Death of a Valentine - M. C. Beaton [25]
Hamish removed his cap and sat down on the sofa. The leather made an embarrassing fart noise. Cora stood in front of the fireplace. She was a stocky woman with bright blonde hair set in tight curls over a pugnacious face. She had small blue suspicious-looking eyes.
“Well, Constable?” she demanded.
Hamish repressed a sigh. From his experience councillors like Jamie Baxter, no matter how easygoing, often had wives who considered themselves a cut above the local community.
He stood up and approached her, looming over her. It had the desired effect.
“Oh, do sit down,” said Cora. Hamish went back to the sofa, which welcomed his bottom with a loud raspberry. Cora sat in one of the leather armchairs, but the chair, no doubt knowing what was due to her dignity, did not make a sound.
Hamish opened his notebook. “I am making enquiries about Annie Fleming.”
“Yes?”
“Did you phone Mrs. Freemont and tell her that her husband had been seen going into Annie Fleming’s house to spend the afternoon with her? I must remind you that phone calls can be checked.”
“Well, I felt it my duty,” said Cora truculently.
“Do you know if this happened more than once?”
“I only saw him the one time.”
“And when was this?”
“About a month ago.”
“Any other men?”
“Just once. An unsavoury-looking character. He had gelled hair and one of those black leather jackets. I would say he was around thirty years old.”
Jake, thought Hamish bitterly. That’s a dead end in every sense.
“What did you think of Annie?” asked Hamish. “And did you tell any of this to her parents?”
“First, I did mention both visits to her parents. Her father was furious with me. He said his daughter was pure and I was a malicious woman who would burn in hellfire. Annie wouldn’t burn anywhere, she was as cold as ice—butter wouldn’t have melted in that girl’s mouth. I saw them going off to the kirk a few Sundays before she died. Mr. and Mrs. Fleming put their noses in the air. But Annie turned round and gave me a nasty little smile before she walked on. I thought she was a devious tart.”
“Why didn’t you tell the police any of this?” demanded Hamish. “You’ve been withholding vital evidence.”
“I wasn’t going to sully her memory until after the funeral.”
“But you did just that by phoning Mrs. Freemont, and by trying to blacken the girl’s name with her parents. Is there anything more?”
“No, but I don’t like your attitude. Do remember my husband is a town councillor.”
“Which means damn all in a murder investigation,” said Hamish, and warned her he would be back to ask her more questions later.
Outside, he phoned Jimmy. “Any news about the murder?”
“Nothing. That old woman might have been left there till she died o’ shock and starvation if we hadn’t searched all the flats opposite and found her. She’s in hospital for observation but she’s a game auld bird and I think she’ll survive the shock all right. He never took the balaclava off but she said he was pretty well built and wearing a black sweater and black trousers.”
“Surely someone saw a man with a rifle running along the street?”
“From the initial SOCO report, he went down the stairs, out the back way, and over the wall. There’s a lane that runs along the back. Neighbours heard a motorbike roaring off.”
“If I were you I’d check out those two pubs of Barry’s. See if Blair’s been seen drinking in either of them. He likes his free booze.”
“Aw, c’mon, Hamish. I don’t like the pillock but this is going a bit too far. Don’t worry. We’re checking up on everything we know about Barry. Talk to you later.”
Hamish wondered whether to interview the parents and then decided it was a bit early to subject them to more questioning. Blair would already have had a go at them.
He was about to get into the Land Rover when he heard someone calling, “Officer!”
He turned round. Mrs. McGirty was standing on her front doorstep waving to him. He went up to her. “Have they found out who did this terrible thing?” she asked.
“Not yet.”
“You must find out. Annie was a saint and a good member o’ the kirk.”
“Maybe I’ll be having