“So I decided, that was that and was relieved. But she then suggested I get in the Volvo and she would push it down the drive, which was on a slope. I tried to persuade her to abandon the project but she insisted. She pushed the car down the drive and the engine started.”
“Was the quarry your idea?” asked Hamish.
“No, hers. She couldn’t wait to eat, you see. I decided to make the best of a bad job. She guzzled and slobbered. I drank the wine. To pass the time I told her about the hurt that had been inflicted on me by my children saying I was boring. She finished the meat-pie and wiped her mouth and said with a coarse laugh, ‘Well, you are a bit of an old stick, aren’t you? If I was one of your kids, I’d run a mile.’”
“One minute I was sitting there and the next minute I had pushed her on her back and rammed the apple into her mouth. I remember shouting something, but I don’t know what. I grabbed her riose with my fingers and squeezed it. I had that done to me at school and I remembered it hurt very much. That’s all I really wanted to do. Hurt her. But she was suddenly still and I realized I had killed her.”
“I was terrified. I gathered up all the stuff in the hamper, every scrap, every crumb I could see and wandered across the moors until I came to a peat bog. I weighed it down with a boulder and sank it. I returned to the car and drove to the castle.”
“Oh, I thought I was so clever. I wore gloves. I typed the note on her machine and then packed her clothes and carried the lot out again. I had left the car at the castle gates. I got rid of her luggage and her typewriter in the same peat bog. If I had been really clever, I would have put her body in the peat bog as well, but I could not bear to touch her.”
“Once it was all over, I felt rested, strangely peaceful, as if someone else had done the murder. I thought the fates were protecting me because I had completely forgotten about fingerprints in the car, for I had not worn gloves at the time I drove off with her.”
“When Jenny left the car with the windows open and then I saw the maids cleaning it out, I remembered the fingerprints and was delighted that a benign Providence was taking care of me. My shoulders were aching, for I had pushed the car back up the slope the last bit to the front of the castle in case the noise of the engine would wake anyone, but apart from that I felt lightheaded and well.”
“So what about Deborah?” asked Hamish gently.
“When she said, “I saw you do it’, I thought at first, and rightly, as it turned out, that she was showing off, that she knew nothing. But you see, I had quite forgotten in my mind until then that I had killed Peta. It all came back, the horror of it. I could see the faces of all those I had prosecuted in the past rising to haunt me. I was consumed with such a rage against her. Again, it was the luck of the amateur. I suppose anyone could have seen me going into the kitchen. I was amazed it was not locked up. I did not go to get the meat cleaver. Somehow, I was returning to the scene of my earlier crime, or rather, the beginning of it. I switched on the light and there on the chopping block lay that meat cleaver. I picked it up. It felt good in my hand. I have a dim memory of going up the tower stairs and taking the light bulb out and slipping it in my pocket. Then nothing until that terrible screaming. I ran to my room and quickly took a bulb out of the bedside light and put the bulb from the tower stair in the socket instead.” He let out a ragged sigh. I’m glad it’s all over.”
Mr Daviot said to the policeman at the door, “Take Mr Taylor out to the car. MacNab and Anderson, go with him. I will follow in the other car with Blair.”
When they had gone, Mr Daviot turned to Hamish. “Well done,” he said. “How did you arrive at such a conclusion…or did you have any help?” He looked at Blair, who looked pleadingly at Hamish and mouthed, “Central heating.” For Blair had promised Hamish at the end of the last case that in return for Hamish’s allowing him the credit, he would see to it that central heating was installed in the Lochdubh police station.
But Hamish was weary of Blair, weary of his spite and stupidity and malice. “No, I worked it out myself,” he said, avoiding Blair’s look of venom. Blair got to his feet. “Ah’ll jist catch up wi’ the others,” he said.
“Oh, very well.” Mr Daviot looked surprised. Blair usually stuck to him like a shadow, which was why Blair was forgiven such a lot. Mr Daviot would never admit he liked crawlers, but Blair was so very good at it, always remembering to send flowers on Mrs Daviot’s birthday, always saying loudly that Mr Peter Daviot was the best superintendent in the country.
“Now, Hamish,” said Mr Daviot when Blair had gone.
“It was such a long shot,” said Hamish. “I knew, I think I had known all along, that I was looking for someone mad, or at least temporarily insane. And then it came to me, something my cousin said about eccentrics and then about John Taylor being a great old character. John Taylor had once pushed a policeman in the face outside the Old Bailey for not showing him due respect. That was all. Then I thought, there’s madness. An eminent QC does not lose his rag like that, particularly when that QC was in the wrong. An eminent QC does not sign up with a marital agency, nor does he plan to marry and start a family at his age. It does not happen. Something was badly wrong with John Taylor. No one else fitted the picture. I became convinced that this was no carefully planned murder but simply committed by someone who had lost his mind. I may as well tell you now that it is no use producing the Nairn brothers in court. They lied. I put them up to it.”
Peter Daviot looked at him appalled. “It is just as well we have his taped statement, and in front of so many witnesses. Man, man, what a scandal if you had been wrong.”
“Aye, well, by the time I got to the castle, I thought I wass the madman,” said Hamish, himself appalled at the enormity of what he had done. “I wass going to send the Nairn brothers home after you started the questioning again and then Priscilla told me about the light bulbs, and as you know, we found the missing light bulb in John Taylor’s room. When Mr Taylor told me that he had wanted to marry again because he was lonely, he began to cry and I remember thinking at the time that he wass a man on the verge of a nervous breakdown, but for a while I thought it might be the strain of him finding himself in the middle of a murder inquiry.”
“I should give you a reprimand for the gamble you took,” said Mr Daviot severely, “but on the other hand, I am relieved this dreadful case is over. This will mean promotion for you, Hamish.”
Hamish looked startled. “I am not looking for the promotion,” he said desperately. “But if you could see your way to getting some central heating put in the police station…”
“Always the modest lad, Hamish. Oh, I’ve heard rumours flying about that it was you who solved those last murders and let Blair take the credit. Blair’s a good, solid policeman, but he does not have your flair. How many bedrooms do you have in that police station?”
Hamish eyed him warily. “Mine and a small spare one I use if any of my little brothers and sisters are visiting.”
“Excellent. I think you should be promoted to sergeant and we’ll send some young lad up to help you. I have the very policeman in mind.”
Hamish pleaded and protested, but Mr Daviot was adamant. “You should be thinking of your future, Hamish. You’ll be getting married to your Priscilla soon, or so my wife believes, and you’ll need the extra pay. It’s time I took your career in hand.”
Hamish was still protesting when he followed Mr Daviot out to his car. Blair was sitting moodily behind the wheel.