Death of a Kingfisher (17 page)

He waited impatiently in the reception area. Finally they joined him. ‘No,’ said Olivia, ‘nothing like him at all.’

‘Wait here,’ ordered Hamish. He looked into the lounge to where Berger sat by the fire, reading a newspaper. The man looked nothing like Andronovitch.

‘False alarm,’ said Hamish, leading them out to the Land Rover. ‘I’ll drop you home.’

The Palfours waved him goodbye but did not go indoors. ‘It
is
him,’ said Olivia.

‘Nothing like him,’ scoffed Charles.

‘He must have had plastic surgery.’

‘How do you know?’

‘He’s got that ruby ring on his finger and that Rolex on his wrist, the ones he always wore.’

‘So why didn’t you tell the police?’

‘Because they’d just lock him up and with his contacts, I bet he would escape. I want to get him.’

‘How?’ demanded Charles. ‘If he’s found dead and we’ve been seen up there, guess who they’re going to suspect?’

‘Not us. We’ll climb out tonight through the window. Mr and Mrs Mallard go to bed early and sleep like the dead.’

‘You’ve gone mad,’ said Charles. ‘You mean, we kill him and two of us drag the body out of the hotel?’

‘No, silly. We’ve got to wait until he’s outside. Get him somewhere we can’t be seen.’

‘And he pulls out a gun and says, “Bang! Bang! You’re dead.”’

‘Shut up. I’ve got an idea.’ Olivia’s eyes flashed with rare animation. ‘The maids at the hotel are all done up in
old-fashioned
black dresses and caps. Snob appeal. I’ll get a uniform down in Strathbane. The main thing is to search his room and get rid of anything lethal. Then we’ll arrange a meet. We’ll need to wait until the weekend. We can’t forge another sick note. The school wouldn’t believe us.’

‘But the maids will question you.’

‘So? As long as I keep clear of that manager, I can just say I’ve been newly employed. I’ll disguise myself.’

Olivia, with her figure padded out under her uniform, her face padded, and wearing glasses, asked one of the Polish maids which was Mr Berger’s room. She had just seen him leaving the hotel. ‘It thirty-three,’ said the maid, ‘but it’s been cleaned.’

‘He wants me to fetch something. I’ve left my passkey at home. I’ll bring it in tomorrow. Don’t tell the manager.’

‘Here’s mine,’ said the maid, ‘but bring it straight back. It’s my tea break. I’ll be in the kitchen.’

‘What’s your name?’

‘Maria.’

Olivia went up the stairs and let herself into the room. Putting on a pair of latex gloves, she began a quick search.

She looked in frustration at the safe in the corner. She didn’t dare break into it and alert the Russian. She searched through his wardrobe and found a gun in one of his pockets. She had checked the Internet for instructions on how to unload a gun. She emptied out the shells and put them in her pocket.

Now all she could hope was that he didn’t have another weapon in the safe.

She went down the stairs, gave the passkey to the
receptionist
, and told her to give it to Maria.

Outside the hotel, she went across the moors at the back to where she had hidden a bag. She changed out of her disguise, packed it away, and put on her school uniform. She then walked to the main road where she had left her bicycle and set out for Braikie.

She went into a café and sent an email to Andronovitch. ‘Need money. Meet me at the Fairy Glen tomorrow at
midnight
on the bridge. Little Flower.’

Andronovitch cursed when he read the email on his BlackBerry. Those devil’s spawn somehow had penetrated his changed look and were no doubt after him for money.

He put the gun in his pocket, drove one of the hotel cars to the glen’s parking lot, and made his way to the bridge.

It was a wild restless night with the wind soughing through the trees. He stood on the bridge and waited.

It was very dark, and black clouds were piling up against the moon. Two black figures appeared at the end of the bridge. ‘Come closer,’ he said. ‘Uncle Ivan is here to help you.’

Charles and Olivia slowly approached. He took the gun out of his pocket, pulled the trigger, and with dismay heard it click uselessly on the empty chamber. With a shout of wrath, he ran towards them – and straight into the long sharp carving knife which Olivia plunged into his chest. He staggered past them, wanting to get to his car with blood pumping out of the wound on his chest. He only managed to reach the end of the bridge before collapsing, slumped over the guardrail.

‘Get his feet and help me heave him over,’ said Olivia.

Together, they tipped the Russian into the pool. The rain began to come down in torrents.

