Death of a Policeman Page 4

  “Why?”

  “There’s this awful detective inspector in Strathbane who wants proof to close down the police station.”

  “Poor Hetty. Look, thanks for lunch. I’d better get back.”

  “Maybe we could do this again?”

  “That would be nice. Got to rush.”

  Dick held open the café door for her. He felt as if his whole body were smiling.

  Then he remembered he was supposed to see Hetty.

  Atlantic View was a box of a bungalow set on a rise above the shore road. There was no garden, just a fenced-off area of shaggy grass. The tide was up, and great waves were dashing themselves against the seawall. The air was full of the sound of the sea and the screeching of gulls. Dick had read that the gull population was falling fast. He detested the birds. With the depleted fishing stocks, the marauding birds were known to steal food out of the hands of people, trying to eat fish-and-chips or ice cream. Hadn’t a small child over at the Kyle of Lochalsh only the other day had an ice cream cone snatched from its fingers?

  He rang the bell and waited. Hetty answered the door. She looked at Dick’s uniform and put a hand to her thin chest. Her prominent eyes welled up with tears. “Is it about poor Cyril?”

  “If I could just be having a word,” said Dick, removing his cap.

  “I’ve seen you on the telly, haven’t I?” said Hetty, ushering him into the house. “You’ve been on quiz shows.”

  “Yes, that’s me.”

  The living room into which she led him seemed to be a sort of shrine to Hetty. Framed photographs of her hung on the walls and stood on nests of little tables. A one-bar electric heater stood in front of the empty fireplace. There was a three-piece suite of white imitation leather standing on a white shag carpet. A low coffee table held a series of celebrity magazines.

  Dick was urged to sit down. Hetty perched on the edge of an armchair opposite him.

  “I am here to find out why you said that Hamish Macbeth had threatened to shoot Cyril Sessions,” said Dick. “You became suspicious of Cyril when he asked so many questions about Macbeth and told Hamish. He was irritated and made that remark off the top of his head. Why on earth did you tell Strathbane?”

  “I thought Hamish had become jealous,” said Hetty.

  “Miss Dunstable, I have asked questions about your connection to Hamish. It appears that you got drunk at a party, came on to him, and he rebuffed you. Hamish has now been suspended from duty so I need to gather evidence to clear his name. By the time all my witnesses have made their statements, you will look very bad indeed. How, the authorities will ask you, can Hamish Macbeth have been jealous when he had no romantic feelings towards you at all?”

  “But he did threaten to shoot Cyril!”

  “Of course, if you were to telephone headquarters and say Hamish was only joking or something like that, I would not need to investigate further.”

  She stared at him with a sulky expression. “Hamish led me on.”

  “I think your imagination led you on,” said Dick severely. “My God, lassie, if Hamish loses his job and his police station for the likes of you, I’ll damn well crucify you and so will every other copper in the Highlands.”

  Hetty began to cry until she saw her tears were having no effect on Dick whatsoever.

  “Cyril did love me,” she said at last.

  “Oh, aye? Then what made you suspicious?”

  “At first he swept me off my feet. Then he began to ask question after question about Hamish. I finally said I was sick of the subject and wouldn’t talk about Hamish any more. That was when he stopped seeing me or answering my calls.”

  “Have you a computer here?” asked Dick.

  “Yes, I’ve got a laptop.”

  “Get it in here and write out a statement. You are going to confess that you reported Hamish out of spite.”

  “I can’t do that!”

  “It’s either that or I’ll make your life a misery. I have friends in the press. Want to see your name in the papers?”

  Statement secured, Dick headed straight for police headquarters and demanded to see Daviot.

  “Have you an appointment?” asked Helen.

  “I have not, but this is of the utmost importance,” said Dick.

  Helen disappeared into the inner office. She returned after a few moments and said curtly, “You’re to go in.”

  “What is it?” demanded Daviot when Dick stood meekly in front of his desk.

  “Just this,” said Dick, and handed over Hetty Dunstable’s statement.

  “This is dreadful,” he said.

