Death of an Outsider Part 11

The train pulled in. Ian saw Hamish descending from a carriage at the end and ran to meet him.

"Not another murder?" asked Hamish.

"No, it's just that..." Ian launched into a long and bitter complaint against the Daily Recorder Daily Recorder and the way one of the biggest murder mysteries of the century was being pa.s.sed over. and the way one of the biggest murder mysteries of the century was being pa.s.sed over.

Hamish thought hard as Ian talked. The lobster death could not be hushed up forever. Sharp interest would return and that interest would never fade. Television crews even a year later would return to do doc.u.mentaries of what had happened to Mainwaring. So what if the upper cla.s.ses of London had a fright? It would make screaming headlines, but at least it might mean a murderer did not remain at large. If the press became pushy again, then Blair would be made to work.

"There is a story," said Hamish cautiously, "and you've just been talking about it."

"What?" asked Ian eagerly.

"Well, the fact that this is a dreadful and grotesque murder and there's an uncanny silence about it. Blair sits around the Anstey Hotel watching television when he ought to be interviewing people again and again. Go round the locals and gossip to them and get them to voice outrage."

A slow smile dawned on Ian's face. "Thanks, Hamish. I'll start right away."

"Another word of advice," said Hamish. "When you're writing for a paper like, say, the Daily Recorder Daily Recorder, read a copy o' the d.a.m.n thing first and carefully copy the style. It's no use writing a piece in the style of The Scotsman, say, when you want it in one of the tabloids. And it's no use writing a piece for the tabloids as if you are writing for a local paper. Have you got your car?"

"Yes," said Ian, waving towards a hand-painted primrose-yellow Morris Minor with a 1950s licence plate. licence plate.

"Then drop me off at Cnothan Game."

Only half listening to the reporter as they drove along, Hamish tried to think of ways to get Helen Ross on her own. He knew his own liking and admiration of Jamie Ross were not allowing him to think clearly. But if there were more achievers like Jamie in the Highlands of Scotland, then the population figures might rise again. As it was, the young people drifted away to the cities, the houses and cottages stood empty, occasionally filled by an influx of underachieves who chattered on about the quality of life, by which they meant they could live on the dole while persuading themselves they were pioneers in the outback of the British Isles.

Ian dropped him in the yard of Cnothan Game and Fish Company Cnothan Game and Fish Companyand drove off. Hamish walked up to the door of the bungalow and rang the bell.

Helen Ross herself answered the door. She was wearing a black wool dress with enormous shoulder pads and jet-embroidered lapels, the sort of forties style worn by Joan Collins. Heavy antique earrings of Whitby jet emphasized the startling whiteness of her skin.

"Come in," she said, and swayed off in front of him. He followed her into the sitting-room, automatically ducking his head as he walked under the chandelier.

"Jamie not at home?" asked Hamish.

"No, he's over on the west coast, seeing to the catch. Sit down. Would you like a drink?"

"Perhaps later," Hamish sat down in one of the white leather armchairs and looked at Helen Ross curiously. She gave him a vaguely inquiring smile.

"I'm glad I found you alone," said Hamish, and then he plunged right in. "About a month ago, you and William Mainwaring booked into the Glen Abb Hotel in Inverness."

Helen Ross lit a cigarette, blew out a cloud of smoke and squinted at Hamish through it.

"So you found out about that," she said. It was not a question.

"Would you like to tell me about it?" Hamish waited while Helen placidly smoked. Her whole body appeared relaxed, and her long, long legs in the sheerest of black stockings were crossed at the ankle.

"Not really," she sighed. "But, if I have the right of it, it's either you or that pig Blair?"

Hamish nodded.

"Well, I'll tell you how it came about. I get pretty lonely here. Jamie's wrapped up in his work. I met him after I got my degree at St. Andrew's University. I was doing summer work, waitressing at the Anstey Hotel. We fell in love and got married and struggled along, being very happy just trying to make ends meet. Then Jamie thought up the idea for this business. It was very exciting. He worked at it night and day, like a man possessed. Then it succeeded, then we got rich, and then I got bored. End of story."

The gentle, lilting Highland voice fell silent.

Hamish cleared his throat. "So to relieve that boredom, you decided to have an affair with William Mainwaring?"

