“What! That iss ridiculous. Neither of them would hurt a fly.”
“I find you think you know people just because they’re under your feet the whole time, so to speak. But there can be a lot of passions burning below the surface.”
“You speak from experience?”
“I was married once. I reverted to my maiden name after the divorce but I still use the ‘Mrs.’ Vanity! I don’t want to be thought a spinster.”
“What happened?”
“I had a very strict upbringing and John was a bit wild. That was what attracted me. My parents were against it. He turned out a bad lot. He stole cars. Then it was armed robbery. Finally he killed a night watchman. He’s out now. Isn’t it incredible that somewhere that murdering rat could be walking the streets?”
“Not the streets of Lochdubh, I hope.”
“He doesn’t know where I am. It all happened thirty years ago anyway. So what do you lot do for amusement round here when you’re not murdering each other?”
“There’s no theatre and no cinema, so the younger ones go down to Inverness or over to Strathbane. There’s the occasional dance or ceidlih, you know, where we dance and then everyone does something, sings or recites a poem, that sort of thing. Then there’s the television.”
“What did they all do to pass the time in the winter before television?”
“They sat around each other’s peat fires and told stories. It’s an art that’s nearly gone. Not many young people stay in the Highlands. It’s a place where incomers choose to retire, but often they don’t last long. The dark winters usually get to them.”
“I’m not that much of a stranger to the Highlands. I taught over in Dingwall in Cromarty. Lively town, nice people. But I was much younger then, and I wanted to travel. I learned teaching English as a foreign language and then I taught in Italy for a bit, then Japan and then Thailand.”
“Dingwall?” said Hamish. “Exactly when would that have been?”
“Fifteen years ago.”
“So you wouldn’t have been that young.”
“Do you usually shell out compliments like that?”
“Sorry. Tell me more about Dingwall.”
“You know Dingwall. I can’t tell you much more. The police there are very good.”
“Have much to do with them?”
She laughed. “You’re beginning to suspect I have a murky past. No, it was nothing like that. Some nasty person sent me a blackmailing letter.”
Hamish sat up straight. “What about?”
“I was to leave two hundred pounds in ten-pound notes in a bag on a bench at Dingwall railway station at midnight, or the blackmailer would tell everyone that I had been married to a murderer. So I went straight to the police. They got a bag and stuffed it with paper and told me to leave it on the bench as instructed. They kept watch but no one turned up. I didn’t hear any more, but it soured Dingwall for me, so I got the job in Edinburgh.”
“Did you have an accountant in Dingwall?”
“What an odd question! No, I had no need of an accountant. I did my taxes myself. Still do.”
Hamish wanted to tell her that Fergus had worked as an accountant in Dingwall, but she would ask if he had continued as a blackmailer, if Fergus had been the one trying to blackmail her in Dingwall, and Hamish did not want to say anything that might betray anyone in Lochdubh.
But he did not believe in coincidences. Here was a schoolteacher who had once worked in Dingwall, who had been blackmailed. And she had moved to Lochdubh.
“Why?” he asked abruptly. “Why Lochdubh?”
“I was working in a large comprehensive in Edinburgh. I could have got a job in a private school with smaller classes, but I was still idealistic, thought I could bring my educational skills to those who were not so fortunate in their upbringing.” She sighed. “It was a nightmare. The pupils were rowdy and noisy. Big loutish boys and girls who had so many parts of their body pierced, they were like walking pin cushions. I stuck it out for quite a while. I didn’t make many friends because most of the teachers moved away quite quickly and found work elsewhere, or, after their brutal experiences, left teaching altogether. I became weary. I wanted a quiet life until my retirement. I saw the job was going here and applied for it and got it.”
Hamish thought hard. He wondered if they had dug into Fergus’s past properly. He would suggest to Jimmy that a trip to Dingwall might be a good idea.
“That was a lovely meal,” said Moira. “Next time it’s on me.”
“That would be grand,” said Hamish, calling for the bill. “Look, you might hear or notice something which might relate to the murder. If you hear anything that might be relevant, please let me know.”
♦
With Jimmy’s permission, Hamish drove off the following morning to Dingwall with Lugs beside him. The wind had shifted around to the east and it was a bright, cold day.
Dingwall is blessed with convenient car parks at the back of the main street. Hamish drove into one of them, told Lugs to wait, and climbed down from the Land Rover and walked through one of the narrow lanes which led from the car park to the main street.
It is a busy, Highland town with a good variety of small shops, mostly Victorian, grey granite; prosperous, decent and friendly.
Hamish stopped in the main street and took out a piece of paper on which he had noted the name of the firm for which Fergus had once worked: Leek & Baxter, chartered accountants.
The office proved to be above a bakery. He walked up the shallow stone stairs, redolent with the smell of hot bread and sugary buns, and opened a frosted-glass door on the first landing, which bore the legend LEEK & BAXTER in faded gold letters.
Inside, at a desk, an elderly lady was hammering away at an old Remington typewriter. She looked up as Hamish entered, sighed, and then stood up, saying, “I suppose you want tea.”
“Actually, I came to see one of the partners.”
“Mr. Leek is busy and Mr. Baxter is out. Mr. Leek will be free in ten minutes so you’d better have tea.”
“Thank you.” Hamish sat down on a leather-covered chair. She walked to a kettle in the corner and plugged it in. He watched, amused, as she carefully prepared tea – tea leaves, not bags – and then arranged a small pot, milk jug, sugar bowl and plate with two Fig Newtons on a tray and carried the lot over to him and placed the tray on a low table in front of him.
“Thank you,” said Hamish again.
Her sad old face looked even sadder as she resumed her seat behind the typewriter. “I missed out,” she said.
“On what?”
“On women’s lib, that’s what. You won’t get the young things these days to make tea.”
“Then you shouldnae do it if you don’t want to,” Hamish pointed out.
“I can’t stop. I’m the generation that makes tea for men.” She sighed again. Then she said, “What brings you?”
“Fergus Macleod. Did you know him?”
“Yes, I was here in his day.”
“And what did you make of him?”
“I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.”
“Try.”
“He was a wee scunner and that’s a fact. Always complaining and bullying. I got my own back, though.”
“How?”
“He had terrible hangovers, see, and when he had one, I’d wait till he got level with my desk and drop something noisy and make him jump and clutch his head.”
“Why did he get fired? He did get fired, didn’t he?”
“It was the drink. He was getting worse, and some days he wouldn’t even turn up.”
“Not fiddling the books, was he?”
Her face took on a closed look. “I wouldn’t be knowing about that,” she said. “If you don’t mind, I’ll get back to my typing.”
“Why don’t you have a computer?”
“I asked them, but they said no, that if they got me a computer they would need to send me on a course, and they couldn’t afford to let me have the time off.”