“No, nothing like that.”
“Like blackmail?”
There was a silence. “It’s
Then Mr. Leek said slowly, “Who told you that?”
“Chust an educated guess,” said Hamish, beginning to feel a buzz of excitement.
“I wouldn’t want the poor woman to be bothered.”
“I’ll be discreet. But it is important, and you cannae be withholding information from the police.”
“Very well. Her name is Mrs. Annie Robinson. He had been having an affair with her, and she was one of our clients. She ended the affair and thought that was that. But he said if she didn’t pay him, he would go to her husband and tell him of the affair. She came straight to us. It was enough. We fired him.”
“Did her husband ever find out? Did Fergus get revenge on her?”
“No, he didn’t tell her husband. Her husband was a big powerful man. I told Mrs. Robinson that Fergus would not dare tell her husband, but she did not believe me, so she told him herself. He divorced her.”
“And where will I find this Mrs. Robinson?”
“I suppose I am obliged to tell you. She lives in Cromarty Road, number ten, Invergordon. It’s just near the station. She’s going to be so upset.”
“I think for Mrs. Robinson’s sake,” said Hamish cautiously, “that we should for the moment keep this blackmail matter between ourselves. I will only tell Strathbane if I think it’s relevant.”
The interview was over. Hamish shook hands with Mr. Leek and made his way out. The secretary was now dusting bookshelves. “Have you noticed something else about women of my generation?” she said. “We’ve aye got a duster or cloth in our hands. Wipe, wipe, wipe, like a nervous tic.”
“You could always change,” pointed out Hamish.
“What? At my age?”
He left her to her dusting and made his way back to the car park. Lugs eyed him sourly when he climbed in.
“Don’t look at me like that,” said Hamish severely. “You’ll get a walk after I’ve finished wi’ my business in Invergordon and not before.”
The Land Rover door had been open as he addressed Lugs. A child was standing outside. She then ran away shouting to her mother, “Mither, there’s a daft polisman talking to his dog.”
Hamish reddened and drove off, past where the child was now clutching her mother’s skirts.
He found the address in Invergordon, and once more leaving his sulky dog in the vehicle, he knocked at Annie Robinson’s door.
A middle-aged woman with one of those faded, pretty faces and no-colour hair opened the door to him. “Mrs. Robinson?”
“I read about his death in the newspapers,” she said, “and I was frightened you would come.”
“I don’t think it’s relevant to the case, Mrs. Robinson. I’m just trying to build up a picture of Fergus Macleod.”
“You’d best come in.”
The living room was small and dark and very clean. It had a sparse look about it, as if Mrs. Robinson could not afford much in the way of the comforts of life.
Hamish removed his cap and sat down.
“Now, then, Mrs. Robinson…”
“You can call me Annie, everyone does.”
“Right, Annie it is. I am Sergeant Hamish Macbeth. Tell me about the blackmailing business.”
“I’m not…I wasn’t…the sort of woman to have an affair,” she said. “It’s just I didn’t know much about men or marriage. My husband, Nigel, always seemed to be complaining. You know. The washing machine would break down, and he would blame me. Everything was always my fault. I know now that men are like that and that’s marriage, but I’d grown up on romances. They still pump romance into girls’ heads, you know. Nothing about the realities of life. Nothing about men still being aggressive and bullying and faultfinding. Nothing about little facts like when men get a cold, it’s flu, when women get a cold it’s nothing but a damn cold and what are you whining about? Nothing about being taken for granted. Nothing about the new age for women meaning you have to work and be a slave at home and a tart in the bedroom. Nothing like that.”
“We’re not all like that,” said Hamish defensively.
“Are you married?”
“No.”
“Well, there you are. Anyway, I was made redundant from my job. I worked in a dress shop which closed down. Nigel said until I got another one, I could make myself useful and sort out the accounts and take them to the accountants. I met Fergus. He flattered me and flirted with me. He suggested we meet for lunch to discuss the accounts. He encouraged me to complain about my husband and exclaimed in horror over Nigel’s treatment. One thing led to another, and we started to have an affair. But I grew tired of the secrecy and the shame. Also, Fergus had hinted that he would marry me, but after I started sleeping with him, he dropped the hints, and I knew he never would. I told him the affair was over. He said he would tell Nigel unless I paid him. I couldn’t believe it. I was frightened to death. I told his bosses. I had a letter he had written to me, a threatening letter demanding money. I showed that to them. They were very kind. They said my husband would never know, but I was sure Fergus would tell him. Mr. Leek said Fergus would never dare tell Nigel, but I thought Fergus might write to him. I watched the post every morning, dreading the arrival of that letter. It never came but I couldn’t stand the shame, the fright, the waiting, and so I told Nigel. He said he had always known I was a slut and started divorce proceedings. It was only after the divorce – I’d agreed not to contest it because he said if I did, he’d tell everyone about the affair, and that meant no settlement, no money. So I was on my own, trying to meet the bills, looking for another job. I should never have broken up my marriage.”
“Why?” asked Hamish. “It sounds to me like a horrible marriage.”
“Other women put up with it.” Her face was crumpled with self-pity.
Hamish’s treacherous Highland curiosity overcame him. Instead of sticking closely to the case, he asked, “But at the beginning of the marriage, the honeymoon period, why didn’t you stop his criticisms then? Why did you just let it go on, and why did you run after him, keeping down a job and doing the housework? Couldn’t you have asked him to help?”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. You ask men to help in the house, and they’ll leave you.”
Hamish was about to point out that she was the one who strayed, but he bit the remark back in time. “So what did you think when you heard about Fergus’s death?”
“I assumed he had been up to his old tricks, making some woman’s life a misery, and got what he deserved at last. But a dustman! I couldn’t believe he had sunk so low.”
“That’s what the drink does.”
“I don’t want everyone knowing about me and Fergus.”
“I’ll do what I can to keep it quiet. Do you know if he was blackmailing anyone else?”
She shook her head.
“Well, if you think of anything that might help, let me know. I’m at the Lochdubh police station.”
“Won’t you stay for some tea?”
“No, I have to be going.”
He had a feeling of escape when he walked outside.
She had had a hard time, and yet he had not liked her one bit.
He drove a little way and then stopped beside the Cromarty Firth and took Lugs for a walk. He turned the little he knew about the case over and over in his head. He would need to find out who did it quickly or hand those letters over to Strathbane.
He put Lugs in the Land Rover and drove the long way back to Lochdubh, feeling tired when he arrived and hoping for a quiet evening.
Clarry looked up from the kitchen table when he came in. His face was radiant.
“What’s happened to you?” asked Hamish. “Win the lottery?”
“Martha and I are getting married,” said Clarry happily.
