Death of a Valentine - M. C. Beaton [53]
“It can stay a mess while I’m here. I’m sick of hairdressers and beauticians. You know, Hamish, sometimes I wish I’d stuck to that job on the Highland Times. Never mind. Tell me about the case.”
“I’ll make breakfast first.”
It was like old times, thought Hamish, as he put a plate of bacon and eggs in front of Elspeth. Elspeth looked like old times, too, with her frizzy hair and clear grey Gypsy eyes.
He began to go over the murder cases.
When he had finished, Elspeth said, “The main thing is background.”
“Like what?”
“You need to dig and dig and find out if any of them have any knowledge in their past about how to make a letter bomb.”
“Strathbane went through the lot. Nothing.”
“But,” said Elspeth, “have you got anyone on your list who came up after Strathbane checked?”
“There’s a point. I’ve been checking on the men. I’ve only recently begun to check on the women.”
“Now, someone young might not have had the experience,” said Elspeth. “What about this Bill Freemont? Where’s he gone?”
“I’ll need to ask his wife. But he was checked.”
“Maybe he knew someone who could do it for him.”
“Good girl. I’ll get over there and see the wife. Oh, I got a message from young Percy Stane. He thinks he’s got something that might interest me. I’ll call on him on the way back.”
“Want me to come with you?”
Hamish hesitated and then said cautiously, “I suppose it’ll be all right. Blair’s given up and the press have gone. Mind, old rules! No reporting on anything unless I tell you to.”
“Don’t worry,” said Elspeth. “I need a break.”
The wildlife park had a lost, deserted air about it. Bad weather was moving in from the coast, carrying a metallic smell of snow to come on a rising wind.
Jocasta was not in the office and so they went up to the house, a small, squat, pebble-dashed bungalow.
Hamish rang the bell. Elspeth huddled behind him, the collar of her coat pulled up.
Jocasta answered the door. “What now?” she asked.
“Just a few questions.”
“I don’t want any newspeople around,” said Jocasta, recognising Elspeth.
“Elspeth, wait in the car,” said Hamish. When Elspeth had turned away, Hamish said, “Can I come in? It’s freezing out here.”
“Just for a minute,” said Jocasta. “I’m packing things up.”
She ushered him into a cold living room full of packing cases.
“Do you know where your husband is?” asked Hamish.
“Unfortunately, I do. He had to give me an address to send on his stuff. I’ll write it down for you. He’s in Edinburgh.”
Hamish waited until she had written down the address and handed it to him.
“Would you say that your husband was capable of making a letter bomb?”
“I would say that my husband was not capable of even mending a fuse,” said Jocasta harshly.
“What about yourself?”
“The jealous wife? You can forget that. I was right off Bill even before I knew about Annie. In fact, I’m grateful to that conniving bitch. Makes it easy for me to get a divorce. What is a village bobby doing cruising around the countryside with a member of the rich and famous?”
“Do you mean Elspeth?”
“Who else?”
“Miss Grant is an old friend,” said Hamish stiffly. “When you were packing up Bill’s things, did you find anything like letters from Annie? Anything like that?”
“Nothing but a lot of unpaid bills that he said he had paid. Look, I am so fed up with him that if I had found there was even a hint of him being a murderer, I would have told you.”
When Hamish hurried back to the Land Rover, snow was becoming to fall, small pellets driven before the wind.
“Any joy?” asked Elspeth.
“Nothing there,” said Hamish. “We’d best get to Braikie while we can. The forecast is bad.”
He drove north through the whitening landscape. “I forgot it could get like this,” said Elspeth. “Yesterday was so glorious that I didn’t remember that up here, you can get five climates in one day. It’s getting worse. Are you sure you can see?”
“I’m all right. But I hope the gritters get their trucks out soon.”
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