Death of a Gentle Lady

anything sinister about the disappearance of Ayesha, then he had compromised the investigation by lying about her and hiding that passport. But if the police ever got their hands on that passport and sent it away from the incompetent forensic department at Strathbane to Glasgow, say, some eagle-eyed boffin might recognize Peter’s handiwork. He had been allowed two weeks’ holiday for his honeymoon. Because of Ayesha turning out to be such a blackmailer, he had cancelled any idea of it.
    Blackmailer!
    Had the girl found out something about Mrs Gentle and been blackmailing her?
    Hamish decided to get out of Lochdubh for the day, away from sympathetic callers. He loaded up the Land Rover with his fishing tackle along with his dog and cat and set off for the River Anstey. He didn’t have a fishing permit but knew that the water bailiff was lazy; he was sure he wouldn’t be discovered.
    He returned in the evening with eight trout to find Jimmy Anderson pacing up and down outside the police station.
    ‘Where have you been?’ howled Jimmy.’

    In the kitchen, Jimmy explained what had happened. Mr Tahir had been located in Turkey, and yes, he had a daughter called Ayesha. But his Ayesha was married and living right there in Izmir. And she wasn’t the girl in the photo that had been wired to him. Mr Tahir had shown the real Ayesha this picture, and she had recognized the woman.
    This was her story. A few years before, the Tahir family had been dining at Istanbul’s Pera Palace Hotel. Ayesha had completed her studies at Istanbul and had just received her visa to go to London for her PhD. She had been celebrating with her family. At the next table was a party of thuggish-looking Russians, along with the girl from Hamish’s photograph. The Tahirs had been sure that these Russians were mafia, and they were sorry for the girl who, said Ayesha, was being treated like dirt. They thought she was a Natasha, the slang name for a Russian or Eastern European prostitute.
    When the Tahirs returned to Izmir, Ayesha realized that her passport was not in her handbag. She thought it must have fallen out somewhere, but while applying for a new one and facing up to all the formalities of getting the visa again, she had fallen in love with a local man and decided to get married instead of furthering her education. So she put the passport right out of her mind.
    The police now believed that the fake Ayesha had stolen the passport and run away from whoever was keeping her. Because of the Tahirs’ conviction that the men with her back then had looked like Russian mafia and had been talking in Russian, and because she had now left her clothes behind, it looked as if she might have been snatched – or murdered. Her photograph would appear in the local Turkish papers. Istanbul police had a copy and were checking at the Pera Palace Hotel to see if anyone knew anything about the missing girl.
    ‘I think she was blackmailing Mrs Gentle,’ said Hamish.
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Mrs Gentle gave her ten thousand pounds cash as a wedding present, she said. Now, one minute Ayesha’s sitting here weeping and telling me that Mrs Gentle has given her notice, and the next minute she’s telling me that Mrs Gentle is not only giving her money but hosting the reception.’
    ‘Her passport?’ asked Jimmy. ‘Did you find it?’
    Hamish rose and took a bottle of whisky down from a cupboard. With his back to Jimmy, he said, ‘No.’
    ‘You know,’ said Jimmy, ‘I wouldnae mind a black coffee with my whisky.’
    ‘The electric kettle’s broken,’ said Hamish.
    ‘You never used it. Light the stove. It’s cold in here.’
    Hamish blushed. ‘Can’t. The chimney’s blocked. The sweep’s coming the morrow. Help yourself to whisky. I’ll chust put some o’ these trout out in the freezer. You’ll stay for dinner?’
    ‘No, I’d best be getting back.’
    Hamish went out to the shed where he kept the chest freezer. As soon as he had gone, Jimmy took the cleat and lifted the lid of the stove. He felt inside. His hand touched something. He lifted it out. Ayesha’s passport. ‘Oh, Hamish,’ he muttered. ‘What have you done?’
    Hamish came back and stiffened when he saw the passport lying on the table.
    ‘Sit down, laddie,’ said Jimmy grimly, ‘and spit it out. No lies this time.’
    Suddenly weary and ashamed, Hamish sat down at the table and began to tell his story, leaving nothing out.
    ‘You see,’ he said finally, ‘they’ll examine that