“Now we had one clue, a torn corner of a photograph with part of the legend BUY BRIT – in one corner. At first I thought it might be part of an old Buy British poster. The fragment also shows the top of a head with something sparkly on it like a tiara. I made a lot of phone calls and found out at last what the legend really read.”
“It runs BUY BRITTELS BEER – a kind of beer that is sold in America.”
“Never heard of it,” said Marvin Roth.
“Not many people have,” said Hamish. “It was made locally by a small firm controlled by the Mafia in the Red Hook section of Brooklyn. It was so strong the locals said it was made out of all the bodies that didn’t end up in the East River. It was a bit of luck I found that out. Mrs Roth had muttered something about Red Hook, but at the time, I thought she must be talking about something to do with the fishing. It was only later I remembered Red Hook was a district in Brooklyn. I have a cousin, Erchie, who lives in Red Hook and I phoned him up. He said it was sold in small Mafia gambling clubs.
“He neffer heard of Amy Blanchard or Amy Roth, but he had heard of an Amy a whiles back who was a stripper, Amy not being a usual name in the Italian section. Now Lady Jane had been in the States, no doubt digging up what dirt she could. Lady Jane was content to wait until her column appeared to see the rest of you suffering or to imagine your suffering. But Amy caught her on the raw. She arranged to meet Mrs Roth in the woods. There she showed her a photograph of Amy the stripper, wearing very little except a spangled headdress. You, Mrs Roth, have very little in the way of a conscience. This is something I feel about you, rather than something I definitely know. It came on me bit by bit. The look in the back of your eyes always had a certain steady calculating hardness no matter what you were saying. So you strangled her and then you dragged the body to the pool. You wanted something to weight the body and so you went down to the beach and found some old rusty chain. As soon as you had pushed her into the pool, you felt safe. You then returned to her room and destroyed all her notes and papers. Your husband would never know you were a Brooklyn stripper who sold her favours.”
Good God, thought Heather Cartwright wildly. Do people still talk about women selling their favours?
Amy Roth sat very still, her eyes lowered.
Marvin lumbered up and sat on the arm of his wife’s chair and put a hand on her shoulder and gave it a comforting squeeze.
“You’re talking shit,” grated Marvin. “I won’t believe what you said about Amy. I’ll tell you something else. She knows I love her. She knows that I wouldn’t give a damn about her past. Mine ain’t so lily white. Where’s your proof?”
“She was seen,” said Hamish. “There is this poacher, Angus MacGregor…”
His voice trailed away as Amy raised her eyes and looked at him. Her eyes had lost their soft, cow-like expression. They were as flat and as hard as two stones.
“You did it, didn’t you?” said Hamish.
Amy Roth moistened her lips.
“Yes,” she said flatly.
“And when you said you thought your husband had done it and you were frightened he had left something incriminating behind, you were really frightened you had left something.”
“Yes,” said Amy again in that dreadful flat voice.
Marvin’s face was white and working with emotion. Tears started to his eyes. “You’re making her say all this,” There was a long silence. “Amy,” pleaded Marvin, “if you did it, you did it for me. Well, the hell with politics. I wasn’t ever sold on the idea anyway.”
“That was not the reason, was it, Amy?” said Hamish.
“I guess not,” she said in a dull voice. She stretched her fingers and looked at them thoughtfully. “She messed with me, that’s all. I don’t like no one messing with me.”
And as Anderson and MacNab closed in on her, she gave her husband an apologetic little smile.
♦
Hamish leaned on the harbour wall, keeping his eyes fixed on the sea. He felt immeasurably tired. He did not want to see Amy dragged out to the police car. She would be taken to the women’s prison at Strathbane.
He waited a long time while cars came and went. Then he heard Blair’s voice behind him. “That was a neat bit of work, Constable. I suppose you’re laughing your head off. MacNab and Anderson have taken her to Strathbane with the rest of my men. I’m just about to follow. Fine reading it will make for my superiors. Case solved by the village bobby.”
“Och, no,” said Hamish soothingly. “It was yourself that pointed the way. I will not be taking any credit.”
“Why did you keep this poacher witness up your sleeve? It worked the trick.”
“I chust made that up,” said Hamish, lighting a cigarette. “It was all guesswork.”
“What!”
“Aye. I just took a chance. You see, Erchie told me that the only Amy he had ever heard of around the Mafia clubs away back was a young stripper. He was not sure it was the same person, at all, at all. I just thought I would chance it.”
“But what if you had been wrong?”
“Aye, well, I have no doubt you would have had me out of my job as you were hoping to do. Now Amy had been a bit of a prostitute as well. I noticed that she was always restless. That’s the thing about prostitutes. They can cover up the past with a layer of ladylike veneer, but they never lose that hunted, fidgety air.”
“You having great experience of the breed,” said Blair sarcastically.
Hamish blushed. “No, no. But there was Jessie over in Aberdeen who married that man on the council…Then there was how Amy behaved at dinner. I couldnae help noticing that she would pour round the wine without waiting for the waiter or the men to do it.”
“Must have been a shock for old Marvin.”
“Aye, it was that. I first started to think it might be her when I looked at her wrists. They’re very strong for a woman. But it was her eyelids that clinched the matter.”
“Her eyelids?”
“They are strained a bit at the corners. I have always noticed that criminal-type women have this feature.”
“Mr Roth has gone with her. He’s going to get some big-shot lawyer.”
“Aye, love is a terrible thing,” said Hamish mournfully.
“I think you were damn lucky,” said Blair sourly. “I can’t believe you’re not going to take any credit for this.”
Hamish turned and leaned his back against the harbour wall. “Oh, you can believe it. I have no mind to leave Lochdubh. But if you were to put a little something in your report about my hard-working, if unintelligent, help, that would be just fine.”
Blair smiled slowly and clapped Hamish on the shoulder.
“I think we’ve time for a drink, Hamish,” he said. “Let’s go into the bar.”
∨ Death of a Gossip ∧
Epilogue
Sunday morning. All the survivors chattering and laughing over the breakfast table. Oh, the relief to have it all cleared up and be able to go home. Reporters and photographers waited outside the courtyard of the hotel. But it would be possible to drive straight past them. Only John Cartwright knew that the major had already been out to talk to them. The major was back on form, so much so that he could not bear to admit that the case had been solved by the village constable but merely paused in his bragging to say that he was jolly glad the police had cleared the matter up.
John sighed. The other guests, the new fishing school, would be arriving later in the day. Not one had cancelled. They would survive.
Alice smiled radiantly at Jeremy. He had not visited her last night, excusing himself by saying he was all washed up with all the drama of the arrest. She was wearing the ring he had given her on her engagement finger.