Death of a Maid (18 page)

Hamish followed him into his study. Professor Sander sank down into a chair and stared at the floor.

‘Is that what Mrs Gillespie had on you?’ Hamish demanded.

‘I invited one of them back here.’ The bluster had left the professor, and Hamish had to strain to hear what he was saying. ‘We got drunk and he stayed the night. When I came
down in the morning, I found him in the kitchen with Mrs Gillespie. It was after that the blackmailing started.’

‘What did she ask for?’

‘Money, of course. But also, she treated me like a servant. If she wanted to go to Inverness, say, I had to drive her. One time, I had to buy her an expensive new television and DVD
player. I couldn’t go to the police.’

‘Did you kill her?’

‘No, I did not. When I saw her dead, all I felt was relief.’ Then some of his old bluster came back. ‘You must have been following me,’ he said. ‘That’s
harassment. You bring me down, and I’ll have you out of a job. I have powerful friends.’

So instead of reassuring him that he would keep the matter quiet, Hamish said, ‘You’ll need your powerful friends. You’ll be hearing from me again.’

He drove to the Tommel Castle Hotel, where Elspeth had told him she would be waiting to hear how he had got on.

She listened carefully and then turned those odd silver eyes of hers on him. ‘Did you not tell him you wouldn’t be reporting him?’

‘I was going to, Elspeth, but he began to get all pompous again, and I wanted him to sweat a little. What is this? You were all for me reporting him.’

‘I’ve got a bad feeling,’ said Elspeth. ‘I know he’s a pompous prick, but look at it this way. All that investigation into his book must have put him under a lot of
strain. He’s probably been behaving himself for quite a bit. Then when he thinks he’s safe, he heads off to Strathbane to – er – celebrate. He’s probably now thinking
of headlines in the papers.’

‘A man picking up a rent boy doesn’t make a story these days.’

‘But frightened people always think they’ll be top of the news. Hamish, I’m begging you. Go and tell the man you’re going to keep it quiet.’

‘Elspeth, when I left him, he seemed quite recovered. Oh, okay, I’ll go back and put his mind at rest.’

She followed him out to the car park. ‘You may be too late. Look at the sky!’

Black clouds like long fingers were trailing in from the Atlantic.

‘It chust means the rain’s coming,’ said Hamish angrily.

He drove off slowly, aware of Elspeth watching him go.

Rubbish, he thought. He realized he hadn’t had any breakfast, so instead he went to the police station and fried sausage, bacon and eggs and ate leisurely. Then he fed the dog and cat and
let them out for a walk before driving off reluctantly in the direction of Braikie. The wind was strengthening, and the sky above was black.

There was a flash of lightning followed by a tremendous crack of thunder. Damn Elspeth and her fancies, he thought. The rain came down, whipping across the landscape.

He was glad the tide was out as he reached the shore road, but out in the Atlantic, huge waves lit by flashes of lightning were rearing up. It seemed like the end of the world, as though the sea
were coming back to claim its own, to claim all the glens it had flooded of old. There was something about Sutherland on a bad day, thought Hamish, that made the human race feel like temporary
inhabitants of an increasingly angry planet.

He got out of the Land Rover in front of the professor’s house and ran up the short drive. He had forgotten to wear his oilskin, and his regulation sweater and trousers were soaked by the
time he reached the shelter of the porch.

He rang the bell. No answer. The professor’s car was in the drive. He tried the door handle. The door was not locked.

Probably drinking himself silly, thought Hamish. ‘Professor Sander!’ he shouted.

The thunder rolled, but further away.

Hamish went into the study. Maybe gone to bed. He went upstairs, located the professor’s bedroom, but it, too, was empty.

Hamish began to feel more cheerful. Elspeth and her thoughts! The man had probably decided to walk to the shops and had got caught in the rain.

But why didn’t he lock the door? asked a little voice in his head.

He shrugged and decided to make a thorough search so that he could report to Elspeth that all was well. The sitting room was empty.

He opened the kitchen door, looked in and then froze.

From a meat hook in the ceiling hung the lifeless body of Professor Sander.

What have I done? thought Hamish. He took out his phone and called police headquarters.

There was a sealed envelope on the kitchen table addressed to the procurator fiscal. He longed to open it. What did it say? Did it say it’s because of Hamish Macbeth that I can’t
live any longer?

