The television team stopped overnight at a small hotel and started out again at dawn. Betty’s heart rose as the weather changed. The wind rose from the west, driving away the rain and mist until the blue sky arched above. George Lennox was driving. He was rather surly in the way of some TV cameramen. Perhaps it was understandable as the presenter on any programme got all the glory, no matter how dangerous the situation. Phil Green was small and cheerful and kept exclaiming at the beauty of the landscape. Up and down the narrow roads they went until at long last they drove into Durness and down to where a curve of pure white sand faced a green-and-blue sea.
There was no sign of any police Land Rover. Betty climbed stiffly down. It was still and quiet apart from the ceaseless sound of the sea.
She had a sudden queasy feeling of unease. “This is grand,” said Phil. He had a thermos and a pack of sandwiches. He sat down on a flat rock and stared dreamily out to sea. “This is God’s country!”
“This is the bloody end o’ the world that God forgot,” said George, glaring at Betty. “Are you sure o’ this? There’s nobody camping on the beach.”
“We’ll just need to search around,” said Betty desperately.
“You go and search,” said Phil lazily. “Me, I’m staying right here until you find something.”
Betty scrambled up from the beach. There were ruined croft houses here and there. No people. The wind whistled amongst the ruins, and the sad cry of a curlew from the heather seemed to mock her.
Elspeth was feeling much stronger. She sat up in bed and then saw a note, which had been pushed under her door. She struggled out of bed and picked it up.
“Dear Elspeth,” she read. “Your wee researcher had the nerve to hide a tape recorder in my office so I sent her off on a wild goose chase to Durness. Get well soon. Hamish.”
Elspeth phoned the television station in Glasgow and asked for her boss. He listened in horror and then said, “Get her back down here. When you’re better, get back down yourself. We’ve had a lot of complaints about your replacement. And see if you can smooth over that bobby friend o’ yours before he sues us.”
But Hamish had more to worry him now than one overambitious researcher. When he had returned earlier to the station, it was to find Angela Brodie waiting for him. “I’ve come to confess,” she said seriously.
Chapter Five
To marry is to domesticate the Recording Angel. Once you are married, there is nothing left for you, not even suicide, but to be good.
—Robert Louis Stevenson
When they were seated at the kitchen table, Hamish said, “Not to the murders, I hope.”
Angela gave a miserable little attempt at a laugh. “Not them.”
“Well, what?”
She took a deep breath. “I gave money to Captain Davenport.”
Hamish’s stomach gave a lurch. “You what?”
“It happened like this. I didn’t tell anyone. My last book was rejected. I felt I had lost my cards of identity. My agent said there was nothing up with the book, it was just that the publishers had paid out a vast sum to some celebrity and despite all the publicity, it was remaindered after a few weeks and they lost tons of money. So they turned to their list and started axing off authors who weren’t big sellers.”
“So where on earth does the captain come into this?”
“I was upset and I went out for a very long walk and I came across the captain. I was very teary and he seemed kind. He asked me what was the matter and I told him. To my amazement, he said he could fix it for me. He knew a very good vanity press that would publish and publicise my book for five thousand pounds. Now, when I was nominated for the Haggart Prize, I got a large cheque for the publication of my last book. My husband and I have separate accounts. I never told him how much it was, and, oddly enough, he didn’t ask. He just said he thought a new author would be lucky if they got more than a few hundred pounds and I said, ‘Yes, isn’t it sad.’ ”
“But why? I would have said Dr. Brodie was an easy-going generous man.”
“I know. But I wanted my independence. I didn’t want to be just a housewife any more.”
“So you gave Davenport the money.”
Angela bowed her head, and a tear ran down her thin cheek.
“So what did you do?”
“I phoned him and he said it was all going ahead. Then I phoned after a few weeks and he said, ‘I never took any money from you and I don’t even know who you are.’ ”
“But Angela, the bank will have a record of your cheque.”
She shook her head dismally.
“Neffer say you paid the man in cash!”
She nodded, and then burst out with: “What else was I to think except that he was thoroughly honest?”
“Did you call on him?”
“I tried. His wife answered the door. She looked scared but she said he wasn’t at home even though the car was parked outside. Mind you, he often went for long walks, or so he told me.”
“Why didn’t you say anything before? It looks right bad.”
“And be dragged off to Strathbane by Blair?”
Hamish sat back in his chair. She started to speak again, but Hamish said gently, “Shh! I’m thinking.”
At last he said, “Here’s what we’ll do. If you can wait until tomorrow, Elspeth should be ready for visitors. You tell her your story and get filmed. Then you let her drive you to police headquarters in Strathbane the following day after she’s got her bit shown on the telly. No, they can’t arrest you, but you’ll have an unpleasant time of it. The others’ll be waiting for you when you come out. Be brave. Tell them what drove you into giving the captain the money. Think o’ the publicity! Might start a debate about literary authors getting axed because of vast sums paid to celebrities who can’t even write. I think it might get you a publisher.”
“What will my husband say?”
“I’ll talk to him. Have you any money left?”
“Yes.”
“So take my advice and get some of the village women in to clean your house. I’m sure Dr. Brodie doesn’t notice much but he’ll be in a better mood wi’ a bit o’ home comfort.”
Betty wearily trudged back to the beach. She had tried to call her colleagues but could not pick up a signal on her phone. As she neared the beach, though, her phone worked at last and she phoned Phil Green. His voice crackled back over a bad line. “I looked for you, Betty. Thon policeman sent you off on a wild goose chase. He says you planted a recorder in the police office. We’ve been told to go back and join Elspeth immediately. You’re to make your own way back.”
“How?” screamed Betty, looking wildly around.
“Taxi.”
“Here?”
“Not my problem.” Phil rang off.
Dr. Brodie was bewildered as Hamish explained the situation. When Hamish had finished, he asked plaintively, “What’s up with being just a housewife? The village is full of them.”
In a shaky voice, Angela explained how much it had meant to her to be a published writer.
“It’s all beyond me, Angela,” he said at last. “But you’ve been awfully secretive. Did you think I’d want your money?”
“No, no. It’s just I’ve never had any money of my own. It felt great.”
Dr. Brodie shook his head wearily. “Och, do what you have to do.”
Betty arrived back the following day. She had stayed overnight at Balankiel, taken a bus to Lochinver, and from there travelled by taxi to Lochdubh. A curt message from the television station was waiting for her telling her to return immediately to Glasgow.
Elspeth, completely recovered, was down in Lochdubh, filming Angela who was seated at her computer at a newly scrubbed and cleared kitchen table. After the filming was over, Hamish said urgently, “Now, remember, Elspeth, I don’t know anything about this.”