“We know,” said Fiona. “We’ve just heard the news from the hospital.”
“P. C. Hamish Macbeth went down to the hospital in the helicopter with her. She said something to him afore she died. She said, “Someone caught my ankle and pulled me over.” So we’re looking at a case of murder!”
¦
“We’d better talk about this,” said Hamish as he left Raigmore Hospital in Inverness with Sheila. “Let’s have a quick meal before we go back.”
They took a taxi to a small restaurant in the centre of Inverness which was self-service. When they had collected their food and found a table, Hamish asked, “Who wanted her dead?”
“Everyone,” said Sheila. Her eyes filled with tears. “It was such a dreadful day yesterday.” She slowly began to tell him everything that had happened. “Fiona said she had a good mind to tell you about her suspicions that Penelope was on uppers so you could arrest her.”
“I probably wouldn’t have, not having arrested Fiona herself for smoking pot,” said Hamish. “I sometimes wonder why they have laws banning soft drugs when we’re supposed to turn a blind eye to them. Look at New York. They started this zero tolerance business, clearing up all the lesser crimes like mugging and graffiti, and it’s been a big success. They feel if they began at the bottom and started clearing up the soft drugs, the harder ones might become less common. A businessman can be in bad trouble if he’s been drinking and he’s only a little over the limit, but anyone can smoke themselves silly with pot. But, my God, mention arresting anyone for smoking pot, and you’ll have every liberal in the country down on your neck. Arrest a man for having drunk a little bit over the limit, and it’s ‘Well done. Officer.”
“So she threatened, or so you heard, to get rid of you, Fiona and Gervase. What had Harry Frame to say about that?”
“We don’t know,” said Sheila. “He just said he didn’t want to talk about it.”
“So as far as Fiona and the rest of you were concerned, he may have been thinking of sacking you?”
“Yes…well, no. He couldn’t have got rid of three people.” Her eyes again filled with tears. “I think I’ll hear that scream of Penelope’s as she went over until the day I die.”
“And Patricia? She believed that silly explanation about the nude scene?”
“Oh, yes, she was all soothed down and happy when she left.”
“The trouble is,” said Hamish, “in the Highlands everything gets out sooner or later. You say something to someone in private, and before you know it, the whole village has heard about it the next day.”
She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and tried to smile. “In that case, murders should be easy to solve.”
“That’s a different thing. When there’s a murder, everyone feels guilty and clams up. It’s odd, but all the innocent people start getting shifty about where they were and what they were doing.”
Sheila turned a trifle pale. “I must be the number one suspect. I could have pushed her over and then pretended she fell.”
“But Penelope herself said someone caught hold of her ankle and pulled her over. Someone must have been lurking around in the mist, waiting for an opportunity. Where was Fiona?”
“She was with Giles Brown, the director, and then she disappeared in the mist for a bit.”
“At least Gervase wasn’t about.”
“But he was,” said Sheila.
“Why?”
“Because the chief inspector is the murderer.”
“How do they work that out?”
“He’s obsessed with Lady Harriet and murders her butler so that he can get her up from England to investigate.”
“But he gets into bed with her.”
“Well, she’s supposed to seduce him to find out what he knows.”
“And where does the rising tide come in?”
“The butler’s body is found on the beach, and Lady Harriet judges the time of death from the high tide mark.”
“I believe Patricia’s book got quite good reviews.”
“When you read it, it’s all convoluted and sounds convincing, although her style is a bit wordy and precious for me. What does ‘pathic’ mean?”
“Don’t know. Give me a sentence.”
“‘She gave him a pathic smile.’ I looked it up. It said victim, catamite, passive. Could mean she smiled like a victim or gave a passive smile. Can’t be a catamite smile, surely? I agree with Orwell: if you have to look up words in the dictionary, don’t use them.”
“Maybe Patricia didn’t have to look it up in the dictionary.”
“Maybe. What happens now?”
“I drive you back to Drim, where the police will interrogate you. The press tonight will be followed tomorrow by the world’s press: “Beautiful Actress Murdered.” Blair will be under intense pressure. Remember that and just answer calmly.”
“How do we get back? They’ll hardly fly us there in a helicopter.”
Hamish took out a mobile telephone. “Inverness police’ll get us back.”
¦
They were driven straight back to Drim Castle. Major Neal had the fire lit in the main hall because although the weather was warm outside, and still light because it was at the time of the year when it hardly ever got dark, the castle was cold and gloomy.
Jimmy Anderson came out to meet Hamish and Sheila. “Follow me,” he said to Sheila. “Mr. Blair wants a word with ye.”
Hamish would have liked to accompany her but was sure that Blair would order him away. He joined the party round the fire. Most of the television crew seemed to be there.
Harry Frame scowled at Hamish. Then he said, “I say we go on. We can’t let all this publicity go for nothing. We’ll raise money selling that last shot of Penelope to every television company from here to Moscow.”
“Aren’t the police hanging on to that?” asked Hamish.
“Got several copies,” said Harry. He turned to Fiona. “What about Mary Hoyle?”
“She’s a fine actress, but no tottie, nor will she shed her clothes.”
“I’m fed up with totties. I want a good, solid actress to pull us through this. You know her reputation. She’s got a photographic memory. Also, she’s not doing anything at the moment.”
“I’d settle for anyone who would keep their mouth shut and just work. But can we really go on?”
“Of course we go on,” said Harry. “With all this publicity, by the time it goes out, we’ll have a huge audience.”
The door of the castle opened and a woman police officer led Patricia in. She looked white and tired and had lost all her usual confidence. “Wait here until they’re ready for you,” ordered the policewoman.
Patricia sat down at the edge of the group, clutching her large handbag.
A silence fell. Patricia was a writer and not one of them. Hamish took his chair round and sat next to her.
“You’ll be asked where you were today,” he said.
“It’s difficult to prove,” said Patricia miserably. She started and dropped her handbag as Jenkins, the mattre d’ from the hotel, came in. “What’s he doing here?” she hissed.
Hamish rose and went forward.
“I don’t want you,” said Jenkins, arms as usual slightly akimbo, as if carrying an imaginary tray. “I want the man in charge. It’s important.”
Glad of an excuse to get into that interviewing room and rescue Sheila, Hamish nodded and left the hall. The interviewing was taking place in Fiona’s office. Blair stopped in midbark and glared at Hamish. “Whit dae ye want?”
“Jenkins, the maitre d’ from the Tommel Castle Hotel, is here. He says he has information for you.”
Blair’s eyes gleamed. “Send him in. I’ll talk more to you later, Miss Burford. Don’t leave.”
Hamish went out with Sheila. “Bad time?” he asked sympathetically.