  “Now, that is why I brought it to you,” said Dick. “You’ll be anxious to get some damage limitation.”

  “Damage limitation?”

  “Wouldn’t it be awful, sir, if it got out to the press that Hamish Macbeth was suspended from duty due to the spite of one woman? It would also have to come out that Cyril Sessions lost his life while he was spying on Hamish for Mr. Blair.”

  Hamish was on the road back to Lochdubh to confess to Jimmy about that slip of paper when his mobile rang. He pulled into the side of the road to answer it.

  It was Daviot. “There has been a grave misunderstanding, Macbeth. You are back on duty. That is all. You are to say nothing of Mr. Blair’s connection to Sessions until the matter is cleared up.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Hamish. “What…?”

  But Daviot had rung off.

  Hamish’s phone rang again. It was Mr. Patel, Lochdubh’s shopkeeper. “Hamish, there are a couple o’ scientists from Strathbane University. They’ve heard you’ve got a wild cat and since the beasties are that rare, they want to take Sonsie away for DNA tests. We all said it was nothing but a big black cat and they’ll be back tomorrow. You’d better dye the cat black. I’ve got the right hair dye in the shop. It won’t hurt the beast.”

  Hamish thanked him, but after he had rung off, he cursed the interfering scientists.

  When he got to the police station, it was to find that Dick had already collected the dye. “You’re going to have to do it yourself, Hamish,” he said. “I doubt if Sonsie would let anyone else near.”

  “This is a right mess,” said Hamish. “I should have guessed that something like this would happen sooner or later. Wild cats, they say, are nearly extinct. They’d chust love to get their hands on one. I cannae see poor Sonsie allowing even me to dye her fur. Get her up to the Tommel Castle Hotel tomorrow. Angela Brodie’s got a big black cat. I’ll borrow that. I’ll pay you for the dye.”

  “Leave it. I might use it myself,” said Dick. “Grey hair is awfy ageing.”

  Hamish eyed him narrowly. “Oh, aye? And who is she?”

  Dick blushed. “There’s no one. I just thought I’d look better.”

  “Suit yourself. So how did you get on with Hetty?”

  “I got her to sign a statement saying she had lied to get back at you and I took it to Daviot.”

  “Thanks. I owe you a lot.”

  The kitchen door opened, and Jimmy walked in. “I got a call that you’re no longer suspended,” he said. “Got any whisky?”

  Hamish took a bottle and glass down from a cupboard. “I’ve got a bit of news for you, Jimmy. Have a drink first.”

  Jimmy poured himself a hefty measure, took a swallow, and then asked, “What have you been up to?”

  Hamish told him about the phone number and his visit to Murdo Bentley. “I tried to phone you,” he lied. “But you must have been in a black area. It didn’t seem that important because it was just a wee bit o’ paper Archie Maclean found on his boat. It could have come from a tourist.”

  “Sheep Street,” said Jimmy. “I’ll check up. I cannae remember anything to do wi’ drugs in Sheep Street. I’ll look into that.”

  “Do you think some drug gang might have decided to murder Cyril?”

  “I cannae remember Cyril being involved in any drugs case, unless it was when I was on holiday. I’ll let you know. I’ll go and see this Murdo Bentl
ey myself. I’ve heard o’ him. Owns the Seven Steps restaurant. Some soap star had her wedding there last year. Does good works. Set up a boys’ club down at the docks. Gives a lot to charity.”

  “Is he married?”

  “Cannae recall.”

  “He’s got some sort of assistant, Anna Eskdale. Ring any bells?”

  “No. Look, Hamish, the man’s a pillar of the community.”

  “Still, it’s odd that…” Hamish broke off. He had been about to say that it was odd Cyril had kept that phone number hidden in one of his trainers. “I mean, why did Cyril have a note of that one phone number?”

  “You say Archie found it on his boat. It may not have come from Cyril. Could have been dropped by a tourist. Anyway, thanks for the dram. We’ve asked around the village here. No one saw anyone following Cyril when he left for Sandybeach.”

