Death of a Nurse Page 5

  “Och, this is a waste of time,” grumbled Hamish. “It’s getting dark.”

  They made their way back to the Land Rover. “The guisers are out,” commented Charlie. “Hallowe’en already.”

  There were three small boys. “Penny for the guiser,” they chanted.

  Hamish fished in his pocket. “Fifty pee, and that’s your lot. Hey, wait a minute. Where did you get those clothes?”

  They were all wearing women’s dresses which trailed on the ground, expensive-looking dresses. One was carrying a tattie bogle, a lantern made out of a scooped-out turnip. For hundreds of years in Scotland, it was the tradition to dress up as spirits of the dead until it changed to children wearing disguises and going out guising.

  “My mum found them,” said one of the boys. “Finders keepers.”

  “Listen you, laddie,” said Hamish. “Those clothes are part o’ a murder enquiry. We’ve got to talk to your mother right away.”

  Chapter Four

  ’Tis now the very witching time of night,

  When churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out

  Contagion to this world

  —Shakespeare

  The mother who had found the clothes was at first defiant. Her name was Annie Eskdale. She was a very small woman wearing an old-fashioned wraparound pinafore over a faded T-shirt and tracksuit bottoms. Although in her thirties, discontent had marred her face with early wrinkles. Her eyes were small and radiating suspicion. The council house she lived in was dingy and smelled of cabbage.

  At first, she whined that the clothes were her own. Hamish twisted back the neckline of the dress her son was wearing and said, “How could you afford to pay for an Armani dress?”

  “Thrift shop,” she screeched.

  Charlie produced a pair of handcuffs and held them up. “I am charging you with defeating the ends of justice. A right shame it is, too. Social services will look after your boy.”

  She broke down and, between sobs, said she had found two suitcases up on the moors. She hadn’t meant to do wrong, but times were hard. Her man had left her.

  Hamish turned to the boys. “Take off those dresses and I’ll give you five pounds. Gentle now,” he cautioned as they scrambled out of them. “Now, Mrs. Eskdale, where are the cases?”

  “Out the back.”

  They followed her out through a kitchen piled with dirty dishes and through a weedy garden to a shed at the end. She opened the door. “I havenae touched anything else,” she said. “I only took out three gowns for the boys.”

  “We cannae touch them until a forensic team gets here,” said Hamish. He phoned headquarters and got through to Fiona.

  “Good work,” she said. “Stay there until I arrive.”

  They retreated into the house. Hamish gave the boys five pounds and they scampered off. “Do you just have the one son?” asked Charlie.

  “Aye, Sean.”

  “Right, let’s sit down and take your statement, and then after the forensic team arrive, we’ll go up to the moors and you tell us where you found the cases. When did you find them?”

  “The Sunday morning, afore they found that body.”

  “And didn’t you think it might be evidence?”

  “I just thought some tourist had chucked them. Honest. I put them in the shed. I thought I’d wait to hear if anyone was asking for them. But my boy wanted to go out guising and I thought it wouldnae dae any harm just to let Sean and his pals have three frocks.”

  At long last, the contingent from Strathbane arrived, headed by Fiona. “We’ll go and look for where the suitcases were found,” she said, “and leave the forensic team to do their work. But first, we’ll need to take your fingerprints, Mrs. Eskdale.”

  “Ochone, ochone!” she wailed. “It wasnae me who murdered the lassie.”

  “It is just to eliminate you from our enquiries,” said Charlie.

  After her fingerprints had been taken, she was told that once they had visited the place where the suitcases had been found, she would be taken to the police station in Lochdubh to make a statement.

  As they all left, Fiona taking Mrs. Eskdale in her car, Hamish watched the forensic team suiting up. “Where’s Christine Dalray?” wondered Hamish, remembering the attractive forensic scientist who had been keen on him, and wondering why he had never encouraged her.

  “I heard she had gone to Glasgow,” said Charlie.

  Children in all sorts of costumes and carrying turnip lanterns could be seen in the streets.

  “I forgot to ask her what she was doing up on the moors,” said Hamish. “She doesnae have a dog.”