He retreated to the hall and sat down on a hard chair by the door and waited.

Blair arrived, followed by Jimmy Anderson, two policemen, and the pathologist. It would have to be Blair, thought Hamish.

‘In the kitchen,’ said Hamish bleakly.

‘Stay where you are,’ growled Blair.

So Hamish stayed. The forensic team arrived.

‘So,’ said Blair, confronting Hamish, ‘what were you doing here?’

Hamish thought quickly. ‘It was believed that Professor Sander had plagiarized his book on Byron. Some student had been accusing him of pinching his work. I had just received proof that
this was not true and called to tell the professor. I found him dead.’

‘Get to your feet when you’re talking to a senior officer. Well, it wraps those murders up.’

‘How?’ asked Hamish.

‘Oh, get back to yer sheep, laddie, and leave things to the experts.’

Behind Blair’s fat back, Jimmy held up a piece of paper saying, ‘See you later.’

Back at the police station, Hamish phoned Elspeth and told her the news. ‘I’d better get a police statement, Hamish. I’ll get over to Braikie right now. Luke
had better come with me.’

Luke, thought Hamish after he had rung off. I’d forgotten all about him. He experienced a sudden sharp pang of jealousy.

He did his various crofting chores during the rest of the day. The storm had rolled away to the east, and the day was bright and chilly.

As the first evening star twinkled in the sky, he found his thoughts turning to Elspeth. But a nasty little cautioning voice in his brain asked him whether he would be so interested if she had
not arrived with Luke. He tried not to pay any attention to it. He could just see Elspeth living at the police station. It could be fun. He would have company during the long, dark winter months.
She would not like to be idle, but she could surely get her old job on the local paper back again. Then it would be rather grand to have a son. Would she want a big wedding? If she didn’t,
his mother would.

His happy thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Jimmy. ‘Well, that’s that,’ said Jimmy. ‘Are you going to stand out here looking at your hens with a silly smile on
your face all night, or can we go inside?’

Hamish led the way into the kitchen and took down a bottle of whisky and glasses from the cupboard.

‘What’s what?’ he asked.

‘That letter Sander left. He said . . . wait a bit. I’ve taken a note of it.’ He fished out a battered notebook and thumbed through the leaves. ‘Ah, here it is. “I
am sorry for everything. Yes, I am guilty I cannot bear to live with the shame. I would not survive in prison.” It’s signed with his name. So that’s that. We’re still trying
to figure out why he killed Mrs Gillespie except that the blackmailing old trout must have had something on him that Shona found out. Daviot’s thrilled to bits. Gave a press conference. All
the press are going away. You’ll be glad of that.’

Hamish slowly poured two measures of whisky. ‘He didn’t do those murders, Jimmy.’

‘Man, he as good as said so!’

Hamish told Jimmy about the rent boy and about how Mrs Gillespie had been blackmailing him. ‘I should have told the professor I wasnae going to do anything about it. But he was so pompous
that I decided to let him sweat for a little. God, I’ve as good as killed him.’

‘Nasty wee man. No great loss,’ said Jimmy heartlessly. ‘This whisky is foul, Hamish. What’s it called? Dream o’ the Glens. Probably made in Japan.’

‘It wass on special offer. If you don’t like it, don’t drink it. Don’t you see the problem? If I tell Blair what I know, he may get me suspended or even fired.
They’ll all be that furious that their precious case isnae wrapped up.’

‘Hamish, I can’t really sit on this information. I mean, you don’t want a murderer getting off scot-free.’

‘Could you give me a couple of days?’

‘Hamish, this isn’t the telly where the senior officer says, “You have twenty-four hours.” And it’ll be worse for you if it looks as if you’ve been sitting on
this information. Look, I tell you what I’ll do. I’ll try to get hold of the rent boy who spent the night with the prof and got caught by Mrs Gillespie. I’ll put in a report about
that and suggest it might be the real reason for his suicide. I’ll hint that the rent boy was about to blow the gaff. They’ll hate me for it.’

‘Thanks, Jimmy. There iss something nagging at the back of my mind.’

‘He could have done it, Hamish.’

‘Let me think about it. I wass surprised not to see Inspector Gannon at the scene.’

