Frustrated, Hamish decided to examine the place closely for himself. He realised that like everyone else these days, he had been blinded by the glories of forensic science and had assumed they had missed nothing.
He knew the Currie sisters had gone up to Martha’s cottage with Mrs. Wellington and Angela to clear out Fergus’s things.
He carried a large magnifying glass, and, feeling ridiculous, feeling that he looked like a stage detective, he began to go over every inch of ground along with the fence and the road at the side. The rain he had expected had not yet arrived although the air was moist and damp.
After two hours, he was about to give up, when he saw a little spark of colour between the fence posts. He took out a pair of tweezers and eased out a tiny little pink thread of material. It was so small that when he took the magnifying glass away from his eye, he could barely see it. He put it in a plastic envelope. He would wait until the Curries had finished cleaning and ask them if they had any idea where it might have come from.
♦
Angela was glad she had given the children some money for sweets and had sent them off, for Mrs. Wellington was trying to persuade Martha that some of Fergus’s clothes could be cut down for the boys.
Surprisingly it was Nessie who stood up to the domineering minister’s wife. “Leave her be,” said Nessie firmly. “She doesn’t want anything of her man left in the cottage.”
“Left in the cottage,” echoed Jessie, and both sisters glared at Mrs. Wellington.
“Well, let’s bag up the stuff, and I’ll take it into a charity shop in Strathbane,” said Mrs. Wellington, capitulating.
The women worked busily, bagging up suits and shirts, socks and underwear. Martha, finding Angela the most sympathetic, kept close to her. In the bedroom Martha had shared with Fergus, Angela said, “The rugs in here could do with throwing out. I’ve got a nice carpet in the loft at home. My husband didn’t like it because it’s bright red, but it’s warm and cheery. Where did you get these rugs?”
“They’re awful, aren’t they?” said Martha with a weak smile. “Fergus found them in someone’s rubbish at a croft house and brought them home. They’re all cigarette burns.”
“I’ll take them away and bring you the carpet,” said Angela. “No, please take it. It’s a waste of a good carpet if it stays in my loft. Let’s just roll up these dreadful rugs.”
Angela got down on her knees and started to roll up one by the window. “There’s a floorboard been sawn here,” she said. “Is this where you hide the family jewels?”
Martha walked over and stared down. One of the floorboards had been sawn to make a square like a lid. “I never really noticed that before,” she said. “I’m sorry the floor’s dirty. I was going to wash it, but Fergus shouted at me to leave it alone.”
“Mind if I have a look and see if there’s anything down there?” asked Angela.
“No, go ahead.”
“I need something to lift it, a screwdriver or something.”
“I’ll get one. There’s a toolbox under the bed.”
Martha came back after a few moments with a screwdriver. Angela prised up the sawn square of wood. She peered in the cavity. Then she reached down and pulled out a plastic envelope with what appeared to be several letters in it. Angela peered through the plastic. Some of the letters seemed to be covered in food stains and coffee stains.
“I think if you don’t mind, Martha, I’ll just take this along to Hamish Macbeth. I would let you look at it first, but it might be important, and I don’t want to get too many fingerprints on it.”
“Go ahead,” said Martha wearily.
♦
Angela hurried out and made her way to the police station. A light rain was beginning to fall. Oh well, thought Angela sadly, it’s not often we’ve had a summer like this one. It couldn’t last forever.
She saw the tall figure of Hamish in front of her and hurried to catch up with him.
“Hamish,” she said. “Look what I found under the floorboards in Fergus’s bedroom.”
He took the plastic envelope from her. “It seems to be letters, Hamish. There might be a clue.”
“Thanks, Angela. I’ll take it into the station and have a look at it.”
“I’d better get back before Mrs. Wellington bullies poor Martha to death!”
Hamish hurried into the police station, into the office, sat down at his desk and gingerly eased the letters out with the tweezers he had used earlier.
The first one had been written to Josie Darling. He read:
Dear Josie,
I just can’t go through with it. I’m sorry to let you down at the last minute, but I’ve met someone else, and it’s real love this time. If you need any help writing apology letters or returning the presents, let me know. You’ll hate me for a bit, but after time passes, you’ll come to realise I did the right thing. I hope you, too, will find someone.
Yours, aye, Murdo.
“The bastard!” said Hamish out loud. Lugs scrabbled at his knee. “Down, boy,” said Hamish sharply. He put the letter carefully to one side. Then he picked up the next.
Dear Helen, I’ll never forget our night in Strathbane. I’m still travelling around but I hope to be back in Strathbane soon. Any chance of you getting away from your old man? Give us a bell if you can, snookums.
Always your loving Pat.
Who was Helen? wondered Hamish. The next was a letter to crofter Angus Effrik. It was from his bank manager. Hamish scanned it rapidly. It was telling Angus that he could have no further credit.
The fourth was an old newspaper cutting. It read:
Mrs. Fiona McClellan appeared at Strathbane sheriff’s court yesterday charged with shoplifting. A psychiatrist, Dr. J. Arthur, testified that Mrs. McClellan was now undergoing treatment for kleptomania. Sheriff Paul Tampley gave Mrs. McClellan a suspended sentence of one year but told her that should she appear in his court again, then he would not be so lenient.
Hamish’s heart sank lower. Mrs. McClellan was the bank manager’s wife.
There could only be one explanation as to why Fergus had kept these items hidden under the floorboards. Blackmail.
Hamish groaned and put his head in his hands. He should phone Strathbane immediately and reveal the contents of what Angela had found. Blair would descend like the wrath of God. He was a great man for arresting first and asking questions afterwards. Four lives might be needlessly ruined.
He looked down at his dog, who stared back up at him with those odd blue eyes. “I’ll give it a day, Lugs. One day. Let’s see what they have to say for themselves. But who’s Helen?”
♦
Hamish started off by going to see Josie. When she opened the door to him, a mulish look settled on her face. “What is it now?” she demanded sharply.
“Can I come in?”
“No, I’m busy.”
“So do you want to tell me about the cancelled wedding and why Fergus was blackmailing you out here on the step?”
She burst into tears. Hamish put an arm round her and guided her into the living room. Her mother rose to her feet in alarm. “What have you said?” she shouted.
“Let’s all sit down and talk this over quietly,” said Hamish. He pressed the weeping Josie down into a chair and then sat down himself.
“While Fergus was going through everyone’s rubbish to make sure everything was in the right receptacle, he collected letters and things he thought might be useful. He kept a letter to you from your fiancé, Murdo, Josie. In it Murdo breaks off the engagement. For some reason, your pride wouldn’t let you tell anyone and it is my belief Fergus asked you for payment to keep his mouth shut.”