‘That should wash any forensic evidence away,’ said Olivia. ‘Thank goodness, Dad taught me to drive. I only hope he left the keys in the ignition.’

They hurried through the increasing storm to the car. ‘The keys are there,’ said Olivia. ‘Let’s go.’

They left the car in the hotel car park and walked out to a stand of trees on the road where they had left their bicycles. Then they headed off through the storm to Braikie, climbing up to their rooms at the back of the house.

‘Funny,’ whispered Charles, calling at her room before going to sleep. ‘I don’t feel a thing. What about you?’

‘Nothing, either. I washed the carving knife and put it in the dishwasher.’

Two days later, Mr Johnson phoned Hamish. ‘You’d best get up here. Berger is missing. All his clothes and his
passport
are in his room.’

Hamish and Dick drove up to the hotel. They
inspected
the room, Hamish beginning to feel uneasy. He called Strathbane and a search began for the missing ‘German businessman’.

Three days later, when a rare spring day of warm sunshine bathed the Highlands, Frank Shepherd, the ornithologist, decided to visit the glen. The gift shop was closed, and there were no cars in the car park. Perhaps the tourists would come back again, he thought, when all the fears of murder had disappeared. But he was surprised there weren’t a few ghouls around, the kind of people who slowed down to relish the sight of bad car crashes.

He climbed over the turnstile and made his way to the bridge. The peaty water of the pool below sparkled like gold in the sun. And then he caught his breath. There was a magical flash of blue as a kingfisher flew out from under the willow tree. He took out his camera and waited. Suddenly he lowered his camera in alarm, for rising to the surface of the tranquil pool was a dead body.

It rushed into his mind that he would have to report it immediately. Police and forensics would arrive and all the mayhem of an investigation. He had taken out his mobile phone, but now he put it away and made his way down from the bridge to the pool. At the end of the pool the water swirled lazily over a rocky lip, where it cascaded down into another pool below. It was not a dramatic
waterfall
like the one on the far side of the bridge.

He took off his socks and shoes and waded into the water, which was shallow enough near the body and only came up to his knees. With a shudder, he propelled the swollen body to the lip of the waterfall and gave it one almighty push.

Almost in slow motion, the body hovered on the edge and then disappeared. He scrambled back to the bank. His heart was thudding. He put on his shoes and socks and hurried back to the car park. He looked around. No one was in sight.

It was only after he had driven several miles out of Braikie that he began to wonder if he had been seized with temporary madness.

He thought of Hamish Macbeth and his gentle Highland voice and had an urge to go to Lochdubh and confess his crime. But that would mean the original crime scene would have to be investigated and the kingfisher might leave.

Two weeks later, Hamish Macbeth received a call from Mrs Mallard. ‘A man has called, a Mr Templeton, who says he is a distant cousin of Mrs Colchester. He is an American and wants to take Olivia and Charles to America. The lawyer says he has been checked out and he is who he says he is.’

‘And what do the Palfours say?’ asked Hamish.

‘They say they want to go with him.’

‘Is he there now?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’ll be right over.’

Mr Templeton was seated with Olivia and Charles in the Mallards’ living room. He was a rubicund man in his sixties with snowy white hair and an American accent.

He rose and shook hands with Hamish, but said, ‘I don’t know why Mrs Mallard should call the police. I’ve been vetted and Charles and Olivia are willing to go with me. I’ve a pleasant property in Nantucket. I had been travelling
in the Far East and only heard of what these poor children had been through when I got back to the States. I will take them back with me on vacation until any formalities are finalized.’

Olivia, dressed in her school uniform, still looked younger than her years. She was behaving like a child, smiling shyly and yet showing more animation than Hamish had ever seen in her. Charles was also smiling and holding his sister’s hand.

Hamish cynically noticed the thick gold watch on Mr Templeton’s wrist and his expensively tailored suit.

Still, he asked Olivia, ‘Are you sure you want to go?’

‘Oh, yes!’ they both chorused.

Mrs Mallard rushed from the room. Hamish followed her and found her sobbing in the kitchen. ‘There, now,’ he said, putting an arm around her shoulders. ‘Maybe it’s for the best.’

She pulled herself together and said, ‘After all I’ve done for them! They won’t even look at me now. Can’t wait to get away. Not a word of thanks out of either of them.’

