Hamish Macbeth - Death Of A Dreamer Part 14

"We'll see." Hamish drove in the direction of the seer's cottage. He stopped the car at the foot of a hill and said, "We'll need to get out and walk His cottage is up there."

Angus's cottage was perched on the top of a hill with a winding path leading up to it.

The seer opened the door to them just as they arrived on his doorstep. "Come ben," he said. "What have you brought me?"

Hamish had forgotten that Angus always expected a present. "I haven't had time," he said. "We're in the middle of an investigation. Look, I'll get you a salmon later."

"A real one out o' the river," ordered Angus, "and not one o' thae ones out o' the fish farm."

Robin looked around the living room curiously. It was a low-ceiling room with an armchair on one side of the fire and two ladder-back Orkney chairs on the other. There was a table covered with the remains of breakfast by the small window set deep into the thick stone wall. The air was scented with peat smoke from the smouldering fire. Angus put an old blackened kettle on a hook over the fire. Hamish knew the seer had a perfectly good electric kettle in the kitchen but used the oldfashioned way of boiling water to impress visitors.

Angus sat down in the armchair, and Robin and Hamish took the chairs on the other side of the fire. "And who is this young lady?" asked Angus, stroking his long grey beard.

"I am Robin Mackenzie," she said. "I am a detective who has been sent up here to work closely with Constable Macbeth."

"And hating every minute of it," said Angus. "Poor wee la.s.sie sitting there thinking, what am I doing stuck here with this loon?"

Robin's face flamed. "Nothing of the kind."

Angus heaved himself to his feet. "Kettle's boiled. I'll just get the cups and an ashtray for you, Miss Mackenzie."

"I don't smoke!"

"Yes, you do," said Angus, disappearing into the kitchen.

Hamish looked amused. "Is he right?"

"I'm trying to give up," said Robin. "Oh, what the h.e.l.l." She took offher jacket and, rolling up the sleeve of her blouse, ripped off a nicotine patch and threw it on the fire. She replaced her jacket, opened her handbag, and took out a packet of Bensons. Hamish watched hungrily as she lit one up. He had given up smoking a long time ago, but the craving for a cigarette had never quite left him.

Angus made tea and poured cups and then, when they were served, sat down again. "You've come about the murder of that artist," he said.

Robin started. "So you think that was murder?"

"Oh, aye."

"So who did it?"

Angus closed his eyes. "I see four people circling around her like the buzzards. I see..."

Robin leaned forward expectantly but the seer only emitted a gentle snore.

"Come on," said Hamish. "We won't be getting any more out of him today."

"Where now?" asked Robin.

Hamish stared down the hill to the village. "I see a mobile police unit has been set up. Time to visit Jimmy and see what he's found out."

As the Land Rover b.u.mped over the heathery hill tracks towards the village, Robin wondered uneasily what Hamish had thought of the seer's accurate reading of her thoughts. She was beginning to sense a sharp intelligence behind Hamish's laconic manner and feared she had misjudged him.

"That remark of Angus's about me thinking you stupid was not correct," she said.

"Oh, it probably was," said Hamish. "Don't worry about it."

He drove along the waterfront and parked in front of the mobile unit.

He and Robin mounted the shallow steps and went in. Jimmy Anderson was sitting behind a desk studying a computer. "You're just in time, Hamish. What are you doing here, Robin?"

"Superintendent Daviot has asked me to work with Hamish."

"He has, has he? Both of you come and look at this." He handed them a computer printout.

It was a statement about Jock Fleming. On two occasions, he had been charged with a.s.sault and drunk and disorderly. One of the charges concerned his wife. She had used as grounds for divorce his attack on her where he has broken two of her ribs.

"I'm slipping," mourned Hamish. "I thought that man was just an ordinary cheerful chap. Will we go and see him?"

"No, I'll do that," Jimmy said.

"Any other horrible news?"

"The ex-wife used to be a hooker and a drug addict."

"Michty me! Anything else?"

"Caro Garrard had a nervous breakdown, but it was a long time ago, just after she left art school. I'd like you both to go and see Dora Fleming. Find out why she was lying. Find out why she is pursuing a violent ex-husband."

"Where does this woman live?" asked Robin as they left the mobile unit.

"A boarding house, just along the waterfront here."

"What's she like?"

"Defiant, coa.r.s.e, sometimes a really broad Glasgow accent and sometimes it's modified."

"Who's this bulldog in tweed bearing down on us?" asked Robin.

"Mrs. Wellington, the minister's wife."

"Hamish Macbeth," boomed Mrs. Wellington, "just who is this female?"

"Manners," chided Hamish. "Robin, may I present Mrs. Wellington. Mrs. Wellington, Detective Constable Mackenzie."

"That's all right, then," said Mrs. Wellington. "I thought for a moment you were playing fast and loose with anodier female."

"Are they all like that in this village?" asked Robin. "I mean, is it inbreeding or something?"

"Chust b.l.o.o.d.y-minded nosiness, dial's all."

"Hamish!" called a voice.

Hamish swung round. Elspeth came hurrying along the waterfront. She was wearing jeans and a faded Tshirt. "We should get together soon," said Elspeth.

Hamish introduced Robin and then said, "I honestly don't know when I'll be free."

"You owe me some of your time," said Elspeth.

"Call round at the police station at nine this evening," said Hamish. "I should be through by then."

Elspeth's odd silver eyes surveyed him. "Enjoy your dinner?"

"Yes, thank you. Now, if you don't mind..."

"Enjoy it while supplies last," said Elspeth. "There's misery coming from that quarter."

Hamish made a sound of disgust and walked on rapidly. Robin hurried to keep up with him.

"What on earth was she talking about?"

"Oh, she thinks she's psychic."

"Really? I hope we're nearly at this boarding house. I've had enough of nutters for one day."

But at the boarding house, Mrs. Dunne said Mrs. Fleming had decided to walk up to the Tommel Casde Hotel to see her ex-husband.

"Why, I wonder?" said Hamish. "We'd better drive up there, Robin."

When they reached the hotel, Hamish said, "I'll get Mr. Johnson to send someone up to fetch her down here. I don't want to end up stepping on Jimmy's toes."

Mr. Johnson told them to wait in the lounge. There was no sign of Bessie, the maid. Hamish decided to interview her later.

Dora Fleming came in and slumped down in an armchair opposite them.

"You lied to me," said Hamish.

"Whit?"

"You got a divorce from Jock because he had been beating you."

"So I didnae like to tell folks that while he's paying alimony."

"And why did you really come up here?"

"He was behind a bit wi' the payments. It's all right now."

"Why are you still here and visiting him, too?" asked Robin.

"He's the faither o' ma weans."

"How did you meet him?" asked Hamish.

The heavy accent dropped from her voice as she said, with a toss of her head, "It was at a gallery opening in Glasgow."

"So it was not while you were working as a prost.i.tute?" asked Robin.

Hamish had heard of people's eyes turning red with rage and had put that description down to poetic license, but now he could swear he saw red glints of fury in Dora's eyes.

"You b.a.s.t.a.r.ds!" she howled. "You never let a body alone to lead a decent life."

"How did you meet Jock?" asked Hamish patiently.

"It was at a gallery opening," she said sulkily. "A man friend-okay, a client-was a bit drunk, and when we was finished, he said he'd take me to a party. That's where I met Jock at the gallery. He said he'd like to do a portrait of me."

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.

Eight.

She may very well pa.s.s 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. Johnsons 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 casde. Do you have to work? Where are your parents?"