Death of a Dreamer Page 11

  Hamish surveyed her. “I thought Jock only painted landscapes and that this portrait of Miss Halburton-Smythe was a one-off.”

  Dora gave a contemptuous sniff. “That agent o’ his told him to stick to landscapes because portraits werenae his thing, but Jock said it was a good chat-up line.”

  I must see Priscilla, thought Hamish anxiously. If Angela is right and jealousy was behind the murder of Effie, then she could be at risk. Or if Jock did it, she'll still be at risk.

  He got to his feet. “Could you carry on with the questioning, Robin?”

  Robin looked at him severely. “And just where do you think you are going?”

  “I’ve got to pee,” said Hamish.

  He headed toward the door. Now for Priscilla.

  Chapter Eight

  She may very well pass for forty-three

  In the dusk with a light behind her!

  —W. S. Gilbert

  Priscilla was crossing the reception area when Hamish stopped her. “It’s urgent,” he said.

  “All right. Let’s go into the lounge.”

  “No, not there. Robin’s interviewing Jock’s wife.”

  “Who’s he?”

  “She. A detective.”

  “Let’s use the office, then. Mr. Johnson’s gone out shopping.” Priscilla selected a key from a whole bunch of them on a chain fastened around her slim waist.

  “You look like the chatelaine of the castle. Do you have to work? Where are your parents?”

  “They've gone to visit the Derwents over in Caithness. I don’t mind.”

  She unlocked the door. “Help yourself to coffee and tell me what it’s all about.”

  Hamish poured himself a mug from the coffee machine in the corner and turned and raised an eyebrow. “Not for me,” said Priscilla.

  “It’s like this,” said Hamish. “We were interviewing Jock’s ex-wife. She says Jock only offers to paint a woman’s portrait as a way of chatting her up.”

  “He seems harmless enough, Hamish. I’m vain enough to want this portrait.”

  “Priscilla, he’s got a record of assault. Angela Brodie had an idea that maybe jealousy was behind these murders. If that is the reason Effie was killed, then you could be next.”

  “I don’t think so,” said Priscilla with maddening calm. “The portrait seems to be coming along all right. He’s just a large, friendly man. His only interest in me is as a subject.”

  “I neffer thought of you as being naïve,” said Hamish.

  The door of the office opened, and Robin’s voice said sharply, “What are you doing, Hamish? Jimmy has taken Jock off to the police unit for further questioning, and he wants us there.”

  Hamish turned in the doorway. “Remember what I said, Priscilla.”

  “Remember what?” asked Robin as they got into the Land Rover.

  Hamish told her about his fears.

  When he finished, Robin said, “So you think the murderer might have been a woman?”

  “It’s possible. I think that ex-wife of his could be capable of murder.”

  At the mobile police unit, they found Jimmy questioning Jock. “You see why we are so suspicious,” said Jimmy. “You lied first time round. What’s to say you aren’t lying again?”

  “I’ve told you and told you,” said Jock. “I had a late dinner with Betty, and then we both went to our respective rooms. That would be around eleven o’clock in the evening.”

  Robin studied Jock while the questioning went on. She could see what attracted women to this apparently friendly bear of a man. At one point in the questioning, he looked across at her and made a funny face, and she had to bite her lip to stop herself from bursting out laughing.

  “You seem friendly enough with your ex-wife,” Hamish said.

  “Och, I never was one to keep resentments. She’s the mother of my children. She’s a good mother.”

  “So why isn’t she back in Glasgow with them?”

  “She needs a holiday, and the children are being well looked after by her mother.”

  “How did you first meet Dora?” asked Robin.

  “Some party in a gallery. We hit it off right away.”

  “Did you know right away she was a prostitute?”

  “She told me. It didn’t matter. I was keen on her.”

  Hamish studied Jock. His eyes seemed clear and honest as he turned to look at each one of them in turn.

  “You didn’t know,” said Hamish flatly. He had never trusted anyone who looked at him with that straight, unblinking gaze. “She moved in with you right away. You didn’t know until after she got you to marry her. The first assault on her was when you found out.”

