“I knew him a little bit. He fancied himself with the ladies. Smooth. Unctuous, is the word. Smarmy. Surely there are papers and letters and photographs at his home that might give you an idea?”
Hamish had already thought of that but did not want to lower his position on the case in her eyes by telling her that the CID were covering that. He frowned suddenly. There must be some report in the files now of the contents of Gilchrist’s home. He wondered if Sarah could access those, or if that was taking too great a risk.
“What do you know of Kylie Fraser?”
“The tarty little piece of baggage that works for the chemist?”
“Her, yes.”
“Apart from the fact that she’s getting herself the reputation of a tart and a lush, no.”
“Would Gilchrist have made a pass at her?”
“He might have done. But the fact is I don’t go out much.” Her face was sad. “At the end of the day I feel so tired, I usually sit down in front of the television set and fall asleep.”
“If you hear anything let me know.”
“I most certainly will.”
“Just to remind you, my name is Hamish Macbeth and I am the policeman over at Lochdubh.”
“Yes, I know that.”
He hesitated. He had been about to caution her to be discreet. Then he thought, it might be interesting if Kylie found out he was asking questions about her. He thanked Mrs. Edwardson and left the shop and stood for a moment outside in the snow. Then he set off in the direction of the pub. Time to ask more questions and hope his interest in her got back to Kylie.
The Drouthy Crofter was fairly quiet apart from a juke box blaring in the corner. Hamish went up to the bar. The barman eyed his uniform suspiciously. “I would like to ask you a few questions about one of your customers, Kylie Fraser.”
“Oh, thon wee lassie? What’s she been up to?”
“I just wondered if she had ever been in here with Gilchrist, the dentist who was murdered?”
“Naw. She hangs about with the young lads. She’s good fun.”
“Ever get drunk and disorderly?”
“Och, you know the young folk. They usually drink that alcoholic lemonade and get a bit pissed and noisy. Mind you, Kylie always drinks straight whisky. They all live locally and don’t drive here, so it’s not as if I have to worry.”
“Let me know if you hear anything.”
♦
Later that day Kylie stood with her friend, Tootsie Duffy, outside Mrs. Edwardson’s shop. Mrs. Edwardson was just locking up. “Did you ever see such fashions?” crowed Kylie. “I wouldnae be seen dead in one of them. Tell you what, one o’ them would make a good shroud.”
Tootsie shrieked with mirthless laughter. Tootsie hardly ever found anything funny but she supplied a sort of canned laughter to her friend’s sallies.
Mrs. Edwardson whipped round and stared at Kylie with contempt. “You’d better just watch yourself, my girl. The police have been asking me about you and Gilchrist.”
Kylie stood, her small mouth hanging a little open. “What d’you mean?”
“Just what I said.” Mrs. Edwardson stalked off, her back rigid.
Tootsie moved a wad of gum to the other side of her mouth and asked, “You and auld Gilchrist?”
“Spiteful old twat,” said Kylie viciously. “I could do with a drink.”
They walked into The Drouthy Crofter, both teetering on high heels, oblivious to already cold and wet feet. Tootsie’s long skinny legs were purple with cold. But one must suffer to be beautiful.
Kyle pouted when she saw the pub was still empty. She did not like spending her own money.
“Getting yourself in trouble with the police?” asked the barman after he had taken their order.
“What is this?” demanded Kylie angrily.
“That tall policeman wi’ the red hair was in here asking if Gilchrist had been getting his leg over.”
“It’s police harassment,” said Tootsie. “You should report him, Kylie.”
Kylie tossed her short blonde locks. “And I will, too,” she said savagely. “Just you see if I don’t.”
♦
Sarah sat in a corner of the bar-reception area at The Scotsman Hotel, pretending to read a book, but listening carefully. Two men who looked like detectives went into the hotel office. Then a small angry-looking middle-aged woman went up to the bar and said, “Give me a whisky. The decent stuff.”
Sarah looked at her curiously as the barman said, “Right you are, Mrs. Macbean.”
Mrs. Macbean had a headful of bright green plastic rollers. Mrs. Macbean picked up her drink and turned around. She saw Sarah looking at her and glared. Sarah smiled tentatively.
Mrs. Macbean walked over. “Were you looking at me?”
Sarah smiled into her truculent face. “I’m just a tourist and I wanted to ask someone if this hotel was a comfortable place to stay.”
The anger left Mrs. Macbean’s face and she sat down opposite Sarah. “I’m married to the manager,” she said. “The rooms are clean and the rates are cheap. Then we have the bingo Saturday night, if you’re interested.”
“Not really,” said Sarah. “I never win anything. I am one of life’s losers.”
“Me too.” Mrs. Macbean took a moody sip at her whisky. “Men,” she said bitterly.
“Tell me about it. They’re all bastards,” said Sarah encouragingly. “We’re still brought up to think the knight on the white charger is coming to look after us.”
“But all we get is horse shit,” said Mrs. Macbean. She jerked her thumb in the direction of the office. “That’s all he talks.”
Normally Sarah would quickly have disengaged herself from such a conversation.
“My husband’s the same,” she said.
“You don’t wear a wedding ring.”
Sarah gave her a slow smile. “I threw it down the toilet, and do you know why?”
“Go on. Tell me.” Mrs. Macbean now looked positively friendly.
“He beat me up.”
“And you took it?”
Sarah spread her hands in a deprecatory gesture. “What else could I do? He was stronger than me. So I got a divorce.”
“Lassie, lassie.” Mrs. Macbean shook her head and a curler fell into her glass of whisky. “Don’t you see that’s what they want? You get a divorce and settle for lousy terms or nothing at all. A man isnae as strong as a woman with a breadknife in her hand, remember that.”
Sarah looked at her, wide-eyed. “You sound to me like a very brave woman.”
Mrs. Macbean took another sip of whisky. Sarah noticed with horror that she was straining it through the roller, which had floated to the top of her glass, but did not want to say anything for fear of drying up this interesting conversation.
Mrs. Macbean preened. “You have to learn to take care of yourself. Brian, that’s him.” She jerked a thumb again in the direction of the office. “He used his fists on me last week. Well, he likes hot chocolate in the mornings so I put a whole lot of laxative in it. “You lay a hand on me and next time it’ll be poison, buster,” that’s what I said.”
Sarah gazed at her in well-feigned admiration.
“He’s useless, that’s what he is. Did you know we had the burglary here?”
“No!”
“Fact. Two hundred and fifty thousands pounds out o’ the safe.”
“How? Gelignite?”
“Naw. The damn fool had this safe wi’ a wooden back. Thought no one would find out.”
“But he’ll get the insurance.”
“I don’t think so. The insurance company said a safe like that was jist like leaving the money lying on the bar.”
“How terrible for you. And I’ll bet he made you think it was all your fault.”
“That’s it. That’s what he did.”
“But he couldn’t get away with it. I mean, you didn’t buy the safe.”
“Isn’t that what I told him? He said I musta told someone about the wooden back on the safe. As if I would!”