Charlie politely forbore from pointing out that Hamish himself had been one of the losers.
Fiona arrived. “The snow has stopped and I think we can make it,” she said briskly. “I don’t like all this havey-cavey stuff but we’ll need something concrete to take to Daviot.”
“All she had to do is deny it, ma’am,” said Hamish.
“We’ll interview her on her own and see if we can break her.”
“Fairies aren’t working today,” said Hamish as they followed Fiona’s car. The snow ploughs and gritters had done a good job. It was still dark because in winter in Sutherland the sun only crept over the horizon around ten in the morning.
“Don’t mock the wee people,” said Charlie.
They made their way slowly to the hunting lodge. A grey dawn was beginning to cover the sky as they moved up the now familiar drive. Juris answered the door and told them that the family were at breakfast.
“We wish to interview Mrs. Harrison,” said Fiona. “We will use the study.”
They seated themselves in the study and waited. Greta walked in, followed by her husband.
“We wish to speak to your wife alone,” said Fiona.
“This is an outrage,” spluttered Andrew. “I shall phone Mr. Daviot and—”
“Do that,” said Fiona, “and I will make sure the newspapers find out how you and your wife pass your time in Edinburgh.”
Andrew beat a hasty retreat. Hamish surveyed Greta. She was a big powerful woman with strong hands.
“Mrs. Harrison,” began Fiona. “You were odd woman out at that wife-swopping party. You could have left and driven up here to strangle Gloria Dainty.”
“Why on earth would I want to do that?”
“Perhaps you were afraid your father-in-law might change his will and leave everything to Miss Dainty.”
“I never even met the woman,” snapped Greta.
“When you left this Edinburgh party, where did you go?”
“I went back to the George Hotel and went to bed. I ordered room service. The staff will be able to vouch for me.”
“Why did you leave?”
Greta suddenly looked weary. “I don’t like the games Andrew likes to play. I find it all rather sad. But do check up on me by all means and if that’s all you’ve got, get the hell out of here.”
They looked at each other after she had left. “I’ve an awful feeling her alibi will check out,” said Fiona.
“What about the statements from the druggies?” suggested Hamish. “We could pull them in.”
“As you pointed out earlier, Mr. Daviot is so determined the case is closed,” said Fiona, “that he will simply insist that drug addicts will say anything. It’s a dead end. I’ve got time owing. I am going to Edinburgh for a break. A word in private with you, Carter. Wait outside, Macbeth.”
Hamish waited in the hall. Fiona came out after a few moments. Her colour was high. She did not speak to Hamish but went on through the hall, out into the snow, and slammed the door behind her.
“What happened?” asked Hamish when Charlie came out of the study.
“Just a private matter,” said Charlie. “Let’s go.”
Christmas came and went. The New Year dawned. Hamish and Charlie went about their duties. Only Charlie was happy. He and the colonel spent a great deal of time together. Hamish, however, felt the murders were unsolved. The fact that there might be a murderer out there, feeling safe and secure, kept coming back to haunt him. After Christmas, Andrew and his wife had gone back to London.
Then one fine day, he saw Juris and his wife coming out of Patel’s shop. “How is Mr. Harrison?” asked Hamish.
“Same as ever,” said Juris. “His son and daughter-in-law are coming up next weekend on a flying visit.”
“Is Mr. Harrison leaving you anything in his will?” asked Hamish.
“Oh, he says he is. But he tells everyone around he’s leaving them money. It’s to keep us all sweet. But the lawyer was round last week. I listened at the door. Andrew gets it all. I told the gamekeeper, Harry Mackay, and the shepherd, Tom Stirling. You should ha’ seen their faces. The old man had promised them the ownership of their cottages and a good sum when he died, because it’s no secret Andrew plans to sell the place off. Man. Harry was that furious, he said he felt like putting a bullet in the old man.”
“And what about you?” asked Hamish.
“Oh, me and Inga never believed him. I mean, it’s right typical of rich old people. They promise this one and that one to keep them all running around.”
Hamish uneasily watched them both go. He hoped Mr. Harrison’s promises would not turn out to be a sort of Russian roulette and someone might be tempted to help him to an early grave.
Chapter Ten
Life is one long process of getting tired.
—Samuel Butler