Hamish Macbeth - Death Of A Village Part 10

"I sense it."

"I'm going to do something more practical about finding out," said Hamish. He told her about his planned holiday there.

"I've some leave owing," said Elspeth. "I could come with you."

"And where would you stay?"

"Wherever you're staying, of course."

"That would antagonise that G.o.d-fearing community no end. They would say we were living in sin."

"Well, I'll drop over and see you."

Hamish began to feel hunted. "Chust leave me be to get on wi' my investigation," he said quietly.

Elspeth turned a little pink and looked relieved when Willie arrived with the wine.

"So what's been going on in Lochdubh that I don't know about?" asked Hamish to break the awkward silence which had followed his last remark.

"Maybe there's something you could do to help," said Elspeth. "Do you know old Mrs. Docherty?"

"Of course. I havenae seen her for a while."

"She's all alone. She needs professional care. She's rambling in her mind and should really be in a nursing home."

"Has she any relatives?"

"Just a daughter down in Glasgow. Mrs. Wellington has written to her several times but she never replies."

"What nursing home could she go into?"

"There's a new one just outside Braikie."

"I'd forgotten about that one. It's called The Pines."

"Maybe you could call on her and persuade her to go there. Mind you, it would mean selling her cottage." They talked together amicably and Hamish had to admit to himself afterwards that he had enjoyed the evening.

Hamish called on Mrs. Docherty the following day. The front door was standing open so he put his head round it and called, "Mrs. Docherty! It's me, Hamish."

"Come in," called a surprisingly strong voice.

He walked into a small cluttered parlour. Mrs. Docherty looked as hale and hearty as the last time he had seen her. Her grey hair was thick and her large figure was not stooped. Her face was criss-crossed with a mult.i.tude of wrinkles and her faded grey eyes were alert.

"Sit down, Hamish," she said. "You can make us a cup of tea after you explain why you've called."

"It's a social visit," said Hamish awkwardly.

Her intelligent eyes surveyed him with amus.e.m.e.nt.

"Och, I heard you were getting senile," Hamish blurted out, and then turned dark red with embarra.s.sment.

She laughed. "Don't look so upset. Most people weary me. I have my books and my computer to keep me amused. So when people I don't like call round, I mumble and drool. Maybe I'd better stop it or they'll be dragging me off to some nursing home."

"I hear there's a new one outside Braikie."

"Not all that new. It's been there for a year. I wouldn't go there even if I was on my last legs."

"Why?"

"I think they kill people," she said.

"Och, come on. I'd have heard about it."

"I had a good friend over in Braikie," she said. "Maisie Freeman. She got very frail and her family persuaded her to go into The Pines. It's a private nursing home, but if you sign over your house to them, they promise the best care and medical attention until the day you die. She only had her married daughter to look after her, Aileen, and Aileen is a selfish cow. Her husband's pretty well off so the loss of Maisie's house when she did die wasn't going to bother them. They just wanted rid of Maisie. She was, like I said, a bit frail but she had all her faculties. I visited her. I didn't like the staff much, very creepy and smarmy. Anyway, Maisie lasted only four weeks."

"What happened to her?"

"She fell down a flight of steps and broke her neck. Now, the rooms are all on the ground floor and the offices upstairs. She had no reason to go upstairs."

"Maybe she wanted to complain to the manager."

"Then she would have sent for him. She had rheumatoid arthritis. She'd no more have tackled those stairs than she would have thought of climbing Everest."

"What did the nursing home say?"

"They said Maisie's mind had gone and she must have wandered upstairs not knowing where she was and lost her footing. I visited her two days before her death and she was as bright as a b.u.t.ton. But you know how it is. People think the very old are a waste of s.p.a.ce anyway. You know what I think will happen in the future? I think they'll find a way to extend life for a very long time and keep people young-looking. The criminal element amongst the young will hate all these oldies hanging on to jobs and taking up s.p.a.ce on the planet. Someone will start issuing dates of birth on the Internet and they'll start b.u.mping all the oldies off."

"I tell you what," said Hamish. "I'll go over there and have a talk to them."

"I don't see how you can find anything out. I've a good bit of money put by. People don't know that. I'm tempted to check myself in there and see what happens."

"If what you think is true, it could be dangerous."

"Not if I pretend to be senile. I mean not all the time, because I'd need to look as if I had my wits about me some days to check in."

"It would mean signing your cottage over to them."

"It would be a risk and a bit of excitement for me."

"Hold on," said Hamish. "I mean houses in the Highlands don't command that much money on the market. If patients started dropping like flies soon after they were admitted, there'd be an enquiry."

"I think they'd be clever about it. I mean it's only old people on their last legs who go into nursing homes."

"I'll go over there anyway and look around. I'll say it's a private visit. I've got an elderly relative who might be interested."

"You could get that reporter la.s.sie to check the obituaries of people in Braikie who died within the last year," she said.

"Let me have a look around first."

