Death of a Valentine - M. C. Beaton [17]
Josie wrenched open the passenger door and jumped out on the road. “It’ll kill us.”
“It’s locked off in the back.”
“I’m not getting in there.”
“Suit yourself,” said Hamish. He did a U-turn and sped off in the direction of Strathbane.
The zoo in Strathbane, he knew, was well run, unlike most of the rest of that dismal town. He wondered why he hadn’t been met on the road, feeling sure that Josie would have phoned to say he had a dangerous animal in the back of the Land Rover. He did not know that Josie had found the batteries in her phone had died. He stopped briefly on the road to phone Daviot and say the lion had been caught.
At the zoo, the head keeper cautiously opened the rear doors of the Land Rover. The lion was asleep.
“I don’t think the poor lion needs a tranquilliser gun,” said Hamish. “I should guess it’s awfy old. It came from some circus so it’ll be used to folks.”
Daviot had phoned the local papers, and several reporters and photographers were gathered.
“No flash pictures,” ordered Hamish. “It’s waking up. Let me see if I can get it out. Come on, boy. It’s all right.”
The lion blinked at him and slowly rose to its feet. The remains of the haunch of venison were lying beside it. “Now then,” cooed Hamish. “That’s the ticket. Slowly now. Just one wee jump. There we are.”
The lion stood beside him. The keeper said, “Maybe if you follow me to the cage, it’ll follow you.”
“It had better be a good big cage,” said Hamish.
“Och, it leads onto a bit of a field and a big auld tree,” said the keeper.
Hamish followed him and the lion followed Hamish. Once at the cage, Hamish walked into it with the lion behind him. The keeper opened a sack he had been carrying and threw a lump of meat into the cage.
The lion fell on it and Hamish slowly exited the cage. “Turn those lights off,” snarled Hamish at a television crew, “and give the lion a bit o’ peace.”
Hamish drove back to the wildlife park. The rain had begun to fall. Josie was standing outside the office, looking wet and miserable.
“They wouldn’t let me in the office,” complained Josie. “They said there wasn’t room and I wasn’t on the case.”
“Get in,” said Hamish. Josie meekly climbed in. “Now, what were you about, McSween,” said Hamish. “Thon lion was secure in the back. It’s where we put a prisoner, see? It couldnae have got at us.”
“I was scared,” mumbled Josie.
Hamish had been frightened as well but Josie did not know him well enough to understand that Hamish’s accent became more highland and sibilant when he was afraid. But overcoming Hamish’s fear was a desire to keep this noble old lion alive. He was sure if Strathbane police had arrived on the scene, then they would have shot it.
“We’ll say no more about it,” said Hamish. “I’ll switch on the heater. Do you want to go home and change?”
“I’ve only got the one uniform,” said Josie. “I’ll soon dry out. What are we going to do in Braikie?”
“I’m going to try to find out the names of some of Annie’s friends. I want to know whether she had met anyone who might wish her harm. But maybe we’ll begin at the post office and see if Georgie Braith, the new postmistress, can remember names of men or boys who bought valentines.”
“Isn’t it ‘postperson’?” asked Josie.
“We aren’t PC up here.”
Hamish parked in front of the post office. “Could we have something to eat first?” pleaded Josie.
“Time’s getting on. Stick it out for a bit.” He looked down at Josie’s dismal face. “Tell you what. You get something to eat. There’s the fish-and-chip shop over there. I’ll let you know if I find out anything. Meet me back at the Land Rover.”
Why did Josie stay on? wondered Hamish. He suspected she had given up going on calls. Why didn’t she just go back to Strathbane?
Georgie Braith was a tall, rangy woman with iron-grey hair and a beak of a nose. To Hamish’s questions, she replied, “The parcel wasn’t posted from here. I can tell you that. And how can I remember who bought valentines? It’s age. I can remember twenty years ago but don’t ask me about yesterday.