  Following Fiona’s Land Rover, they soon left the road and bumped across the moors to where great boulders left since the ice age loomed up in their headlights. Fiona stopped beside two of the largest boulders and Hamish pulled in behind her. They shone powerful torches into a space between the rocks.

  “Found them right there,” said Mrs. Eskdale.

  “Nothing here that I can see,” said Fiona. “You’d better get back here at daylight, Macbeth. I’ll get the forensic boys up here when they’re finished with the house.”

  “What were you doing, walking up here, Mrs. Eskdale?” asked Hamish.

  “Cannae a body go for a walk?” she screeched.

  Hamish bent down suddenly and picked up something and held it aloft. “This is a roach. Do you come up here to smoke pot?”

  “That’s no’ mine!”

  “Mrs. Eskdale,” said Hamish patiently, “if you say it isn’t yours and we have to take it back to get it checked for DNA and find it is yours, you’ll be in bad trouble.”

  She began to wail that she had bad arthritis and there was no harm in a bit of weed.

  After more diligent questioning, she revealed she had got it from a neighbour, Hetty Jamieson, who grew a wee bit.

  Fiona phoned and ordered a raid on Hetty Jamieson’s house before ordering Hamish and Charlie to take Mrs. Eskdale off to Lochdubh to type out a statement.

  By the time they had taken the long road back to Lochdubh and got the statement and had run Mrs. Eskdale back to her home, Hamish and Charlie were weary.

  They found that Hetty Jamieson had a whole cannabis field covered over in glass and heated in her back garden. She had broken down and said it was some nice Chinese gentlemen who were paying her to look after the crop. They were due the following week to check on it. But as the local press were on the scene, Hamish doubted any Chinese would turn up.

  Hamish missed Dick Fraser. Dick would have produced a tent and sleeping bags so that they would be fresh and ready to search the next day. But it was back to the station again for Hamish after dropping Charlie at the hotel.

  Hamish was just gulping down a cup of coffee the following morning when Detective Chief Inspector Blair marched into the kitchen.

  “You’ve got to help me,” he said. “Thon bloody woman’s trying to get me fired.”

  “Why should I help you?” demanded Hamish. “All you’ve ever done is to try to get me out of this police station.”

  Blair gave an oily smile. “Ah, weel. Let’s make bygones be bygones. You help me and I’ll make sure you keep this poxy station to the end o’ time. I want you to say she’s been sexually harassing you.”

  “I’ve a better idea, sir,” said Hamish. “I’ll put in a report that you’ve been sexually harassing me.”

  “You cheeky teuchter! As if anyone would believe you.”

  “Worth a try. Got to get off. Police work.”

  “Watch your back from now on, laddie. You’ve made a bad enemy.”

  “You always were a bad enemy,” said Hamish.

  Sonsie let out a hiss and crept towards Blair, her fur raised, while Lugs began to growl.

  Blair let out a yelp of alarm and rushed out of the door.

  Hamish and Charlie arrived back at the giant boulders where the cases had been found. “This heather’s God’s gift to criminals,” grumbled Hamish. “A truck could run across the stuff and no
t leave a trace. I don’t know what we’re doing here. Forensics will make sure there’s nothing left to be found.”

  “I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” said Charlie. “Since that Christine woman left, they’ve all gone back to their sloppy ways.”

  Hamish was hungry and missed Dick again. Dick would have had sausages frying on the camper stove and a flask of coffee. It was a clear frosty morning. Sonsie and Lugs were chasing each other through the heather.

  “I wonder how her cap got in the sea,” said Charlie.

  “Probably blew away when she was shoved ower the cliff,” said Hamish.

  The sun shone into the space between the boulders and something in a cranny sparkled. Hamish went forward, put on latex gloves, and gingerly fished it out. It was a diamond necklace, a small diamond on a thin, gold chain. “Take a look at this, Charlie.”

  Charlie came forward. “Maybe the murderer had decided to keep it and then decided to hide it and maybe pick it up later.”

  Hamish fished out an evidence bag and dropped the pendant into it. “I wonder what she was wearing when she was murdered.”

  “I mind the inspector telling me. She was wearing a short black dress.”

  “Not her nurse’s uniform?”

  “No.”

