At last she opened the door. He was sitting on the bed and stood up when he saw her.
“Get out,” she said in a thin voice.
He grinned at her and winked.
She walked to the bedroom door and held it open. He gave her a slap on the bottom and then strolled out, whistling jauntily.
Jenny sank down into a chair. Her mouth felt dry and her head ached. How could she have done such a thing and with such a lout? How was it he had seemed so attractive, so interesting?
To him, she had been an easy lay, a pick-up, and now she had to face the manager.
But she didn’t move. She just sat there, staring into space, and wishing, like Peta, she, too, could run away.
¦
Hamish changed into dry clothes and went to the Ferguson’s home to interview the two boys. Their father owned the Lochdubh Bakery and the family lived in a flat over the shop. He met Dr Brodie on the stairs. “I’ve just given the children tranquillizers, Hamish,” said the doctor. “Actually, I gave them a couple of indigestion tablets, but the parents think they’re tranquillizers and that’s all that matters. The trouble with people is that they always expect some drug.”
Hamish went up and knocked at the door, which was opened by Mrs Ferguson, a thin waif of a woman except for her hands, which were large and strong and red.
“Och, Hamish,” she said when she saw him. “Do you haff to speak to the weans now?”
“Only take a minute,” said Hamish. “Where are they?”
“Watchin’ the telly.”
Hamish went into the small cluttered living room. The boys were in their dressing-gowns and pyjamas, watching a showing of ‘Murder on Elm Street’ on television. Hamish switched the set off. “That’ll not do you any good, boys.”
“We’ve had the pills,” said Jamie proudly. “Dr Brodie said they wass anti-fright pills.”
“Nonetheless, you don’t want to have nightmares when the effect wears off,” said Hamish. “Read a comic instead.” He picked one up from a pile on the sofa beside them. On the lurid cover a woman with her dress half off was about to be raped by a green alien. It was called
“We wass up in the hills for a walk,” said Jamie, “and Bill and me wanted tae look at the auld quarry. Then we saw her. She was awful. Great staring eyes.” He gulped.
“What time was this?”
Jamie looked bewildered. Bill piped up. “It wass two. I’ve got my new watch.” He proudly held up a thin birdlike wrist to exhibit a cheap digital watch.
“Did you touch her?”
“No, we chust ran and ran as fast as we could.”
“Why did she…did herself haff an apple in her mouth?” whispered Jamie.
Because someone probably jammed it in there, thought Hamish, but he closed his notebook and said instead, “That’s all for now, boys. If I think of anything else, I’ll let you know.”
Frank Ferguson, the baker, was coming up the stairs as Hamish was leaving.
“Bad business,” he said. “How are the bairns?”
“They’ll be all right,” said Hamish, “but stop them watching horror movies. They shouldn’t be watching them at all.”
“Och, what can you do these days? They all watch them. Was it the fat wumman?”
“Yes, it was.”
“Ate herself to death?”
“Maybe,” said Hamish curtly. “I’ll let you know.”
? Death of a Glutton ?
5
“She’s the sort of woman now,” said Mould…
“one would almost feel disposed to bury for nothing: and do it neatly, too!”
—Charles Dickens
The police cars drove up to the castle. The news of Peta’s death spread like wildfire. Jenny still sat where she was, hugging herself, hearing the commotion and thinking in a dreary neurotic way that it was all to do with her shame.
And yet what had she done that was so terribly wrong? Admittedly it had happened to her before after too many drinks at an office party, when she had somehow ended up in bed with a solicitor’s clerk. But that, had been London, where morals were looser. And yet how could she, the romantic, the dreamer of knights on white chargers, have so easily leaped into bed with some labourer? Oh, the snobbery of sex. Something at the back of her mind was telling her wryly that had it been some successful businessman, she would not be feeling so low. Her friends had one-night stands and giggled about them. Perhaps she was a bit of a prude.
She rose shakily and went to the window of her room, which overlooked the front of the castle, and then drew back with a little cry of fright. There were police cars down there.
Scottish law was vastly different from English law. Could they have her arrested for immorality? A hammering at the door made her jump.
“Who’s there?” she croaked.
“It’s Maria. You’d better come downstairs.”
Sensible tweedy Maria, thought Jenny. She would look after her. Besides, Jenny was one of Maria’s clients, so it was Maria’s
She opened the door.
“Peta’s been found dead,” said Maria abruptly. “The police want to interview everyone.”
All Jenny felt in that moment was a mixture of amazement and sheer gratitude. What was her lapse from grace compared to this?
“I’ll come right away,” she said. “What happened to Peta? Did she have an accident?”
“It appears not,” said Maria, running a worried hand through her short hair. “They say it’s murder.”
“How? When?”
“I’ll tell you downstairs. I’ve got to get the others.”
Jenny walked down the stairs with a feeling of excitement. Peta murdered! Mr Johnson would have his hands too full with that to worry about her.
At reception she was told to go to the lounge, where the rest of Checkmate were gathered, the police deciding to start with them and get around to the rest of the hotel guests later. Interviewing was to take place in the library.
¦
Hamish Macbeth arrived in time for the first of the interviews. Blair glared at him, but Hamish quietly placed himself in a corner of the library.
Jessica Fitt was ushered in. She was, thought Hamish, only about thirty-two, but her prematurely grey hair made her look older. She had chosen clothes, consciously or unconsciously, which aged her as well. She had a vague, kind face, a thin mouth and rather good eyes. She scratched one hip ferociously before she sat down and, once seated, proceeded to scratch her armpits in a nervous frenzy like some overwrought genteel monkey.
“Now, Miss Fitt,” said Blair in the Anglified accent he used for interviewing ‘the nobs’, as he called them. “Just a few questions. Mrs Worth has given us your file, so we know your background and address in London. What we want from you to begin with are your movements yesterday evening.”
“Let me see,” said Jessica, “we all had dinner and Peta was there and then after dinner she went straight up to bed, so you must want to know about after that. Well, I sat in the lounge talking to Mr Trumpington and then he said there was a good film on television and so we went to the television lounge to watch it.”
