Death of a Valentine (16 page)

She stared at him with those eyes of hers which were like Scottish pebbles and then said abruptly, ‘You’d better come in.’

Hamish followed her back into the living room and removed his cap.

‘Sit down,’ she barked.

Hamish sat down on a leather armchair, which welcomed him with the usual rude sound.

‘Can you remember any calls?’ he asked.

‘Nothing in particular.’

‘It would have come from someone who sounded like Mark – a young person.’

‘There was a call to be put through to town planning – that was a woman – and one for health and safety – that was a man, not young – and one for waste disposal.
The one for waste disposal sounded young. That’s all I can remember.’

Hamish took out his notebook and checked it. ‘Waste disposal. That would be Percy Stane.’

‘Yes, that’s him.’

‘Did any of the callers ask for anyone by name?’

‘No, just the department.’

‘Not many people would know how to operate an old-fashioned switchboard like the one at the town hall.’

‘I was a secretary at the town hall before I married my husband. I used to fill in on the switchboard. If you have no more questions, I may warn you,’ she said as Hamish headed for
the door, ‘that my husband has already reported you to Superintendent Daviot.’

‘Oh, good,’ said Hamish, and he left her staring after him.

Hamish went to the town hall and walked into Percy Stane’s office. Percy looked up at him, his eyes wide with fear like a rabbit caught in the headlights of a car.

‘I’ve told you all I know,’ he blurted out.

‘There might be something you have forgotten,’ said Hamish. ‘Look, try to remember the day Mark Lussie died. Did you get a phone call?’

‘I didn’t know him all that well. I wouldn’t know his voice.’

Percy wrinkled his brow in thought. Then his face cleared. ‘There was the one call. When I said, “Waste Disposal”, the voice said, “Wrong department. Put me back to the
switchboard.”’

‘Man or woman?’

‘A man. Maybe young. He didn’t say which department he really wanted.’

‘Keep thinking about it and if you remember anything at all, here’s my card. Give me a call. Do you know if the provost is in his office?’

‘He’ll be at the bank.’

Hamish walked out to the main street and along to the West Highland Bank where Gareth Tarry, the provost, was the manager.

He was told to wait. Hamish waited and waited. He wondered whether the provost was really busy or simply one of those irritating people who like to show off their authority.

At last, he was ushered in. ‘I’m very busy, Sergeant,’ he said, ‘and I don’t see how I can be of any help to you.’

‘How come Annie Fleming was elected Lammas queen two years running?’

‘It was put to a vote. A secret ballot. There are ten councillors and all of them voted for Annie.’

‘That’s odd, considering some of them hae daughters of their own.’

‘I can prove it! I still have the ballot papers.’

‘Where?’ asked Hamish. ‘At the town hall?’

‘No, in my safe here. Wait a moment. I just shoved the box in there. I’m more here than at the town hall and so I keep a lot of official stuff in the safe.’

He rose, went to a large safe in a corner of his office, and fiddled with the combination. He bent down and scrabbled about on the inside, finally lifting out a square wooden box with a slot in
the top. ‘I need the key,’ he muttered. He went to his desk and searched through the drawers, finally producing a small brass key.

He placed the box on his desk and unlocked it. ‘See for yourself.’

Hamish took out several of the folded ballot papers and opened them. His eyebrows rose up to his hairline in surprise. ‘These are all typed! That’s odd. You’d think
they’d just scribble a name. Why go to the bother of typing it? Did you vote?’

‘No, I never vote unless a casting vote is needed.’

‘Weren’t the councillors surprised when you said the vote was unanimous?’

‘I simply told them that Annie had been voted for.’

‘Who’s the nearest councillor to here?’

‘There’s Garry Herriot. He runs the ironmongers.’

Garry Herriot was a small, prim man dressed in a brown overall. He had very pale grey eyes.

‘Mr Herriot,’ Hamish began, ‘can you tell me who you voted for to be Lammas queen last year?’

‘I voted for Iona, the lassie on the switchboard.’

‘Would it surprise you to learn that all ten votes were for Annie Fleming?’

‘Yes, it would. I happen to know of two others who voted for Iona. What happened?’

‘One of you got into that ballot box and put in a list of typed votes for Annie. Did you type yours?’

‘No, I just wrote Iona’s name on the slip of paper and popped it in the box. But the box was on the provost’s desk and it was locked.’

