“I’m off to interrogate Harrison,” said Jimmy, “and Hamish and Charlie are going to search the top of the cliffs.”
“I’ve a squad of men who can do that,” she said. “Carter can join them. You can supervise, Anderson. I’ll take Macbeth to Harrison’s. He knows the man.”
“May I remind you, ma’am, that I am in charge of this case,” said Jimmy furiously.
“Not now. Superintendent Daviot’s orders. Come along, Macbeth.”
“May I point out that Macbeth was trying to date her?” said Jimmy. “That makes him a suspect.”
“Dear me. A friend in need is a pain in the arse,” said Fiona, flicking a contemptuous look at Jimmy. “She disappeared on Sunday evening. Where were you, Macbeth?”
“Sitting in the Italian restaurant in Lochdubh, waiting for her until ten o’clock, ma’am. Then I went back to the station. I phoned my mother in Rogart for a wee chat and then I went to bed.”
“Sounds all right to me. Come along. We’ll take my car.”
Hamish gave directions to her driver, fighting down a feeling of hurt that Jimmy had tried to suggest he was a suspect.
“So you tried to date the girl,” said Fiona. “I gather she was attractive when not thrown down a cliff and covered with flies.”
“She was very pretty,” said Hamish sadly. “Dainty, like her name. I didn’t know about her picking up men at the hotel although that might just be village gossip. I’ll check later.”
“Hope it is village gossip,” said Fiona, “or it widens the field.” She took out her phone and called Jimmy, instructing him to get over to the Tommel Castle Hotel and make sure none of the guests was allowed to leave until they had been interrogated.
“Why do they call these places ‘boxes’?” she asked.
“Well, it meant you had a grand mansion somewhere and this was just a place for the hunting, shooting, and fishing. But I call to mind, it was originally the residence of a snobbish family in Victorian times who wanted folk to think they were landed gentry. He manufactured drainpipes. They called it their hunting box but they didn’t really have anywhere else. He had it built after he retired.”
“And what is Mr. Harrison’s story?”
“Now, there’s a thing, ma’am. Usually I find out everything about a newcomer on my beat, but he was so obnoxious, my curiosity died. He’s got a Latvian couple working for him. The man, Juris, speaks good English so I don’t think they’re new immigrants. But it’s Mr. Harrison who bothers me. He doted on Gloria and yet his final comment was ‘Good riddance.’”
“What about heirs?” asked Fiona. “I mean, if it got on the family grapevine that he was sweet on his nurse, someone might have seen their inheritance at risk.”
Her mobile phone rang. “Yes, Blair,” Hamish heard her say. He listened as outraged squawks came from the other end of the phone. Then Fiona said in a voice as cold as ice, “If you have any complaint about me being in charge of the case, take it up with your superiors. Furthermore, as there is no proof that the Latvian had anything to do with it, I would be careful about airing your prejudices against immigrants. If I may put it politely, sod off!”
What an amazon, thought Hamish gleefully.
The early dark of a highland autumn lay over the countryside as they drove up the drive to the hunting box. “Has this place got a name?” asked Fiona.
“It’s always been called Dunlop’s Folly. Dunlop was the original owner.”
The black Gothic turreted building stood up against the starry sky. The police driver stopped the car outside the huge brass-studded front door.
“Now,” said Fiona. “Let’s see what we can see.”
Chapter Three
These are much deeper waters than I had thought.
—Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
Juris answered the door and surveyed them doubtfully. “I don’t know if the boss is up to seeing you,” he said.
“We will start with you,” said Fiona briskly. “Is there some room we can use for interviewing? And we will need to talk to your wife.”
“Maybe the library,” said Juris. “It is never used.”
They walked across the shadowy hall under the glassy eyes of the stuffed animals, shining in the dim illumination of several wall lights. Juris pushed open a door and ushered them in after switching on the overhead light. The original owner had belonged to the class who bought their books by the yard. Great dreary calf-bound tomes lined the walls from floor to ceiling. There was a large desk against the window in front of dusty velvet curtains. Fiona sat behind the desk and indicated that Juris should sit in front of her. Hamish leaned against a wall and surveyed the man. Juris was tall and powerful, with a thick head of hair over a low forehead, marked by strong bushy eyebrows.
Fiona took out a small tape recorder and laid it on the desk.
Before she could begin, Hamish said, “You are a British citizen, aren’t you?”
“Yes, and the wife as well.”