Death of a Kingfisher Page 11

  Jimmy drained his glass. “Well, off you go, because right at this moment I haven’t anything for you.”

  It was only when he was driving along the shore road to Braikie that Hamish realised he had forgotten his plan of calling at the hotel to see Priscilla. Maybe he was completely free of her at last.

  He parked outside the boys’ home on the council estate, walked up the brick path, and rang the doorbell. A trim little woman answered the door, her hand flying to her breast in alarm when she saw his uniform. “My husband!”

  “No, nothing bad. I just wanted a wee word with your boys.”

  “They’re good boys.”

  “Yes, yes,” said Hamish patiently. “It’ll only take a moment.”

  She ushered him into the living room where Callum and Rory were doing their homework. School again, thought Hamish bleakly. The end of summer.

  They threw Hamish anguished looks. “You promised,” said Callum.

  “I know,” said Hamish. “But you’ll have heard about this awful murder. I need your help.”

  “How can my boys help you?” demanded their mother.

  “It’s like this,” said Hamish. “Boys will be boys and one night they sneaked out and went down to the glen and saw something. I need to ask them again what they saw.”

  “Wait until your father hears about this!” exclaimed Mrs. Macgregor.

  The boys looked guilty and miserable.

  Hamish sat down at the table next to them. “Now, I want you two to play detective,” he said. “I’m sure your parents would want you to help the police. So what was it you saw and heard?”

  Rory said, “It was right dark but when we got to the glen, there were little flashing lights and we got scared. Then a deep voice told us to go away and we ran for it.”

  “When you ran out of the glen, did you see anyone?”

  “Nobody,” said Rory. “But we were scared and running hard.”

  “Did you hear anything?”

  “Just a squeaky noise.”

  “Like an animal? Like what?”

  “Like the front wheel o’ my bike when it had a sair dunt. It went squeak, a bit like that noise I heard.”

  “I’m going to type up what you said and get you to sign it,” said Hamish. “It may be important.”

  “You mean like we’re real detectives?” said Rory.

  “I think you’d make the grand detectives,” said Hamish.

  “Don’t you be encouraging them!” declared Mrs. Macgregor.

  “And don’t you be hard on them,” said Hamish.

  Back at the police station, he went into the office and studied what the boys had said. An idea was beginning to form inside his head. Mrs. Colchester had believed Mary’s story of having the second sight. She was brought up on Rosse and was surely superstitious. All those valuables had disappeared from the strong room. People who believed in fairies, believed in placating them.

  Rowan trees, meant to ward them off, were still planted outside cottage doors. Some old people still put out saucers of milk at night for the fairies. In the west of Scotland, the old beliefs died hard.

  He clutched his red hair and stared at the notes. Just suppose Mary had promised Mrs. Colchester safety from a hard and long life. Perhaps she had persuaded the gullible old woman to take items from the strong room to the glen and place them somewhere. Then she and her brothers would collect them. Maybe Mrs. Colchester had wised up to them and said she was going to change her will.

  Perhaps Mary was keeping the precious items until the fuss died down.

  But how to get a search warrant for her house and her brothers’ house? He phoned Jimmy and expounded his theory.

  “I think thon trip to that island has made you as daft as thae brothers,” scoffed Jimmy. “What do you think the sheriff would say if I went to him wi’ your ridiculous story? Have you been drinking?”

  “No, I have not,” yelled Hamish. “And what’s more I’ll send over a report on this.”

  “Well, get a good night’s sleep and look forward to your new telly.”

  “You mean he won?” asked Hamish, momentarily diverted.

  “Hands down.”

  When Jimmy had rung off, Hamish sat deep in thought. He would phone Mary in the morning and see if he could meet her for lunch again. He would bring the conversation round to people who still thought the fairies ought to be placated and see her reaction. He typed out his report and sent it.

  But before he could phone in the morning, he received a call from Detective Chief Inspector Blair.