‘She’s been transferred to Inverness. Blair, who, as you must have gathered, did not stay suspended long, was heard saying that they wanted none of that feminist crap in Strathbane.
Daviot was furious with her for causing what he called “an unnecessary ruckus”. Sad day for women’s lib. The few women police who hoped to rise in the ranks are furious as well,
thinking that she’s ruined their chances of promotion.’

That night, Hamish lay in bed but could not sleep. All the people he had interviewed kept swirling around in his head. Then he suddenly sat bolt upright. Mrs Gillespie had
recognized Dr Renfrew from a television show. A blackmailer would immediately slot in a video or DVD to record the rest of it. Probably a video. But she had a DVD player. The professor said she had
made him buy her one. Maybe it was before that. He phoned the stepdaughter, Heather. Tom Morrison’s sleepy voice came on the line. ‘What do you want?’ he asked sharply.
‘It’s two in the morning.’

‘It’s urgent,’ said Hamish. ‘I need to speak to Heather.’

He could hear a lot of grumbling, and then Heather’s voice came on the line.

‘Did Mrs Gillespie tape a lot of television shows?’

‘You got me up in the middle of the night to ask that!’

‘It’s important. Think!’

‘Well, yes, but only a few. In fact I was going over to my dad’s today to throw out a lot of old stuff. There’s a box of videos in the attic.’

‘What about DVDs?’

‘Not them. She couldn’t get the hang of how to record them.’

‘I’ll meet you at your father’s at seven in the morning.’

‘Have a heart!’

‘Well, make it eight.’

Hamish rang off. She liked the Trant Television’s reality shows. Maybe, just maybe, she had taped another show because there was someone she recognized. But wouldn’t that be too much
of a coincidence? On the other hand, often in the past people had moved to the far north of Scotland to escape from something. How long, for example, had Fiona Fleming been living in Braikie? And
the impeccable Mrs Styles had been a gorgeous-looking girl in her youth from what he remembered of the photograph he had seen.

He barely slept that night. He was up early to shave and dress and feed the cat and dog. It was only after he had fed them that he realized his guilty conscience was making them fat because he
was giving them too many meals.

Once more he took the road to Braikie under the chill light of a small yellow sun, rising above the mountains.

He was too early when he arrived outside Mr Gillespie’s home. He sat in the Land Rover and fretted until, at last, Heather arrived.

She let him in and said, ‘Come upstairs, but quiet, now. Dad’ll still be asleep. I put a lot of stuff in the spare room. It used to be mine.’

She pushed open a door and said, ‘I’ll leave you to it. I’ve got to have a cup of coffee. You’re just in time. The Salvation Army is sending someone round this afternoon
to pick the lot up.’

Hamish ignored the plastic bags of clothes. ‘Where are the videos?’

‘You’ll find them in that box over by the window.’

Hamish knelt down on the floor beside the box and began to go through them. There were various films, but six tapes were not marked at all. He’d need to go through the lot.

He carried them down to the kitchen. ‘Have you a video recorder here?’

‘I haven’t seen one. I seem to mind she threw it out when she got the DVD player.’

Hamish wrote her a receipt for the tapes. He did not have any sort of recorder at the police station. Then he remembered that Angela Brodie had a video recorder.

Angela was cooking breakfast when Hamish arrived. She was placing a plate of sausage, eggs, bacon, fried bread and black pudding in front of the doctor.

‘That’ll fur your arteries,’ commented Hamish.

‘Did you interrupt my breakfast to lecture me on diet?’ asked Dr Brodie, taking a swipe at a cat that was trying to drag a sausage off the plate.

Hamish explained that he needed a video recorder.

‘There’s one in the living room,’ said Angela. ‘Help yourself. It’s all over the news this morning, Hamish, that the professor committed those murders.’

‘Maybe,’ said Hamish.

He went into the living room, switched on the television, and slotted the first of the tapes into the video recorder. It turned out to be the one featuring Dr Renfrew, amongst others. The next
one, also Trant Television, was about shady car dealers. He watched it until the end in case Tom Morrison should appear, but there was nothing there. He took it out and changed it for another. It
was an exposé of the number of pirated goods in street markets. His heart sinking, he tried another. It was about antique dealers who faked antiques.

Angela brought him in a cup of coffee. He thanked her, wincing a little as he saw a cat hair sticking to the edge of the cup.