Death of a Valentine - M. C. Beaton [41]
After they had finished eating, Hamish said, “I’m going back to that minister’s. I know the parents have probably been interrogated but I want to speak to them myself. But I would like you to go back to the town hall and have a talk with Percy Stane. Make a friend of him. Sympathise. See if you can get anything more out of him and in a roundabout way, see if he got any phone calls from Mark.”
Hamish was not looking forward to interviewing the Flemings. What sort of parents had produced such a manipulative drug-taking daughter?
Chapter Seven
In for a penny, in for a pound—
It’s Love that makes the world go round!
—W. S. Gilbert
Josie didn’t get much out of Percy. He protested that he had never even met Mark Lussie, nor had he received any phone call. Josie tried to trick him by lying and saying she knew he had received a call from Mark Lussie, whereupon the usually rabbit-like Percy had rallied, telling her that she was lying and he would put in an immediate complaint about police harassment. Alarmed, Josie protested that perhaps she had received false information, but Percy simply held the office door open for her and told her to go.
The early northern night had fallen, and the wind whipped clouds across a cold little moon overhead.
Josie suddenly had an idea. She would get a taxi, go back to Lochdubh, clean up the police station, and have a hot supper waiting for Hamish when he returned.
Hamish, meanwhile, was facing Mr. and Mrs. Fleming. He had expected to confront a pair of parental tyrants but found Annie’s mother and father to be decent, ordinary, and grief-stricken.
“I believe, if you don’t mind my saying so,” said Hamish, “that you appear to have been rather strict with your daughter.”
“We only did it for her own good,” said Mr. Fleming. “She never protested. She was a good girl. I won’t believe all those nasty stories that folk are circulating about her.”
“Annie did have drugs on her body,” said Hamish.
“Someone must have tricked her. We brought her up to fear the Lord and do the right thing.”
Hamish turned his attention to Mrs. Fleming. She was in her late fifties, and he judged she must have had a baby later in life than most mothers. Her face had the drained, exhausted look of someone who has been crying for days.
“Mrs. Fleming,” asked Hamish, “do you know of any particular friends she might have had?”
“No, she didn’t socialise much with the young people from the church. She seemed happier with our friends when we had them round for tea.” Hamish guessed that tea meant high tea, still served in the north in a lot of households instead of dinner.
“May I have the names of your friends?”
“Well, there’s the Baxters.”
“That would be your neighbours—Cora and Jamie Baxter?”
“That’s right. And also old Mrs. McGirty. Mr. and Mrs. Tallent, of course. We all got on very well and Annie appeared to enjoy their company.”
“The minister seemed to have been fond of Annie.”
“He was so good. He pointed out the dangers a young person in this day and age could be subjected to. He even gave Annie private religious instruction.”
“How often?”
“Sometimes twice a week in the evenings.”
“And did this go on until her death?”
“No. Mr. Tallent said he had to give up the instruction because of the weight of parish duties.”
Hamish made notes and asked several more questions. Then he asked, “Is Mr. Tallent at home?”
“I believe he is at the church,” said Mr. Fleming.
Hamish walked to the low stone church next door. He opened the door and went in. It was a small kirk with pine pews and a stone-flagged floor. It was very cold. He remembered hearing that this was one of the stricter churches. It did not have an organ but made do with a chanter, a man who struck a tuning fork against one of the pews to introduce the hymn singing. He saw the huddled figure of the minister in a front pew. He was seated with his head buried in his hands.
Hamish went up to him. Although Mr. Tallent must have heard the sound Hamish’s boots made on the stone floor, he did not