  After Jimmy had left, Hamish walked along to Angela Brodie’s cottage. The doctor’s wife was, as usual, scowling at her laptop on the kitchen table. “Looking for inspiration?” asked Hamish.

  “I’m looking up frock shops.”

  “Why?”

  “My last book was a detective story. Didn’t I give you a copy?”

  “No. What’s it called?”

  “A Very Highland Murder. Got good reviews and I’ve been nominated for an award. My agent says it’s full evening dress. It’s going to be televised. The event is sponsored by Bramley Sofas. There are to be awards for different categories of fiction. It’s for new writers.”

  “But you’re not a new writer.”

  “I wrote it under another name. I’m a new detective writer.”

  “Where is it being held?”

  “At the Seven Steps restaurant.”

  “Now, there’s a coincidence. I was just interviewing the owner today. Haven’t you got an evening gown?”

  “It’s an old thing. I must wear something special. Ah, here’s something. Jessie’s Bridal and Evening Wear. Inverness. I might try them.”

  “When is it?”

  “Next month. The thirtieth.”

  “Angela, I need to borrow your black cat.”

  “Why? Can’t you dye Sonsie?”

  “You’ve heard about these scientists?”

  “The whole village has heard about them, Hamish. I’ll bring Sooty over in the morning, but be kind to her and don’t let Lugs frighten her.”

  Sooty was delivered the next morning. She was a very large, fat lazy cat who ignored Lugs. Dick, with his newly dyed moustache and dyed hair, took Sonsie off to the Tommel Castle Hotel. Clarry, the cook, welcomed Dick and praised him on his new look. “Takes years off you,” he said. “Like something to eat?”

  “I’m on a diet,” said Dick. “Well, maybe a wee bit o’ toast.”

  Lugs barked at Sooty and had to be shut up in the bedroom. The scientists arrived: a tall, thin, elderly man and a short, round bossy woman.

  “Let’s see it!” she demanded.

  “For heffen’s sakes,” said Hamish crossly. “This is also my home. You don’t just barge in making demands without pausing to draw a breath. I want identification for a start.”

  Grumbling, they produced driving licenses which Hamish examined with maddening slowness.

  Then he said, “The cat’s through here.”

  He led them into the living room where Sooty was asleep in front of the fire.

  The woman scientist glared at him. “That’s not a wild cat!”

  “I never said it was,” said Hamish.

  “But we had a report that you were keeping a wild cat.”

  “Aye, Sooty can be a handful if she’s riled up.”

  “Come along, Brenda,” said the man. “Another false lead.”

  When they had left, Hamish followed them out and watched until their car had disappeared out of the village. He went back indoors and collected Sooty and returned her to Angela.

  “You can’t keep Sonsie hidden forever,” said Angela. “Have you thought of returning her to the wild?”

  “There was no reason afore with the beast being happy wi’ me.”

  “Do you think I should wear a wig?”

  “What!”

  “For the awards.” Angela tugged fretfully at her wispy hair.

  “Why don’t you just go as yourself?” said Hamish. “Nothing up with you.”

  “I’d like to shine, just once.”

  “Get your hair done, then.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  Hamish returned to the police station, collected his dog, and drove up to the Tommel Castle Hotel. He was just getting down from the Land Rover when he saw a familiar blonde head in the gift shop and his heart gave a lurch.

  He walked to the shop and opened the door. Priscilla Halburton-Smythe was arranging goods on the shelves. “Back again,” said Hamish.

  She swung round, and her face lit up when she saw him. “I’ve got some holiday due to me and the woman who works here is off sick so I’m filling in. Are you working on that policeman’s murder?”

  “Trying to.”

  “I’m closing up for lunch,” said Priscilla. “Why don’t you join me and tell me all about it?”

  “That’ll be grand. I’ve just got to find Dick. He’s hiding out in the hotel with Sonsie.”

  “I heard about the scientists. How did you get on?”

  Hamish told her as she locked up and they walked together into the hotel. The manager, Mr. Johnson, told Hamish that Dick was in the kitchen. “I’ll meet you in the dining room,” said Priscilla.