‘I’ll just be getting Mr Templeton’s address,’ said Hamish. ‘I’d like to learn how they get on in Nantucket.’

He obtained the address and left with the sound of the Palfours’ happy laughter ringing in his ears.

The day after, Callum and Rory Macgregor decided to take their new toy sailing boat to the glen and sail it in the pool. They were delighted when it cruised across the pool like a real yacht, but cried out in dismay as it reached the lip where the pool went down into the lower pool. It sailed bravely right over the edge and disappeared.

‘Quick!’ said Rory. ‘Let’s get doon there afore it goes right away.’

They scrambled down the edge of the small waterfall and then stood stock-still with shock. A body was floating in the pool, revolving gently in the current.

Callum sat down on a rock and began to shiver. Rory took out his prized mobile phone and with shaking fingers dialled the police.

The investigation was long and rigorous. A washed-out passport in the man’s pocket identified him as
Andronovitch
. An autopsy revealed that he had undergone expensive plastic surgery.

Who had done it? A rival drug baron?

Hamish began to think of Charles and Olivia.
Andronovitch
may have threatened them.

He went to see Mrs Mallard. ‘They’ve left!’ she cried. ‘He took them off to an apartment he keeps in London for a holiday. They went off, hanging on to him, and never looked back once.’

‘Did he leave you a London address or phone number?’

‘I’ll get it for you.’

Hamish phoned Jimmy and suggested that Scotland Yard should send someone to interview the Palfours.

Jimmy agreed. Hamish waited impatiently all day for a result.

He phoned in the evening. ‘They said they had never been near the glen at all. Hamish, since we can’t tell exactly when he was murdered although it probably was on the first day he went missing, they were asked what they were doing during the days and nights he had disappeared. It seems they can account for every minute of their time. Mr Templeton appears to be very rich. He had been winding up his businesses in the Far East, mostly clothes factories in Taiwan. Those kids are going to have a life of luxury.’

The Palfours arrived in Nantucket two weeks later. Olivia had asked if she could go to college and was told she could.

Their excitement grew as they drove up to the gates of an imposing mansion. There was a barrier to the entrance and an armed guard.

Olivia noticed uneasily that the property was
surrounded
by a high electric fence¸ plastered with warning signs.

‘You have a lot of security, Uncle,’ she said. Mr Templeton had told them to call him ‘Uncle’.

‘It’s wicked world, Olivia, and I am a rich man.’

The inside of the house looked a bit like early American railroad baron. The furniture was heavy and Victorian. The walls were wood-panelled. Blinds were drawn down on all the windows, cutting out the sunlight.

Their rooms were a further disappointment. Each was small with a hard bed, a wardrobe, and a bedside table on which lay a large Bible. Each had a small bathroom en suite.

A grim-faced servant told them to rest, and to present themselves in the dining room for dinner at seven o’clock.

Charles sat on the bed in Olivia’s room. ‘This is creepy,’ she said. ‘What’s with the Bibles? He didn’t strike me as particularly religious in London.’

‘He can’t live that long,’ said Charles who considered all those in their sixties to be ancient. ‘We’d better find out if he’s made a will. The house is right on the sea. We can go swimming.’

Jimmy called on Hamish. ‘I’ve just found out more about this Mr Templeton,’ he said. ‘He’s some religious nut. He told his local church that he had invited two young relatives and was looking forward to educating them in the path of Jesus Christ.’

Hamish grinned. ‘I’d give anything to be a fly on the wall when they get there and find out what they’re in for.’

In the gloomy dining room, Mr Templeton beamed at them as a surly maid served them with undercooked
hamburgers
and french fries. ‘Your first taste of real American food,’ said Mr Templeton.

‘We have hamburger joints in Scotland,’ said Charles.

‘Now, Charles, it is rude to contradict your elders.’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Charles, picking up his knife and fork.

‘Put down your knife and fork,’ said Mr Templeton. ‘I will say grace.’

And he did … on and on and on. By the time he had finished, Charles and Olivia had lost their appetites.

‘Now, I have hired a tutor for you because the summer holidays are due to begin,’ said Mr Templeton.

‘Can I go for a swim after dinner?’ asked Olivia.

‘No, you may not. Young girls should not expose their flesh for all to see.’

Prison would have been better than this, thought Olivia wildly.

