Death of a Gentle Lady

‘I’m awfy hungry.’
    ‘You don’t change,’ laughed Priscilla. ‘All right. Mr Fitzpatrick is a bit cheap. I’ll offer to pay for his tea and order one for you.’

    Patrick Fitzpatrick was delighted to accept Priscilla’s offer of afternoon tea. He was a slim, fit-looking man in his forties with a shock of ginger hair, a thin face, a small pursed mouth, and skin reddened by walking in the cold.
    Priscilla said, ‘Mr Fitzpatrick –’
    ‘Patrick, please.’
    ‘Very well. Patrick. Hamish Macbeth here would like to ask you a few questions.’
    He paused, a scone dripping butter in his hand. ‘What could I possibly know that could help the police?’ His Irish accent was light, and his voice unexpectedly high and reedy.
    Hamish gulped down a tea cake and asked, ‘You do a fair bit of walking. Have you seen a strange woman around? She’s tall, possibly wearing dark glasses, headscarf, breeches.’
    ‘Oh, her,’ said Patrick, reaching out for another scone.
    ‘Where?’ asked Hamish urgently. ‘Where did you see her and when?’
    ‘It must have been the day before yesterday. I was walking along the upper reaches of the river, must have been about two o’clock. She was coming the other way. I shouted out, “Fine day”, but she stared at me for a moment and then turned and hurried off up the brae. Then I heard the sound of a car starting up.’
    ‘Can you remember exactly at which point on the riverbank you saw her?’
    ‘It’s where the river makes a loop and there’s a stand of silver birch.’
    ‘I know it. I’d better go and have a look.’ Hamish grabbed two tiny sandwiches and hurried off, eating them as he went. He realized he would need to go back at some point and ask Patrick what he did for a living and why he was at the hotel.

    He drove up into the hills and followed the narrow one-track road which ran along beside the River Anstey. He parked on the road above the bend in the stream described by Patrick and looked around. He searched the road, then went down and searched along the river. He had recently seen a detective series on television where the detective had found a book of matches with the name of a sinister nightclub. The only things he found were two rusty tin cans.
    The nights were drawing in. He looked at his watch. It was just coming up to five o’clock. He’d better get back to the station.

    He found not only Elspeth but also Jimmy waiting for him. ‘There’s no time to talk to your lady friend,’ said Jimmy. ‘We’ve got to get down to headquarters. Some Russian detective’s come over.’
    ‘I didn’t think the death of a prostitute would rank high on their list of investigations.’
    ‘It’s an inspector called Anna Krokovsky. She’s been visiting the Met in London to study British police methods. She read about our case in the newspapers and asked to be sent north. You’re to come with me to headquarters.’
    ‘I’m sorry, Elspeth,’ said Hamish. ‘I’d better go. But you’ve got a wee bit of a story.’ He turned to Jimmy. ‘I don’t suppose there’ll be anything wrong in Elspeth writing about her visit?’
    ‘Shouldn’t think so, Hamish. Come on.’
    ‘I’ll lock up when I go,’ said Elspeth. Her laptop was on the kitchen table.
    ‘Right. Put the key back up on the gutter. What’s this Russian woman like?’
    ‘Don’t know. Haven’t met her yet. I only just got the summons.’

    Does anyone still drink sherry? wondered Hamish as Helen, Daviot’s secretary, tried to whip a tray of glasses past him so that he couldn’t have any – without success, as Hamish had long arms. But then, the murderer had tempted Irena with Amontillado.
    Daviot was beaming. He was at his most avuncular. ‘This pretty lady has come to watch our methods. Inspector Krokovsky, may I present the detective at the moment leading the investigation with my help – Detective Inspector Jimmy Anderson. Then there is Detective Sergeant Andy MacNab and now our local constable, Hamish Macbeth.’
    Anna Krokovsky nodded and sipped her glass of sherry. She was of medium height with a face that somehow reminded Hamish of Putin. Her grey eyes were watchful and her trim body, in a well-tailored uniform, slight but muscular. Her hair was her one beauty, being very thick, wavy, and dark brown.
    ‘Perhaps,’ said Daviot, ‘you would like to say a few words, Miss Krokovsky.’
    ‘It’s Inspector Krokovsky,’ she said. ‘I took this opportunity to investigate policing