“And was he blackmailing you?”
“Yes.”
“Did your husband know?”
“No, I was terrified of him finding out. He was manager of the main bank in Strathbane when I was charged. He felt ashamed of me. He moved us here. I got treatment, and I haven’t lapsed since. I knew my husband couldn’t bear Lochdubh knowing about my past. He would have moved again, and this time, I don’t think he would have taken me with him.”
“How much did Fergus want?”
“One thousand pounds. I told him I couldn’t get that much together without my husband finding out so he said he would take it in installments. I had paid him two hundred by the time he was murdered. Now it’s all for nothing. You’re here and there is nothing to stop the misery happening all over again.”
“What were you doing on the night of July twenty-second?”
“I was chairing the Mother’s Union at the church. Then I came home and watched a bit of television with my husband. Then we both went to bed. Will you be taking me to Strathbane?”
“As to that,” said Hamish, “I will try to keep this quiet, for the moment. But I want you to let me know if you hear anything, however small, that might relate to the case.”
She looked at him, her eyes suddenly full of hope. “Are you saying you might be able to keep this quiet?”
“I’ll do my best for a few days.”
“But if you don’t find the murderer, then this will all have to come out?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Then I will do my very best to find something out for you. Thank you.”
¦
Hamish, going towards Martha’s cottage, met Angela on her way home. “Did you tell the Currie sisters or Mrs. Wellington about the letters?” asked Hamish.
“No, and I don’t think Martha said anything either.”
“Angela, that wee scunner Fergus was using information he found in the garbage to blackmail a few people. I’ll need to let Strathbane know eventually. But if I can protect them for a few days, I will. I’ll speak to Martha. Get her to say she just found them when I tell her to.”
“That’s awful, Hamish. Fergus deserved to be murdered.”
“Nobody deserves to be murdered.”
“He did,” said Angela firmly.
Hamish was turning away when he turned back and asked, “Can you think of any Helens in the village?”
“Helen? Let me see, there’s Helen Macgregor out on the Braikie side, there’s Helen Jensen, but she’s just a wee schoolgirl, there’s Helen Docherty…”
“Mrs. Docherty? Her name’s Helen?”
“Yes.”
“Right.” Hamish strode off and left Angela staring after him.
¦
Martha opened the door to him and invited him inside. The cottage had a polished and scrubbed look. “I only wanted them to take away Fergus’s things,” said Martha, “but they insisted on doing the housekeeping as well. Was there anything in those letters that Angela found?”
“That’s what I want to talk to you about. Have you looked at your husband’s bankbook?”
“No, not yet.”
“Did he leave a will?”
“He did. He left everything to me, such as it is.”
“Good. Right. Here’s the problem. It is my belief your husband was a blackmailer.”
“Oh, no!” Martha wailed.
“He was using letters he found in the rubbish. I’m keeping it quiet at the moment, Martha. It’s all right if I call you Martha?”
“Yes.”
“We’re Hamish and Martha unless we’re being official. Now let’s see that bankbook.”
“It’s in a drawer in the sideboard.” Martha went to the sideboard which was one of those awful cheap thirties pieces of furniture made of yellowish wood and badly carved. She jerked one of the doors open and produced a Bank of Scotland bankbook.
Hamish studied it. There was the payment of two hundred, probably from Mrs. McClellan, then there was another payment of five hundred pounds, and everything else was Fergus’s salary.
“I may ask you to pay back the money he extorted from people, Martha. But I can’t do anything until I find the murderer. You see, the thing is, if I take the letters to the police, a lot of innocent villagers might suffer, get their reputations ruined. I must ask you not to talk about this.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” gasped Martha. “Oh, the shame of it!” She suddenly turned a muddy colour. “But Hamish, what if one of them he was blackmailing killed him, and they think I’ve got the proof?”
“I’ve thought of that, believe me. Whoever did it will know your cottage has been searched from top to bottom. You were searched, weren’t you?”
She nodded dumbly.
“How they missed that bit in the bedroom floor is beyond me.”
“They weren’t looking for anything like that,” said Martha. “I mean, I showed them the will, the bankbook, but there was nothing else in that drawer, and they seemed satisfied with that. They were talking about some football match back in Strathbane and wondering if they could wrap things up and get back in time.”
Hamish reflected that people only read in their newspapers about murderers being caught by one hair or saliva on a cigarette and never heard about the ones where the investigating team wanted to get back in time for a football match and possibly missed something important. If Martha had killed her husband, whatever clues might have been left had been scrubbed away by the helpful ladies of Lochdubh.
“I’ll let you know how I get on,” he said. “But I can only keep this quiet for a few days.”
He was heading for the door when Martha asked, “How’s Clarry?”
“He’s fine.”
“Give him my regards.”
“Will do.” Hamish walked out. He had a sudden awful thought that a battered wife like Martha might have seen in Clarry the husband she had always wanted and had hammered her husband to death. He shook his head to clear it. He’d better interview the other suspects fast and trust to his instinct.
He walked down to Mrs. Docherty’s cottage and knocked on the door. Her husband, he remembered, worked at the fish counter in a supermarket in Strathbane. Mrs. Docherty opened the door. Her eyes dilated with fright, and then she masked it with fury. “This is police harassment.”
“You must have been expecting me to call for some time. How long was Fergus Macleod blackmailing you?”
She stood very still. Then she said wearily, “You’d better come in.”
She led the way into a tidy little living room. “I prayed he would have got rid of that letter. I knew the police had searched his cottage. When I didn’t hear anything, I thought I was safe. Will I be arrested?”
“Not yet,” said Hamish. “I’m trying to keep it quiet for a few days. But if I don’t find the murderer in that time, I’ll need to go to Strathbane. What happened?”
“I’m fifty-five.”
“I don’t see what…”
“Listen. Us women up in the Highlands don’t reach the menopause until fifty-seven. Sometimes the scientists say it’s the fresh fish and others say it’s the whisky. Anyway, I knew I hadn’t long. To be a real woman, that is. I was in Strathbane, shopping, and I decided to go to the bar of the Royal Hotel for a drink. That’s where I met Pat. You’re not taking notes.”
“Not yet,” said Hamish. “Just let’s hope it won’t be necessary.”
“Anyway, we got talking. I drank a bit too much. He made me laugh. Then he suggested I come back that evening to spend the night with him. Just like that. I said, why not? I didn’t really mean to keep that date. I mean, I knew I was a bit drunk and shouldn’t even be driving. When I got home, Roger phoned.”