"Very well. Go and make tea."

Hamish called in at the newspaper office after he had left Mrs. Docherty's. Elspeth had a pencil stuck through her hair and was scowling at her computer. "I'm wasted here," she said when she saw Hamish. "How can I put a bit of drama into the latest Mothers' Union meeting?"

"Why don't you apply for a job on one of the Glasgow papers?"

"I'll think about it. Why are you here?"

"I want a favour. Could you check up your obituary files and give me the names of old people who died in The Pines during the last year?"

"Why?"

"Can't you chust do it, la.s.sie?"

"I'm a reporter, remember? What's happening? Someone going in for euthanasia?"

"Could be. It's an idea of Mrs. Docherty's."

"I thought she was gaga."

"It's an act, but don't tell anyone. She uses it to get rid of people who bore her."

"Oh, really?" said Elspeth crossly. "She pulled that one on me. I went to do a piece on Lochdubh in the old days and she just stared at me vacantly."

"Some people don't like reporters."

"Okay, I'll do it if you promise to let me know if there's a story."

Hamish drove over to Braikie that afternoon. The Pines was situated far back from the road at the end of a long drive. Hamish now remembered reading a year ago about it being built. The pine forest from which it took its name stretched all around him. Sunlight flickered down through the trees as he drove steadily towards the house. At last it came into view, a long two-storey building. He parked in front of it and entered the main door. A dark-skinned male nurse came forward to meet him. Hamish tried to guess his nationality. Indian? Pakistani?

"How can I help you?" asked the nurse.

"I've an elderly mother who might have to come here," said Hamish. "I wondered if I could look round."

"Come up to the office and I'll introduce you to our manager, Mr. Dupont."

Hamish followed him up the stairs, noticing that they were uncarpeted. The nurse knocked at a frosted gla.s.s door at the top. A voice called, "Come in."

A small dapper man wearing a blazer with a crest rose to meet them. "I am Mr. Dupont," he said. He had thinning brown hair and a large nose and a small rosebud of a mouth. His eyes were black. His voice had a faint accent.

"I wanted to see round the home," said Hamish. "My mother will soon need to go into care."

Mr. Dupont laughed. "Strange. One does not think of policemen having mothers."

"You know who I am?"

"You are Hamish Macbeth and you are the policeman who is based at Lochdubh."

"This is a private matter. May I see around?"

"I will take you round myself."

Mr. Dupont came round from behind his desk. His grey trousers had knife-edge pleats and his small black shoes were polished like black gla.s.s. He dismissed the nurse and then led Hamish back down the stairs.

"You're not from here," said Hamish. "What brought you to the Highlands?"

"I had been managing a nursing home in Kent. The terms of employment offered here were better."

"And is the owner from around here?"

"Mr. Frazier is from the south of England as well. Property and land here are much cheaper than elsewhere in Britain. All patients have their own private rooms and expert nursing care. The ones who are not bedridden can make use of the grounds and the gym. Yes, we have a trainer to take them through gentle exercise. If I say so myself, the food is excellent and all tastes are catered for."

He pushed open a door. "I do not want to disturb any patients, but this room is unoccupied at the moment."

The room had a hospital bed, two hard chairs, one small table, and one comfortable armchair. Chintz curtains were drawn back from the window, revealing a view of that pine forest. There was a television set and a radio. The floor was thickly carpeted.

"How much do you charge?" asked Hamish.

"Two thousand pounds a month."

"Man, I couldnae afford that!"

"Well, we have an interesting little scheme. We don't like to turn anyone away who is in need. Does your mother own her own home?"

"Yes."

"Then all she needs to do is sign it over to us and we will guarantee to give her the best treatment until the day she dies."

"And are all your patients under this scheme?"

He laughed. "No, we could not afford that. Most of our patients pay or their relatives pay."

"I wouldn't think folks up here could afford that for care."

"But we get people from all over. That is why this site was a stroke of genius. People are very romantic about the Highlands."

He shut the door of the room and led Hamish down a long corridor. He pushed open another door. "This is the dining room for those who are still mobile."

It was not a very large room, laid out with only ten tables. "And then we come to the gym," said Mr. Dupont. He opened another door, revealing an airy room.

"I wouldn't think any of them would be fit enough for all those machines and weights," said Hamish.

"Oh, we run a gym cla.s.s for people in Braikie. Ah, here is our trainer, Jerry Andrews."

Jerry walked in. He was a fit young man with hair of an improbable gold. He was wearing a white track suit and his tanned face was so square and so regular and his skin so smooth he looked like a plastic doll. Mr. Dupont introduced him and Jerry explained in a lisping voice that he specialised in giving the elderly simple Pilates exercises and also ma.s.sage.

Mr. Dupont set off again rapidly on the tour, his little shiny feet twinkling in front of Hamish. "And this," he said, throwing open another door, "is our piece de resistance."

Hamish surveyed a large swimming pool. It was empty of people, the water blue and pristine.