Death of a Kingfisher (15 page)

Angus sat for a long time in silence while the rising wind howled around the old cottage like a banshee.

Then he closed his eyes. At last he said in a low
crooning
voice, ‘Between here and Lairg there’s a ruined cottage. Belonged a long time ago to a shepherd. It has a cellar.’

‘Where precisely is this cottage?’ demanded Hamish.

Angus opened his eyes. ‘I cannae see any mair.’

‘It’s a damn long way between here and Lairg,’ snapped Hamish. ‘Och, you’re a waste o’ time.’

He got up to leave.

‘Go carefully,’ said Angus. ‘Death is stalking ye.’

Hamish stood for a moment by the doorway, suddenly uneasy. Then he shrugged and left.

‘Old fraud,’ he muttered angrily as he set off down the brae. On the other hand, he thought wearily, I’ve nothing else.

At the police station, to his surprise, lazy Dick offered to go with him. ‘Nothing on television?’ asked Hamish.

‘Truth is, I’m right sick o’ television,’ said Dick.

With Sonsie and Lugs in the back of the Land Rover, they set off. Hamish drove steadily and slowly, looking to right and left. They reached a stretch of road where the pillared mountains rose on one side; there was moorland on the other, with the River Oykel winding through it.

‘Stop!’ cried Dick suddenly.

Hamish screeched to a halt. Lugs barked and Sonsie hissed with alarm. ‘Over there,’ said Dick, ‘by that stand o’ trees.’

Hamish’s eyes followed his pointing finger. ‘Och, Dick, thon is too much o’ a ruin.’

‘But you said you were looking for a cellar,’ protested Dick.

‘What would a shepherd be doing with a cellar?’ grumbled Hamish. ‘Oh, well, come on. May as well have a look.’

The wind was hissing through the heather as they walked towards the ruin with Sonsie and Lugs scampering after them.

The building was roofless, and the back wall and one on the right-hand side had disappeared. Locals at one time had probably come to take away the slates and stones for another building, thought Hamish.

‘Nothing here,’ said Dick. ‘This place fair gies me the creeps. Let’s go.’

‘Wait!’ urged Hamish. He took a torch from his belt and shone it on a pile of stones, then on the floor. ‘These stones have been moved recently,’ he said. ‘Help me move them.’ The old cottage had been built from stones,
hammered
into shape.

With Dick mumbling and cursing, they carried stone after stone to one side.

‘There’s a door,’ exclaimed Dick. ‘It looks new.’

They heaved the last of the stones away. There was a key in the lock. Hamish turned it, and the door swung open on well-oiled hinges. A short flight of crumbling steps led down to a cellar.

Hamish, shining his torch, made his way down.

Three bodies lay trussed up on the floor – Ralph Palfour and the children. Olivia and Charles had rolled together for warmth. Hamish felt Ralph Palfour’s neck and wrist for a pulse. ‘He’s dead,’ he said bitterly. He then inspected Olivia and got a faint pulse; the same with Charles. He cut the ropes that bound them.

‘We might be able to save these two,’ he said urgently. ‘I’ll phone for police and ambulance. You’ll find rugs, a flask of brandy, and my rifle in the back. Bring all the stuff here.’

‘You shoudnae be carrying a weapon without permission.’

‘I don’t give a toss,’ howled Hamish. ‘Get it. I don’t want to be here unarmed in case they come back.’

When Dick returned, he wrapped the children in rugs and tried to force a little brandy between their lips.

‘I think I’m losing them,’ he said. ‘Will that ambulance never arrive?’

Then, to his relief, he heard the sound of a helicopter overhead and Dick outside, shouting and yelling.

Hamish stuffed his rifle down his trouser leg and waited anxiously, letting out a sigh of relief as two men from Mountain Rescue clattered down the stairs with a stretcher.

A police helicopter then arrived with Jimmy, three police officers, and Annie Williams.

‘Annie had better go to the hospital with the children,’ said Hamish.

‘Is Palfour dead?’

‘Yes. I think it was cold and starvation. I don’t know how those children managed to survive. Where’s Blair?’

‘Day off. Scenes of crimes’ll be here soon. Is that a flask?’

‘Aye.’

‘Gimme a slug. Let’s get outside or we’ll be accused of compromising a crime scene.’

Hamish made his way awkwardly up the stairs. ‘What’s up with your leg?’ asked Jimmy.

