He stood irresolute in the doorway.
“And yet what?” demanded Deacon testily. “You’ve done a good job, Macbeth.”
All the niggling little doubts which had been replacing Hamish’s initial relief came to the surface. He shook his head. “It’s too pat,” he said.
“It fits,” said Deacon. “Cheryl’s a violent criminal. She’s just moved on from grievous bodily harm to murder.”
“It’s the murder of MacPherson,” said Hamish. “Think about it. What man in his right mind would try to blackmail such as Cheryl?”
“Poor old sod probably wasn’t blackmailing anyone. Cheryl did the first one for kicks, so why not the second?”
“I don’t like it,” said Hamish. “It feels wrong.”
“Don’t worry your head about anything, laddie. Clay and me’ll go over to Dungarton and get a confession out of her.”
Hamish went outside, collected Tracey, and drove her back to the boarding-house. Miss Gunnery was waiting outside. Tracey flew to her and fell weeping into her arms. “What’s all this about?” asked Crick.
“Cheryl’s confessed to the murders,” said Hamish.
“Thank heavens,” said Crick. “Not that this hasn’t become a good job, what with Mrs Aston giving me cups of tea every five minutes. Are you telling the others?”
“You tell them.” Hamish turned about and walked towards the beach over the dunes. He sat down on the shingle bank, where he had sat earlier with Tracey, and stared blindly out to sea.
How easy it would be to accept Cheryl’s confession. But would she confess to the police? Had she perhaps been bragging to Tracey? Had Tracey said anything about getting free, changing her life?
Okay, June had written to Alice, a June determined to force the issue. Alice came up earlier than she had first claimed. But June had not told Dermott, and somehow Alice, who was neither a kind nor a generous-hearted woman, had let Dermott believe that she had learned the news of his adultery through the newspapers. Why? One reason was obviously because she was desperately anxious that the police should not know she had been in Skag at the time of the murder.
Dermott had quarrelled with Harris; Dermott had been blackmailed by Rogers; Dermott had lied. Doris and Andrew had lied. Yes, what about Doris and Andrew? What about all that mad burning passion that had driven one respectable upper-class Englishman to holiday in a seedy boarding-house with dreadful food so that he could be near his lady-love?
And then Hamish stiffened. There was the sound of stifled sobs coming faintly to his ears on the breeze. He got to his feet and stared around. The sound was coming from behind him, somewhere among the dunes. He walked back and stood up on top of one of the highest dunes and looked around until he caught a glimpse of white cotton to his left. He made his way there, his feet making no sound on the sand.
Heather Brett sat huddled at the foot of one of the dunes, a pathetic little figure. Sobs were racking her thin body. Hamish sat down beside her and gathered her in his arms.
“Easy, lassie,” he said. “Easy. It’s all over. What is there to cry about?”
“I-I’ll burn in h-hell,” she sobbed.
“Och, you don’t want tae believe what ye hear in church,” said Hamish. “And why should the devil want a wee lassie like you, even supposing I believed in him?”
“I t-told a bad lie,” whispered Heather.
Hamish held her closer. “Every human being lies some time or the other, Heather. You can tell me.” He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and dried her face. “Now then, nobody’s going to get angry with you. I’ll see to that. What lie?”
She gave a little tired sigh. “I didn’t see Mrs Harris on the beach.”
He stiffened. “Why did you say so?”
“I promised them I would.”
“Them?”
She began to cry again. Hamish felt a great wave of fury. Using a child like this!
He lifted her to her feet. “Come along,” he said. “It’ll be all right. I’ll explain matters. Mrs Harris had no right to ask you to lie. And don’t you be worrying about hell-fire. Nothing’s going to happen to you. You’re a good wee lassie, Heather.” And coaxing and cajoling, he led her back over the dunes to where a worried June came running to meet them.
“Take care of your daughter,” said Hamish. “She told a lie to the police, but it’s not her fault. I’ll go and see Deacon right now. Where’s Andrew and Doris?”
“They went into the pub in Skag, but – ”
“Later,” said Hamish. He ran to his Land Rover, jumped in and drove straight to the pub. Andrew and Doris were sitting at a table in a corner over a plate of sandwiches and glasses of beer.
“The pair of you are in bad trouble,” said Hamish grimly.
“Why?” Andrew looked surprised. “As a matter of fact, we were having a small celebration. Cheryl’s confessed.”
Hamish ignored that. “Why did you persuade that child, Heather, that you were on the beach on the day of the murder? Why did you get her to lie?”
“You’re talking rubbish,” shouted Andrew. A few locals turned and stared at them in surprise. “Rubbish,” he repeated in a lower voice. “No one told Heather to say anything. We didn’t tell her to lie.”
Doris sat with her head bent. “Doris?” prompted Hamish.
“I meant it for the best,” she said. “Everyone would think it was me. I meant to put it straight.”
Hamish looked at the horrified surprise on Andrew’s face and said, “Them. Heather said ‘them’. They had told her to lie. I assumed it was you and Andrew. Who was the other one, Doris?”
She looked at him pleadingly.
“Miss Gunnery.”
“What!”
“She was most sympathetic about Andrew and me. She said the police always suspected the wife, so it was important for me to have an alibi. She said Heather wouldn’t mind lying. She said she had always found that children were natural-born liars.”
“You’ll need to make a statement. You’ll need to correct your earlier statement. Where were you, Doris? I myself saw you going towards Skag.”
“I was so miserable, I just walked about,” said Doris. “I don’t think anyone saw me. I didn’t have any alibi. Miss Gunnery said it was imperative that I have one.”
“I can’t believe it of you, Doris,” said Andrew angrily. “The police could charge you for wasting their time. It’s just as well for you that Cheryl has confessed.”
“If she has confessed,” said Hamish heavily. “We’ve only got Tracey’s word for it at the moment. Wait here. Let me speak to Deacon first. If Cheryl has really confessed and they have some positive proof she did the murders, because a confession alone is not enough in Scotland, there’ll be no need for me to say anything.”
He went to the police station to learn that Deacon and Clay were still at the prison in Dungarton. Maggie, who gave him the news, looked at him curiously. “You look terrible. I thought you’d be glad it was all over.”
“I need a phone,” said Hamish, walking towards the interview room.
“You’ll need permission…” began Maggie, but Hamish walked in and slammed the door behind him.
He sat down at the desk and stared at the phone. Think. Twice Miss Gunnery had lied, or rather, she had lied once and then engineered it that Heather should lie to protect Doris. An image of the photograph of Miss Gunnery and Mrs Agnew came into his head. He took out his notebook and found the slip of paper with Mrs Agnew’s address. He dialled directory inquiries and asked for her phone number. What was it Mrs Agnew had said? “Goodness knows, the poor creature has enough to worry about.” And looking back, he remembered having a feeling that Mrs Agnew had not been talking about the murders, but about something else.
When she answered the phone, he said, “Mrs Agnew, this is Police Constable Hamish Macbeth. It is verra important for Miss Gunnery’s sake that you tell me the truth. Was something worrying her?”
“Of course something was worrying her,” said Mrs Agnew tartly. “Aren’t two murders enough to worry anyone? How is she? Alive?”