  Jock suddenly lost his temper. “Dora promised not to say a word!”

  “The truth, please,” said Jimmy.

  “I don’t see what this has to do with anything. Oh, all right. We’d been to the theatre and went for a late-night meal. We were walking along Bath Street when this hoor steps out of a doorway and cries, ‘Why, Dora! Haven’t seen you in ages. You got a different beat?’

  “Dora hurried me past the woman. I waited until we got home and demanded an answer. She only came out with the truth after I hit her. She said she was tired of the streets and had seen me as an easy mark. She had deliberately got pregnant so that I would marry her. Then the bitch got to the phone and called the police and reported me for assault.”

  “So why didn’t you divorce her then?”

  “I was too busy to be bothered.”

  “And you went ahead and had another child,” said Hamish. “You must ha’ cared for her enough.”

  “Well, I was right sorry I had hit her. Things seemed to settle down to normal. Then she said there was another woman. I told her that was rubbish. She began turning up at parties and galleries and accusing me of adultery.”

  “And that’s when you assaulted her again?”

  “Yes. She was making a fool of me.”

  “Was there another woman?”

  “No. It was all in her stupid head. I told her I wanted a divorce and if she didn’t give me one, I’d tell everyone about her having been a prostitute. So she agreed. What the hell she was doing telling you about her background is beyond me.”

  “Don’t go beating her up again,” said Hamish. “She didn’t tell us much. We knew from police reports that she’d been a prostitute. I guessed the rest.”

  Jimmy resumed the questioning. Jock stuck to his story about calling on Effie the evening she disappeared. He said he had then gone back to the hotel and had a late dinner with Betty. He said he had seen the American around the hotel but hadn’t talked to him.

  Hamish thought that strange. He had been under the impression that Hal had buttonholed everyone.

  After the questioning was over, Jock was dismissed but told not to leave Lochdubh.

  “You two had better go and check his alibi with his agent,” said Jimmy.

  Robin and Hamish got back into the Land Rover.

  “How on earth did you guess that Jock had not known Dora was a prostitute when he married her?” asked Robin.

  “People from Glasgow can never lie like a highlander,” said Hamish. “His shoulders were stiff. And when anyone turns a clear, unblinking, honest gaze on me, I know they're lying.”

  “What’s this agent, Betty Barnard, like? Oh, look! A heron.” She pointed.

  They had almost reached the end of the waterfront. Hamish slowed the vehicle. A heron was standing over a rocky pool on its long thin legs, gazing down into the water. Its beak suddenly flashed down into the water and came up with a fish. It rose majestically into the air, lazily flapping its huge wings, and soared up over the loch.

  “Fish sometimes get trapped in the pools at low tide,” said Hamish, speeding up again.

  “I was asking you what Betty Barnard was like.”

  “Very nice. She’s by way of being a friend of mine.”

  “Don’t let that stop you suspecting her,” Robin warned.

  Mr.
Johnson, the manager, back from his shopping, told them that Betty was out somewhere. Hamish and Robin took seats in the bar where they could sit and watch through the open door into the reception area.

  “Would you like a drink?” asked Hamish.

  “I’ll have an orange juice.” Hamish ordered orange juice for her and coffee for himself.

  Half an hour passed. They were just about to give up when Betty walked into reception. Hamish hailed her.

  Betty was wearing another trouser suit, a silky thing the same green as her eyes. “I was down at the police station looking for you, Hamish,” she said. “I called in at that police unit, and they told me I’d find you up here because you wanted to question me.”

  “Can I get you anything to drink?” asked Hamish.

  “A gin and tonic with a lot of ice would be lovely. I took your beasts out for a walk and fed them. They're all right.”

  Hamish looked at her in genuine gratitude. “Thanks a lot, Betty. They're worse than children.”

  He called to the barman, “A gin and tonic over here. Lots of ice. Now, Betty…”

  “I’ll do the questioning,” said Robin firmly. “Miss Barnard…”

  “Betty, please.”

