“Oh, for heaven’s sake, man. What does it matter? You’ll be saying next, a wee woman like that could murder a man like Gilchrist.”
“I know it seems daft. But Mrs. Macbean went to Gilchrist and got all her teeth removed.”
“So do a lot of people. You’re barking up the wrong tree, Hamish. That murder was committed by brutal men and strong men at that.”
“Someone did it,” said Hamish. “And that someone’s wandering about loose and may kill again. What about Gilchrist’s finances?” asked Hamish, as if he did not know the answer. “Was he well-to-do?”
“No, he was in deep debt. So what are you suggesting? That he went over to The Scotsman and pinched the money?”
“I know it seems daft. But I can’t help feeling there’s a connection somewhere.”
“Don’t worry, Hamish. We’ll get there. Someone’s bound to talk, sooner or later.”
“The thing that worries me,” said Hamish, “is that by that time whoever did the murder could be long gone.”
He rang off.
The evening before he was to meet Mrs. Wellington stretched out before him. He defrosted a salmon steak and grilled it for his dinner. Why did Sarah not want to see him? He could swear she had enjoyed her night with him. Perhaps she was just one of those women who wanted to sleep with a policeman out of curiosity. He should phone Priscilla and tell her about why they had needed her computer, but was reluctant to do so. For one brief glorious night, Sarah had seemed like his passport away from memories of Priscilla and feeling bound to Priscilla.
The wind moaned along the loch. He went back to the office and looked down at the silent phone. He suddenly wanted to call Sarah and ask her what she was playing at.
Then he gave a little shrug. Perhaps tomorrow.
Perhaps he would ask her tomorrow.
¦
Mr. Johnson looked up as Sarah came into the hotel office. “What can I do for you, Miss Hudson?”
“I suppose the gift shop is closed.”
“Yes, it’s after hours. Was there anything you wanted in particular?”
“I wanted to buy one of those mohair travelling rugs.”
Mr. Johnson reached behind him and took a key down from a board on the wall. “I’m not very busy. I’ll take you over to the shop.”
“Oh, thank you,” said Sarah. “And then I would like to borrow one of the hotel cars. I think I have done enough walking for one holiday.”
“Certainly,” said Mr. Johnson. “First, let’s get that rug.”
Half an hour later, Angus Macdonald, the seer, heard the sound of a car engine and lumbered over to his cottage window.
Sarah Hudson was climbing out of a car, a mohair travelling rug over one arm.
The seer gave a satisfied little smile and went to open the door.
? Death of a Dentist ?
8
“Yes.” I answered you last night; “No,” this morning, sir, I say. Colours seen by candle-light Will not look the same by day.
—
Hamish drove out towards Braikie with Mrs. Wellington following in her Fiat. He hoped he was doing the right thing. If Kylie really had something important to tell him, she might not want to say anything in front of Mrs. Wellington. But he felt in his bones that Kylie had taken exception to his questions about her. Kylie was obviously used to thinking of herself as the glamour queen of Braikie, a sexy big fish in a very little pool. She did not know that her power came from her youth and when youth had gone, it would leave Kylie – like so many other Kylies he had known – a bitter and bad-tempered woman. He stopped at the end of the street where Kylie lived and Mrs. Wellington drew in behind him. He got out of the police Land Rover and walked back to the minister’s wife. “Why are we stopping here?” she asked.
“I don’t want her to get a look at you. Might scare her. Let me walk along first and follow me a few yards behind. Don’t let yourself be seen from the house. I’ll knock at the door. Then when I signal to you, you walk up quickly and go in first.”
“What is this? Are you expecting an armed ambush? It would be just like you to hide behind a woman. I’ve always said – ”
“Oh, shut up,” said Hamish crossly. “I am trying to help this wee lassie and you are the very person to do it. Like I said, I don’t want to frighten her off.”
“Very well,” said Mrs. Wellington, straightening another of her formidable felt hats. “But never again tell me to shut up, Hamish Macbeth. I don’t know what has happened to manners these days.”
Hamish sighed. “Now, now, I’m sorry. Come along.”
He walked in front of her past a silent row of villas, most of them divided up into flats.
He turned in at Kylie’s gate and flashed his torch at the name plates. Kylie Fraser was on the ground floor. He rang the bell. A buzzer went and he entered a hall. The door to Kylie’s flat was on the left. He knocked at it.
“Who is it?” came Kylie’s voice.
“Hamish Macbeth.”
“Just walk in. The door isn’t locked.”
Hamish darted to the street door and signalled frantically. The bulk of Mrs. Wellington appeared from around the shelter of a hedge. She hurried up the garden path and joined Hamish in the hall.
Hamish indicated Kylie’s door. “Go straight on in,” he whispered.
Mrs. Wellington squared her shoulders and opened the door and marched in.
Kylie and the minister’s wife stared at each other in horror.
Kylie was wearing nothing but a black lace teddy and scarlet high-heeled shoes.
Her mouth fell open.
“Who are you?” she screeched. “Where’s Hamish?”
“So this is what you’re up to,” said Mrs. Wellington belligerently, putting her large handbag down on a table. “Trying to seduce a policeman.”
“I never…”
Hamish appeared behind Mrs. Wellington and grinned at the sight of Kylie.
“So who’s hiding in here ready to rush out and cry
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Kylie, but her eyes flickered to a door at the other side of the room.
Hamish strode across the room and jerked that door open. Kylie’s friend, Tootsie, and two youths nearly fell into the room.
“Do you mean,” boomed Mrs. Wellington, “that this was meant to be some sort of entrapment?”
“I think Kylie was going to rip open the little she has on and scream and her witnesses would then swear I had attacked her,” said Hamish.
“If you knew this,” said Mrs. Wellington wrathfully, “then you should have brought in some backup.”
All these police series on television, thought Hamish, had everyone talking a sort of bastard police lingo.
“But as I am here,” said Mrs. Wellington, “I want you young people to sit down and listen to me. I am the minister’s wife and it is my Christian duty to bring the error of your ways to your attention. Sit down!”
They meekly sat down while she proceeded to lecture them on the lack of morals in the younger generation until Hamish interrupted her. “I think they get the message,” he said. “Now, Kylie, what was there between you and Gilchrist?”
“Nothing,” she said sulkily.
“And yet the very fact that I have been asking questions about you and Gilchrist is enough for you to try to
