“So why do they call you Latvian?” asked Fiona.
“Our parents on both sides were Latvian. There is a Latvian community in Glasgow. Up here, if you’re from Glasgow, you’re a foreigner. Folk asked why we had such odd names. Told them. Called the Latvians ever since.”
“When did you start work for Mr. Harrison?”
“Last February. He hired us from an agency in Glasgow.” Juris’s voice held only a trace of a Glaswegian accent.
“And where were you before that?”
“Worked for Lord Kinbochy in Gourock.”
“Why did you leave?”
“He died and his place was being sold up by the heirs. Mr. Harrison offered good pay. My wife is a grand cook.”
“Right. Now to the night Gloria Dainty disappeared. Her body has just been found at the bottom of cliffs near Kinlochbervie.”
Juris bowed his head in silence. The highland grapevine is marvellous, thought Hamish. Probably the whole of Sutherland knew Gloria was dead.
“So take your time. What happened on the night she disappeared?”
“She had a date with Hamish Macbeth. When he phoned, I asked Mr. Harrison and he said she had gone out for a walk. But when my wife looked in her room the next day, all her belongings were gone. I told Mr. Harrison. He was furious. He said, ‘Good riddance,’ but I think he was hurt because he was sweet on her.”
“An old disabled man?”
“She flirted with him something awful. My wife said she was hoping to be left money in his will, but I think she hoped to get him to marry her.”
“What makes you think that?”
“I came in one day and she was sitting on his lap with her arms around his neck and saying, ‘Don’t you ever want a wife?’”
Fiona opened her capacious handbag and took out a notepad. “Go away and write down all your movements for the evening she disappeared and the following day. I need your age and if you have any other address. But first send your wife in.”
When he was gone, Fiona asked Hamish, “What do you think?”
“I think he’s decent.”
“Your famous highland intuition tells you that?”
“Maybe. It wasnae working verra well when it came to Gloria. But och, she dressed like a fantasy nurse.” Hamish blushed.
The door opened and Inga Janson came in. Fiona asked her all the questions she had asked her husband.
Then Hamish said, “Tell me, Mrs. Janson. What did you think of Gloria Dainty?”
“Wee hoor,” she said viciously. “Couldn’t leave anything in trousers alone. But the boss didn’t know that. ‘Ooh, I do like a mature man, Mr. Harrison, dear.’” Inga’s voice had risen to a falsetto. She was a plain-faced woman with her hair screwed tightly back into a bun. “She even made a pass at my Juris,” said Inga. “‘I’ll slit your throat if you try any more of that,’ and so I told her.” Inga gave an exclamation of dismay and covered her mouth with her hand.
“Did you murder her?” asked Fiona bluntly.
“No, I did not!” protested Inga. “I wish she’d never come here. Juris told me about her being murdered. I was glad. But I had nothing to do with it.”
Fiona gave her another notebook to write down all her movements. Before she left, Fiona said, “Tell Mr. Harrison we need to search the house. I can get a warrant but it would be easier if he would cooperate.”
Inga left and returned after ten minutes to say the search could go ahead. Fiona phoned and demanded a forensic team.
“Now, Macbeth,” she said, “if Harrison won’t come to see us, we’d better go and see him.”
“I’ll lead the way,” said Hamish. “I think I know where he’ll be. If Gloria was picking up men at the hotel, that does widen the field of suspects.”
But there was someone who was the last person that Hamish Macbeth would ever consider as a suspect.
Charlie had been dismissed by Jimmy Anderson. Jimmy was enjoying looking as if he were in charge. He had addressed the press, who had gathered like gannets. He knew he would be on the evening news. He didn’t want Charlie around because Hamish Macbeth had a nasty way of solving cases and he didn’t want his sidekick reporting anything to him.
When he descended to the hotel basement, Charlie was startled to find a white-faced and nervous Colonel Halburton-Smythe waiting for him. “You’ve got to help me!” cried the colonel.
“I’ll do what I can, sir,” said Charlie. “What’s up? Poachers?”
“If that were all. We’re friends, right? Call me George.”
“Well…er…George,” said Charlie soothingly, “let’s have a wee dram. I’ll put some more peat on the fire. We’ll get comfy.”
Once the fire was blazing and the colonel had knocked back a shot of whisky, Charlie said, “Let’s be having it.”
“I hear that nurse has been found murdered,” said the colonel.
“Yes, sad business.”
“I’m a suspect,” said the colonel miserably.