  Blair was furious with frustration. The press were hounding the police, and Jimmy had to pull him back before he punched a photographer. He wanted to vent his feelings and he hated Hamish. Hamish listened patiently to the diatribe until it was interrupted by Blair’s phone ringing. From the suddenly crawling note in Blair’s voice, Hamish guessed it was Daviot on the line.

  When Blair rang off, he simply darted out of the police station, slamming the door behind him.

  Hamish phoned Mary. She said she would be delighted to meet him in the pub at one o’clock. Remembering Priscilla at last, he phoned the Tommel Castle Hotel, relieved when her cool voice came on the line.

  “I wonder if I can come and see you. There’s an idea I’ve got.”

  Priscilla sounded amused. “And you want me to be Watson?”

  “Just wanted to run an idea past you.”

  “All right. Come along. I’ll have the coffee ready.”

  Before he left, Hamish had a look in Dick’s bedroom. The constable was fast sleep. Hamish decided not to rouse him.

  At the hotel, he outlined his idea of placating the fairies to Priscilla and waited anxiously. She looked as calm and elegant as ever, the bell of her fair hair framing her perfect face.

  “It’s far-fetched,” she said, “but you’ve got nothing else to go on, have you? I mean, why did the old woman go down to the pool during the night? They say the legends about the fairies started a long, long time ago. People believe there was once a race of small people up here who were driven underground by the larger humans. Some people in the more isolated areas still bury iron and salt outside their croft houses to keep the bad fairies away. But when you put your theory to Mary and she doesn’t react, what will you do? And even if she looks guilty, you’re still not going to get a search warrant on the strength of that.”

  “I wish I hadn’t sent that report,” said Hamish gloomily. “If Blair gets hold of it, he’ll take it straight to Daviot with proof that I should be kept off the case.”

  Daviot received a phone call from his wife. “Do you know what Rona has done now?” demanded his wife. She did not use the strangulated refined accents she used in speaking to someone like Priscilla when calling her husband. Daviot repressed a sigh. Rona was their maid, and the last thing he wanted to hear in the middle of a murder enquiry were more complaints about Rona, a squat young female from the Outer Hebrides, but he knew better than to cut his wife off. “She broke my best vase,” said Mrs. Daviot, “and now she’s saying it wasn’t her, it was the fairies. She says it’s because I stopped her putting iron in the garden to keep them away. I’d fire her but she’s usually good. The trouble is she’s shaken and really seems to believe it.”

  “There are a lot of the old superstitions still around,” said Daviot. “I’ll get you a new vase. Don’t worry. She cooks like a dream. You won’t get anyone near as good.”

  His secretary Helen appeared in the doorway as he was ringing off. “Mr. Blair to see you, sir,” said Helen, her usually sour face looking cheerful for once. Blair had told her that Hamish had run mad and Daviot was going to be furious. Helen detested Hamish.

  “You must see this daft report from Macbeth,” chortled Blair. “The man should be suspended from duty immediately.” Daviot began to read while Blair watched him avidly.

  The smile died on Blair’s face as he saw that Daviot was carefully reading the report twice. At last he laid it down. “I’m going to try to
get search warrants,” he said. “It will be difficult but I am sure Macbeth has something here worth looking into.”

  “But surely, sir, you cannae…”

  “That will be all. I will let you know.” Daviot picked up the phone and waved his hand to dismiss Blair, who stomped out and then went straight to the pub to confide in a bored barman that even his boss had gone mad.

  Mary was wearing a kingfisher-blue dress. She smiled charmingly at Hamish after they had placed their orders for lunch and said coyly, “Now tell me, why were you so anxious to see me?”

  Hamish’s hazel eyes were serious. “It’s like this, Mary. What if someone knew that Mrs. Colchester was superstitious and persuaded her that the fairies had to be placated? She went out during the night in her wheelchair. A show was laid on for her. Sparkling lights and eerie voices. She was told to put her silver and gold and jewels in the pool over several nights, probably at that shallow bit. Then they could be recovered. But she got wise to the trick and said she was going to change her will.”