‘I think I injured it in the loch,’ said Hamish, hoping to get rid of Jimmy so he could get the rifle out of his trouser leg.

Outside, Jimmy said, ‘How on earth did you find this god-forsaken place?’

‘The seer, Angus Macdonald, must know every house, ruined or otherwise, in Sutherland.’

‘Good work, Hamish. Get your full report in.’

‘If it’s all right with you, I’d like to get to the hospital in the hope the children stay alive.’

‘All right.’

‘Which hospital?’

‘Strathbane.’

Watched suspiciously by Jimmy, Hamish limped towards the Land Rover. He went around the side where he was sheltered from Jimmy’s view, took out the rifle, and put it beside Dick in the passenger seat. Then he whistled for his pets and got them in the back.

‘We’ll drop this rifle off at the station,’ said Hamish, ‘and then we’ll get to the hospital in Strathbane.’

The Palfour children were suffering from malnutrition and hypothermia. They were both in a private room in hospital with tubes attached to them.

Hamish sat on a bench outside with Annie Williams. They were told that if the siblings showed good signs of recovery, then they could try to speak to them. Blair joined
them, fell asleep, woke up after an hour, and said he was going home but would be back in the morning.

Hamish felt obscurely relieved that Annie’s company did not trouble him in any way. He felt that if the Palfour children talked to anyone, they would talk to her.

Two policemen were on guard outside their room. They had orders to supervise any member of the medical staff who entered the room in case someone decided to
masquerade
as a doctor and silence the children.

At two in the morning, Hamish and Annie had fallen asleep when the fire alarm went off.

Hamish and Annie awoke. There was a smell of smoke in the air. Two hospital porters and a nurse went into the children’s room.

Hamish followed by Annie rushed in after them. ‘Get out o’ here!’ roared Hamish. ‘I think it’s a trick. Leave them!’

The two policemen on guard followed him in. ‘Shut the door,’ ordered Hamish, ‘and all of us into the bathroom. There’s no smoke in here.’

They crowded into the adjoining bathroom. Hamish left the door open a crack.

‘I hope you’re right,’ muttered Annie. ‘We might all go up in flames.’

‘We’ll go down in flames if anything happens to them,’ said Hamish.

He applied his eye to the crack in the door. A figure in a white coat entered, looked around, and approached the bed.

Hamish darted out and seized the man. He fought
furiously
until he was overwhelmed by Hamish, Annie, and the two police guards.

He was a tall man with glasses. Hamish clipped the handcuffs on him, read him his rights, charging him with attempted murder after finding a syringe in his pocket.

All the prisoner would say was, ‘No comment.’ Hamish phoned police headquarters and waited until a tired and
rumpled Jimmy arrived with other detectives to take the man into custody.

‘I think you might find he was the one who poisoned those two prisoners,’ said Hamish.

The fire had been a false alarm. Someone had set fire to a bundle of newspapers in a wastepaper bucket at the end of the corridor.

Hamish and Annie continued their vigil, both finally falling asleep again, not waking until eight in the morning.

Dick appeared, bearing a tray with cardboard containers of coffee and two bacon rolls. ‘Thought you might be hungry,’ he said. ‘I brought you an electric razor as well.’

‘I’ll go and wash and shave after I’ve drunk this coffee,’ said Hamish. ‘Come and get me if it looks as if either of the children is awake.’

He had just finished shaving when Dick put his head round the door and said, ‘They’re awake. The doctor says we can have a quick word.’

Hamish hurried back. Annie was already in the hospital room, sitting between the beds, holding a tape recorder.

‘What happened?’ Annie was asking gently.

Olivia replied in a faint voice. ‘Mum said we were
moving
to a new house and we had to hurry. I don’t know where we were when we were forced off the road. They took us to that cellar and tied us up and left us. They were speaking some foreign language but then I heard one say in English, “Leave them to rot.” We all shouted and shouted until we were too weak to shout any more.’ She began to cry.

‘That’s quite enough for now,’ said a doctor who had been supervising the interview. He hustled them out of the room.

Outside, he said, ‘They had better be left in peace for the rest of the day. I would like a psychiatrist to see them. The poor lambs have to be told at some point that both their parents are dead.’

