“Look at it this way. Maybe our Russian went out for a walk and was standing on the cliffs. What with the noise of the sea and the wind, she wouldn’t hear anyone creeping up behind her. One good shove and down she goes.”
♦
Later when Hamish was stowing his climbing gear in the Land Rover along with his dog and cat, Jimmy complained, “Do you need to take thae beasties with ye? That wild cat of yours fair gives me the creeps.”
“She’s harmless,” said Hamish. Sonsie had been found injured up on the moors, and Hamish had adopted the animal. Despite dire predictions that a wild cat could not be domesticated, she had settled in and, even stranger, formed a bond with Hamish’s dog.
Jimmy sat on the top of the cliffs as Hamish began his slow descent. He looked over once and then shrank back. He pulled a flask out of his pocket and took a swig of whisky. Seagulls sailed overhead, screeching and diving.
A few puffins, like fussy little men in tailcoats, came out of their burrows and stared at him.
At last, Hamish came back. “It’s high tide,” he said. “I’ll wait for low tide and go back down.”
“And when’s low tide?”
“Two hours’ time.”
“I hope you don’t except me to sit here on this draughty hilltop for four hours.”
“We’ll go into Braikie and get something to eat.”
♦
In Braikie, Jimmy looked around The Highlanders Arms in amazement. “It’s the spirit o’ John Knox,” he said. “If you’re going to drink, you are not going to enjoy yourself. I didnae know places like this still existed.”
It was a dimly lit establishment with tables scarred with old cigarette burns. The floor was covered in dark green greasy linoleum. The bar and the shelves behind looked as if they had not been cleaned in a long time.
“Eat your pie and peas.”
“I might get salmonella.”
“The pies come from the bakery. They’re all right.”
“I still don’t know how you let yourself nearly get trapped into marriage,” said Jimmy.
“I told you,” said Hamish huffily. “I thought I was going to have to leave the force in order to keep my dog and cat. I thought I was doing a grand thing. Anyway, she told me she was a lesbian.”
“That figures. A lot of tarts are. She could hae been lying, of course. Didn’t fancy you.”
“Oh, shut up.”
♦
When they arrived back at the clifftop, Jimmy elected to stay in the Land Rover. The rising wind buffeted the car. His eyes began to droop, and soon he was fast asleep.
He awoke with a start. Hamish had wrenched open the door. “I’ve got to phone air-sea rescue,” he shouted. “Body at the foot of the cliffs.”
“Is it her?”
“No. It’s Mrs. Gentle.”
∨ Death of a Gentle Lady ∧
3
I waive the quantum o’the sin,
The hazard of concealing;
But och! It hardens a’ within,
And petrifies the feeling!
—Robert Burns
Great gusts of rain blew in from the Atlantic on the grisly scene as the body of Mrs. Gentle was brought up the cliff face. Blair had arrived and was marching about over the heather on the clifftop.
“He’s wiping out any clues,” muttered Jimmy.
“There won’t be any footprints on this heather,” said Hamish. “Here’s the pathologist.”
Dr. Forsythe arrived while a tent was being set up over the body. The men struggled with it for some time as the wind whipped it around until at last they got it firmly anchored.
Blair approached Hamish and Jimmy. His choleric eyes fell on Jimmy. “What were you doing up here?”
“Day off, sir,” said Jimmy. “Thought I’d help Macbeth look for his missing fiancée.”
“And whit made ye look ower the cliff?”
“I thought she might have been killed,” said Hamish.
“More likely to hae committed suicide at the thought o’ being wed to a loon like you,” said Blair.
They all looked at the tent where, in the strong lights that had been rigged up, the shadow of the pathologist could be seen bending over the body.
Blair retreated to his car. Hamish waited anxiously. Dr. Forsythe at last emerged. She went straight up to Hamish.
“It’s murder, plain as day,” she said. “She was strangled before she was thrown over the cliff.”
“What this?” demanded Blair, lumbering up. “You should report first to me.”
Dr. Forsythe looked at him with dislike. “It’s a murder. Mrs. Gentle was strangled and thrown over.”
“The women cleaning the house might have seen something,” said Hamish.
“Whit women?” growled Blair.
“She had hired women from Braikie to clean up the mess after the reception. I called on her earlier today to have a look at Ayesha’s room and see if she had left any clues. There was nothing. All she had is in the two suitcases she left at the police station. In one suitcase is ten thousand pounds given to her by Mrs. Gentle. When Jimmy and I were here this morning, we could hear the women cleaning.”
“We’ll need those suitcases. Was her passport in one of them?”
“No,” said Hamish. “No passport.”
“Looks as if she strangled her employer and ran for it. She must have got that passport picture doctored somehow.”
Hamish stiffened. “Why?”
“Why? Because we got a photo of the real Ayesha wired over, and she’s fair but small. Get into Braikie, Macbeth. I’ll send some other men as well. We’ve got to find thae maids.”
♦
Hamish drove into Braikie. He stopped at a fish-and-chip shop and bought a fish for Sonsie and a meat pie for Lugs, watched while they ate, and then drove off to the council estate. He remembered that Bessie, who used to do the cleaning at the Tommel Castle Hotel, had moved to Braikie. What was her married name? Hunter, that was it. He took out his laptop and brought up the Highlands and Islands telephone directory. There were only two Hunters on the estate, a J. Hunter and an A. Hunter. He could not remember the first name of Bessie’s husband, so he tried the address of A. Hunter. Bessie herself answered the door.
“Why, Hamish!” she said, looking alarmed. “What’s up?”
“Nothing to do with your family,” said Hamish. “Can I come in?”
She stood back and he walked into Bessie’s cheerful living room. “Where’s your man?” he asked.
“Andy’s doing late shift at the paper works in Strathbane.”
Hamish removed his cap. “Sit down, Bessie. This is about Mrs. Gentle. She’s been found murdered.”
“Oh, my God! How? Where?”
“Someone strangled her and threw her over the cliff. Now, were you working for her?”
“Aye, me and Annie Chisholm.”
“When did you finish?”
“We finished about three in the afternoon. She’d been hustling us along because she was paying by the hour. We started at nine in the morning.”
“And she was there when you left?”
“No. The phone rang. She looked quite cheerful but said she had to go out for a breath of fresh air.”
“What time would this be?”
“It would be just about after you left. I saw you drive off. That would be around eleven o’clock. She asked us how long it would take and as she wanted the bedrooms and the like cleaned as well, we told her it would be around three in the afternoon. She’d been complaining about the price since the minute we arrived but she paid up the money without a murmur. I asked her if she wouldn’t be back before we finished, and she said, “Maybe not. Here’s the spare key. Lock the door behind you and put the key through the letter box.””
“And how did she seem?”