Hamish sat back, sweating. It all fell into place: Mrs Wellington’s distress and the missing money from the Mothers’ Union, Angela and the secondhand dress and the missing morphine, Jessie and Nessie selling their house.
He should phone Strathbane and send them the video and let them take it from there. But he could not. Even if none of them had murdered Sean, their reputations would be in rags. Dr Brodie and Mr Wellington would have to know what their wives had been up to.
Hamish switched off the television set and put everything back in place, except the incriminating video, which he took with him. There must be some way round this. For a start, he would have to try to get the culprits alone.
He let himself out of the bus and carefully locked the door. He stood blinking in the late sunshine. A brisk wind was blowing and the midges had gone.
He had a sudden picture of Sean, smiling and lounging beside the bus, his hands thrust into his trouser pockets, and Hamish Macbeth felt that he could have murdered the man himself for wrecking such innocence. Hamish was sure Cheryl either did not know about the money or, if she had, had not been able to get any of it. If that was the case, it still had to be hidden somewhere. He looked slowly around. There was no outside toilet, and none on the bus. Sean had probably used one of the lavatories at the manse, the one situated just inside the back door. There was nothing outside except the packing case lying on its side, gaping empty, on which Sean and Cheryl had sat on the day he had come to search for morphine. He gave it a slight push and then peered inside. It was weighted down with rocks.
He placed the video carefully on the grass and crawled inside the packing case and dragged out the rocks. Then he pushed it aside. A square patch of bleached grass was revealed. He examined it closely and noticed that the square was made up of squares of long-grassed turf. Excited, he started to haul them up; a difficult job, for they had begun to grow together. Finally he got the last one clear and smiled with satisfaction. Buried underneath was a plastic rubbish bag full of something. He pulled it up and opened it. It was heavy but proved to be weighted with stones. But inside as well was a square cash box. The box was locked. “Tampering with the evidence,” screamed a voice of warning in his head, but he shrugged it away and took out a set of skeleton keys from his pocket and got to work. It took some time and he was glad the bus screened him from the manse windows. Finally the lock clicked and he opened the lid. The box was stuffed with pound notes – fifties, twenties, tens and fives. Underneath lay four packets of morphine. He counted the money carefully. Just over a thousand pounds. Hardly blackmail on a grand scale. He carefully replaced everything and put the bag back in the hole and covered it over with the turf and the packing case and then crawled inside to replace the rocks. Once the rocks were pushed to the back, he realized that to the forensic team, they would not be visible and it would have simply looked to them like an empty packing case on its side, showing the world that there was nothing there.
He consoled himself with the thought that he could always pretend to find the stuff later. Right now, he meant to confront the women on that video. But how to get them alone?
¦
Two days later, Angela Brodie opened a thin envelope and stared mesmerized at the thin typewritten slip inside. It said, “Come to the police station at ten this morning. I have a film to show you. Hamish Macbeth.”
“What’s that?” asked Dr Brodie. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Nothing,” said Angela. “I thought it was my exam results and got all upset, but it’s just a note from Mrs Wellington. There’s to be a meeting at the church hall to discuss raising funds.”
“Hope nobody pinches them again,” said the doctor, losing interest.
Mrs Wellington at that same moment was reading a note from Hamish Macbeth. She let out a squawk and her husband lowered his newspaper and looked at her impatiently. “Another bill?” he asked.
“No, it’s nothing,” she said, crushing the envelope and slip of paper in her large hand. “Some Mothers’ Union business. I’ve got to go out this morning.”
But the minister was once more reading his newspaper and did not seem to care.
¦
Nessie Currie twitched the slip of paper out of her sister Jessie’s trembling fingers.
“I’m ruined…ruined,” whispered Jessie.
“You’ll need to face up to him,” said Nessie. “I’ll come with you.”
“No, no. I’ll need to go on my own, on my own. Everyone will find out, find out. I cannae stay here.”
“You have sinned against the Lord,” said Nessie, “and you must take your punishment.” Then her face softened. “I’ll come along as well, Jessie. I’ll stand by you. We’ll face this together, and then we’ll sell up and go far down south, Inverness or somewhere like that.”
¦
Willie, delighted to have a morning off, had actually offered to take Towser for a walk. He had finally taken an odd liking to Hamish’s yellowish mongrel of a dog, mainly because Lucia liked Towser and Towser had developed a taste for pasta.
Hamish had borrowed a video recorder from Mr Patel, not wanting to borrow the one from the bus in case anyone saw him with it and asked him what he was doing. Angela, Mrs Wellington and the Currie sisters arrived together.
Hamish silently ushered them into the living room, where they sat down with jerky movements, and all stared mesmerized at the still blank television screen.
Hamish slid the cassette into the recorder. He ran the film. When it had finished, he looked at them. Angela and Mrs Wellington were sitting together on the sofa, and they were holding hands. Nessie had an arm around Jessie’s shoulders. But despite their distress and obvious strain, there was a faint air of surprised relief about them all. They were not alone, he realized, in their misery and shame, and that was the reason for the faint air of relief.
“The situation is this,” said Hamish. “I have found the money and the morphine, but I cannot do anything about returning it. I should be down in Strathbane showing this video at headquarters. The reason I have not done so should be obvious to all of you. For some reason you let this man trick you and blackmail you. The only way out of it is to try to find the murderer and get the case closed.”
“But if you find the murderer,” said Angela in a croaky voice, “it will all come out in court and the video will be shown as well.”
“Not necessarily. I am in as bad trouble as the rest of you, for I could easily lose my job for suppressing this evidence. If I find the murderer, it is possible I can do a deal. I will promise him or her not to mention the blackmailing so that charge will not be added on to the one of murder. But I’ll never find out who murdered Sean unless everyone here tells the truth.” He turned to Angela. “You first.”
She pushed her wispy hair back from her eyes. “It was a sort of madness,” she said. “He was so handsome. He made it clear that he had no interest in Cheryl, other than giving her a home, and I believed him. He was so interested in this degree I am studying for, the only person who has ever shown any interest.”
Except me, who pushed you into doing it, thought Hamish huffily.
“It was easy to forget Cheryl,” went on Angela, “because as soon as I arrived, she went out. I’d never even looked at any other man since I married John. Oh, I was flattered that such a young and good-looking man seemed to find me attractive. If he’d come on too strong at the beginning, I would have shied away, but I am very romantic and he used the romantic approach. He asked me to come one evening and said he had some films to show me. I told John I was going to see Mrs Wellington. Instead of any films, he produced a bottle of champagne. I’m not used to drinking – I had told him that – and I got drunk pretty quickly. We were sitting on that bench at the end of the bus. He began to kiss me and I…responded. And then I heard this whirring sound, very faint, and I looked down the bus and I could see the video camera propped on the table facing us and I realized it was running. I pushed him away and stumbled out of that bus and ran home and I vowed never to go near him again. I only thought he was weird because he was prepared to film our love-making without telling me.”
“He stopped me in the street a few days later. He said he would show the film to my husband unless I paid him. John and I have a joint account. I panicked and said I couldn’t. He laughed and told me to get him some morphine and then he would leave me alone.”
“I took the keys to the surgery that night when John was asleep and got the drugs. I thought that would be an end of it, but next week he was back, asking for money. I was frantic with worry. He said he didn’t want much. At first he asked for fifty, then it was a hundred, then another hundred, and so on. I pretended to John that I was