  “We’ll need to question the Eskdale woman again. It could be Sean and his friends were looking for outfits and played with the cap and then threw it away. Let’s eat something first.”

  They sat outside the café, eating ham rolls and drinking coffee. “You wouldnae think it was November already,” said Charlie.

  The incoming tide crashed on the beach and the restless seagulls swooped and dived.

  “The only thing I miss in my diet is guga. I could murder a guga,” said Charlie.

  “Baby gannets? I tried one once,” said Hamish. “Didnae fancy it. Oh, well, let’s face Mrs. Eskdale.”

  It transpired that Sean and his friends had tried on the cap and the nurse’s uniform found in one of the cases. Sean had gone out wearing the cap. It had blown into the sea. He had gone after it and got it back.

  Hamish then phoned Jimmy and told him about the find of the pendant and that it looked as if Gloria had dressed up to go out on a date and then was murdered.

  “I’d better get back to Harrison’s,” said Jimmy. “It’s all beginning to look as if the woman was murdered at his place.”

  “But forensics found nothing,” Hamish pointed out.

  “I just feel like rattling the cage. If Gloria came on to all and sundry, then she may have made a pass at Juris. You pair, over to Strathbane and hand over that pendant. I’ll tell Iron Knickers you’re coming.”

  “I hate going to Strathbane,” grumbled Charlie when Hamish had told him what Jimmy had said. “I’m always frightened they won’t let me go back to Lochdubh.”

  When they had passed over the pendant to forensics to check for fingerprints, Hamish and Charlie were just about to leave when Blair approached them. “Not so fast, laddies,” he said. “The super wants to see you.”

  “Now what?” said Hamish. “Blair’s been up to something nasty.”

  They climbed the stairs to Daviot’s office. “You are to go right in,” said his secretary, Helen, with a smile that did not reach her eyes. She detested Hamish.

  “Ah, come in, come in,” said Mr. Daviot. “No, don’t stand. Make yourselves comfortable. Tea?”

  “Thank you, sir,” said Hamish, who didn’t want tea but who knew it would infuriate Helen. Daviot summoned Helen. “Tea all round,” he said, “and a few Tunnock’s tea cakes would go down well.”

  “Certainly, sir,” said Helen. Hamish had placed his cap on the floor beside his chair. Helen managed to tread on it on her road out.

  “Don’t look so anxious, Macbeth,” said the superintendent. “Your station is safe. The matter in hand concerns Constable Carter here.”

  So that’s the way the wind is blowing, thought Hamish wearily. Blair can’t get at me but he can get at Charlie.

  “The fact is that we are seriously undermanned here. It has been pointed out to me—”

  “By Mr. Blair,” said Hamish.

  “Don’t interrupt,” snapped Daviot. “Ah. Tea. Thank you, Helen. We’ll help ourselves.”

  Downstairs, Fiona was accosted by Blair. “Grand day,” he said.

  “Have Carter and Macbeth left?” she asked.

  “They’re up there with the super,” said Blair. As Fiona marched towards the stairs, he called after her, “I wouldnae interrupt, if I were you.”

  Charlie sat, looking stricken. Daviot had just told him he was being transferred back to Strathbane.

  The door opened and Fiona walked in. “Ah, Inspector Herring,” said Daviot nervously. “Is it very important?”

  “When Mr. Blair has a smile all over his fat face,” said Fiona, “I assume he has put the boot in for this pair. What’s happening?”

  “This is an internal matter and nothing to do with you,” said Daviot loftily.

  Fiona looked at Charlie’s miserable face. “Who found that pendant our famous forensic team missed completely?”

  “Charlie found it,” lied Hamish. “Got an eagle eye when it comes tae clues, ma’am.”

  “The press are hammering at the doors demanding a solution to this murder,” said Fiona. “So what’s going on?”

  “We are understaffed,” said Daviot. “I have just told Carter he is being transferred to Strathbane.”

  “Like Macbeth, this constable has been helping me with the investigation,” said Fiona, looming over Daviot. “Have you any idea of the enormous extent of Macbeth’s beat? One detective chief inspector has stooped to spite. I do not know why you listened to him.”

  “It was my idea,” lied Daviot.

