Death of a Sweep - M. C. Beaton [13]
‘Cheers!’ said the woman when her drink arrived.
Philomena took a sip. ‘I couldn’t see anything odd,’ she said.
‘I could swear there was a man exposing himself. Disgusting, I call it. No morals these days.’
Philomena made up her mind. He was not going to come. She took a strong gulp of her gin and tonic to give herself courage to move. But she began to feel dizzy and faint.
‘Are you all right?’ she heard her companion ask. ‘Someone help me get her outside into the fresh air.’
‘No,’ said Philomena weakly. ‘No.’
The bar tilted and swung before her eyes. Outside she faintly heard her companion say, ‘Help me into her husband’s car. That’s right. She’ll be right as rain once he gets her home.’
Philomena’s last conscious memory was of a deep voice saying, ‘Mistake, Philomena. Bad, bad mistake.’
Chapter Three
Swans sing before they die: t’were no bad thing
Should certain persons die before they sing
– SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE
Philomena slowly recovered consciousness. She tried to move, but her wrists were chained and padlocked to a bed. Her throat was dry. ‘Help,’ she croaked.
‘I will let you go,’ said a man’s voice from the corner of the room, ‘if you swear to me you did not show that letter to the police.’
‘I swear … I promise you on my life.’
‘If you’ve lied to me, then your life is what you’ll be losing. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, yes.’
‘Shut your eyes.’
Philomena heard two clicks as the handcuffs were released. ‘You will find your car a bit away from this bothie on the Struie Pass. You will stay here for ten minutes and then go. If you so much as utter a word about this to anyone, I know where to find you.’
‘Yes, please,’ begged Philomena.
She heard the door of the bothie close. After a few minutes, she tried to sit up. She felt dizzy and weak. She could barely remember anything except sitting in that bar in Inverness and the woman opposite urging her to look out the window.
She finally swung her legs down on to the floor. The place was filthy and looked as if it had not been used, except maybe by schoolboys or vagrants, for years. There was a strong smell of excrement and urine. The mattress she had been lying on was soiled, with broken springs curling through the torn covering in places.
A rickety table held a bottle of mineral water and the remains of a bottle of whisky. She felt so parched, she opened the bottle and drank the water.
She did not care whether ten minutes had passed or not. Philomena staggered out into the spring sunlight. Over the heather, she recognized her car parked up on the road.
She hurried towards it, sometimes tripping and falling, but always rising and forging on to safety.
A watcher lowered his powerful binoculars. ‘Think she’ll keep her mouth shut?’ asked the woman beside him.
‘No.’
‘Think she drank the water?’
‘Probably. That drug you slipped into her drink causes a tremendous thirst. Let her set off and then we’ll follow her to make sure. We can always take her out before she reaches Drim. Did you put all the flammable stuff in the back?’
‘Yes.’
‘She’s off. Let’s go.’
The Struie Pass, the old road into Sutherland, is full of hairpin bends, but at the top it commands the most beautiful view as Sutherland lies in front and below: ranges of blue mountains and lochs stretching into the distance.
Philomena kept blinking. Lights were flashing before her eyes. At the viewpoint, she suddenly saw a smooth dual carriageway stretching out in front of her. People seemed to be dancing on it, which was odd, but all she thought of was escape. She pressed her foot down hard on the accelerator and plunged right off the edge of the Struie Pass. The car rolled and tumbled and finally hit a rock where it burst into flames, a fireball from hell.
‘She drank the water,’ said the man with satisfaction.
‘Aren’t you being a bit over-elaborate? All that LSD?’ asked his companion. ‘She probably told someone.’
‘No, she didn’t. I know Philomena. She had a tape recorder