Hamish and Annie were joined at that point by Blair and Jimmy. Blair was furious. The prisoner who had tried to kill the children was refusing to talk despite a long night of questioning. But they had taken his fingerprints, said Jimmy, and he was a John Witherspoon from Dingwall with a long list of previous convictions for drug dealing. The syringe contained a massive dose of thallium.

Blair stumped off. Jimmy said, ‘There’s a posse from MI6 flying up. Blair’s desperate to take the credit.’

‘Let him,’ said Hamish who had a fear of being
promoted
and forced out of his police station. He often wondered how long he could stay on in Lochdubh. Proposals were afoot to close police stations from Beauly to Betty Hill.

‘What now?’ asked Annie when Jimmy had left.

‘I think we should get some sleep,’ said Hamish. ‘There’s nothing more we can do today.’

Hamish was awakened in the early afternoon by Dick shaking him. ‘Jimmy wants us over in Strathbane,’ he said. ‘Witherspoon’s cracked.’

Hamish hurriedly washed and dressed and put on his uniform. He told the dog and cat to stay and set off for Strathbane, pushing his way through a throng of excited press to get into headquarters.

Jimmy met him in the detectives’ room and said, ‘Take a seat and read the bastard’s statement.’

‘I’m hungry,’ said Dick plaintively. ‘I’ll go to the canteen and get us something.’

Hamish settled down and began to read with growing horror. Ivan Andronovitch had wanted the land the
nursery
was on to build a mansion. He learned that Ralph Palfour was heavily in debt and began to cultivate him. Ralph confided that he would be rich if only his
mother-in
-law would die.

The Russian had contacted Witherspoon, who was in charge of drug distribution in the north for him, and told him to hire a couple of villains to arrange a colourful death for Mrs Colchester. He wanted to keep Palfour frightened.

Witherspoon had hired Terence Rattrey and Philip Windon, knowing they would do anything for drugs. Rattrey had been an electrical engineer but, because of his drug taking, had lost jobs. Windon was the one who had crept into the hunting box, superglued the safety belt, and then lit the rocket that had sent Mrs Colchester to her death. Mrs Colchester had sat like a stone, staring into the shadowy hall, and did not see him. Rattrey had been
waiting
on the top landing, ready to pour nail varnish remover over the banisters.

Then Gloria McQueen had phoned Ralph Palfour and said that she had seen two men over at a quarry near Drim. She thought they were playing with fireworks. Now she was beginning to wonder if it had anything to do with him.

Ralph had been given Witherspoon’s phone number in case of emergency. He phoned him right way. Windon and Rattrey were promised fifty thousand pounds to get rid of Gloria fast. They were in Braikie at that time, enjoying the fact that no one suspected them. They had found Gloria in her garden with the chain saw and had killed her. They had been wearing workmen’s overalls and had shed them because they were blood-spattered, dumping them in a peat bog.

Then Witherspoon learned they had been arrested. He knew they had to die and so masqueraded as a minister.

He insisted he wasn’t in on the Palfours’ abduction.

‘He says nothing about the murder of Mary Leinster,’ said Hamish.

‘He swears blind he had nothing to do with that. My guess is that she knew something and that Ralph met her in the glen and got rid of her himself.’

‘Anyway, there’s something to be said for Blair at last,’ said Hamish. ‘He got him to crack.’

‘Oh, that wasnae Blair. It was the bods from MI6.’

‘I’m going back to the hospital,’ said Hamish. ‘I want to see if that psychiatrist got anything out of Olivia and Charles.’

The psychiatrist, a Dr Filey, agreed to see Hamish. He was an elderly man with a shock of white hair and a clever face, crisscrossed with wrinkles.

‘Did the children speak to you?’ asked Hamish.

‘Yes, they did.’

‘Did you tell them of their parents’ death?’

‘I did. I’m not usually shocked, but that pair startled me. Olivia asked if that meant she and Charles would inherit the money. I said I did not know, it was a matter for the courts – but people could not benefit from a crime, so the money would probably go to the state. Charles cursed me. He then said his parents were a couple of weak losers. After that, they clammed up and wouldn’t speak to me.’

‘What will happen to them?’

‘If we can’t find any living relatives, they’ll be fostered. I have an awful feeling they are a pair of psychopaths. They didn’t even want to know how their mother had died. However, they want to stay in the north.’