  “Very well. I want you to write me a report for the commissioner on why you are removing a constable who knows the area and knows the locals back there.”

  “I may have been overhasty,” blustered Daviot. “Have a tea cake.”

  “I don’t want one. I need this pair with me.”

  “I feel now I have been overhasty. By all means, Carter, stay in Lochdubh.”

  “Good,” snapped Fiona. “Come along, you pair.”

  Helen jumped back from the door where she had been listening. Charlie and Hamish followed Fiona down the stairs.

  Blair was waiting at the bottom. Fiona ignored him. “Right,” she said, “Charlie, you come with me in my car and Macbeth can follow. We’ll go to the station in Lochdubh and go over everything we’ve got.”

  Charlie sat in the back of the unmarked police car with Fiona as her driver bore them out of Strathbane. “I am very grateful to you, ma’am,” he said.

  She smiled and put a hand on his arm. “You are too useful to be got rid of.”

  Charlie felt as if an electric shock had just gone through his arm. He stared at Fiona. who stared back and then abruptly took her arm away and looked out of the window.

  In the police station, Hamish lit the wood-burning stove and put the kettle on top to boil. Fiona looked amused. “Did you never hear of electric kettles, Macbeth?”

  “Aye, but Dick Fraser took the kettle away when he moved. I like the stove.”

  “But I see you have central heating.”

  “Yes, ma’am. But it’s awfy drying. Cosy in here. After we have a coffee, I’ll spread out the notes on the table.”

  Sonsie approached Fiona and stared up at her. Fiona bent down and scratched the cat behind the ears. She began to purr.

  “What a huge beast,” said Fiona. “Looks like a wild cat.”

  “Och, no,” said Hamish quickly. “Chust a big tabby.”

  “If you say so.”

  Hamish made three mugs of coffee and produced a plate of shortbread. “Right,” said Fiona, “before we get down to the paperwork, let’s see what we know. The late Gloria was a gold digger. None of the men she is believed to have had a fling with was anywhere near the Highlands at the time of her death. So the foc
us is on Harrison’s place until we find anything else.”

  “If I may make a suggestion, ma’am,” said Charlie.

  Fiona gave him a warm smile, which transformed the usual hardness of her face.

  Oho! thought Hamish, his highland radar twitching. What goes on here?

  But before Charlie could speak, the kitchen door opened and Priscilla breezed in.

  “Oh, good, coffee,” she said. “How are you, Charlie?”

  “Who are you?” demanded Fiona, surveying the beauty that was Priscilla.

  “I am Priscilla Halburton-Smythe. And you are?”

  “I am Inspector Herring and we are discussing a case. So if you don’t mind clearing off.”

  Priscilla shrugged. “See you tonight at dinner, Charlie,” she said. “I’m only up on a flying visit.”

  When she had left, Fiona said, “You were about to say something, Charlie.”

  “What if it wasnae money?” said Charlie. “What if she was a nymphomaniac? There’s other folk up at the box. There’s a gamekeeper, Harry Mackay, and a shepherd, Tom Stirling.”

  “How did you find that out?”

  “Asking around.”

  “Jimmy Anderson is at Harrison’s,” said Hamish.

  “I’d better phone him. And it’s too big a place for Inga to do the cleaning all by herself. If there’s a cleaning woman, she might have a bit of gossip. Harrison is now denying he said Gloria had gone for a walk and Juris is now saying he might have been mistaken.”

  She phoned Jimmy and rapped out instructions and, when she had rung off, took a computer out of its case and put it on the kitchen table. “Right! Let’s see what we have so far. No fingerprints on that diamond pendant.”

  Hamish brought in a sheaf of notes from the office.

  “She might have been killed by a woman,” said Hamish at last. “Gloria might have been messing around with someone’s husband. Or, I’m beginning to wonder, was she as bad as she’s been painted? Now, I see from the notes that all these men she had dinner with swear blind that was all. They’re all married, of course. We have only the maid Elsie Dunbar’s word for it. Maybe it just amused Gloria to get free dinners in a posh hotel. Just so long as we go on thinking of her as some sort of tart, we’ll be swamped wi’ suspects.”