Death of a Valentine - M. C. Beaton [33]
“Don’t ever make such a mistake again. Where’s Macbeth?”
“There was an attempt on his life last night and—”
“I know that. So where is he?”
“I think he must be asleep.”
“Then get over to Lochdubh and wake him up. I need him here.”
“I know the deceased,” said Josie tremulously. “We interviewed him yesterday.”
“Name and address?”
Josie gave them to him. “Shall I go and tell the parents?”
“Just get Macbeth here!”
Josie drove miserably back to Lochdubh and hammered on the police station door. She jumped as a voice behind her said, “There’s a spare key on a hook at the back of the henhouse. He used tae leave it in the gutter, but he changed it. He telt it tae me the ither day.”
She swung round. A small man in a very tight suit stood looking at her. “I’m Archie Maclean,” he said. “Friend o’ Hamish’s.”
“I’ve got to wake him up,” said Josie. “He’s wanted over at Braikie.”
“I’ll leave you to it,” said Archie. “I only came for a wee crack.”
Josie found the key and let herself in. She decided that instead of shouting to wake him, she would go into the bedroom and gently shake him by the shoulder. It was an intimate scenario.
She went into the bedroom. The dog and cat were at the end of the bed. The large cat arched her back and hissed while her yellow eyes blazed. The dog barked.
“Hamish!” screamed Josie, darting out the door and slamming it behind her before the cat could spring.
The bedroom door opened and Hamish stood there wrapped in a shabby dressing gown. “What’s up?” he demanded.
“There’s been another murder, sir. Mark Lussie.”
“Make coffee,” ordered Hamish. “This all gets nastier and nastier.”
Chapter Six
O woman, perfect woman! What distraction
Was meant to mankind when thou wast made a devil!
—John Fletcher
Josie took one look at the cheap jar of instant coffee on Hamish’s kitchen counter and ran to Patel’s to buy a packet of real coffee. Returning to the police station, she made the coffee in a pewter jug by pouring boiling water over the grounds, sprinkling a little cold water on the top to settle them, and adding a small pinch of salt.
Then she lit the stove and put the pot on top to keep the coffee warm. Hamish shaved and showered. In the kitchen, he gulped down two cups of black coffee. To Josie’s dismay, he didn’t seem to notice the difference from his usual brew.
Hamish had in fact noticed the difference and had seen the packet of real coffee but did not want to thank Josie in case she was encouraged to encroach on his home.
Before he left the station he phoned Jimmy, who told him that Hamish had the job of breaking the news to Mrs. Lussie.
“We’re off to see Mark’s mother,” said Hamish as they drove off. “What was that boy up to? Someway he put himself in danger by not telling us all he knew. Either that or he suddenly remembered something. Did he phone his killer and make an appointment? I wonder if he had a mobile phone. I hope we can find something to narrow the suspects down. I hate this sort of job—breaking bad news.”
But when they arrived at Mark’s home, it was obvious the news had already been broken by the highland bush telegraph. Neighbours were crowded into a small living room, murmuring condolences as Mrs. Lussie sat and wept.
“I would like a word with Mrs. Lussie,” said Hamish. “Will you all please wait outside?”
A large woman protested. “Cannae ye leave the wumman alone?” she cried.
But Mrs. Lussie rallied. She dried her eyes and said, “I’ll speak to the sergeant. I want to find out who killed my boy.”
“Now, Mrs. Lussie,” said Hamish. “Did you hear Mark go out last night?”
She shook her head. “The baby was quiet for once so I got the first good sleep I’ve had in ages.”
“Did he say anything at all that might be significant? Or did he look excited in any way?”
She dabbed at her eyes with an already sodden handkerchief. “He didn’t say anything. He was reading a fillum magazine. Then we watched a bit o’ telly and he said he was tired and wanted an early night.”
“Did he have a mobile phone?”
“Yes, but he didn’t use it much. Poor lost soul.