"No, it wasn't like that at all. He got in the way of calling around when Jamie was over at the west coast. He talked about books, paintings, world affairs, all the sort of things I used to talk about to my friends at university. He made me feel young again. Of course, it was all intellectual c.r.a.p, now I come to think of it, but it was heady stuff. The conversation up here is about sheep, the weather, the church, and sheep. I was easily talked into going to Inverness with him. Jamie was to be away at the Land Court in Edinburgh, fighting another battle. William said we would stay at the Glen Abb-separate rooms-and have a slap-up meal and we could talk and talk. That was what was so seductive. Well, we were out of Cnothan and there we were in Inverness, and William began to seem to me like a prosy bore who knew a little about everything and not much about anything. Then I found he had just booked the one room. I told him I was leaving. He said if I didn't spend the night with him, he would tell Jamie. So I said, 'Tell Jamie,' and I walked out in the middle of the night and found myself another hotel."

"Which one?" asked Hamish.

"Not really a hotel, a boarding-house near the station, Mrs. Parker's"

"And what name did you check in under?"

"My own," said Helen.

"And she will be able to vouch that you were there?"

"Of course she will. I was her only guest."

"And did Mainwaring tell your husband about the trip to Inverness?"

"No."

"How do you know?" asked Hamish curiously.

"Jamie's got a violent temper. He'd have broken Mainwaring's neck."

"Then maybe he did."

"He couldn't have," said Helen, raising thin eyebrows in amazement. "He was in Inverness with me at the wedding."

"All the time?"

"No, he disappeared for a long time to sober up, but not long enough to get to Cnothan and back."

"Is he often drunk?"

"He gets drunk on hogmanay and then maybe occasionally at a party. The rest of the time, he hardly drinks at all. He likes coffee more than anything."

Hamish sat in silence, thinking. Helen Ross went to the drinks trolley and mixed herself a gin and tonic. "Sure you won't have anything, Constable?"

"No, thank you. What are you going to do now?" asked Hamish. "I'll need to put a report in to Blair. I can't keep this quiet."

"I suppose you must," said Helen. She sat down and crossed her legs. Her skirt, Hamish realized for the first time, was slit up the side and now exposed an expanse of long smooth stocking-leg and black stocking-top. Hamish wondered whether the leg show was deliberate. He could not imagine Helen Ross not being aware at any time of one inch of her body or dress.

"How will Jamie react?"

"I'll have to tell Jamie first. It might not be a bad thing. He'll learn what boredom can drive me to do. I've begged him to let me get a job, but he says the locals would sneer at him and say he's such a miser that he has to send his wife out to work."

"I didn't think he would care what they thought."

"Not in general. But he likes me here in the house, waiting for him. He'll be in such a rage. How boring."

"He won't hurt you?" asked Hamish anxiously.

"Spoil the decoration he's paid so much for?" Helen laughed. "I'm part of the show, along with those ghastly white leather chairs and the white Mercedes."

"How do you mean, paid so much for?" asked Hamish sharply.

"The clothes, man, the clothes. This little number cost five hundred pounds and it's only one of many. My only enjoyment in life is buying clothes, and Jamie gladly pays for anything I want. He gives me everything except s.e.x and company."

Hamish shifted uncomfortably. The room was suffocatingly hot and suddenly charged with a new atmosphere. His collar felt tight and his skin itched.

He rose to go. Helen Ross rose as well and came to stand in front of him. In her high heels, she was as tall as he.

"Stay a little and have a drink," she murmured. One hand with its long red-painted finger-nails held the skirt of her dress open, her eyes dropping so that Hamish looked down as well.

"No, I have to be going," said Hamish. His voice sounded strange in his own ears, all squeaky and afraid. She wound her arms round his neck and kissed him on the mouth. Hamish's senses reeled. Before Jenny had come on the scene, he had been celibate for a long time. Now he dimly wondered how he had ever managed to survive.

Helen's mouth had moved to his ear and she started nibbling the lobe. Her voice then whispered, "Me going to Inverness with William has nothing to do with the case. You'll forget about it. Won't you?"

Hamish pushed her away and straightened his tie. "No, Mrs. Ross," he said. "I would like to help you, but I must put in my report."

For one moment a flicker of...venom?...flashed in the depths of her eyes, and then it was gone.

When Hamish got outside a moment later, he gulped down great lungfuls of cold air. He set out to walk back to Cnothan.

