“The press are hammering at the doors demanding a solution to this murder,” said Fiona. “So what’s going on?”
“We are understaffed,” said Daviot. “I have just told Carter he is being transferred to Strathbane.”
“Like Macbeth, this constable has been helping me with the investigation,” said Fiona, looming over Daviot. “Have you any idea of the enormous extent of Macbeth’s beat? One detective chief inspector has stooped to spite. I do not know why you listened to him.”
“It was my idea,” lied Daviot.
“Very well. I want you to write me a report for the commissioner on why you are removing a constable who knows the area and knows the locals back there.”
“I may have been overhasty,” blustered Daviot. “Have a tea cake.”
“I don’t want one. I need this pair with me.”
“I feel now I have been overhasty. By all means, Carter, stay in Lochdubh.”
“Good,” snapped Fiona. “Come along, you pair.”
Helen jumped back from the door where she had been listening. Charlie and Hamish followed Fiona down the stairs.
Blair was waiting at the bottom. Fiona ignored him. “Right,” she said, “Charlie, you come with me in my car and Macbeth can follow. We’ll go to the station in Lochdubh and go over everything we’ve got.”
Charlie sat in the back of the unmarked police car with Fiona as her driver bore them out of Strathbane. “I am very grateful to you, ma’am,” he said.
She smiled and put a hand on his arm. “You are too useful to be got rid of.”
Charlie felt as if an electric shock had just gone through his arm. He stared at Fiona. who stared back and then abruptly took her arm away and looked out of the window.
In the police station, Hamish lit the wood-burning stove and put the kettle on top to boil. Fiona looked amused. “Did you never hear of electric kettles, Macbeth?”
“Aye, but Dick Fraser took the kettle away when he moved. I like the stove.”
“But I see you have central heating.”
“Yes, ma’am. But it’s awfy drying. Cosy in here. After we have a coffee, I’ll spread out the notes on the table.”
Sonsie approached Fiona and stared up at her. Fiona bent down and scratched the cat behind the ears. She began to purr.
“What a huge beast,” said Fiona. “Looks like a wild cat.”
“Och, no,” said Hamish quickly. “Chust a big tabby.”
“If you say so.”
Hamish made three mugs of coffee and produced a plate of shortbread. “Right,” said Fiona, “before we get down to the paperwork, let’s see what we know. The late Gloria was a gold digger. None of the men she is believed to have had a fling with was anywhere near the Highlands at the time of her death. So the focus is on Harrison’s place until we find anything else.”
“If I may make a suggestion, ma’am,” said Charlie.
Fiona gave him a warm smile, which transformed the usual hardness of her face.
Oho! thought Hamish, his highland radar twitching. What goes on here?
But before Charlie could speak, the kitchen door opened and Priscilla breezed in.
“Oh, good, coffee,” she said. “How are you, Charlie?”
“Who are you?” demanded Fiona, surveying the beauty that was Priscilla.
“I am Priscilla Halburton-Smythe. And you are?”
“I am Inspector Herring and we are discussing a case. So if you don’t mind clearing off.”
Priscilla shrugged. “See you tonight at dinner, Charlie,” she said. “I’m only up on a flying visit.”
When she had left, Fiona said, “You were about to say something, Charlie.”
“What if it wasnae money?” said Charlie. “What if she was a nymphomaniac? There’s other folk up at the box. There’s a gamekeeper, Harry Mackay, and a shepherd, Tom Stirling.”
“How did you find that out?”
“Asking around.”
“Jimmy Anderson is at Harrison’s,” said Hamish.
“I’d better phone him. And it’s too big a place for Inga to do the cleaning all by herself. If there’s a cleaning woman, she might have a bit of gossip. Harrison is now denying he said Gloria had gone for a walk and Juris is now saying he might have been mistaken.”
She phoned Jimmy and rapped out instructions and, when she had rung off, took a computer out of its case and put it on the kitchen table. “Right! Let’s see what we have so far. No fingerprints on that diamond pendant.”
Hamish brought in a sheaf of notes from the office.
“She might have been killed by a woman,” said Hamish at last. “Gloria might have been messing around with someone’s husband. Or, I’m beginning to wonder, was she as bad as she’s been painted? Now, I see from the notes that all these men she had dinner with swear blind that was all. They’re all married, of course. We have only the maid Elsie Dunbar’s word for it. Maybe it just amused Gloria to get free dinners in a posh hotel. Just so long as we go on thinking of her as some sort of tart, we’ll be swamped wi’ suspects.”
“But why would Elsie lie?” asked Charlie.
“Maybe her boyfriend works at the hotel and got sweet on Gloria. I’d like to question her again.”