  “Betty. Let’s go over again the evening Effie disappeared. You said you met Mr. Fleming for a late dinner. What were you doing earlier in the evening?”

  “Let me see. I have other artists, you know. I was up in my room making phone calls. You can check my hotel phone bill.”

  “We'll need to check your mobile as well.”

  “You'll need to go to Glasgow to do that. I left it behind.”

  “Give me your mobile phone number.”

  Betty did and raised her eyebrows at Hamish as if wondering why he was letting Robin ask all the questions.

  “So you were in your room for the early part of the evening. Any witnesses?”

  “Yes, that maid, Bessie something or other. I ordered a drink from room service, and she brought it up.”

  “What time was that?”

  “Not sure. About eight o’clock.”

  The bar had begun to fill up. “Press,” explained Hamish. “They're all over the place. Let’s move to the lounge.” He saw Matthew Campbell among the reporters and photographers and made a mental note to call on him later and see if he had found out anything.

  Once seated in a corner of the lounge, Robin started the questioning again.

  “So did you meet Jock for dinner by previous arrangement?”

  “No, he called on me in my room and said he’d been up to see Effie. He told me he had straightened her out and said he was famished.”

  “What time was this?”

  “It was about nine o’clock. I said we’d better hurry down to the dining room because they stopped cooking at nine-thirty.”

  “And when did you finish eating?”

  “Around eleven. Then we went to our respective rooms.”

  “Did you know Jock Fleming before he was married?”

  “Yes. A friend introduced us and begged me to look at his work. I did. I saw it was marketable. People are turning away from abstracts. I arranged an exhibition for him, and he did very well indeed. He’s not top of the market yet, but if you want a Jock Fleming landscape, it'll set you back ten thousand pounds. He’s a coming lad.”

  “What did you think about his marriage?”

  “I was a bit surprised. I thought her a coarse little thing. But he was so happy about the baby coming, and he was working harder than ever. Besides, it’s not my job to interfere in the personal life of my artists.”

  “And yet you came all the way up here to be with him?”

  “I needed a holiday, and I wanted to protect my investment. Jock was my first big success.”

  The interview went on. Betty answered all Robin’s questions simply and directly.

  After Robin had finished, Hamish said, “I’d like a word with Betty alone, if you don’t mind.”

  “I’ll wait for you outside,” said Robin.

  “It’s like this, Betty,” said Hamish awkwardly. “Now that this is an official murder case, I can’t afford to socialise with you until the murderer is found. I’m right grateful to you for looking after the animals, but you see how it is.”

  She gave him a warm smile. “Don’t worry, Hamish. Catch your murderer, and we'll have a party to celebrate.”

  Hamish joined Robin outside. “Before we leave here, we should have a word with the maid, Bessie Jamieson.”

  “Why?”

  “I caught her in bed with Jock. Maybe he said something useful to her.”

  Back in the hotel, Mr. Johnson summoned Bessie. “You can use my office,” he said. “Don’t be too long about it. Bessie’s got work to do. A lot of the guests have left, but they've been replaced by the gentlemen of the press.”

  “Sit down, Bessie,” said Hamish. She was a plump girl with shiny brown hair and rosy cheeks. “Now, you went to bed with Jock Fleming.”

  “It was just a wee bit o’ fun, Hamish.”

  “I’m sure it was. Did he say anything to you that might have a bearing on the death of Effie Garrard?”

  “Let me see. He’d ordered a bottle of whisky, and I took it up to him. He asked me to join him. We got drinking and talking. He said he’d like to paint me. He said Effie had been chasing him and she’d been a pain in the neck, but that was all. We got a wee bit drunk and he started kissing me and afore I knew it, we were in bed.”

  “And has he spoken to you since?”

  “He said it wouldn’t be a good idea, what with his wife being up here. I said okay, cos I’ve got a boyfriend down in Inverness. Och, it didnae mean anything.”

  “And he didn’t say anything else about that American or Effie?”

  “Not that I can bring to mind.”

  “If you think of anything, Bessie, phone me right away.”