Jamie Ross arrived home an hour later.

Helen Ross poured him a drink and then said, "Hamish Macbeth was here. He has found out about me going to Inverness with Mainwaring."

Jamie's face darkened. "Is he going to put in a report?"

Helen shrugged. "He says he'll have to."

Jamie rounded on her. "Didn't you try to shut him up, for Christ's sake?"

"Oh, I tried," said Helen. "Believe me, I tried. But he wasn't buying any."

"d.a.m.n Macbeth to h.e.l.l," said Jamie Ross.

EIGHT.

Loaf, as I have loafed aforetime, Loaf, as I have loafed aforetime, Through the streets with tranquil mind, Through the streets with tranquil mind, And a long-backed fancy-mongrel And a long-backed fancy-mongrel Trailing casually behind. Trailing casually behind. -C. S. Calverley -C. S. Calverley Hamish awoke the next morning in his own bed with Towser beside him. "Anything would be better than you," he said morosely, pushing the dog out of the bed. Towser usually lay across his master's feet like a rug during the night, but had been recently banished from the bedroom.

Hamish could have stayed the night with Jenny if he had wanted, but he had made the excuse that he would have to sit up late, typing out a report for Blair. Although this was true, he also did not want to get further involved until he decided whether his intentions were honourable or not.

The weather forecast for the north of Scotland had been dreadful, but as if to prove the forecasters wrong, the sun blazed down outside.

An hour later Hamish was about to descend on Blair with his report when the minister, Mr. Struthers, called.

At first Hamish was puzzled. Why should a minister call on a policeman at breakfast time to discuss the problem of AIDS? Hamish grew more uncomfortable as the minister's pale eyes began to gleam with a hectic light as he went on to d.a.m.n h.o.m.os.e.xuals. "Revenge is mine, saith the Lord," ended Mr. Struthers.

"And a good thing too," said Hamish cheerfully, trying to lighten the atmosphere. "Revenge is best left to G.o.d and justice. Look at this murder. That came about because someone decided to take the law into their own hands."

Mr. Struthers leaned across the desk and seized Hamish's wrist in a strong clasp and his eyes bored into those of the policeman. "h.o.m.os.e.xuality is a form of murder," he said.

Hamish picked up the minister's hand and removed it. The light began to dawn. "It's a pity," said Hamish, "that you have not got the real-live h.o.m.os.e.xual in Cnothan to practise your lack of Christian compa.s.sion on. You're a terrible man for the gossip, Mr. Struthers."

"I never listen to gossip," said the minister.

Hamish eyed him shrewdly. "And so this wee visit has nothing at all to do with Alistair Gunn believing me to be gay?"

The minister flushed angrily. "A certain parishioner came to me in great distress. He did not want to see AIDS in Cnothan."

Hamish looked at the minister in disgust. "You should be ashamed of yourself, Mr. Struthers, listening to rubbish from that malicious man."

"If I am mistaken, then I apologize," said the minister. "But where I find evil in my parish, I shall strike it down."

"Would you say William Mainwaring was evil?" asked Hamish curiously.

The minister shifted uneasily. "He has suffered the wrath of G.o.d."

"Mainwaring suffered at the hands of a very evil human being, and if you want to spend your time striking out evil in your parish, then it is better you look for the murderer," said Hamish furiously. "Push off, there's a good minister, and close the door behind you."

"Daft," muttered Hamish after the minister had left. "They're all plain daft."

He walked down the main street in the sunshine, wishing it were all over, wishing the murder solved and himself back in Lochdubh.

He met Diarmuid Sinclair and told him about the room having been booked for him at the Glen Abb Hotel, and continued on down the hill. A car slowed to a halt beside him, and Harry Mackay, the estate agent, popped his head out.

"Like to come back to the office with me for a coffee?" he called.

Hamish hesitated only a minute. Blair could wait. Harry Mackay might throw some light on the mystery.

The estate office was in a Victorian villa in the middle of the council houses. The office was in what used to be the front and back parlours on the ground floor. Harry Mackay led the way upstairs to his living-room, which was above the shop.

When he went off to make coffee, Hamish studied the bookshelves.

He turned round as the estate agent came back in carrying a tray with coffee and biscuits.

"This is very kind of you," said Hamish.