  Something glinted in Mary’s eyes like the flash of a kingfisher’s wing, and then she gave a laugh. “I’ve never heard anything more ridiculous.”

  Hamish’s mobile phone rang. It was Jimmy. “I don’t know how you did it,” he said, “but we’re heading over to Braikie with search warrants.”

  “We’d better go,” said Hamish to Mary. “There are search warrants for your house and your brothers’ house.”

  Startled, she rose to her feet. “I’d better be there. Such nonsense.”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  “I prefer to be on my own. This is your fault, Hamish. I trusted you.”

  Hamish was about to hurry after her when he noticed the waiter barring his way and holding out a bill. He paid for their meals and then rushed out. No sign of Mary. He walked to where his Land Rover was parked, checked Mary’s address, and drove there as quickly as possible.

  Her home was a neat bungalow on the shore road. Hamish thought she had probably got it cheap because prices on the road were still low, people not trusting the new seawall to keep them from flooding.

  The brothers’ home was in the bungalow next door. He had driven quickly. He saw Mary on the doorstep, just about to enter. Then police cars drove up, an unmarked one holding Blair and Jimmy leading the procession.

  Hamish got down from the Land Rover and would have joined them, but Blair snarled, “You! Keep away.” Hamish stood on the other side of the road.

  Mary was led out and stood on the doorstep, her eyes full of tears. Another police car rolled up and then the brothers got out, looking furious. One search squad went into Mary’s house and another into the brothers’ home.

  Soon the road began to fill up with press and onlookers. Hamish stood and waited. The sun was hot on his head and yet under the warmth he could feel the cold fingers of approaching autumn. The rowan tree at Mary’s door was bent down under the weight of scarlet berries. The search went on for two hours. Mary was sitting on the doorstep. She looked across at Hamish, and he could have sworn her blue eyes were mocking him.

  Blair and Jimmy were pacing up and down outside, letting the search teams get on with their work.

  Hamish studied the rowan tree. He fished out a strong pair of binoculars. He noticed that the ground around the rowan tree had recently been paved with squares of new turf.

  He knew if he crossed the road, Blair would not listen to him and would send him away. He phoned Jimmy’s mobile and when the detective answered, he said, “Have a look under the rowan tree. There’s new turf there. Why?”

  He saw Jimmy go into the house. Mary looked across at Hamish with an odd pleading look on her face.

  Soon men started digging under the rowan. Then one of them bent down and hauled up a leather bag and opened it. Mary began to scream. Jimmy looked across at Hamish and gave him the thumbs-up.

  Mary and her brothers were arrested. To Hamish’s surprise, Jimmy had given him the credit for finding the valuables. Although Jimmy was not nearly as bad as Blair, he still often liked to take the praise for one of Hamish’s ideas. Daviot phoned later when Hamish was back in Lochdubh to congratulate Hamish, saying, “Well, that wraps it all up. They’ll be charged with the murder of Mrs. Colchester and Mrs. McQueen as well.”

  “I don’t know about the murders, sir,” said Hamish cautiously. “There’s proof that the brothers at the time of Gloria McQueen’s murder were building the gift shop and Mary was with me. If they get a good defence lawyer, they’ll get off.”

  “We’ll find evidence,” snapped Daviot. “The brothers swear their sister had nothing to do with it. But we’ve got her husband in custody as well. Don’t you see? He’s got no alibi. But if the brothers stick to their story, we’ll have to release Mary.”

  “But…,” began Hamish, but Daviot had rung off.

  Hamish sat deep in thought. He could not help feeling uneasy. He wished with all his heart they would find some proof that the brothers had murdered the two women. He was sure they had tricked the superstitious Mrs. Colchester until she had come to her senses. He wondered how long they would keep Mary for questioning.

  He was sitting in his office when a blast of sound from his living room reached his ears. He realised he had gone straight into his office without giving Dick the news.

  Dick was in the living room, his chubby hands clutching a remote control. A large new flat-screen television dominated the room. “Turn the sound down,” yelled Hamish.