  “Are there really women like that?” asked Robin after Bessie had left.

  “Like what?”

  “I mean, just hop into bed with a man and forget it next day?”

  “Don’t ask me,” said Hamish. “They havenae exactly come my way. Who do you want to interview next?”

  “I’d like something to eat first.”

  “Let’s go to the police station,” said Hamish. “I’ve got a couple of trout in the freezer.”

  “Okay. Then I’d like to interview the biggest gossip in the village.”

  “Hard to tell. When it comes to gossip, they're all on an equal footing. Maybe, though, the Currie sisters have the edge.”

  After lunch, Hamish led Robin to the Currie sisters’ cottage. He was not looking forward to the interview, knowing that both sisters regarded him as a sort of Lothario.

  Strangely enough, Nessie was alone. Hamish could hardly remember a time when he had found the twin sisters separated from each other.

  “Jessie’s gone up to the church to do the flowers,” said Nessie, her already wrinkled face creasing in disapproval. “I don’t hold with flowers in church. It smacks of popery. What do you want?”

  “Detective Mackenzie here would like to ask you a few questions.”

  “Don’t be long. I’m right tired of answering questions. I suppose you'll be wanting tea, Macbeth.”

  “No, thank you. We've just eaten.”

  “He’s just saying that because you're here,” said Nessie to Robin. “Hamish Macbeth is the biggest moocher for miles around. Sit down. I won’t be long.”

  They both sat down in the neat little living room. The windows were open, allowing a gentle breeze scented with pine into the room. The only good thing about taking tea with the Curries, thought Hamish, was that it was served on the round table by the window and not on a coffee table. He was very tall and disliked bending double over low coffee tables to take tea.

  Nessie came back with a tray laden with tea and scones. “Help yourself,” she said. They gathered around the table.

  “Eat something first,” Nessie ordered
Robin. “You've got to keep your strength up. A young lassie like you should be getting married and having bairns.”

  The scones were feather light and generously filled with butter and strawberry jam.

  Robin dutifully ate one, took a sip of tea, and said, “I know you've been asked this question before, but I thought that perhaps you might have remembered something new. Did you see anyone on the waterfront the night Mr. Addenfest was killed?”

  “We mind our own business, me and Jessie.”

  “I am sure you do. But you are such a sharp-eyed and intelligent woman that I was sure you might have noticed something that nobody else would think important.”

  Hamish was amused to notice the struggle between vanity and ignorance on Nessie’s face. Nessie was obviously delighted with the compliment and didn’t want to let Robin down. I hope she doesn’t make anything up, thought Hamish.

  “Let me see, we go to bed at ten o’clock, and the bedroom’s at the back. I got up about midnight to go to the, er, you know what. I took a wee keek out of the window there. I thought I heard a cry, but, och, it was probably a seagull.”

  “Nothing else?” asked Robin.

  She shook her grey head.

  “What about your sister? Did she see or hear anything?”

  “No, Jessie’s a heavy sleeper.”

  They thanked her and left. They were just walking away when Nessie called, “Detective Mackenzie!”

  Robin hurried back. Nessie seized her arm and said in a fierce whisper, “You be careful of Macbeth. He’s a devil with the women.”

  “What was that all about?” asked Hamish.

  “A warning,” said Robin. “She said you were a devil with the women.”

  Hamish sighed. “If only that were true. Let’s go to the newspaper office and see if Matthew Campbell has found anything.”

  Elspeth was sitting at Matthew’s desk. “Where’s Matthew?” asked Hamish.

  “Probably up at the hotel bar drinking with the other journalists.”

  “I am Detective Mackenzie,” said Robin.

  “Sorry,” said Hamish. “Robin, this is Elspeth Grant, who used to work up here. She now works for the Bugle in Glasgow. Found anything out, Elspeth?”

  “Not much. All the interesting characters at the hotel have been interviewed so many times they don’t want to talk to me. I’m going out to talk to people in the village. You know, they'll talk to me where they might not talk to you, Hamish.”