Mr Andrew Biggar,” he intoned. “Nine-fifteen, July thirtieth. Interview by Detective Chief Inspector Deacon. Also present, Detective Sergeant Clay and Constable Hamish Macbeth.”
Andrew threw Hamish a look of reproach.
“Now,” began Deacon, “we would like to know why the pair of you omitted the fact that you both knew each other before you came up here.”
“But that’s not true,” wailed Doris.
“Stop lying,” snapped Deacon. “Look, we’ve gone easy on you, Mrs Harris, because of your being newly widowed and all. We have here a statement from a waiter who works in a Chinese restaurant in Evesham. He identified you from your photographs. Your fault, for being such a generous tipper, Mr Biggar. He remembered you all right. And the pair of you were seen there on two occasions. What have you to say about it?”
Doris began to cry quietly. Deacon glared at her impatiently. Andrew took Doris’s hand.
“We did not lie to you,” he said quietly. “The fact that we had met before had nothing to do with the murder investigation.”
“It seems to me it might have quite a lot to do with it,” said Deacon.
Clay leaned forward. “So you knew each other before. So you knew, Mr Biggar, that Mr and Mrs Harris were to be here on holiday and you came along as well. Why? To put it bluntly, you could hardly have expected any romantic interludes with her husband around.” His voice hardened. “Could it be that you came up with murder in mind?”
“I just wanted to be near her, that’s all,” mumbled Andrew, looking the picture of gentlemanly embarrassment.
“We’ll start again,” said Deacon. “Were you having an affair?”
“No,” said Doris. “Never!”
Deacon gave them both a look of patent disbelief but he said in a milder tone to Andrew, “How did you first meet?”
“I was judging a dog show,” said Andrew. “Afterwards I went to the refreshment tent to get a beer. When I started to leave, it was coming down in buckets. Doris was standing at the entrance to the tent. She didn’t have a coat. She said something about having to wait or she would get soaked trying to reach the car park. My judging was over, so I suggested we have another drink and see if the rain eased off. We began to talk. I found her very easy to talk to.”
“Have you ever been married, Mr Biggar?” Hamish’s quiet Highland lilt came from the corner of the room.
“Yes, I was married over ten years ago. She left me when I was posted to Northern Ireland. She is married again. Her married name is Hester Glad-Jones. She now lives in Cambridge. She will testify that I was never violent or abusive to her. I am not the sort to murder.”
“But you were a professional soldier until recently. You must have known how to kill men.”
“Yes, but not by hitting them on the head and pushing them in the water and leaving them to die.”
“So when did you first meet Mrs Harris?”
“I told you…at the dog show.”
“Yes, I know, but I want month and year.”
“It was two years ago, in August.”
“And you have been seeing each other ever since?”
“Yes, on and off. Just the occasional drink or meal. We enjoyed each other’s company. There seemed no harm in it. We did not fall in love until recently.”
“You seem a sensible man to me,” said Deacon. “Okay, I can understand you not wanting us to know that you and Mrs Harris had been seeing each other before you came up here. But for heaven’s sake, man, what did you think you were doing coming up to a seedy boarding-house to watch the woman you loved being bullied by her husband? What did you think when you heard him going on at her? It drove Macbeth over there to punch Harris on the nose, although he will insist it was self-defence.”
Andrew said evenly, “The reason I stayed was to try to persuade her to leave with me, just leave him.”
Deacon transferred his attention to Doris. “And why didn’t you?” he asked.
“I was afraid Bob would kill me.”
“But if you just went off with him, how could he find you?”
She shivered and hugged herself. “He would have found us. I just hadn’t the strength.”
Again the voice of Hamish Macbeth. “You live with your mother, Mr Biggar. Did she know about Mrs
