Death of a Chimney Sweep - M. C. Beaton [34]
“He couldn’t. I walked over and when I reached the rise above Drim and looked down, I could see police cars, police tape, and flashing lights. I thought, he’s been caught out at last. I didn’t want to tell you. People who’ve been tricked like me feel such fools. Then on the evening news on television, I heard about his murder. I suppose now you’ll want to take me in.”
Hamish surveyed her small figure. “If I thought for a moment you would have the strength to stuff a man of the captain’s size up his own chimney, I’d take you down to police headquarters for questioning. We’ll keep this quiet for the moment. Milly Davenport is trying to repay money to other victims, but she’s not that well off and you can afford it so I won’t be telling her, either.”
“Thank you. I can’t believe I let myself get tricked by that man. But he seemed capable of exuding a sort of warmth and comfort and I did need a shoulder to cry on.”
“It’s the cruelty of it!” exclaimed Hamish. “A wee bit here, a wee bit there, like a magpie. You’d think he’d use his nasty talents to go for the big time. Oh, he duped his army friends all right, but I would have thought he would be the sort to go in for some really massive scam.”
“Maybe he did,” said Caro. “Maybe one of the four men I heard about actually parted with a great deal more than he’s saying.”
“It’s a thought.”
The corpse of Betty Close lay undisturbed on the bottom of the Gareloch until the canvas of the cheap suitcase she had been packed in finally gave way. The material of the case was already rotted from the salt water, and the pressure from the gases of the decomposing body inside finally burst it open. The corpse floated up to the surface and was borne on a gentle current to a pebbly beach, where it was discovered by a woman walking her dog.
The police were quickly called. The body was naked, and there was not one single sign of identification.
Elspeth, reading out the news that evening, felt a frisson of shock. For some reason, her thoughts flew to Hamish telling her about the murder of the prostitute. Betty Close had not come back to work. It was generally assumed that she had gone off somewhere in a huff.
When she had finished reading the news, Elspeth went back to her dressing room after getting a note of Betty’s home address and phoned a police inspector she knew. She told him it was a long shot but that they had a missing researcher called Betty Close and gave him the address.
Then she phoned Hamish Macbeth.
Chapter Seven
Down to Gehenna or up to the Throne,
He travels the fastest who travels alone.
—Rudyard Kipling
It was a slow process before the body was finally identified as that of Betty Close.
Jimmy Anderson called one evening to give Hamish the news.
“I chust knew it!” cried Hamish. “I guessed she must ha’ been listening in when I was telling Elspeth about the idea I had that the death of yon prostitute was somehow linked to the murders.”
“We’re not going to get anywhere with that, Hamish.”
“Why?”
“Blair is jumping on the idea. ‘What proof?’ he asks Daviot. ‘Jist some intuition of some highland loon.’ Daviot is anxious not to tread on the toes of another police force. Strathclyde police are investigating, he says, and they are very efficient and that’s the end of that.”
“I swear to God,” said Hamish passionately, “that one of those four men is involved, if not all.”
“Hamish, calm down. Ever since that business with your friend Angela, you’ve been turning your mind away from the locals.”
“Maybe,” said Hamish with sudden mildness. “Could be.”
After Jimmy had left, Hamish phoned Angela. “I’m thinking of taking a wee trip tomorrow,” he began. But Angela interrupted crossly, saying, “No, I cannot keep an eye on your beasties. I am due in Edinburgh tomorrow. More discussion on the launch of the book.”
“Now, there’s an odd thing,” said Hamish. “I was just thinking of a trip to Edinburgh myself. Could you give me a lift?”
“Yes, I’d be glad of the company. I’ll be leaving at eight in the morning.”
“That’s grand. I’ll be outside your