The phone in the office rang. “I wonder if I should answer that,” said Hamish. “It’s after nine and we should be at work. Better leave it.” He cocked an ear as his answering machine picked up a message. “Hamish, this is Jimmy. Jake Cullen made bail. He was shot dead on the steps of the sheriff’s court.” Hamish rushed into the office and snatched up the phone. “You still there? It’s me, Hamish.”
“Did you get that?” asked Jimmy.
“Yes, any witnesses?”
“Only the one. Some poor auld granny has a flat opposite the court. A masked gunman came in the night before and told her to shut up or he’d kill her. He tied her to the bed. Then she said he just sat there, smoking and waiting. She thought he was going to kill her. Then she fell asleep. She said she was exhausted with fear. She awoke to the sound of the shot. Then he just ran out. It seems he set up at the window with a rifle-maybe a deer rifle-and shot Jake. It smells of a professional hit. And that screams at me that our oh-so-clean and worthy citizen Barry Fitzcameron might be behind it. We’re going to be tied up here for a good bit. You and McSween get over to Braikie and see what you can dig up.”
“On our way,” said Hamish. He went back into the kitchen. Josie wasn’t there. He walked into his living room. Josie wheeled around and blushed.
“If you want to examine my home again,” said Hamish severely, “ask! Now let’s get going. You find out what you can about her friends. Start off with the school. Maybe her messing about started there. I’ll check back with the neighbours.”
“I’m sorry,” whispered Josie. “It’s just I’ve never properly seen all round a highland police station before.”
And never will again, thought Hamish. He ushered her out and then went out to his Land Rover followed by his dog and cat.
Josie drove miserably in the direction of Braikie. Before Hamish had caught her, she had opened the door of the spare room which led off the living room and had blinked in amazement at the amount of rusty junk. And he had just been beginning to thaw towards her. She was determined to work hard all day and not give up until she came up with just one clue.
Hamish followed her, his mind turning over thoughts about Blair. Then he mentally shrugged. It need not have been anyone as high up as Blair. It could have been anyone at police headquarters, down to the cleaners. If Josie was right, and there was underaged drinking usually at the disco, then it stood to reason that Barry had been tipped off.
The day was fine and cold. He slowed down on the shore road. Men were working on the seawall. The tide was out. They were working hard. He stopped and rolled down the window. “Got your funds?” he called to the foreman.
“Aye, but we can only work when the tide’s out, otherwise we get battered wi’ the waves.”
Hamish drove on until he reached the quiet street where Annie had lived. He decided to call on Cora Baxter first. The councillor’s wife answered the door. “Oh, it’s you,” she said. “Come in.”
Hamish wondered at first if everything in the living room was new and decided he was looking at terrifying housekeeping. The sun shone through the glittering windows onto a glass coffee table where magazines were arranged in exact precision to line up with the edges of the table. The three-piece suite was in red leather, and the hair-cord brown fitted carpet was covered in hooked rugs. Hamish reflected she had probably made them herself. He had seen many like them at church sales. One bar was lit in an electric heater in front of the fireplace. The mantel was covered in little glass figures: he noticed a Bambi and a Snow White along with the Seven Dwarfs.
On a round table by the window was a cut-glass vase full of silk flowers. To one side of the fireplace was a large flat-screen television.
Hamish removed his cap and sat down on the sofa. The leather made an embarrassing fart noise. Cora stood in front of the fireplace. She was a stocky woman with bright blonde hair set in tight curls over a pugnacious face. She had small blue suspicious-looking eyes.
“Well, Constable?” she demanded.
Hamish repressed a sigh. From his experience councillors like Jamie Baxter, no matter how easy-going, often had wives who considered themselves a cut above the local community.
He stood up and approached her, looming over her. It had the desired effect.
“Oh, do sit down,” said Cora. Hamish went back to the sofa, which welcomed his bottom with a loud raspberry. Cora sat in one of the leather armchairs, but the chair, no doubt knowing what was due to her dignity, did not make a sound.
Hamish opened his notebook. “I am making enquiries about Annie Fleming.”
“Yes?”
“Did you phone Mrs. Freemont and tell her that her husband had been seen going into Annie Fleming’s house to spend the afternoon with her? I must remind you that phone calls can be checked.”
“Well, I felt it my duty,” said Cora truculently.
“Do you know if this happened more than once?”
“I only saw him the one time.”
“And when was this?”
“About a month ago.”
“Any other men?”
“Just once. An unsavoury-looking character. He had gelled hair and one of those black leather jackets. I would say he was around thirty years old.”
Jake, thought Hamish bitterly. That’s a dead end in every sense.
“What did you think of Annie?” asked Hamish. “And did you tell any of this to her parents?”
“First, I did mention both visits to her parents. Her father was furious with me. He said his daughter was pure and I was a malicious woman who would burn in hellfire. Annie wouldn’t burn anywhere, she was as cold as ice-butter wouldn’t have melted in that girl’s mouth. I saw them going off to the kirk a few Sundays before she died. Mr. and Mrs. Fleming put their noses in the air. But Annie turned round and gave me a nasty little smile before she walked on. I thought she was a devious tart.”
“Why didn’t you tell the police any of this?” demanded Hamish. “You’ve been withholding vital evidence.”
“I wasn’t going to sully her memory until after the funeral.”
“But you did just that by phoning Mrs. Freemont, and by trying to blacken the girl’s name with her parents. Is there anything more?”
“No, but I don’t like your attitude. Do remember my husband is a town councillor.”
“Which means damn all in a murder investigation,” said Hamish, and warned her he would be back to ask her more questions later.
Outside, he phoned Jimmy. “Any news about the murder?”
“Nothing. That old woman might have been left there till she died o’ shock and starvation if we hadn’t searched all the flats opposite and found her. She’s in hospital for observation but she’s a game auld bird and I think she’ll survive the shock all right. He never took the balaclava off but she said he was pretty well built and wearing a black sweater and black trousers.”
“Surely someone saw a man with a rifle running along the street?”
“From the initial SOCO report, he went down the stairs, out the back way, and over the wall. There’s a lane that runs along the back. Neighbours heard a motorbike roaring off.”
“If I were you I’d check out those two pubs of Barry’s. See if Blair’s been seen drinking in either of them. He likes his free booze.”
“Aw, c’mon, Hamish. I don’t like the pillock but this is going a bit too far. Don’t worry. We’re checking up on everything we know about Barry. Talk to you later.”
Hamish wondered whether to interview the parents and then decided it was a bit early to subject them to more questioning. Blair would already have had a go at them.
He was about to get into the Land Rover when he heard someone calling, “Officer!”
He turned round. Mrs. McGirty was standing on her front door step waving to him. He went up to her. “Have they found out who did this terrible thing?” she asked.