Hamish met Jimmy coming out of the children’s room. He was followed by Annie Williams. ‘No go,’ he said. ‘They just look at us with blank eyes and then tell us to get lost. The doctor’s in there with them. He told us they were badly traumatized and to leave them alone.’

‘Did the Palfours draw out any money before they fled?’

‘Aye, five hundred thousand. The Russian crooks have probably got it. Thanks to Witherspoon, we’ve begun to round up every drug dealer in the Highlands. But Andronovitch has fled the country.’

‘I wish I could get my hands on that Russian,’ raged Hamish. ‘All those dead people! He’s probably got enough
money salted away to keep him in comfort for the rest of his life.’

‘We’ll just need to be pragmatic,’ said Jimmy. ‘The
monster’s
head has been cut off so all the little monsters are under arrest. The Highlands will be clear o’ drugs for a bit.’

‘Until the next monster arrives,’ said Hamish.

Ivan Andronovitch was in his fastness in the Ukraine, surrounded by guards. He sat in his office, going through facts his minions had gathered on every policeman in the Palfour case. One name kept sticking out. Hamish Macbeth. He found it hard to believe that a village
policeman
should have brought about his downfall, and he thirsted for revenge. He had arranged for Fern Palfour to fake drowning in the hope of getting rid of Macbeth. Although he hadn’t quite believed it at the time, he had been told that Macbeth was the most dangerous one. He sighed. ‘If you want a job done properly,’ he said to the uncaring walls of his office, ‘do it yourself.’

A month went by, a month in which Hamish still felt uneasy. The Highlands had settled down into their usual torpor. Press and tourists had gone and the only excitement in Lochdubh was the visit of a hellfire minister to take over while Mr Wellington was recovering from swine flu. The villagers loved a short exposure to hell and damnation.

Hamish called one day at Braikie Academy to see how the Palfour children were settling down. The headmaster, a rubicund Welshman called Parry Jones, assured Hamish that they were adjusting very well.

‘Have they any friends?’ asked Hamish.

‘I’m not sure. But the school counsellor, Jane Anstruther, has been seeing them. I’ll phone her and see if she’s free.’

Ten minutes later, Hamish was sitting in Jane’s office, sipping an excellent cup of coffee. Jane Anstruther was
in her early thirties with a round rosy face and curly brown hair.

‘I don’t think either Olivia or Charles has any friends … yet. It’s still early days.’

‘The psychiatrist who saw them when they were in hospital said he was afraid they were a couple of psychopaths.’

‘I find that shocking,’ she said angrily. ‘I know he has a good reputation, but to make such a judgement after all they had been through!’

‘I think he was shocked that they did not grieve for their parents or ask what had happened to their mother. They were only concerned to know if they could still inherit.’

‘I still find that understandable. The dramatic loss of both parents would leave them bereft and wondering what was to become of them. I gather, from reports, that the whole tragedy was set in motion by Ralph Palfour’s desire for money. He must have given his children an idea that only money was important. They are quiet and obedient and anxious to settle down. They have good foster parents, Jeannie and Hugh Mallard. They report that the children are no trouble at all. They still board at the school during the week and stay with the Mallards at the weekends.’

‘Have they been bullying any of the other children? Demanding money?’

‘Really, Mr Macbeth, I am beginning to get very angry with you. Here are two innocent lambs, doing their best to come to terms with normal life. I don’t want you near them. In fact, I am going to complain to your superiors about your attitude. Now, goodbye!’

Hamish decided he had better visit the Mallards right away before any orders came down from above to stop him doing so.

The Mallards had a tidy bungalow in a new housing estate in Braikie. Their bungalow was called Samarkand.
Hamish rang the doorbell, which chimed out a short burst of ‘Scotland the Brave’.

The door was opened by a faded elderly woman
wearing
an old-fashioned print apron and carrying a mop. ‘Is Mrs Mallard at home?’ asked Hamish.

‘I am Mrs Mallard. What’s up?’

Hamish judged Mrs Mallard to be somewhere in her sixties. Surely a younger, stronger woman should have been chosen to foster the Palfour children.

‘May I come in?’

She stood aside then led the way into a cosy living room. Hamish removed his cap and sat down. She seated herself opposite him and looked at him with mild, innocent eyes.

‘Is your husband at home?’

‘He’s retired, but he does volunteer work in the charity shop. He’s all right, isn’t he?’ she asked in sudden alarm.

