Death of a Gentle Lady

not want to marry Irena, so you killed her. Mrs Gentle found out something that would incriminate you, and so you lured her out and pushed her over the cliff. You put the wire on the stair yourself so as to mislead the police.’
    Hamish thought, illogically, I wish she didn’t look so much like Putin in drag.
    ‘I couldn’t have killed Irena because Jimmy Anderson was with me from the early morning until we left for Inverness. Now that you all have a suspect and thought the case closed, why should I try to open it? What gave you such a crazy idea?’
    ‘You are a man of great intelligence and yet you choose to remain in this isolated village and stay in the rank of an ordinary policeman. Only someone who is psychologically flawed would opt for that.’
    ‘What on earth is wrong with being contented and unambitious?’ said Hamish. ‘I enjoy my life here, I love this village – that is, when I am not beset by murderers and foreign police officers.’
    ‘You forget the respect that is due to my rank!’
    ‘It’s not every day I am accused of being a murderer,’ said Hamish mildly. ‘Coffee?’
    ‘Yes.’
    When Hamish had served them both with coffee and shortbread, he said, ‘The facts are simply these. I put it about the night before last that Irena had told me something important. I knew the gossip would spread like wildfire over the Highlands. What puzzles me about the wire across the stairs is that it is not something I would expect a cold-blooded murderer to do.’
    ‘Why? Can’t you make decent coffee? This is dreadful.’
    ‘It’s special instant,’ said Hamish huffily. ‘Mr Patel said it was pure Kenyan. I think the wire across the stairs is something you see in television movies. I wonder if the members of the Gentle family have all left the area. No, I think the real murderer of Irena will find something more sophisticated to do to me.’
    ‘Aren’t you frightened?’ Anna took a silver flask out of her handbag and poured a shot of vodka into her coffee.
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘So why do it?’
    ‘Because somehow I do not believe that Mark Gentle is a murderer,’ said Hamish impatiently. ‘I would be more frightened in a way if I thought a murderer had got away with this.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Do you have any children, Inspector? You know how they go on? Why, why, why, and never listen to the answer. I love this place, and it stands to reason I don’t want a killer on my patch.’
    ‘I think you’re wrong,’ said Anna, ‘and I’ve got to get back to London. Let us have sex.’
    Hamish coloured up to the roots of his fiery hair.
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Now it’s you with your whys. Because it’s fun and I would like sex.’
    ‘Can’t.’ Hamish shuffled his boots miserably.
    ‘Why?’
    ‘The sheets arenae clean.’ The real response, the truthful response, thought Hamish, was that he did not feel like romping with someone who looked like the Russian president.
    ‘Are you a virgin?’
    ‘No. Look, I am verra flattered that such an attractive lady as yourself should want to go to bed with me –’
    ‘Who said anything about bed? You have a kitchen table.’
    ‘Oh, michty me!’ howled Hamish. ‘It’s too early in the day.’
    There was a knock at the kitchen door, and Hamish leapt to answer it. Archie Maclean stood there. ‘Grand news, Hamish. I’m a soldier.’
    ‘Have you given up the fishing?’
    ‘Och, no. In the play.’
    ‘Come ben, Archie. This is Inspector Krokovsky. She was chust leaving.’
    Anna smiled wryly and gathered up her belongings. ‘If you are ever in Russia –’
    ‘Yes, yes,’ gabbled Hamish. ‘I’ll look you up.’

    ‘You look as red as your hair,’ said Archie. ‘That wumman been givin’ ye a bollocking?’
    ‘Something like that,’ said Hamish. ‘Sit down. Coffee?’
    ‘I’d like a glass of wine.’
    ‘What on earth is this? Drinking in the morning, and wine, too.’
    ‘I’ve been up all the night as you ken very well. This is the evening fur me. Besides, I’m an actor now, and them actors drink wine.’
    Hamish might have sent the fisherman packing if he had not been afraid of Anna coming back. ‘I’ve a bottle out in the shed,’ he said. ‘Someone gave it to me last Christmas.’
    He went out and came back with a bottle of Merlot, which he opened. He poured Archie a glass.
    Archie sipped it cautiously and made a face. ‘It’s gone off. Right sour taste.’ He saw the sugar bowl on the table, spooned sugar into his glass, and