“You’re Patel’s boy,” said Elspeth. “What are…? Never mind. I’m going to stoop down and I want you to get on my back. Right. Now hang on very tightly and I’ll get you home.”
She dug in her poles and sped down the road, nearly taking off at the humpbacked bridge.
Elspeth went straight to Patel’s. Mrs. Patel burst into tears as her boy slid down off Elspeth’s back.
“Get blankets,” said Elspeth. “I’ll go and get Dr. Brodie.”
Word spread rapidly that me boy had been found. Matthew Campbell had taken a photograph of Elspeth as she sped into the village with the boy on her back. He would add it to his stories about the blizzard and send a copy out to the nationals.
♦
By the time Elspeth returned with Dr. Brodie, the shop was full of people, including Perry and Priscilla. A grateful Mr. Patel hugged Elspeth, tears of gratitude running down his cheeks. “Bertie had been reading a story about me Ice Queen. He asked me where she lived. He said he had seen her in the shop. He meant you, Miss Halburton-Smythe, because you look like the pictures in his book. So I said that she lived in that big castle up on the hill.”
“Take me upstairs to the boy,” said Dr. Brodie.
Hamish had been standing listening. He suddenly laughed. “The Ice Queen! That is a verra good description.”
“Shut up!” said Priscilla and walked out of the shop.
♦
The following morning Hamish went back to studying his notes and reports until his head ached. If the murderer was a woman, men he was looking at someone in the village. He went back to the old guest list for the hotel. No hope there.
Then he went into the office and looked at the chart on me wall. Four murders all leading down to the sign that read SEX.
Wait a minute, he thought. Have I been missing the obvious? The one person with a clear motive is Fergus. What if Sky in the café had been lying? Or what if she wanted a bit of the limelight? That was the trouble with so many reality programmes on television – everyone wanted fame these days without necessarily working at anything to achieve it. Maybe she had seen herself called as a witness at a murder trial and being photographed afterwards.
Hamish wondered if the roads had been ploughed all the way over to Cnothan.
He dressed warmly, got into the Land Rover, and drove off. He was in luck. The roads had been ploughed. The sun was low in the sky. It never rose very high in the winter. He parked in the main street and entered the café. The owner said it was Sky’s day off, but that she lived in the last house at the top of the main street.
Hamish went there and rang the bell. A thin, faded blonde woman wearing too much make-up answered the door. “I am Police Constable Macbeth from Lochdubh,” said Hamish. “Might I be having a wee word with Sky?”
“What’s she done?”
“Nothing as far as I know,” said Hamish mildly. “Am I talking to Sky’s mother?”
“Yes.”
“When’s her birthday?”
“Tenth o’ June. Why are you asking?”
Hamish’s heart felt suddenly heavy. “Never mind. Just call her.”
“Go in and have a seat. I’ll get her.”
After a few moments, Sky slouched in. She was a sulky-looking girl, chewing a great wad of gum. Her hair was dyed an improbable red and she was thin to the point of anorexia.
“You lied to me,” said Hamish severely.
“I did not. I member that fellow fine.”
“It was not your birthday for a start. Your birthday was in June.”
“I just said that to make you believe me. But he was in that day, honest.”
“So what makes you sure it was that day?”
“I was going to go clubbing in Strathbane that evening but the mist got so bad, me and my friends didn’t go.”
“There have been other foggy days,” said Hamish severely. “You shouldnae ever lie to the police. If I find out Fergus wasnae in your café, I’ll be back to arrest you for wasting police time.”
♦
Hamish drove back to Lochdubh. He parked on the waterfront and walked up to Fergus’s cottage. Fergus ushered him in. “A dram, Hamish?”
“No. This is serious. That girl at the café, she lied about the day she saw you being her birthday. Did you get to her in any way? Pay her?”
“Hamish, what are you talking about? I was there!”
“I’m right worried, Fergus. The one thing that connects the four women in a way is you. You stood to gain money if your husband-beating wife died. You visited Catriona and Fiona.”
“Och, Hamish. Will this never end?”
“I’ll need to go over all your alibis again. I’ll go to that paper mill tomorrow and warn that foreman if he’s been lying for you, I’ll have him arrested.”
Fergus looked weary. “Do what you must. I’ve had enough. I’ve protested ma innocence over and over again. I’m going to phone the lawyer. I need protection.”
“I think you do.” Hamish turned in the doorway. A sudden thought struck him. Looking back at Fergus, he couldn’t believe the man guilty of anything.
“Fergus, do you know of any other man in Lochdubh who’s being beaten by his wife?”
Fergus gave a harsh laugh. “Try next door.”
“What, the Framonts? Why didn’t you tell me this?”
“It’s husband beating. It’s no’ murder.”
♦
Hamish stood outside Fergus’s house. Could it be? Could it possibly be?
He went to the Framonts’ and rang the bell. Colin answered the door. He had a burn mark on the side of his face.
“How did you get that burn?” asked Hamish.
“Got it at work,” said Colin.
“Can I come in? I’d like a word with you and the wife.”
“Tilly’s not here.”
“Where is she?”
“She’s gone up to the hotel.”
“Why?”
“Women’s stuff. She wants Elspeth Grant to read her horoscope.”
Hamish stared at him and then wheeled about and began to run down to his Land Rover as fast as he could.
He drew out his mobile phone as soon as he got into the vehicle. No signal. He put on the siren and raced off out of the village.
MR. JOHNSON PHONED Elspeth, who was working in her room. “Mrs. Framont is at the reception. She wants to come up and see you.”
“Why?”
“She wants her horoscope read.”
Elspeth felt gooseflesh rising on her arms. “Tell her to wait in the lounge. I’ll be down soon. First, has the colonel got an old flak jacket anywhere?”
“He’s away but I’ll ask Priscilla.”
“Tell her to phone me if she’s got one.”
“What…?”
“Please just do it.”
Elspeth waited nervously. She tried the phone. Still dead.
Then there was a knock at the door. “Who is it?” she called.
“It’s me, Priscilla.”
Elspeth opened the door. “What do you want with this?” asked Priscilla, holding out an old flak jacket.
“Help me on with it and I’ll tell you.”
♦
Elspeth entered the lounge. She was wearing the flak jacket under an old sweater. Fortunately the colonel had last worn his flak jacket years ago when he was a slim young officer.
“Miss Grant,” said Tilly. “I’m right sorry to bother you but I mind you from the days when you did the horoscopes for the Highland Times and I wonder if I could have a reading.”
“Please sit down. No, sit opposite me. I don’t do readings.” Elspeth had a sudden inspiration. “But I read palms. Hold out your hands.”
All the while Elspeth was thinking, She can’t be a murderer. She looks so small and inoffensive. But Tilly’s eyes were glittering with an odd light. She held out her hands.
♦
Hamish had nearly reached the hotel when he saw the lights of a car racing towards him. He slowed down and saw that Priscilla was the driver. He stopped. She climbed out of her car, shouting, “Tilly Framont’s at the hotel getting Elspeth to tell her horoscope.”