“You! No, that cannae be right.”
“It was like this,” said the colonel heavily. “My manager, Mr. Johnson, said he was feeling uneasy about her, that she was picking up men in the bar. He told me her name. I said I’d deal with it. There she was, with two of the male guests. She was wearing a very low-cut black dress and high heels. I’d got her name, so I said, ‘Step outside, Miss Dainty. I would like a word with you.’
“I took her into the office and sent the manager away. I told her about our concerns and she began to cry. She sobbed that she was lonely and only came up to the hotel for a bit of company. She threw herself into my arms. I felt like a beast. My wife was away. I soothed her down and said we would have a bit of dinner and talk about it.
“I can’t remember any woman ever flirting with me before. I was in raptures. She told me a sad story about being stuck out in the wilds with old Harrison and on very little pay. I was so sorry for her. I told her to wait a minute. I had bought my wife an expensive cashmere sweater. I got it and presented it to her, and she kissed me! On the mouth! And in front of the waiters.”
“When was this?” asked Charlie.
“It would be the Sunday before she disappeared. Two days later, I went over to confront old Harrison and I demanded to know why he was paying her so little. He told me what she was earning and it was a lot. She was out. I left a message to say she was not welcome at the hotel again. I felt an old fool who had been conned. Now the staff at the hotel will be questioned and my dinner with her will all come out.”
“That sweater, was it wrapped up?” asked Charlie.
“No, I hadn’t wrapped it yet.”
“So she left it in the office and you went to get it for her. Now, as long as Detective Chief Inspector Blair keeps off the case, it won’t be too bad. We’ll work out a statement down at the station and make it look oh so innocent. I’ll type it up.”
“What if Macbeth tells my daughter?”
“You don’t know him very well. As far as we are concerned, the little tart threw herself at you. Come along, sir—I mean, George—and we’ll get it over with.”
Hamish was not at the station. Charlie typed up the statement and left it in the office after the colonel had signed it.
They had just returned to the hotel when Charlie got a call from Hamish to say the inspector was driving him to the station and Charlie had better be there.
Hamish Macbeth reflected sourly that he would never, ever understand women. Seated in the station kitchen, the normally hard-bitten Fiona had taken one look at Charlie and her face had softened. She had questioned him about his life, his ambitions, and whether he had a girlfriend. A transformed Charlie had glowed under all the attention.
There was Anka as well, thought Hamish, who refused all his invitations unless they included Dick.
Fiona read Charlie’s report on the colonel and Charlie said, “He is an innocent, ma’am, and a great friend o’ mine. He’s frightened he’ll be suspected of the murder.”
“I think that is highly unlikely,” said Fiona. “I see from the first reports sent in from the hotel that the Sunday Gloria disappeared, the colonel and his lady were over in Caithness at Lord Clardey’s shooting party. They left on the Friday and did not get back to the hotel until the Monday, so what’s the silly man worried about?”
“When there’s a murder, ma’am,” said Charlie sententiously, “everyone feels guilty.”
“You are a very wise young man,” Fiona said, while Hamish felt like howling, What in the name o’ the wee man is so damn clever about that?
Fiona looked around. “You are two very big men and this is a small station. How do you both fit in?”
“We manage, ma’am,” said Charlie quickly.
“I see the statement from Colonel Halburton-Smythe was made to you, Charlie.”
Oh, first names, is it? thought Hamish.
“I’ll go up to the hotel and put his fears at rest,” continued Fiona. “You come with me, Charlie. Macbeth, tomorrow, get back up to those cliffs. You have a reputation for finding out what everyone else misses.”
“How did you get on with Mr. Harrison?” asked Charlie.
“He’d got himself a new slab-faced nurse who protects him like a rottweiler. When we approached him, his eyes were closed and the nurse, a Helen Mackenzie, said he had just had one of his turns and to please leave. I was about to insist that we wait until he felt better when she said if Mr. Harrison died because of our harassing him, his son would sue our socks off. He’d already been on to Daviot, so I got a phone call from the super to order me out of there.”
“The lawyer didn’t block the search team, surely,” said Charlie.
“No, that went ahead. Couldn’t find a thing.”