Death of a Gentle Lady - M. C. Beaton [2]
‘I didn’t know you were a member of the Rotary Club.’
‘Not me. But Sergeant MacAllister couldn’t go and gave me his ticket. Anyway, the super was there, and Blair.’
Detective Chief Inspector Blair was the bane of Hamish’s life.
‘And? What’s this Gentle female got to do with it?’
‘Well, she was seated between Superintendent Daviot and Blair. They were all over her. She was fluttering and flirting – odd at her age.’
‘Get to the point, man.’
‘I went to have a pee and when I got back into the room, I heard her say your name. My place was at the other end o’ the table, but I waited for a bit. She was saying that she was surprised that the police would go to the cost of maintaining a police station in Lochdubh when everyone knew you did practically nothing.
‘Daviot said you were a good officer and had solved a lot of murders. Blair weighed in and said there weren’t any murders now and no drug problems because most of the young people went south to the cities. He said that house prices were astronomical these days and that the police could get a lot of money for your station. Mrs Gentle shook her little head and said sadly that you were short on social skills – that you had called on her without an invitation and stayed eating her out of house and home before she could get rid of you.
‘Then Blair turned round and saw me and demanded to know what I thought I was doing, so I didn’t hear any more.’
‘That woman iss a slimy wee bitch!’ raged Hamish, his accent becoming more sibilant as it always did when he was angry.
‘Well, maybe. But she charmed the socks off all the bigwigs.’
The phone in the police office rang. Hamish went to answer it. It was Daviot’s secretary, Helen, telling him to report to headquarters at the earliest opportunity.
Hamish trailed back into the kitchen. ‘I’ve been summoned.’
Superintendent Daviot smoothed back the silver wings of his carefully barbered hair and tugged at the lapels of his expensively tailored suit before instructing his secretary to send Hamish in.
‘Sit down, Hamish,’ he said. ‘Helen, some tea and biscuits would be nice.’
Hamish noticed the triumphant gleam in Helen’s eyes, and his heart sank. Helen detested him.
‘Now, er, Hamish,’ said Daviot. ‘It has come to my attention that there is not enough work up there for a man of your skills. We have a big drug problem here in Strathbane, and we need good officers. Ah, thank you, Helen. No, we will serve ourselves.’
When the door closed behind the secretary, he went on. ‘A man like you should be taking the detective exams with a view to joining the CID.’
‘May I say something, sir?’
‘By all means. Have an Abernethy biscuit or would you like a Penguin?’
‘Tea will be fine. Mrs Gentle is a vicious woman. Do not listen to a word she says.’
‘I use my own judgement, Macbeth,’ said the super, colouring up. ‘But since you have raised the lady’s name, it seems you imposed on her hospitality.’
‘I called on her as part of my duties. As you know, I frequently call on people on my beat. She was having a spiteful row with her daughter. She likes to create the image of being perfect. I was not to be forgiven for having witnessed her at her worst. Such is the way of psychopaths like her.’
‘Macbeth! I have met the lady and consider myself to be a good judge of character. She is charming and kind, very much a lady. You don’t see many of them like her these days.’
‘No, thank God.’
Daviot’s face hardened. ‘That’s enough. You have six months. You will be supplied with a flat in police accommodation in Strathbane. And no pets. You’ll need to get rid of that odd cat of yours, and the dog. You may go.’
Hamish stood up. ‘You should keep me where I am, sir, because there’s going to be a murder.’
‘What murder?’
‘Mrs Gentle.’
‘Get off with you!’
Jimmy waylaid Hamish on the way out.
‘Well?’
‘That Gentle woman’s done the damage all right. I’m losing the station, I’m to move into one o’ thae poxy police flats, and no pets. I’m going to resign. Mind you, I went over the top and called Mrs Gentle a psychopath and