Death of a Valentine - M. C. Beaton [12]
Daviot stared at Blair and then at Josie. “You, Detective Chief Inspector Blair, and you, Josie McSween, are suspended from duty pending enquiries. Where is Macbeth now, Anderson?”
“Taking Harry to Strathbane.”
“I’ll go there directly. Blair, make your best apologies and get your men to put everything back neat and tidy just the way they found it. Who is the head man here?”
“Me,” said a small wrinkled man. “Tony McVey.”
“Mr. McVey, you have our deepest apologies.”
“Aye,” said McVey. “And your damp apologies are not going to stop the lawsuit.” He turned on his heel and walked away.
Harry Etherington had pleaded with his father not to press charges. He said it was all a bit of a joke and he’d got some friends up from London to help him. Sir Andrew simply looked at Hamish coldly and said, “Do your duty, Officer.”
Hamish demanded the names and addresses of Harry’s friends and learned they were staying at a hotel over in Dornoch. He phoned the Dornoch police and told them to bring the men in. Then he took Harry off to Strathbane.
He put Harry in a cell at police headquarters, went into the detectives’ room, sat down at Jimmy’s computer, and began to type out his report.
He was still typing when Jimmy arrived. “Where’s His Nibs?” asked Jimmy.
“In the cells. Where were you?”
Jimmy explained what had happened and said that Blair and McSween had been suspended from duty pending a full investigation.
Blair marched past them into his office and slammed the door. Then Daviot appeared. “Come with me, Anderson,” he ordered, “and we will interview Hetherington. First of all, Macbeth, what happened?”
Patiently, Hamish explained about having Sir Andrew’s permission to search the house and how he had suspected Harry because of Harry’s bad reputation and because he had been sure he was lying. Also, he said, Sir Andrew’s description of the men—particularly the one with what had sounded a fake Irish accent—had alerted his suspicions. He said that the butler had been witness to him finding the tiara.
“Good work,” said Daviot. “Do you want to sit in on the interview?”
“Och, no,” said Hamish, not wanting to show any sign of ambition or desire to rise in the ranks. “I’ll be off when I’ve finished this.”
Daviot’s temper was not helped because, before he could start the interview, Sir Andrew arrived and said he would not be pressing charges; he accepted that it had all been a joke. Harry’s four friends were to be charged with possession of dynamite, malicious damage to a tree, and obstructing the road, thereby endangering drivers, and bound over to appear at the sheriff’s court. Harry was charged not with the theft of the tiara but with conspiring to cause malicious damage and told he would be expected to appear in court as well.
Pondering the problem of Blair, Daviot wondered what to do. Blair was always attentive to him, and he was a Freemason and a member of the same lodge as Daviot. The detective always remembered Mrs. Daviot’s birthday and sent generous Christmas presents as well. At last he decided it was Hamish’s fault. Hamish should have phoned Blair immediately and voiced his suspicions of Harry before he had even begun the search.
Blair was lumbering out of headquarters when he saw Josie ahead of him, carrying a box of items she had cleared out of her desk along with a small potted plant. “Hey, you!” he roared. Josie turned round. Her face was streaked with tears.
“This is all your fault,” said Blair, “and if you ever get your job back, you can rot up in Lochdubh until the end o’ time.”
Josie forced herself to speak calmly. “I told you what that Gypsy fortune-teller said, sir. I don’t believe in the second sight. And where did Harry’s friends get the dynamite from? One of the policemen told me some of the Gypsies had been working over at the quarry near Alness a few months ago.”
Blair stared at her, his mind working furiously. Then he said grimly, “Get in the car wi’ me, lassie. We’re going to Alness.”