Death of a Gentle Lady

body,’ said Hamish. ‘I was still looking for thon mysterious woman. I went to talk to Kylie Gentle again. She said something about Mark talking to Mrs Gentle about a bastard and a skeleton in the closet.’
    ‘So you think there might be some illegitimate member of the family lurking around?’
    ‘Maybe not. Maybe “bastard” was just a curse.’
    ‘I feel if you dropped the whole thing – you personally – then there would be no more threats on your life.’ Anna rolled a generous forkful of linguine and thrust it into her mouth. Tomato sauce rolled down her chin like blood.
    ‘I cannae do that!’ exclaimed Hamish. ‘Leave a murderer on the loose?’
    ‘Why not? Cases are unsolved every day.’
    ‘Is this what you do in Moscow? Have three murders and chust walk away?’
    ‘If my life was threatened, I might,’ said Anna. ‘You should be flattered. Our murderer obviously rates your intelligence highly.’
    ‘I think it’s because I put it about that Irena had told me something significant.’
    ‘And do you know anything?’
    ‘Not a thing,’ said Hamish. ‘You’ve got tomato sauce on your chin.’
    ‘But surely the murderer would expect you to convey any knowledge to the police.’
    ‘Not if he or she is a secretive plotting madman or woman. But it must be a woman. There are the footprints and the woman in the phone box.’
    ‘Could be an accomplice.’
    They talked on, turning over ideas, until Hamish glanced at his watch. ‘If I hurry,’ he said, ‘I can catch the late-night flight to Inverness.’
    ‘Go on, then. I will pay for this meal and put it on expenses.’
    Hamish thanked her and fled. He did not return to the police flat, considering that he was only sacrificing some dirty laundry and a disposable razor.
    When he finally arrived at the police station in Lochdubh, it was to find a message from Jimmy telling him to send over a full report and take a few days off.

    As he struggled along the waterfront the following morning, bending his lean form before a vicious gale, he decided to go to Patel’s and buy some groceries.
    The shop was busy, and a poster behind the counter advertised the production of Macbeth . It was to be shown in two days’ time.
    Hamish bought a ticket. ‘Eight pounds!’ he exclaimed.
    ‘A lot of money was spent on the costumes,’ said Mr Patel. ‘You cannae hae kings and the like dressed in any auld things.’
    Hamish gloomily paid up. The visit to London had made a hole in his dwindling bank balance. He bought groceries and then decided to take the presents for his mother over to Rogart and spend the day there.
    He did not return until the early evening, feeling relaxed and comfortable and full of good food. He wondered how Priscilla would cope with being Lady Macbeth. It was quite a big part to learn.
    Waves were mounting on the sea loch and the wind screamed and roared through the blackness of the long northern night.
    * * *
    The following morning, he took out the present he had bought for Priscilla and went up to the Tommel Castle Hotel.
    He found Priscilla in her room, walking up and down, rehearsing her script. She broke off when she saw him.
    ‘You’re supposed to knock, Hamish.’
    ‘You never knock at the station. I’ve a present for you.’ He handed her the wood carving.
    ‘This is beautiful. Where did you get it?’
    ‘Up in Grianach. You should take a run up there and buy some stuff for the hotel gift shop. They have grand tweeds as well.’
    ‘I might go over tomorrow. Care to come with me?’
    ‘Fine. I’m not welcome there and was told not to come back, but if you buy stuff, they won’t mind seeing me again. How’s the play going?’
    ‘I wish I’d never started. I keep reminding myself it’s not the Royal Shakespeare Company.’
    ‘You’ll be fine. Thon Irishman has left?’
    ‘Yes.’ A slight look of guilt appeared in Priscilla’s blue eyes. She felt she had led Patrick on only to show one highland constable who had jilted her that she was attractive to other men. She had found it quite difficult to persuade Patrick to leave.
    ‘Are you sure you want to go tomorrow?’ asked Hamish. ‘Surely you’ll be rehearsing like mad.’
    ‘I’ll be glad to get away from here for a bit.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Why, why, why. Always the copper. If I work hard on the script today and put it all out of my mind tomorrow, then I’ll do better than if I worried and worried. Come at nine. I’ll get us a picnic lunch.’

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