“Oh, have it your way,” said Hamish.
“Anyway, you really are only taking her around in the hope it gets back to Priscilla,” said Elspeth.
“I am not! I’m going back on my beat.”
Hamish stood up, stiff with outrage.
Elspeth looked amused. “See you tomorrow.”
♦
Jenny waited in the shadow of the rock on the beach. The sky had clouded over and a thin drizzle was starting to fall. Great sluggish waves rose and fell and fanned out on the pebbles of the beach. A seagull cried mournfully overhead.
“Psst!”
Jenny jumped nervously. Geordie appeared around the other side of the rock.
“You startled me. So what have you got to tell me?”
Geordie swaggered. “It’ll cost ye.”
“How much?”
“A kiss.”
“Oh, go on with you. You’re only a kid.”
He looked at her stubbornly.
Jenny sighed. She thought briefly of London, red buses, restaurants, crowds. Civilisation. What was she doing on a draughty Highland beach with an amorous schoolboy?
“Oh, all right,” she said. “Pucker up.”
Geordie planted a kiss on her mouth, grinding his lips against her own. “There!” he said, releasing her. “I bet you’ve never been kissed like that before.”
And I hope never again, thought Jenny, longing to take out a handkerchief and scrub her lips. “So what do you know?” she asked.
“Someone I know saw herself…”
“Miss Beattie?”
“Aye, her. Three days afore the murder. She went into Miss McAndrew’s house.”
“You told me that. What more?”
“After half an hour, she came out and she was crying sore. Fair broken up, she was.”
“Can’t you tell me the name of the witness?”
“I cannae. Mair than my life’s worth,” said Geordie dramatically.
They could hear the sound of a car coming along the road. It screeched to a halt. “I’ve left my car out on the road,” said Jenny, and then found she was talking to the empty air. Geordie had disappeared.
“Jenny!” called Hamish’s voice.
She walked round the rock and back up to the road.
“What were you doing down there?” asked Hamish.
“I just stopped to look at the sea.”
“Aye, a grand day for it,” said Hamish sarcastically. He walked down to the rock and round to where Jenny had been standing. She followed him reluctantly. Hamish stooped and picked something up off the ground and held it to his nose. He stared down at her. “This is a cannabis roach. Not smoked today. There are several others lying about. So, Jenny Ogilvie, what were you doing hanging around what looks like the local lads’ cannabis smoking area?”
“I was meeting someone who had information.”
“Who?”
“I promised not to say.”
“Your lipstick’s smeared.”
Jenny blushed and took out a handkerchief and scrubbed her mouth. Hamish surveyed her. “I think you’ve been kissing someone. Pat Mallone isn’t around today and as far as I know, you don’t know anyone else. Now, who would want a kiss for information? A randy schoolboy? Come on, Jenny. Out wi’ it.”
“It was Geordie Cromarty.”
“And what did he have to say?”
“Oh, very well. He said someone he knows, and he won’t say who, saw Miss Beattie going into Miss McAndrew’s house three days before the murder.”
“Which murder?”
“Oh, I didn’t ask. Her own, I guess. Anyway, Miss Beattie came out half an hour later and she was crying.”
Hamish frowned. “I thought maybe Miss Beattie was murdered because she had something on Miss McAndrew. But it looks the other way round. I’ll get back to Lochdubh and phone Jimmy Anderson and see what they’ve dug up on Miss Beattie’s past. Are you going to stay here and romance the local talent?”
“No, I’ll follow you.”
♦
Once back at the police station after collecting Lugs, Hamish phoned up Strathbane and asked to speak to Jimmy Anderson. He was told that the detective was out on duty. He had just replaced the receiver when there was a knock at the kitchen door. He opened it to find Jimmy himself standing there.
“Any whisky in the cupboard?” asked Jimmy.
“Some, but don’t drink it all.”
Jimmy sat down at the kitchen table as Hamish lifted a bottle of whisky and a glass down from the kitchen cupboard. “It’s cold in here,” complained Jimmy.
“I’m just back. I’ll light the fire.”
Lugs rattled his empty water bowl on the floor. Hamish filled it up with water, shoved logs and paper and firelighter into the stove, and threw in a match. It lit with a roar.
“Now we’ve got you comfortable, I want information out of you.”
“Not drinking?” asked Jimmy, pouring himself a hefty measure.
“Don’t feel like it. I’ll have coffee.” Hamish filled up a kettle and put it on top of the stove and sat down opposite Jimmy.
“What do you want to know?” asked Jimmy. “I’m sure you’ve ferreted out more than us.”
“I want to know about Miss Beattie. Was she born in Braikie, or did she live here all her life?”
“She was born in 1966 in Perth of middle–class parents. Father owned a garage and did well in a modest way. His wife was a housekeeper. Both staunch Free Presbyterians.”
“Wait a bit. When she was murdered, she must have only been thirty-six. Man, I thought she was older. I mean, all that grey hair. Mind you, the last time I saw her, she was hanging. So when did she come to Braikie?”
“She came about sixteen years ago, as a young woman. Did cleaning jobs at first and then heard the old postmistress was about to retire and went and trained for the job and got it. She must have had some private money because she bought the place. At first it was just a post office, but then she expanded it into a shop and got various locals to help out.”
“I cannae understand it,” complained Hamish. “Here I was thinking she was an older woman. In fact, I think that’s what most of them believed, and yet the older ones must have known her age if she came here as a young woman.”
Hamish began to feel irritated with himself. He should have asked questions about Miss Beattie himself.
“What’s Billy been saying?”
“They’ve released him.”
“Does no one tell me anything?”
Jimmy looked amused. “They don’t usually have to.”
“It’s chust that I’ve got the long, long list of suspects. I have something for you. Someone saw Miss Beattie visit Miss McAndrew’s cottage three days afore she was murdered. She stayed half an hour and came out crying.”
“Who told you that?”
But Hamish wanted to keep Jenny’s name out of it. He didn’t want the police to know he had been taking an amateur round with him.
Miss Beattie’s unexpectedly younger age raised a lot of questions. Billy would know. He glanced at the clock. Eight in the evening.
“Finish your whisky, Jimmy, and shut the door behind you. Come on, Lugs.”
“Where are you going?”
“I’ve got to see Billy.”
Jimmy leant back comfortably in his chair. “Run along. I’m off duty.”
“And don’t drink too much and drive.”
Jimmy gave him a limpid look from his bloodshot blue eyes. “Wouldnae dream o’ it.”
Hamish, with his dog beside him on the passenger seat, sped off to Braikie again.
♦
Billy answered the door. “Where the missus?” asked Hamish cautiously.
“Out at her sewing circle, thank God. Come in. I thought they were going to keep me there for ages, for I’d had enough o’ that bad-tempered cheil, Blair. So I asked for a lawyer, which is what I should have done in the first place. Got a smart woman. She pointed out that they had no evidence and she really went for Blair. I think he’d met his match.”