She laughed. “You should learn not to confront criminals on your own.”
“So you did the murders?” Hamish regarded her steadily.
“Yes, I did, but you’re never going to prove it because you aren’t going to walk out of here alive.”
She shot Hamish Macbeth full in the chest and watched with satisfaction as he keeled over on the floor.
∨ Death of a Maid ∧
10
He was amazed how so impotent and grovelling insect as I (these were his expressions) could entertain such inhuman ideas.
—Jonathan Swift
Crystal Barret-Wilkinson kicked Hamish’s body savagely with her foot. “Now I’ve got to figure out how to get rid of you,” she said aloud. “I can’t go on being lucky. I could hardly believe no one had seen me when I bashed that nosy researcher. God, I need a drink.”
She put down the gun and went to a side table laden with bottles.
Then she screamed as her arms were wrenched behind her back and handcuffed. Mary Cannon cautioned her for the murders of Mrs. Gillespie and Shona Fraser. She had already telephoned for reinforcements.
Hamish’s idea had been that Mary come in the back door of the house and stand listening as he tried to get a confession out of Crystal.
Now Hamish Macbeth was dead, and Inspector Gannon would have a hell of a lot of explaining to do.
She thrust Crystal down into a chair and stood over her. “Stay where you are, you murdering bitch, until reinforcements arrive.”
Crystal subsided meekly, and then suddenly her booted foot lashed out and caught Mary full in the stomach. Mary doubled over with pain and fell to her knees.
And then Crystal heard a movement. Harnish Macbeth was getting unsteadily to his feet. She let out a scream of pure terror and ran for the door.
Hamish followed in pursuit. Despite the Kevlar bulletproof vest he had been wearing – he had borrowed it from Inverness police headquarters while Mary was getting ready – the blow from the bullet had hurt like hell. He felt unsteady on his legs.
Crystal fled down the road and onto the beach. She cast one anguished look behind her and ran straight into the sea, her wrists still handcuffed. Tearing off his sweater and vest while he ran, Hamish ran into the water after her. A Sutherland gale was blowing and whipping spray from the white crests of the waves into his eyes.
He reached Crystal as she was plunging under the water and caught hold of her. She struggled and fought. He drew back his fist and socked her on the jaw and then dragged her unconscious body back to the shore.
Mary came running down the beach to join him. “Is she dead?”
“No, she’ll do,” said Hamish. “I had to knock her out.”
“How did you survive that shot? I thought you were dead.”
“I borrowed a bulletproof vest. But God, that shot made me feel sick.”
“We’ve a lot of explaining to do,” said Mary. “Them in Strathbane won’t like me poaching on their territory and making them look like fools.”
“They’ll have to live with it. I’ve got some dry clothes in the Land Rover,” said Hamish. “I’d better get them on.”
Crystal began to come round. A stream of filthy oaths emerged from her mouth.
“Here they come,” said Mary. She undipped her torch and flashed it.
Police cars screeched to a halt in front of the beach.
Blair was the first out. He came stumbling down the beach, his heavy face contorted with fury.
“What’s all this about?” he shouted. He confronted Mary. “And what are you doing on my patch?”
Fortunately he was followed by Superintendent Daviot. “Let me handle this,” he said. “Explain yourself, Inspector.”
Crystal was still letting out a stream of curses. “Take her into custody,” said Mary. “She is responsible for the deaths of Mrs. Gillespie and Shona Fraser, and we have all the proof you need. She also shot Macbeth, but he was wearing a bulletproof vest.”
Daviot gave instructions to police officers who had joined them, and Crystal, kicking and screaming, was dragged off towards the police cars. Jimmy Anderson now joined them.
“It’s like this,” said Mary, trying to remember the story she had rehearsed with Hamish. “I was checking security at Inverness airport when I saw Constable Macbeth getting off a Glasgow plane. He told me he had been to Glasgow to check on Mrs. Barret-Wilkinson’s alibi.”
Her calm, steady voice went on until Daviot had all the facts.
“What I want to know,” raged Blair when she finished, “is what this highland loon was doing going to Glasgow without permission?”
“You wouldn’t have given me permission,” said Hamish. “You would have said that her alibi had already been covered by Strathclyde police.”
“Let’s get off this beach,” said Daviot. “Good work, Hamish, and good work, Inspector.”
♦
Back at police headquarters, Hamish, after he had typed out his statement, said to Mary, “I’ll be off.”
“It’s your show. Don’t you want to sit in on the interrogation?”
“I’d rather leave it all to you, Inspector.”
Hamish drove happily back to Lochdubh. He felt as if a dark cloud of menace had been lifted from the whole Sutherland area.
He called at Angela’s and told her and her husband the whole story. “You’d better let me have a look at you,” said Dr. Brodie.
Hamish lifted up his sweater. “A nasty bruise, and it’ll look worse by tomorrow,” the doctor said. He prodded around. “No, no broken ribs. You’re a lucky man.”
“I know. If she’d shot higher or lower, I might not be here now.”
Hamish collected his dog and cat and drove the short distance to the police station.
Home, he thought. Safe home.
He cooked himself a meal of sausage and bacon, ignoring Lugs’s insistent paw on his knee and the yellow glare from Sonsie, sitting up on a kitchen chair opposite.
Then he undressed, washed, and fell into bed and straight into a long and dreamless sleep.
♦
A hammering on the kitchen door awoke him late the next morning. He struggled out of bed, put on his dressing gown, and went to answer it. A furious Elspeth stood there with Luke behind her.
“Why didn’t you phone me?” she shouted. “We’ve been to a press conference in Strathbane, and we’ve only got what all the other papers have. You’ve just used me as you’ve used me before as a sort of Watson. I never want to see you or speak to you again!”
She stormed off, deaf to Hamish’s apologies. Luke followed. He turned at one point and gave Hamish a mocking smile.
♦
Elspeth and Luke drove back to Strathbane to see if they could pick up any more information before driving to Styre to get the reaction from the few locals.
Luke then suggested they should go back into Strathbane and treat themselves to a slap-up meal at the Palace Hotel. They had cocktails and then a bottle of wine each to go with their lunch. Elspeth usually didn’t drink so much, but she wanted to drown out the pain of what she saw as Hamish Macbeth’s cynical and self-seeking behaviour.
Luke set himself out to be charming and amusing. He told Elspeth she was the most attractive woman he had ever met. Tipsy, and feeling happier, Elspeth reflected that Hamish had never said one nice word about her appearance. On the contrary, he usually criticised what she had on.
Over coffee and large brandies, Luke reached over the table and took her hand in his.
“We make a good team, Elspeth,” he said. He rose and got down on one knee beside her chair. Still holding her hand, he looked up into her face and said, “Beautiful Elspeth, light of my life, will you marry me?”
The other diners fell silent. Elspeth thought of her lonely flat back in Glasgow. She thought about how stupid she’d been to ever have fancied such as Hamish Macbeth.