Hamish thanked him and put down the phone. He wondered what John Parker was saying to the detectives. He went along to the grocery store and bought a bottle of whisky, wondering whether he should go out with his gun that night and bag a few brace of the colonel’s grouse to sell in Strathbane and so make up for all the whisky he was having to buy.
He wandered back along to the hotel and stood outside, looking at the fishing boats.
At last, he heard Blair’s loud voice. He went to the wall of the hotel. Blair was standing with his back to him facing his two detectives. There was no sign of John Parker. One of the detectives, Jimmy Anderson, looked across to where Hamish’s head was appearing above the wall. Hamish raised the bottle of whisky and Anderson gave a brief nod.
Hamish then went back to the police station and settled down to wait.
After half an hour, Anderson appeared. “If ye want me to tell ye about it,” he said, “give us a drink first. Blair’s fit tae be tied. Can’t make a case against Parker.”
Hamish poured the detective a glass of whisky and said, “So what’s Parker’s background?”
“Ex-drug addict. Hash and a bit of cocaine. Out of work. Along comes Trixie Thomas. Social worker. Takes him in hand. Sees his writing. Badgers publishers and agents. Gets him started. Gets him off drugs. Gets him earning. And then what do you think she does?”
“She divorces him,” said Hamish.
“How did you know?”
“I don’t know,” said Hamish slowly. “Just a lucky guess. Anvway, is he still in love with her? Did Paul Thomas know he was her ex? He must have known when he married her. Told me he didn’t, but surely he did.”
“No, he says Trixie reverted to her maiden name after the divorce.”
“Still, he must have known. She’d need to have her divorce papers, surely.”
Anderson grinned. “Seems the managing Trixie arranged everything and all he can remember is standing in the registrar’s office saying yes.”
“And when did all this take place?”
“This year.”
“And when did she divorce Parker?”
“Ten years ago.”
“Any children?”
“No, she couldn’t have any. What about some more whisky?”
Hamish poured him another glass. “So how did Parker know where to find her?” he asked.
“She wrote to him. She’d heard about him selling the film rights. Must have been in some magazine. She said she needed boarders and he owed her something because she never had asked him for alimony, and she didn’t want Paul to know, but it would be a nice way of paying her back for the start she had given him in life and all that crap. So the wimp comes up. He was paying her two hundred pounds a week. Paul didn’t know. She collected the money…cash. No income tax, no VAT.”
“Leave a will?” asked Hamish.
“Aye, left everything to Paul. He owns the house already but she left twenty thousand pounds.”
“Not bad for someone who was aye pleading poverty,” said Hamish. “But not enough to kill for. Look, maybe you can help me out of a jam.” He told Anderson about Iain Gunn and the bats.
“I’ll tell Blair,” said Anderson. “He’s so hell bent on proving Parker did it, he’ll hardly listen.”
“Look,” said Hamish urgently. “I’m going along to have a word with Parker. If the results of that bottle of whisky come through, let me know.”
“OK,” said Anderson, draining his glass. “Keep the bottle handy.”
John Parker was typing in his room when Hamish called.
“Now, Mr Parker,” said Hamish severely, “what I want to know is why you told an outright lie when you said that you hadn’t known Trixie Thomas before?”
“I’ve got a lot of work to do,” said John. “I didn’t murder her and I didn’t want to be the subject of a police inquiry. You’ve probably heard I used to be on drugs and I’ve been on the wrong side of the law several times in the past. I have no great liking for policemen.”
“And I have no great liking for liars,” said Hamish coldly.
“Sorry about that, copper, but that’s the way it is.”
“So tell me about your marriage.”
“There’s nothing much to tell. I was a right mess when Trixie found me. She got me into a drug clinic, paid for it herself, found my manuscripts when I was in there, and when I came out, she took me around agents and publishers. She corrected my manuscripts and typed them. She did everything but go to the toilet for me,” he said with sudden savagery. “Look, it’s hard when you have to be perpetually grateful to someone. When she said she was divorcing me, I could hardly believe my luck.”
Hamish raised his eyebrows. “Then why did you come back?”
He sighed, a little thin sigh. “I suppose I still felt grateful to her – really grateful. I wanted to see her again.”
“And when you saw her?”
“It was all right.” His voice held a note of amazement. “She not only had Paul, she had the village women in her control. The lodgings were comfortable and the place is pretty. I’ve got a lot of work done.”
Hamish looked at the typewriter. The author was beginning chapter ten of a book, witness to the fact he spoke the truth. “Luke Mulligan,” Hamish read, “smiled down at Lola who was holding on to his stirrup and an odd look of tenderness flitted across his craggy features.”
Beside him on the desk lay a pile of manuscript with the title page on the top. It read, “The Amazon Women of Zar.”
Hamish pointed to it. “Doesn’t sound like a Western.”
John Parker’s grey, neat features took on an even more closed look. “It’s science fiction,” he said curtly. He rose and picked up the manuscript and opened a battered suitcase and popped it inside. All at once Hamish longed to see what it was about.
“What were the relations between Mr and Mrs Thomas?” he asked.
“Fair enough,” said John. “Regular marriage. She fussed over him like a mother hen, but he seemed to like it.”
Hamish stood up. “I suppose you have been told not to leave the village.”
“Yes. That man, Blair, is determined to accuse me of the murder. In fact, he would have done so if I hadn’t threatened to sue him for wrongful arrest.” Hamish stood up to leave. His eyes roamed around the room. Whatever antique furniture Trixie had managed to get from the locals, she must have taken it all down to the auction rooms. John’s room furnishings were white and modern, the sort of units bought in Inverness and assembled at home.
“I believe from the village gossip that you’re a friend of the Halburton-Smythes,” said John Parker.
Hamish looked surprised. “I am by way of being a friend of the daughter,” he said. “Colonel Halburton-Smythe does not have much time for me. Why do you ask?”
“I would like a look around the castle.”
“It’s not very old,” said Hamish. “It’s one of those Gothic monstrosities built in Victorian times.”
“Nonetheless, I might be able to use it in a book.”
Hamish thought quickly. If he could be sure John Parker was up at the castle, then he might be able to get a look at that manuscript he had been so anxious to hide.
“I think I could fix that for you,” said Hamish. “What about tomorrow?”
“Suits me.”
“I’ll phone Miss Halburton-Smythe and then come back and tell you what she says.”
Hamish went back to the police station just as the detective, Jimmy Anderson, was arriving.
“Let’s have another drink,” pleaded Anderson. “Blair’s fuming and shouting. It was arsenic, all right, in that old fortune-teller’s bottle.”