Death of a Valentine - M. C. Beaton [71]
“Oh, Hamish,” said Elspeth. “Welcome back.”
The next day when Elspeth called again, it was to find Josie by the bed, holding Hamish’s hand. The surgeon had felt he could hardly refuse Hamish’s fiancée a visit.
“He’s making a grand recovery,” said Josie, “so the wedding will be going ahead quite soon.”
“Are you sure, Hamish?” asked Elspeth.
“Of course,” he said blandly. “Thank you for saving my life.”
“I think Hamish and I would like some time together,” said Josie.
Elspeth looked enquiringly at Hamish and he gave a brief nod.
Elspeth went back to the offices of the Highland Times in Lochdubh.
“Come back to work for us?” asked Matthew Campbell, the editor.
“No, I just wanted to borrow one of your computers and go through the local stories.”
“Help yourself. Everything’s on the computer now. All the cuttings are down in the basement.”
Elspeth sat down at the computer, switched it on, and typed in “Dr. Cameron Strathbane.”
No results.
Elspeth found a copy of the Highlands and Islands telephone directory and looked up Dr. Cameron. There was the name and address. She wrote the address down and set off for Strathbane.
The doctor’s surgery was down near the docks in a far-from-salubrious neighbourhood. Even the seagulls looked dirty. Thin, white-faced youths lurked outside.
Elspeth had donned a simple disguise in the car: a woollen hat pulled down over her hair, glasses with clear lenses, and old clothes from her thrift-shop shopping days.
She sat in her car and wondered what to tell the doctor was wrong with her. Then she thought—but what good would it do? She took out her phone and called Jimmy, glad she had kept his mobile phone number form the old days when she used to work for the Highland Times.
“Elspeth!” said Jimmy. “What’s the news about Hamish?”
“Recovering rapidly. Jimmy, have you heard anything about a Dr. Cameron in Strathbane?”
“Why?”
“Just passing the time up here looking for stories.”
“I thought you grand presenters had reporters and researchers to do the work for you.”
“Indulge me, Jimmy.”
“It’s last year’s story. Cameron was up before the sheriff on a charge o’ selling methadone to druggies. He got off because the laddie who shopped him disappeared.”
“Thanks.”
“But why…?”
“I’ll let you know if anything comes of it.”
Elspeth thought hard. Before she tackled Cameron, she desperately wanted to know if the results of Hamish’s urine test and blood test were accurate. They could still be in the forensic lab. But how to get them? If Lesley were alerted, she might destroy them.
She drove slowly to the forensic lab. Outside, she pulled off her glasses and hat.
Elspeth walked into the lab. Bruce and several of his assistants were working at long benches, strewn with not only the paraphernalia of forensic detection but also half-eaten sandwiches, flasks of coffee, and paperback books.
Bruce recognised her and rushed forward. “It’s Elspeth Grant. What can we do for you?”
“I’m up here until Hamish gets better,” said Elspeth. “I thought I might fill in the time by doing a feature on your lab. Have you time to show me around?”
“Sure. Care for a drink?”
“Not now.”
Elspeth barely listened as he took her around the lab. At last she said, “And where do you keep the samples? The public have become very interested in cold-case files.”
He led her into an adjoining room full of freezers. “All in here,” he said.
“Goodness, you are efficient. Are they all labelled?”
Bruce gave her a superior smile. “Of course.” He swung open one door. “See?”
Elspeth stared at the labelled samples. She could not see Hamish’s name. “This is fascinating,” she said. “May I see in the others?”
Bruce opened door after door. In one of them, in a corner, Elspeth saw two samples labelled HAMISH MACBETH.
They returned to the lab. “Where has everyone gone?” asked Elspeth.
“Lunch. Would you like to join me?”
“I’m a bit pushed for time but I wouldn’t mind a drink. Whisky will do fine, if you have it.”
He laughed. “This lab runs on it. Wait here. I’ve got a bottle somewhere.”
When he went off to a side room,