Death of a Gentle Lady

turns up all dainty and lovely-old-lady, the act she had perfected.’
    Hamish glanced quickly at the coffee machine. He had forgotten to switch it off.
    ‘I loved every minute of telling her who I was. She turned to run and I caught her round the neck, strangled her, and hurled her over the cliffs. My God! The joy of sinking my hands at last into her wrinkled neck and seeing the fear in her eyes. What are you doing?’
    ‘I’m getting a cup of coffee.’
    ‘You’re a cool one. Any last words?’
    ‘Why didn’t you clear off? Why the play?’
    ‘Because I loved doing it. I love anything to do with the theatre. I felt safe. I liked being an author. I liked having Harold’s money to stay at a posh hotel. It’s so remote up here, so far from anything I’d ever known. Safety. Respectability. I wanted a bit of that. And that bitch Priscilla led me on.’
    ‘So why kill me?’
    ‘Because I could have got away with it. You didn’t fool me with that spilled glass of wine or knocking me over. You wanted to see my feet, and the minute I realized that, I knew you were on to me. You could have seen my feet anytime before but it was because I was dressed as a woman. I have small feet for my height. Dancer’s feet. Priscilla told me they were looking for a woman with size seven feet. Before I finish you, what was it Irena told you that was so important?’
    Hamish half turned, his hand on the coffee pot.
    ‘She told me nothing. I only put that about to try to flush you out. The mileage you must have covered. Up to Grianach, down to London. Why did you put that amateurish bit of wire over the stairs?’
    ‘I thought that with any luck it might work and if it didn’t, it would reinforce the idea that a woman was the culprit, maybe one of the family.’
    ‘Why did you kill Mark Gentle?’
    ‘I had to see him. I couldn’t risk leaving any loose ends. I had to make sure Irena hadn’t confided in him.
    ‘He invited me in when I said I was Harold Jury. He said he’d heard I was staying up in the Highlands when he was there. I asked him if Irena had said anything about me. He began to look suspicious and asked me what was so important about anything that Irena might have said about me. I had to kill him. Well, let’s get on with this.’
    In one fluid movement, Hamish threw the contents of the scalding hot coffeepot in Cyril’s face.
    He screamed as Hamish wrested the gun from his hand. But he stumbled to his feet and lashed out and kicked Hamish full in the stomach. As Hamish doubled over, he heard the kitchen door slam, and as he clutched his stomach and headed in pursuit, he heard the roar of a car engine.
    Outside in the hell of the shrieking gale, Hamish doubled over again and vomited. Cursing, he finally straightened up, jumped into his Land Rover, and headed in pursuit.
    He took the humpbacked bridge out of Lochdubh at such speed that he bumped his head on the roof of the vehicle. Great sheets of rain were obscuring his view. The windscreen wipers were barely coping.
    Hamish could not see the shine of any taillights ahead. Would he have gone to the hotel?
    He talked rapidly into the police radio as he drove. He screeched across the gravel at the hotel forecourt and rushed inside. The night porter swore that no one at all had come in.
    Hamish sat down suddenly in a chair in the reception. He was sure Harold would not take any of the main roads in case of roadblocks.
    Then he thought – the castle! Would he hole up there? It was worth a try.
    He got back into the Land Rover and hurtled back out into the night.
    He was driving fast along a narrow road leading to the castle when a tree crashed down in front of him, blocking the road.
    Swearing, he climbed out. Why should the county of Sutherland, usually bereft of trees, choose to throw this one in his path?
    He wrestled to try to move it. It was an old ash tree which had seen many years. In the light from his headlamps, he could see the great broken roots and the branches whipping back and forth as if the tree were a live thing in its death throes.
    He switched off the lights and the engine and leapt over the tree, setting out on foot. At times he was blown backwards by the sheer force of the gale.
    The air was full of shrieking wind, a hellish noise, as if all the devils from hell had been let loose. He reached the entrance to the drive. A small moon raced out from between the ragged black clouds.
    The castle was being buffeted by great waves, huge waves,