Strathbane, ordering policewomen to do his shopping for him. Not on, in these liberated days.”
“I had best go and get an official statement from that man who lent her the car,” said Hamish.
“Yes,” said Daviot absently. “This is all going to make us look a bunch of fools with the press.”
“In what way, sir?”
“Well, saying Josh Gates murdered Jamie Gallagher. Bad press, that.”
“But the murders are solved, and you’ve got them off your back.”
“True. You should consider a move to Strathbane, Hamish.” Hamish, not Macbeth. He was definitely in favour.
“No, sir. I am quite happy where I am. It was Jimmy Anderson who put me on to it.”
“Then why did he not do it himself?”
“He might be frightened he would get into trouble with Lovelace. If you will forgive me for speaking freely, sir, that man does not like initiative.”
“It will be good to have Blair back.”
A man who disliked initiative just as much as Lovelace, thought Hamish.
“We should not be sitting here,” said Daviot. “I’d best get the forensic team over here.”
“Why don’t you go ahead, sir,” said Hamish. “The door was open, but I see there’s a key on the counter there. I’ll lock up and wait outside for the forensic team.”
“Very well.”
Hamish followed him out and stood waiting until Daviot’s car had roared off into the distance. Then he went into the bedroom and carefully took the tweed suit off the bed and hung it back in the wardrobe.
Then he sat down to wait for the forensic team. He had plenty of time to reflect on his own stupidity. Patricia had initially got away with both murders through sheer luck. Different car or not, Ludlow could have come forward and told the police. But Hamish had not suspected her, something in Patricia’s loneliness of spirit striking a chord in his own. And he had been flattered when she had asked him to help her. She must have been very confident that, owing to the mist and the different car, no one would recognise her. But thanks to her rudeness to one tramp, which had made him remember her vividly, she had been recognised.
He stretched and yawned. Sergeant MacGregor was welcome to Cnothan. What a dump!
The forensic team arrived, and Hamish thankfully left. He went in to Cnothan and took a statement from Mr. Ludlow and then made his escape. As he drove down into Lochdubh, a shaft of sunlight was breaking through the grey clouds. Priscilla was coming home. The world was righting itself.
At the police station, he typed up his reports, took off his uniform and put on casual clothes and went out for a stroll.
Mrs. Wellington, the minister’s wife, bore down on him like a tweedy galleon under full sail. “Shocking news,” she boomed.
“Yes, I wouldnae have believed a lady like Miss Martyn-Broyd could have committed two murders,” said Hamish.
She looked at him in amazement. “What are you talking about?”
“Miss Martyn-Broyd has confessed to the murders of Jamie Gallagher and Penelope Gates.”
“Impossible!”
“I am afraid it’s true. What are you talking about?”
“Oh, that.” The minister’s wife pulled herself together with an effort. “We have just heard from poor Mr. Jessop over at Drim. He’s in such a taking. His wife has left him! He phoned to say she had left while he was actually over here visiting us.”
“Neffer!”
“Yes, just gone and taken all her stuff. They were such a devoted couple.”
“I got the impression he bullied that poor woman.”
“Nonsense. I tell you what he thinks happened. It’s this television business. It’s driven all the women in Drim mad. They all think they were meant to be film stars. Mr. Jessop sees nothing but ruin for his poor wife. He says she’ll end on the streets.”
“Oh, I shouldn’t think so. She wouldn’t make any money.”
“And that’s just the sort of nasty callous thing I would expect from you. You haven’t been to church in ages. That’s what’s up with you, Hamish Macbeth.”
“Maybe next Sunday,” said Hamish, sliding around her bulk.
He thought of treating himself to dinner at the Napoli, then remembered that he had a date there with Sheila for the following evening. He bought himself some cold ham from Patel’s and went back to his garden and pulled and cleaned a lettuce to make a salad to go with it.
He had an interrupted meal. The news of Patricia’s arrest had spread like wildfire, and locals kept coming to the kitchen door to ask for details. At last he settled down in front of the television. There was a good play on BBC I, so when he heard someone rapping at the kitchen door again, he debated whether to pretend he wasn’t at home. But the knocking grew more insistent. With a sigh he got up and opened the door.
Jimmy Anderson stood there. “Gimme a whisky, for God’s sake, man. She isnae fit tae stand trial.”
“Patricia? She’s acting again.” Hamish led him in and took the bottle of whisky out of the kitchen cupboard.
“If she’s acting, it’s too good for anyone to break.”
They went into the living room. Hamish lit the fire. “The nights are drawing in at last,” he said.
“I came anyway to thank you for giving me the credit,” said Jimmy. “What put you on to her?”
“She did,” said Hamish. “Would you believe it? She wanted me to clear her name and so I spent my spare time trying to find out where she was when Penelope was being murdered. And she was so confident I wouldn’t find out. I’m just glad it’s over. Blair’ll be happy.”
“Aye, he’s poncing about saying as how he was victimised by a madwoman and that he knew she did it all along. He seems to forget he was the one who insisted Josh Gates murdered Jamie Gallagher.”
“He aye had a convenient memory.”
“Daviot said he thought you’d cracked Patricia by suggesting she would be world famous.”
“It was a gamble, but it paid off. I’d nearly forgotten about her monumental vanity.”
“So we settle back down to a peaceful life, you with your sheep and hens and me with the muggings and stabbings in Strathbane.” He raised his glass. “Here’s tae murder.”
“No, no, man, here’s to peace and quiet.”
“Peace and quiet,” said Jimmy solemnly.
They both drank in silence, and then Hamish asked, “Do you think they’ll go ahead with filming the series after all this? There’s the relatives of the dead to remember.”
“I think after a certain time has elapsed, they’ll run it. They’ve surely sunk too much money in it already to abandon the whole thing.”
“I suppose so.”
“My lady friend wants to be a writer,” said Jimmy. “I told her to forget it. They’re all mad, that’s what I said. Got a girl, Hamish?”
“Maybe,” said Hamish, thinking of Sheila. “Maybe I have.”
¦
Down in her flat in Glasgow, Sheila and Eileen stared in amazement at the late night news on television. “It was that writer after all,” said Sheila.
“Hamish must be glad it’s all over,” said Eileen.
“Oh, the policeman? I think I was supposed to phone him or something, but with all this success about your film, I forget what it was. Oh, there’s something I forgot to tell you. Scottish Television wants to find out when they plan to screen the first episode of
“But will that work?” asked Eileen. “I mean, there’ll be such a lot of interest in Harry’s thing, with the murders. No one will watch my play.”
“They thought of that. They’re going to screen it in advance and get all the publicity they hope it will get and then run it again on the Sunday. We’re going to be big, Eileen. Right to the top!”
¦
