He said quietly that his father had been perfectly sane until the divorce, which had turned his mind. “And do you blame your mother for your father’s death?” asked Daviot.
Cold anger blazed momentarily in Paul’s eyes but he had himself well in check. “Of course not. I blame Jeffrey Trent. He took my mother away. He told her that if she married him I would have the best schools, the best of everything. It was all his fault.”
Daviot leaned forward. “And what did you think of Andrew Trent?”
“I couldn’t stand him,” said Paul. “Filthy old fool and his disgusting jokes.”
Daviot’s voice was cold and even. “Did you murder him?”
Paul snorted with contempt. “No. I was getting away. I had planned to leave in the morning with Melissa. We all hated him. I’m the only one who’s honest about it.”
Betty Trent was next. She looked shocked when asked to tell them her feelings towards her father. “Well, how odd of you. I mean, he was my father. I loved him. His jokes were very tiresome, I admit, and Angela and I would not have come to visit him had we not believed him to be dying. You are very insensitive, Superintendent. What a horrible question to ask a recently bereaved daughter! It is possible to love a parent without liking him, you know.”
They did not get much farther with Angela, although she was more forthright than Betty. She said she and Betty had dreaded coming to Arrat House because of the practical jokes. They had not lived with their father for over twenty years. When they were both in their early thirties, Andrew Trent had had a house in Perm but had moved north when Arrat House and the land came up for sale. Although not Scottish, he had always wanted to be the laird, said Angela. She and Betty had persuaded him to let them go to London and live there. Hamish Macbeth said quietly, “Neither you nor your sister ever married. Did your father have a hand in that?”
“I suppose he did in a way,” said Angela, “but if you think either of us killed him because of that, you’re mistaken. Oh, I know people say, “The poor Trent sisters, they were quite good-looking in their youth and could have got married had it not been for their father.” Sometimes I would like to believe that myself. He did play his awful tricks on any fellow we brought home. But the fact is,” she said, her voice becoming harsh, “no one ever loved either of us enough.”
There was a long silence in the room while Angela fought for composure. By God, Hamish Macbeth thought, if the auld scunner were alive this day, I would be tempted to kill him myself!
After Angela, Jeffrey Trent came as something of a relief. He was dry and brisk. No, he had not liked his brother much, but as he had had little to do with him, he had not entertained any strong feelings against him. At present, he felt quite fond of his late brother because of the inheritance. It had given him the freedom he craved.
“Both Paul and Mrs Trent say you took her away from her first husband, John Sinclair, thereby causing the man to have a mental breakdown,” said Hamish.
“Pah,” snorted Jeffrey. “She threw herself at me. And men like John Sinclair don’t turn raving mad because a stick insect like Jan has left them. They’ve been raving mad all along.”
Were they all as dreadful as they sounded, thought Hamish, or was the brooding presence of the two murders making them seem worse than they were?
He almost regretted having been called back from Lochdubh. He felt he could get a dearer perspective if he could get away from Arrat House and think. He glanced out of the windows of the library. The rain had stopped and a thin pale sunlight was filtering through the glass. Charles Trent and Priscilla were walking up and down outside, talking. He wondered what they were talking about.
¦
“I wish I could get away from here,” Charles was saying. He had accompanied Priscilla outside after she had said her goodbyes. Sunlight was sparkling on the slushy snow and the air held a hint of warmth. “It’s so far from everything. I never felt at home here and it wasn’t entirely because of Father and his dislike of me or his hellish jokes. Sutherland is a foreign country, a different race of people, a different way of thinking. Outside that overheated house, I was always aware of the vastness of moorland and mountain. I love the city, the lights, the theatres, the bars, the noise and bustle. Sometimes when you walk out into the country here at night, the silence is so complete it hurts your ears. The land is so old, so very old, thin earth on top of antique rock.” He shivered. “Why am I telling you all this?”
“Because I’m a stranger,” said Priscilla gently. “Because I’m not a murder suspect. Did you really love Titchy?”
He gave a rueful laugh. “If you had asked me that twenty-four hours ago, I would have said yes and meant it. That’s what’s so awful. She’s dead, murdered, gone for ever. I didn’t really know her at all. That detective, the foxy one, Anderson, he told me that she had been sentenced for killing her own father. Maybe I’m a shallow person. I take everyone at face value. She was blonde and beautiful and everyone envied me, or I thought they did. We were always in the newspapers and I liked that. I don’t think about anything very deeply when I’m in the city, but up here…well, there’s nothing to hide behind, no trappings of civilization. Then who would murder Titchy? Not one of us, surely. They keep hinting that I hated my father. They can’t seem to understand that I didn’t have any strong feelings about him whatsoever. If I’d been unhappy at school, it might have been different. Can you understand that?”
“Yes, I think so,” said Priscilla cautiously. “When are the police going to let you go?”
“Soon, or we’ll have a team of lawyers up here making sure they do. Doing anything tonight?”
Priscilla looked at him in surprise. “Are you asking me out?”
“Yes, why not? Drive off somewhere for a bit of dinner.”
“Well…”
“Priscilla, might I hae a word with you?” The quiet voice of Hamish Macbeth sounded behind them.
Priscilla found to her annoyance that she was blushing like a schoolgirl caught out in some misdemeanour. “Yes, certainly,” she said. “Charles, would you excuse us?”
“Let me know about dinner,” he said and loped off.
“What is it, Hamish?” asked Priscilla.
“I haff to go back to Lochdubh tonight and I was hoping for a chance to discuss the case wi’ ye. Of course, if you prefer to go jauntering off with a murder suspect…”
“Don’t be silly, Hamish. I haven’t even had time to think. All right then, I’ll pick up some food for us on the road home and I’ll be waiting for you at the police station about seven, say.”
“Fine.” Hamish’s hazel eyes swivelled to the entrance of the house where Charles was lounging, watching them curiously.
“So I’ll deal with my admirer, if you deal with yours,” said Priscilla.
“Who?”
“Melissa, just coming around the corner of the house.”
Priscilla walked off as Melissa strolled up to Hamish. “Heard the news?” demanded Melissa.
“What news?”
“Paul and I are engaged to be married.”
“Why?”
“Why?” echoed Melissa. “What an odd thing to say. Aren’t you supposed to offer the lady your felicitations?”
“I suppose. You don’t look like a woman in love.”
“What does a woman in love look like, Hamish?”
“She looks happy. You don’t look happy, Melissa.”
“How in the hell am I supposed to look happy when I’m living in a place where two murders have been committed?” Melissa turned on her heel and strode off. Could Hamish…might Hamish…be a little jealous? Melissa’s steps faltered as her heart yearned towards that thought, but then she strode on as common sense took over, or what she decided was common sense. The Melissas of this world, she told herself sternly, were not destined to fall in love and get married. The lucky Melissas of this world settled for a nice man with money.
¦
Priscilla collected the key to the police station from Mrs Wellington, listened politely to the minister’s wife’s
