“We are only here to pay our respects,” said Ferdinand. “For all his faults, Captain Davenport was an old army buddy. Where is Mrs. Davenport?”
“Ben the hoose,” said Tam curtly. “I suppose you’d better come in.”
Milly, wearing a simple black dress and looking very frail, was seated in an armchair at the window. She rose when the four men entered.
“How kind of you to come all this way,” she said. “Did you bring your wives?”
“No, they all thought it too long a journey,” said John Sanders.
“Where are you staying?” asked Hamish.
“Over at the Tommel Castle Hotel. We booked in last night.”
“I know you have already made statements to the Surrey police,” said Hamish, “but I’d like to call on you this evening just to get a better idea about what sort of man Captain Davenport was.”
“Why?” demanded Charles Prosser.
“The more I can find out about the deceased, the better,” said Hamish. “I am perfectly sure he went out on his last day to meet someone he knew.”
Thomas Bromley shrugged. “If you think it will help.”
“Let’s say six o’clock,” said Hamish.
The four looked at one another and then Ferdinand said curtly, “Okay, but don’t take all night over it.”
Hamish joined Jimmy, who was helping himself to a glass of whisky. “Jimmy, can you e-mail me over the background on these four men?”
“Will do. But you’re wasting your time. Solid alibis. Still, we’re going to have a policewoman sleeping here tonight just to be on the safe side.”
After half an hour, the four visitors decided to go outside for a smoke. “Well, would you just look at that,” said Ferdinand.
Hamish was helping Lugs down from the back of the police Land Rover while Sonsie jumped lightly to the ground on her large paws. “Good heavens! The copper’s got a couple of weird animals there,” said Thomas. “A wild cat! And a dog with ears like Dumbo.”
“That policeman,” said Charles Prosser, “looks like the village idiot, but what else can you expect in this arsehole of the world.”
Thomas Bromley shivered as he looked down to the long black finger of the loch and the steep, threatening black mountains that guarded it. “At least the hotel’s civilised. We’ll say something nice to Milly and get going.”
“What about our money?” demanded Ferdinand.
“We’ll wait a day. Call tomorrow and chat. Suggest she honours her husband’s debts.”
News presenter Elspeth Grant was seated in the conference room at the television studios in Glasgow. The head of news and current affairs, Sean Gibb, said, “We’re going to launch this new programme we’ve been discussing called Pandora’s Box. It’s a sort of cold-case files. For the first programme, we want you to take some time up in the Highlands and see what you can dig up about those murders in Drim.”
“It’s not very cold yet,” said Elspeth. “And who does my job of news presenting while I’m away?”
“Dottie McDougal.”
“But Dottie’s only a research assistant!”
“We’ve tried her out and she’ll do great. She’ll only be filling in until you see if you can make something of this idea. It’s prime time, Elspeth.”
Elspeth felt very low. Dottie had blonde hair and cleavage. Dottie giggled and swayed her saucy little bum up and down the corridors. Whoever believed that news presenters weren’t chosen for their appearance? she thought dismally.
“Why call it Pandora’s Box?” she asked.
“Well, the last thing out of the box after all the horrors once Pandora had opened it was Hope. Get it? Captain Davenport’s poor wifie wants closure, and that’s the hope we’re going to give her.”
Elspeth gamely made one last try. “But I’m not a detective.”
“Look at all the cases you’ve been involved in up there. What’s the name of that copper?”
“Hamish Macbeth,” said Elspeth bleakly.
“That’s the fellow. Get alongside him.”
Elspeth repressed a sigh. The last time she saw Hamish was when he had tried to speak to her in Glasgow after she had fled their holiday in Corsica, convinced that he had proposed marriage to the love of his life, Priscilla Halburton-Smythe, whose father owned the Tommel Castle Hotel—and all because she had followed him and heard him asking about engagement rings. But there had been no news of any engagement in the newspapers, and she often wondered if Hamish had meant to propose to her.
Hamish had already phoned the manager, Mr. Johnson, to see if he could beg a room to use for interviews. He was told he could use Colonel Halburton-Smythe’s study as the colonel was away, visiting friends.
He decided to bring the four men in together. They had already been interviewed separately in Surrey.
Hamish sat behind the colonel’s desk, and the four filed in and sat facing him. “I’ll start with you, Mr. Castle,” said Hamish in his lilting highland voice. “I suppose you all met up in the regiment.”
“Yes, we went through some rough times. We were all in the Falklands War, and all of us served in Northern Ireland.”
“And you were all close to Captain Davenport?”
“Yes,” said Charles. “Get on with it. We don’t want to sit here answering questions all night.”
“Ah, Mr. Prosser, what was your rank when you left the army.”
“Colonel.”
“Mr. Bromley?”
“Lieutenant-colonel.”
“Mr. Castle?”
“Major.”
“And Mr. Sanders?”
“Staff Sergeant.”
“Was Captain Davenport a good soldier?”
There was a chorus of agreement. “The best.” Bromley. “Fine fellow.” Castle. “Good fun.” Sanders. “Could always be relied on in a fix.” Prosser.
Hamish looked at them all thoughtfully. Then he said, “Oh, come off it. We have letters from your lawyers, as you know, wanting your money back. I think he fled up here to get away from all the people he had conned. Someone wanted revenge. So let’s get to the truth. Mr. Davenport left the army after long service with only the rank of captain. Why was that?”
John Sanders began to bluster. “Who can explain the ways of the army? I was only a sergeant, and—”
Charles Prosser cut in. “May as well tell him. Nothing was ever proved but it left a nasty smell. It was when we were billeted in Northern Ireland. Someone sent an anonymous letter to the authorities saying that John here and Henry Davenport were selling arms to the IRA. Nonsense, of course. But mud sticks.”
Another problem, thought Hamish wearily. If it was true, and the captain had maybe taken money from the IRA and then not delivered, he would be a marked man. “When was this supposed to have taken place?” he asked.
“Can’t quite remember,” said John.
“Oh, tell the truth,” snapped Hamish, “before I start digging up your records in Northern Ireland.”
“Nineteen eighty-six, I think,” said John sulkily. That pretty much rules out the IRA, thought Hamish. Davenport, before he fled north, had been living openly in Guildford. They’d have shot him by now.
“You all seem to have alibis for the time of Davenport’s death, but can you think of any other old army buddy he might have conned out of money?”
General shaking of heads. “We five were always close,” said Charles. “Now, look here, Officer, we’ve had a long journey and we’re tired and want dinner.”
“I’ll be seeing you again.”
As Hamish went out to the car park, he saw with a jolt at his heart the familiar figure of Elspeth getting out of a television van while a soundman and cameraman unloaded stuff from the back. A small anxious-looking girl was dithering about.
“What’s this?” exclaimed Hamish. “Never say they’ve put you back to reporting.”