“Did Angus ever hit you so hard you had to go to the doctor?”
“Yes, he broke two of my ribs one night. He was clever. He never hit me where it would show. I went to Dr. Brodie, who sent me to hospital.”
“What did you tell Dr. Brodie?”
“I said I had fallen.”
“And he believed you?”
“No. I had been to him the year before with a broken arm. I said I must be accident prone. But he was looking at the bruises on my arms. He said, “You’d better stop lying and report that husband of yours to the police.””
“So why didn’t you?”
“It had been going on so long…so long. I kept making excuses for him. I couldn’t begin to think how to manage on my own. I felt lost.” She began to cry in a dreary, helpless way. Angus Ettrik, thought Hamish, if you were alive today, I might be tempted to kill you myself.
He rose and took the pot off the stove and put on the kettle. He went into the bedroom to get Kirsty’s coat. Two suitcases were lying packed on the bed. She must have been planning to go away somewhere.
He picked up her wool coat and walked back into the kitchen and placed it on a chair. He waited until the kettle had boiled and made a pot of tea. He put a mug of hot, sweet tea in front of Kirsty and handed her a clean handkerchief ‘Drink that,’ he ordered. ‘You’ll need a good lawyer, Kirsty. You can afford it now.’
“Won’t they freeze my money?”
“The money’s yours. You didn’t get it as the result of a crime. Do you want me to get you a good lawyer?”
She nodded. He took out his phone and dialled a number in Inverness. He outlined the case rapidly and told the lawyer to make all haste to police headquarters in Strathbane.
Then he waited and waited. The snow started to fall gently, great white lacy flakes. At last, he heard the sound of the police siren.
When the police arrived, he turned and charged Kirsty Ettrik with the murder of her husband, Angus. He waited until she was led to the police car. He watched until the flashing blue light disappeared into the snow.
With a heavy heart, he got into the police Land Rover and drove back to Lochdubh.
∨ Death of a Dustman ∧
EPILOGUE
Lord, Lord, how this world is given to lying!
—William Shakespeare
It was once more a sunny summer’s day in Lochdubh. Hamish Macbeth and Detective Jimmy Anderson sat out in deck chairs in the police station front garden. The sky above was as blue as the eyes that shone in Jimmy’s foxy face. Hamish often marvelled that a man who drank so much could remain looking so fit and healthy.
“So she got off,” marvelled Jimmy again. “I couldnae believe it. Kirsty Ettrik got off! Mind you, it was thanks to about every villager here going down to the High Court and swearing blind that she had been tormented and beaten near to death by that husband of hers. Took the shine out of your case, Hamish. Daviot wonders how you could have possibly not known what was going on when everyone else in the village did.”
“I can be a bit stupid,” said Hamish, preferring to forget that he had organised the lying himself. He felt a bit guilty. He had hoped that his work for Kirsty would have got her a lighter sentence. He had not expected her to walk free.
“Still, that’s another case cleared up. Nothing else happening?”
“Nothing, I’m glad to say. Been as quiet as the grave here.”
“What happens to that hotel at the harbour?”
“Still bound up in red tape, so it sits there, rotting again. Peter McLeigh, who used to own the bar, managed to buy it back, however he did it, so the locals have someplace to go again. Man, you should see it. I thought he would smarten it up. Ionides had all the dirty old tables and fruit machines and stuff cleared out. He was going to make it into a gift shop. But Peter’s put everything back the way it was, even the dirt. It looks as dreary as ever.”
“It’s Calvinism,” said Jimmy lazily. “They think drinking in dreary surroundings is appropriate. So where’s Kirsty now?”
“Back at the croft house. She’ll probably sell out to her neighbour, Elspeth MacRae, and move on.”
“I would have thought she would have wanted to stay, considering the way everyone stood up for her.”
Hamish did not reply. He knew the villagers felt she had deserved some kind of punishment. They would not be too friendly towards her, to say the least.
Jimmy reached down and picked a whisky bottle off the grass at his feet and poured himself another generous measure.
“How’s that new schoolteacher getting on?”
“She’s left. Funny thing. I thought she was a really sensible woman. She runs about the village, all excitement, and tells everyone she’s got a job at Eton. I thought, that’s funny, I thought they’d mostly be masters there. So after she left, I phoned Eton College.”
“And they hadn’t heard of her?”
“Exactly. The woman’s a raving fantasist. She was friendly with the banker’s wife, who then tells me the woman was always a compulsive liar. I’m telling you, Jimmy, the things that people in this village knew that they didn’t bother to tell me!”
“And what about your love life?”
“What love life?” said Hamish. With all the drama of the arrest of Kirsty, he had forgotten about that dinner date. And then Priscilla had received another contract job, in Milton Keynes this time, and had taken herself off.
“And how’s your ex-copper?”
“Clarry is the happiest man you’ve ever seen. He’s got famous chefs checking in at the Tommel Castle to try to find out his secrets.”
“That’s grand. Oh, by the way, that Fleming woman lost her job as environment officer, and not only that, she didn’t get elected again at the last council elections. She was beaten by a wee lassie from the Green Party, would you believe it?”
“Horrible woman. I’ve a funny feeling I haven’t heard the last of her.”
Jimmy drained his glass and stood up. “I’d best get going. I’ll give your love to Blair.”
“Aye, you do that.”
Hamish went indoors and fed Lugs and then took the dog for a walk along the waterfront. Everything seemed placid and blue. Even the normally black waters of the sea loch reflected the blue sky. A yacht sailed lazily past, heading out to the open sea. The sound of a jazz tune being played on a radio drifted across the water. He leaned on the old stone wall and breathed in the fresh, sunny air.
Two tourists, a middle-aged couple, were standing a little way away from them. He judged them to be tourists and probably American because they wore sensible summer clothes and shoes, whereas the locals wore pretty much the same clothes as they wore all year round, being used to the very short summers and very, very long winters. He heard the woman say in a voice with a Midwest twang, “Isn’t it just perfect? I would love to live in a place like this.” And the man answered with a smile, “Everything’s possible. I wonder what the house prices are like around here.”
Hamish sighed. People who came on the sunny days were often seduced by the sheer beauty of the place. They enthusiastically decided to move house, but, faced with the ferocious winds and the almost perpetual night of winter, they soon sold up and moved on.
“Afternoon, Hamish. You smell of whisky.”
Hamish turned round and saw Angela Brodie, the doctor’s wife, standing next to him.
“I just had the one. Jimmy came calling.”
“What do you think about Kirsty?”
“I’m a bit taken aback, to tell the truth. She did kill her husband. I expected some sort of sentence.”
“Well, she’s back now. Some of us went up to see if she needed anything, but she said she was just fine and didn’t even invite us in. What a lovely day!”