‘Did the provost count out the votes in front of you all?’

‘No, he just said Annie had been voted again. We all assumed she’d got the majority of votes.’

‘The provost can’t be in the town hall all the time. He must spend most of the day at the bank.’

‘His secretary, Alice Menzies, handles all the phone calls and things like that.’

Hamish went back to the town hall and got directions to Alice Menzies’s room. He wondered whether Alice would turn out to be some other highland beauty whose nose had been put out of joint
by Annie. But she turned out to be a middle-aged woman in a tweed suit and wearing thick spectacles. Hamish told her about the ballot papers.

‘That’s awful,’ she said. ‘But you can stop looking for the culprit. I know who did it.’

At last, thought Hamish.

‘It was Annie herself,’ said Alice. ‘She came up here just before the ballots were due to be counted. She said she had an appointment with Mr Tarry. I told her to go along to
the bank but she said the provost had told her to wait in the town hall office. I let her in. She was only there a short time and then she came out and said she must have made a mistake.’

‘Where is the key to the ballot box kept? I know the provost locked it up in the safe in the bank.’

‘You’ll never believe this. The key was kept in a top drawer of his desk. Annie could have taken it out and unlocked the box.’

‘And didn’t you think to report this when the vote was announced?’

She shrugged. ‘I was so used to all the men drooling over Annie, I didn’t really bother about it.’

‘When did Mr Tarry take the ballot box to the bank?’

‘It was right after the Lammas fair. His office was being decorated. He took a lot of files and the ballot box along to the bank.’

‘Were any of the councillors particularly interested in Annie?’

‘I don’t know. I mean, she didn’t work here.’

‘What did Mr Tarry say when you told him about her calling here for an interview?’

‘It slipped my mind. The appointment wasn’t down in the diary.’

Hamish returned in the evening to his police station, feeling depressed. Josie was waiting for him outside.

‘Have a good time in Perth?’ asked Hamish.

‘Yes, thank you. I wondered what we were going to do tomorrow.’

Hamish thought quickly. He wanted to be rid of her. ‘Come in,’ he said. He led the way into the office and pointed to a large ordnance survey map on the wall. ‘I want you to
take the Assynt Road between Lochinver and Kylesku. Drop off at each place and ask if everything is all right.’

‘Can’t I help you with the murder inquiries?’

‘It’s a large beat we have to cover. Leave the murder inquiries to me.’

Josie set out the following morning in a sulky mood. But her spirits rose after she left Lochinver and set out on the Assynt Road along the coast. It was a rare calm, sunny
day. The Minch lay placid with large glassy waves curling on the shore. She stopped at Drumbeg for a cup of tea and a sandwich, and then stood outside in the car park and breathed in the clear air.
The majestic bulk of Quinag mountain rose up to a perfectly blue sky. The majesty of the Highlands seized her for the first time.

I belong here, she thought fiercely – me and Hamish Macbeth.

By the time she reached Kylesku by Loch a’ Chairn Bhain and swept over the new road in the direction of Lairg, she was determined to do everything she could to capture Hamish.

It never entered her mind again that the way to Hamish’s heart might be through some diligent police work. She had not asked at any of the villages along the coast if anyone had anything
to report.

By the time early night had fallen, she pulled to the side of the road, her heart beating hard. She fished in her handbag for the half bottle of whisky she had bought earlier and sat drinking
and dreaming. She had the two bottles of laudanum with her. When she returned to Lochdubh, if the police station was empty, she would doctor a glass of whisky. If Hamish arrived while she was in
the police station, she would simply say that she had called to report on her day.

With a lurch in her stomach, she realized she had not talked to anyone in any of the villages. She could only hope Hamish would not ask for names.

Josie arrived back in Lochdubh at six o’clock. Everyone was indoors having high tea.

She parked at the manse and made her way over the fields at the back to the police station. It was dark and empty. She let herself in, praying that Hamish’s pets were out somewhere. She
was in luck. Nothing moved in the silence of the police station. She switched on a pencil torch and took out a fresh bottle of whisky. She took down a glass, put in a generous measure of whisky,
and then poured laudanum into the glass and stirred it up.

Then she concealed herself at the side of the henhouse, waiting for Hamish to come home.

She heard the cat flap bang. She hoped one of the animals wouldn’t come out again, sensing her presence. But Sonsie and Lugs were used to Josie by now and knew her smell and didn’t
bother to investigate.

