Death of a Valentine - M. C. Beaton [32]
He softly made his way towards the kitchen door.
Sonsie awoke and pricked up her tufted ears. Because of the odd telepathy between the two animals, Lugs awoke as well. Sonsie sprang down from the bed where she and the dog had been sleeping and went to the kitchen door. Her fur was raised. Hamish was to wonder afterwards why Lugs had not barked.
They heard the key in the door. Roger loomed up in front of them. When he saw the two animals he raised his gun but Sonsie, the wild cat, flew up at his face and tore her sharp claws down it while Lugs bit his leg. He howled and dropped the rifle.
Hamish came running in. He picked up the rifle and ordered, “Stay there or I’ll shoot.”
He scrabbled in the pocket of his coat hanging on the back of the door and produced a pair of handcuffs. “Over on your back,” he shouted.
Roger rolled over, yelling, “I can’t see.”
“It’s the blood,” said Hamish, clipping on the handcuffs. He grabbed his mobile from the kitchen table and called for help.
It was to be a long night. The deep scratches on Roger’s face were tended to by the medical officer before he was judged fit for questioning. But Roger remained silent apart from saying he was going to sue Hamish Macbeth for the damage to his face. He would not say that anyone had hired him to kill Hamish. Hamish waited in the detectives’ room because Blair would not allow him to be part of the interview. He had asked them to find out Roger’s address so that the place could be searched before anything was destroyed but Blair had snarled at him that he was not in charge of the case and to type up his report.
When Jimmy finally appeared, Hamish said desperately, “Have you an address? We’ve got to get round there. There may be something in his place that connects him to Barry Fitzcameron.”
Jimmy rubbed the bristles on his foxy face. “I’m tired. We’ve been up all night, Hamish.”
“Let’s just do it ourselves,” pleaded Hamish.
“Oh, all right. It’s a house in Boroughfield, that suburb at the edge o’ the town.”
But when they got there, it was to find the blackened shell of what had been Roger’s home being checked by a fire inspector.
“I’m sorry, Hamish,” said Jimmy wearily. “We should ha’ listened to you. Go home.”
Before he went to bed, Hamish locked the door. As he fell asleep, he was dimly aware of Josie shouting through the letter box.
Josie was alarmed when she did not get a reply. She phoned police headquarters and learned of the attempt on Hamish’s life. Then she was told to hold on. Police Sergeant Mary Southern came on the line.
“Get over to Braikie right now and we’ll join you. A body’s been found at the war memorial.”
Josie scribbled a note to Hamish and pushed it through the letter box before driving as fast as she could to Braikie. Trails of dark cloud were streaming in from the Atlantic, and the wind had begun to rise.
She stopped in the main street, asked for directions to the war memorial, and then set off again. As she climbed the hill to the memorial, she could see that a small crowd had gathered. She pulled a roll of police tape and some posts out of the car and set off up the hill, shouting, “Get back! It’s a crime scene.”
The little crowd backed away as she secured the site. Then she went forward and looked down at the body. Here was no horror such as she had seen when she had viewed Annie’s body. Mark Lussie lay as if at peace, his sightless eyes staring up at the windy sky.
“Who found the body?” asked Josie, walking back to the crowd.
A tall man stepped forward. “That’s me,” he said.
“Name?”
“Alec Templar. I wass up the brae looking after my sheep and I saw what I thocht was clothes by the memorial and went for a look. Poor wee laddie.”
Josie felt the experience of being in sole charge of a murder case was very exciting, but it was short-lived. Police, detectives, and SOCO headed by Superintendent Daviot came hurrying up the brae.
Daviot glared at Josie. “Why aren’t you suited up?”
“I was rushing to secure the crime