Hamish walked into the living-room-cum-kitchen. It was strange, he thought, that Caro could produce her miracles in such a cramped environment, and then realised there wasn’t a potter’s wheel, easel, paints, or brushes. As if reading his thoughts, Caro said, “I’ve got a big shed out the back now where I work. Coffee?”
“Yes, that would be grand.”
“It’s ready. I was just about to take a cup myself.”
Hamish took off his cap and settled himself at a table by the window. Outside, he could see Lugs and Sonsie playing in the heather.
Caro put down a mug of coffee in front of him and looked out of the window as well. “Aren’t you frightened that one day that cat is going to revert to the wild and savage your dog?”
“No. It’s odd, I know, but they’re great friends.”
She sat down opposite him. “So what brings you?”
“Captain Henry Davenport.”
“Oh, him.”
“Yes, him. Did he con any money out of you?”
There was a long silence.
Then she said with a weary note in her voice. “I may as well tell you. Knowing you of old, I’ve a nasty feeling if I don’t, you’ll dig and dig until you get at the truth.”
“What happened?”
“I arrived back here shortly before he was murdered. It was one of those rare warm days with a breeze blowing all the way in from the Gulf Stream. I like walking. I love the clean air up here. I also wanted to work off my fury. A gallery in Mayfair had promised to hold an exhibition of my paintings. They cancelled at the last minute. They wanted instead to use my space for an exhibition by a sort of Turner Prize artist—you know the type of thing, painting made from elephant dung and an unmade bed. It was like a slap in the face. They said my little paintings were too ‘pretty-pretty’ for their clients. I was up in the hills where you can look down on Drim and that sinister sea loch when I saw this tweedy sort of military man approaching.
“He stopped and said, ‘You’ve been crying. What’s the matter?’ And he had an English accent.”
“Did that make a difference? We don’t go in for English bashing up here.”
“I know. But you highlanders run on a different wavelength. It’s my own fault. I’m a solitary person. I like my own company. But I suddenly desperately needed someone to talk to. He had a soothing voice. He said he had recently moved to Drim and wondered if he had made a mistake. He said the locals were a bit weird and he always felt he was somehow on the outside looking in. I began to tell him about the gallery rejecting my work. He was so sympathetic that a lot of the pain began to ease. Then to my amazement, he said he knew the owner of the Collin Gallery in Mayfair and he could get me an exhibition but it would take a bit of bribery. He winked at me and I began to laugh. I was feeling so relieved at being able to unburden myself.
“ ‘How much?’ I asked.
“ ‘If I could slip him a couple of thousand cash, the deed’s done,’ he said. He introduced himself and handed me his card. It said, CAPTAIN HENRY DAVENPORT, FINANCIAL ADVISOR, and an address in Guildford. He said he still had a house down there and Drim was really just a holiday home. Now, I keep a few thousand here, or rather I did, for expenses. Everyone wants to be paid off the books these days. Also I earn an awful lot of money from my pottery so two thousand doesn’t mean much to me. I took him back to the house.”
“Oh, dearie, dearie me,” said Hamish. “Where did you keep it?”
She pointed to a row of white and blue enamel tins on the dresser. “In the one marked FLOUR. So I got out the money and paid him. He took a note of my phone number and said he’d be in touch but to give him a week.
“Now, when I was out of his orbit, so to speak, I couldn’t believe I had been so silly as to trust a complete stranger like that but I decided to give it a chance. About five days later, I decided to take out some money and go shopping down in Inverness for some more art supplies. I found all the money in the flour tin was gone.”
“How much?”
“About five thousand.”
“Was the door forced?”
“No, but I didn’t used to lock it. I do now. I was sure it couldn’t have been one of the workmen. How mad! I was always so careful with them, the innocents! I would never let them know there was money in the house. I would always say, ‘Come back tomorrow after I’ve been to the bank and I’ll pay you.’ So I headed for Drim.”
“I suppose he denied the whole thing.”
“He couldn’t. I walked over and when I reached the rise above Drim and looked down, I could see police cars, police tape, and flashing lights. I thought, he’s been caught out at last. I didn’t want to tell you. People who’ve been tricked like me feel such fools. Then on the evening news on television, I heard about his murder. I suppose now you’ll want to take me in.”
Hamish surveyed her small figure. “If I thought for a moment you would have the strength to stuff a man of the captain’s size up his own chimney, I’d take you down to police headquarters for questioning. We’ll keep this quiet for the moment. Milly Davenport is trying to repay money to other victims, but she’s not that well off and you can afford it so I won’t be telling her, either.”
“Thank you. I can’t believe I let myself get tricked by that man. But he seemed capable of exuding a sort of warmth and comfort and I did need a shoulder to cry on.”
“It’s the cruelty of it!” exclaimed Hamish. “A wee bit here, a wee bit there, like a magpie. You’d think he’d use his nasty talents to go for the big time. Oh, he duped his army friends all right, but I would have thought he would be the sort to go in for some really massive scam.”
“Maybe he did,” said Caro. “Maybe one of the four men I heard about actually parted with a great deal more than he’s saying.”
“It’s a thought.”
The corpse of Betty Close lay undisturbed on the bottom of the Gareloch until the canvas of the cheap suitcase she had been packed in finally gave way. The material of the case was already rotted from the salt water, and the pressure from the gases of the decomposing body inside finally burst it open. The corpse floated up to the surface and was borne on a gentle current to a pebbly beach, where it was discovered by a woman walking her dog.
The police were quickly called. The body was naked, and there was not one single sign of identification.
Elspeth, reading out the news that evening, felt a frisson of shock. For some reason, her thoughts flew to Hamish telling her about the murder of the prostitute. Betty Close had not come back to work. It was generally assumed that she had gone off somewhere in a huff.
When she had finished reading the news, Elspeth went back to her dressing room after getting a note of Betty’s home address and phoned a police inspector she knew. She told him it was a long shot but that they had a missing researcher called Betty Close and gave him the address.
Then she phoned Hamish Macbeth.
Chapter Seven
Down to Gehenna or up to the Throne,
He travels the fastest who travels alone.
—Rudyard Kipling
It was a slow process before the body was finally identified as that of Betty Close.
Jimmy Anderson called one evening to give Hamish the news.
“I chust knew it!” cried Hamish. “I guessed she must ha’ been listening in when I was telling Elspeth about the idea I had that the death of yon prostitute was somehow linked to the murders.”
“We’re not going to get anywhere with that, Hamish.”
“Why?”