  Dick, looking like a sulky child, switched off the television. “I thought you’d be pleased,” he said.

  “Listen to the latest news,” said Hamish impatiently.

  “Right,” said Dick, switching on the television set again.

  “No!” yelled Hamish. “I mean my news about the murders.”

  “Oh, I heard that. The brothers have been pulled in. They found those valuables in the garden.”

  “How did you know that?” asked Hamish.

  “The Currie sisters called by when you were out and told me all about it.”

  “I should just leave you to do all the detecting from the living room. I’ve got to go through my notes. There’s something I’m missing.”

  Dick held up the remote control and pleaded, “Can I just hae a wee keek?”

  “Aye, but keep the sound down. Oh, and congratulations.”

  Dick grinned happily and switched the box back on.

  Hamish fretted over his notes. He wished the Palfours didn’t have such cast-iron alibis. When Gloria was being murdered, they had been filmed on CCTV at a garage halfway from Inverness. If the brothers weren’t behind the murders, someone else was. Mary was not innocent. She must be very naive, thought Hamish. Hadn’t she realised that the police would be sure to dig up the garden? Maybe in her way she was as superstitious as Mrs. Colchester and thought the rowan tree would protect her. She had a powerful effect on people, and he felt that the brothers and her husband were prepared to take the rap to protect her.

  Hamish decided to go back to the quarry to see if he could find anything he might have missed. It was what they euphemistically call in the Highlands “a nice soft day.” A thin drizzle was shrouding the landscape, and the mountains seem to have disappeared. Everything was grey.

  Hamish climbed down into the quarry and painstakingly started to search it from one end to the other. He finally found only a discarded cigarette end under a gorse bush. He carefully bagged it, wondering if he would ever get permission to send it away to get tested for DNA. Daviot, he knew, was tired of pressure from the press and wanted the cases of murder wrapped up. Hamish thought, as he had in the past, that Daviot and Blair were as bad as politicians when it came to spin: anything for a decent headline and to send the press home. Hamish could only be glad that no one got hanged any more in Scotland.

  Nonetheless, it might be worth a try. He phoned Jimmy and explained what he had found.

  “You know how it goes,” said Jimmy wearily. “Daviot’s like
a peacock, strutting in front of the press. As far as he is concerned, that’s the end of it.”

  “But surely the brothers, Mary Leinster, and her husband are not admitting to the murders?”

  “No, but get this. The brothers and Tim Leinster have put their hands up to robbing Mrs. Colchester and have signed written statements to say Mary had nothing to do with it. They said that Mary really believed she had the second sight and so they pushed Charles into the pool to make her prophecy come true. Then they sabotaged the bridge to persuade Mrs. Colchester that the fairies needed further placating. They also confess to killing the kingfisher. But they refuse to confess to either of the two murders. But get this. Mary is out. She’s got some expensive defence lawyer and there’s nothing to hold her on.”

  “Surely Blair didn’t allow a lawyer to see her?”

  In Scotland, it is the police’s decision as to whether the accused can see a lawyer or not, although the Scottish Parliament is suggesting a change in the law.

  “She fainted, or staged a faint, and she cried and cried. Blair got alarmed and let her have her lawyer and that was that. Bag that cigarette anyway. It doesn’t matter what Daviot says. He’s going to realise soon that they haven’t enough evidence to charge them with the murders and it’ll be back to square one. Drop the evidence at police headquarters.”

  Hamish climbed back up the quarry as a watery beam of sunlight shone down. The mist began to roll up the mountains, a sight which never stopped fascinating him. How old these mountains were! One and a half billion years! Scientists over at Lochinver had discovered microbes in the rocks that might prove how life began on earth.

  He drove to police headquarters in Strathbane. The town seemed filthier and dingier than ever, a blot on the beauty of the west of Scotland. If they ever closed his police station, they would expect Hamish to move into the town and work there. “Over my dead body,” he muttered.