The night was becoming frosty and she shivered, hoping Hamish would not be too long.

She heard the Land Rover drive up and Hamish’s voice saying, ‘Come in, Elspeth. I couldnae believe my eyes when I saw you up at the hotel.’

Elspeth followed Hamish into the kitchen. ‘I’ll just go into the office and see if there are any messages,’ said Hamish.

‘I am so tired,’ said Elspeth. ‘I drove all the way from Glasgow. I had to get away.’

‘Be with you in a minute,’ called Hamish. ‘There’s a message here from one of my suspects.’

Elspeth sat down wearily at the table. She picked up the glass of whisky and began to drink it. When she finished it, she rinsed out the glass and put it away.

‘I’ll light the stove,’ she shouted. But she suddenly felt very tired and disoriented. Before her dizzy eyes, she could see the lights of approaching cars that she had seen on
her long drive up. She had got to her feet to light the stove, but she sat down again, put her head down on the table, and fell asleep.

Hamish came in and exclaimed, ‘Poor lassie. You’re fair worn out.’

Josie, crouched outside the kitchen window, saw him lift Elspeth in his arms and carry her through to the bedroom.

She had recognized Elspeth Grant. She had seen her many nights on television. But surely she was no competition. She was going to marry that actor.

Josie stumbled back across the fields. Before she entered the manse, she took a tube of extra-strong mints out of her pocket and began to chew two of them so that Mrs Wellington would not smell
whisky on her breath.

Elspeth awoke the next morning and stared around in a dazed way. She threw back the bedclothes. She was wearing only her underwear. What on earth was she doing in
Hamish’s bed?

Her skirt, blouse and jacket were neatly arranged on a chair beside the bed. She took down Hamish’s dressing gown from a hook at the back of the bedroom door and went in search of him.

Hamish was in the kitchen, notes spread out in front of him. ‘Morning, Elspeth,’ he said. ‘That must have been some drive. Sit down and I’ll make coffee.’

‘I don’t know what happened, Hamish,’ said Elspeth. ‘I helped myself to some of your whisky and then went out like a light.’

‘Never mind. You never told me what brought you up here.’ There was a tentative knock at the kitchen door. He opened it. Josie stood looking up at him and then past him to where
Elspeth was sitting, wrapped in Hamish’s dressing gown. She tried to enter but he blocked her way.

‘Take the day off, McSween,’ he said. ‘I’ve got to go over my notes. I’ll phone you if there’s anything.’

The door was firmly shut in Josie’s face.

Josie craved a drink but did not want to buy too much whisky from Mr Patel in case he gossiped. She got in her car and drove miserably off in the direction of Strathbane.

‘So Elspeth,’ Hamish was saying. ‘Out with it.’

She clutched the mug of coffee he had poured for her. ‘I had to get away from the press.’

‘But you
are
the press. You’re a news presenter.’

‘I’ve broken off my engagement. I wanted it all to be quiet but Paul Darby’s press agent got on to all the papers – I am sure with Paul’s encouragement. He’s
very vain.’

‘So why did you get engaged to him?’

‘I was on holiday in the Maldives. All that sun and being away from work and having a handsome man to squire me around. Do you remember when I got jilted at the altar by that
fellow?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, from time to time, the papers drag that up. I suppose I wanted to show everyone that wee Elspeth Grant could do it. Paul’s a big heartthrob. Of course, he works in England and
I work in Scotland, so we had snatched time together, which added to the romance. Then his filming on the soap was over for a bit and he came up and moved in with me. Do you know, Hamish, his
cosmetics took up more shelf space than mine?’

‘What, make-up?’

‘No, lotions and hair tonic and fake tan and God knows what else. There was little room for my clothes because he has such an extensive wardrobe. He expected me to play wifie and have
meals ready for him and I just didn’t have the time. I finally gave him back his ring. He tried to punch me so I tripped him up so that he fell on his bum. I told him if he ever laid a finger
on me I’d call the police. He stormed off to see his press agent in London so I packed all his stuff up and left it with a neighbour, changed the locks, and left a note for him on the door. I
had holiday time owing, so I just got in the car yesterday and drove straight to the Tommel Castle Hotel. I’d better beg Matthew not to put anything in the
Highland Times
or the press
will follow me up here. They’ll find out soon enough, but I want a few days’ peace and quiet.’