‘Yes, this is just a social call to see how the children are getting along.’

Her face cleared. ‘Oh, they’re just grand. We never had any children. Olivia and Charles are so good. I didn’t think children were that polite and considerate these days. In fact, I could wish they were a bit noisier. But the school counsellor told me it would take them a long while to get over the shock.’

Hamish left feeling uneasy. He could not banish the
feeling
that somehow Charles and Olivia were waiting for something.

Fiona McBean was a classmate of Olivia’s, and her parents were throwing a birthday party for her. To her dismay, her mother had insisted that she invite Olivia. ‘That poor lassie needs a bit of fun,’ said the mother. In vain did Fiona protest that Olivia gave her the creeps. But she brightened at the thought that Olivia did not socialize with any of them. She would be bound to refuse. To her dismay, Olivia politely accepted the invitation. Not only that, but with
eyes full of tears, she asked if she could bring her brother as well. Startled, but suddenly compassionate, Fiona agreed. ‘My little brother, Harry, will be there and he’s the same age as Charles so it’ll be company for him.’

Delighted, Mrs Mallard raided her small savings account to buy a pretty party dress for Olivia, not realizing in her innocence that girls were more apt to wear T-shirts and torn jeans than party dresses.

But Olivia thanked her sweetly, accepted a present of a Harry Potter book to give Fiona, and set off with Charles. She felt like a freak in her white dress. She wondered if very Protestant Mrs Mallard had realized she had bought a confirmation dress.

At the McBean’s, Olivia asked to use the bathroom. Once inside, she took off her coat, stripped off the dress, and put it in a bag after taking out jeans and a T-shirt. Then she went down to join the party.

At one point, she murmured to Charles, ‘They won’t notice if you leave the room. Good luck!’

Charles was glad that the McBeans were the sort of parents who believed even sixteen-year-olds should be monitored at all times and had organized games for them all. Sixteen-year-olds in that part of the Highlands were still regarded as children.

Olivia hoped Charles would hurry because the party was rapidly dying, teenagers sulky at having to play stupid games. The party buffet was laid out in the
adjoining
room. Charles slipped out to where the bags he and Olivia had brought were in the hall. He took out a bottle of overproof Polish vodka, nipped into the dining room, and poured all the contents into the fruit punch before returning the empty bottle to his bag.

At the back of the house, across from the kitchen, was what Mr McBean proudly called ‘my den’. It was full of golfing trophies and old school photos. Charles quickly went through the desk until he found passports in the bottom drawer. He extracted Fiona’s and Harry’s and
stuffed them in his pockets before slipping back into the party in time for the buffet.

At first the McBeans were delighted that their party seemed to have taken a lively turn as the children demanded more and more punch. But then they started fighting and throwing food at one another. Olivia and Charles slipped quietly away.

‘Got them?’ asked Olivia.

‘Got them,’ agreed Charles.

Two days later, Hamish had an urge to go and look at the hunting box. The house looked square, grim, grey, and deserted. But as he climbed down from the Land Rover, he could hear the sound of a vacuum. He knocked on the door. After some time, Mrs McColl answered it.

‘Still working here?’ asked Hamish.

‘Aye, the lawyers have told me to keep the place clean until they decide what’s to be done wi’ the property. It’s a funny thing. But I miss old Mrs Colchester. She was right crabby but she always paid by the day. She would trundle her chair along to the strong room and come back with the money. She swore me and Bertha Dunglass to secrecy.’

‘But the key was lodged with the bank!’ exclaimed Hamish.

‘She didnae trust banks.’

‘Didn’t you tell the Palfours this? Or the police?’

‘She made us swear on the Bible. It doesn’t matter now somehow.’

‘I don’t remember there being any money mentioned in the inventory,’ said Hamish. ‘Did you ever see where she got the money from in the strong room?’

‘No, we were never allowed to follow her when she went there.’

Hamish stood deep in thought while Mrs McColl looked at him impatiently. ‘Are ye going to stand there all day?’ she asked at last. ‘I’ve got work to do.’

‘Aye, go ahead,’ said Hamish.

He took out his phone and scrolled down the numbers logged on it until he came to the lawyer’s number and dialled. He waited impatiently to be put through to Mr Strowthere. When he came on the line, Hamish asked, ‘When an inventory was taken of the strong room, was there any money there?’