  In the kitchen, Hamish bent down and stroked Sonsie’s soft fur. “I’m having lunch with Priscilla,” he told Dick. “You can join us if you like.”

  “I’m on a diet,” said Dick.

  “Since when?”

  “Since today,” said Dick. “I’ll take the beasts back to the station and phone you if Jimmy turns up.”

  In the dining room, Priscilla listened as Hamish told her all about Cyril. When he had finished, she asked, “This Murdo Bentley? What did you make of him?”

  “It’s hard to know,” said Hamish. “It was an odd sort of house. There’s building going on all around but his study was so quiet. Probably soundproofed or triple glazing. I would have expected a successful businessman like him to have a house in the country.”

  “Maybe he has,” said Priscilla. “Or a flat at the restaurant. It’s a big place. There’s a restaurant, a brasserie, and suites that are used for wedding receptions and conventions. I tell you what, let’s have dinner in the brasserie tonight.”

  “All right,” said Hamish. “What time?”

  “Pick me up at seven thirty and I’ll book a table for eight.”

  “It’s that phone number that puzzles me. I told Jimmy it had been found on Archie Maclean’s boat but I found it in one of Cyril’s trainers. Now, why would he keep that number if Murdo was only just a man he had interviewed?”

  “We’ll get a feel of the place anyway,” said Priscilla.

  Hamish returned to the police station followed by Dick, to be confronted by an angry Jimmy Anderson. “Where the hell have you been?” he demanded.

  “I was finding out a bit more about Murdo Bentley,” said Hamish.

  “Well, forget it,” snapped Jimmy. “The pair of you get back up to the location of Sandybeach. I want every man combing the whole area.”

  Hamish and Dick set off in the Land Rover with Sonsie and Lugs in the back. Hamish did not want to leave his pets behind because there was a large flap on the police station door allowing them to come and go and he didn’t want the cat to be seen wandering around the village to be spotted by any cruising scientist.

  It has been said of Sutherland that you can experience five climates in one day. A blustery wind had sprung up, whipping up choppy waves on the Atlantic and singing in the heather.

  Hamish turned off the road before they got to Sandybeach and started bumping over the moorland. “Where are we going?” asked Dick.

  “I’ve a feelin
g that whoever murdered Cyril might have come over the back way on a motorbike. No one in the cottages on the road up said they saw anyone other than Cyril, the Hardys, and then us in the Land Rover.”

  “They’ve asked around Lochdubh,” said Dick. “No one saw anyone watching the police station or Mrs. Mackenzie’s.”

  “Say someone was on a motorbike or a dune buggy,” said Hamish, “all they would have to do was park up on a rise on the moorland overlooking the village. That way they would see Cyril setting off.”

  “Maybe,” said Dick. “But they would see us first and then Cyril following. Who would want to murder Cyril with the police around?”

  “I don’t know,” said Hamish, bringing the Land Rover to a stop. “But say someone had a vantage point where they could see us going past Sandybeach and Cyril turning down to the place.”

  “You’d think we would have heard the shot,” said Cyril.

  “Where we picnicked was sheltered by the cliffs around and the noise of the waves and the seagulls might have drowned the sound. Okay, let’s get out and start searching. Up here is where you can see anyone arriving at the beach.”

  “It’s pretty impossible wi’ all this heather,” grumbled Dick.

  “Keep looking. There might be a damp patch somewhere.”

  The breeze died down and the sun was warm. Sonsie and Lugs chased each other through the heather. Dick began to dream about Shona Macdonald. Did his dyed hair and moustache really make him look younger? Maybe if he lost a few stone in weight, he could lose years in appearance.

  “Got something!” called Hamish, interrupting his dream.

  Dick hurried to join him.

  Where the heather had thinned out, there was a damp patch of ground with a tyre track across it. “Looks like a motorbike,” said Hamish, taking out his phone. He called Jimmy and told him to get someone over immediately to make a plaster cast of the track.

  Once a cast of the track had been taken, searching policemen moved away from the beach area and spread out over the moors.