She intended to plan some sort of campaign after dinner with her brother. But when the meal was finished, they trailed after Mr Templeton to the drawing room, where he read them large extracts from the Bible.

They were finally dismissed, and the burly servant
followed
them up to their rooms and locked them in.

They found the next day a sort of torture. Their tutor was a reverend, a man with a dog collar from which his tall thin head popped out like a vulture. His name was Jeb Pratt, and the tutoring took the form of religious instruction.

Olivia managed to have a word with Charles when they were allowed out in the grounds in the afternoon for a walk with the servant-guard several paces behind.

‘We’ve got to get out of here,’ whispered Olivia. ‘He’s mad and he’ll drive us both mad if this goes on. We’ve got to escape.’

‘We’ll never get past the guard or that electric fence,’ said Charles.

‘If we could get out of our rooms at night and find some way to sabotage the electric current, we could make it. At least we’ve still got our passports. I’ll think of something.’

That evening before dinner, rummaging through her
luggage
for some sort of tool, Olivia came across a half-used bottle of clear nail varnish. She put a small amount into the lock.

When the servant came to lock them in for the night, he found that the key to Olivia’s door would not turn. ‘I’ll get the locksmith around in the morning to fix that,’ he said.

Olivia sat on her bed and waited until two in the
morning
. Then she let herself out and went to Charles’s room next door. To her relief, the key was in the lock. She shook her brother awake and said, ‘Let’s go. We’ll only take our backpacks.’

They crept down the thickly carpeted staircase. ‘There’s bound to be a fuse box somewhere,’ said Olivia. ‘Look for a cellar or basement door.’

They found it at the back of the hall and crept down the stone stairs.

‘There it is!’ said Charles excitedly. ‘All I have to do is pull the switch.’

He jerked it down and the light in the cellar went off. They felt their way to the stairs and across the hall. Olivia gently unbolted three bolts in the massive door and turned the key, glad that all had been well oiled.

‘Wait!’ she said. ‘We need money. Let’s look at the desk in his study.’

‘Do we have to?’ asked Charles. ‘Someone could find us any moment.’

‘We’ve got to,’ said Olivia firmly. ‘Come on.’

In the top drawer of the desk, they found a bundle of hundred-dollar bills, which Olivia quickly stored in her backpack.

With beating hearts they made their way to a corner of the grounds. Nimbly they scaled the fence and
disappeared
into the night.

Hamish Macbeth heard the news of their disappearance two days later. ‘Why did it take all this time to let me know?’ Hamish complained to Jimmy. ‘And why did they run away? Too much religion?’

‘We only just heard ourselves,’ said Jimmy. ‘Old Mr Templeton thought he could catch them himself. He got a rocket from the FBI. You wouldn’t think two Britishers could disappear just like that.’

‘They must have got hold of some money. Did Mr Templeton say he was missing any?’

‘No, but he’s been subjected to a rigorous investigation. His house has been searched and his grounds dug up for bodies. The press have just woken up to the story here. The American papers have been interviewing people on Nantucket, and it does seem he was some mad religious freak.’

‘I somehow don’t think they’re dead,’ said Hamish. ‘I feel right uneasy about it all. I only hope they don’t ever come back to Scotland.’

‘Why?’

‘It’s unfashionable to call folks evil these days but that’s what I think they are.’

‘We’ll see,’ said Jimmy. ‘But ten to one we’ll never hear about them again.’

In this he was wrong. A week later, the Palfours were in the headlines again. They had surfaced in New York and
had got a top criminal lawyer to take their case pro bono. They were suing Mr Templeton for mental cruelty.

The American newspapers and television were full of the case. Hamish and Dick watched them on the news, Olivia dressed in a much younger fashion, holding her brother’s hand, and both looking the picture of injured innocence.

At the end of the case, Mr Templeton was sued for two million dollars, the money to be put into a trust for the Palfours’ upkeep and education. Olivia, now seventeen, was considered old enough to look after her brother.

Mrs Mallard phoned Hamish. ‘The poor wee lambs,’ she cried. ‘Do you think they’ll ever come back and see me?’

God forbid, thought Hamish, but he hadn’t the heart to destroy her illusions about the Palfours. ‘I’m sure they’ll be back one day,’ he said.

He went up to the glen on a fine sunny day. The tourists were back but not in the numbers that had been there before. He leaned on the bridge and looked down into the pool, catching his breath as the kingfisher flashed across.