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“Oh, no, simply highly intelligent.”
“Manipulative?”
“I do not think she could manipulate me in any way.”
Josie left the school feeling downcast. Her phone rang. It was Hamish. “I’m not getting anywhere,” said Josie.
“I’m going to see the minister, Mr. Tallent. Like to come?”
“Where are you?”
“Outside her house.”
“Be right with you.”
Josie hummed a cheerful tune as she drove along. All was not lost. Hamish had obviously forgiven her for poking around his home.
Chapter Five
Nobody who has not been in the interior of a family can say what the difficulties of any individual of that family may be.
– Jane Austen
“He may have been diddling her,” said Josie as they both got out of the Land Rover at the minister’s home.
“Who?” demanded Hamish.
“Her own father.”
“For heffen’s sakes, lassie, have you lost your wits? You’ve been watching Law and Order Special Victims Unit.”
“It happens in these backwards places,” said Josie defiantly. “Lots of incest.”
“Look here, McSween, I don’t want to pull rank on you, but I am going to. When we get in there, keep your mouth shut. In future, address me as ‘sir.’ ”
Josie went bright red and hung her head, making Hamish feel like a pompous idiot. And yet it was time that Josie started behaving like a policewoman.
Hamish rang the bell of the manse cottage and waited. It was a two-storeyed Victorian sandstone building fronted by a garden full of laurels and rhododendrons on either side of a brick path. He pressed the bell and waited.
The door was opened by a squat man wearing black clericals and a dog collar. “I hope you are not here to bother the Flemings,” he said.
“I didn’t even know they were here,” said Hamish. “It’s you I want to be having a word with.”
The minister led the way into a dark study, sat down behind a large desk, and indicated with a wave of his hand that they were to be seated in two chairs opposite. Hamish took off his cap and placed it on the desk.
“Get that thing off my desk!” snapped Mr. Tallent.
Hamish put his cap on the floor beside his chair. “I don’t want any germs from your head on my desk,” said the minister.
He had large angry grey eyes framed with thick spectacles. The skin of his face was thick, open-pored, and creased in folds rather than wrinkles. His grey lips were large and fleshy.
There was little of gentle Jesus meek and mild about the face opposite, thought Hamish cynically. This minister, he judged, probably preached a grand hellfire sermon on Sundays.
“As you know,” began Hamish, “we are investigating the murder of A
“I am a great friend of the family. A
“So Mr. and Mrs. Fleming are staying with you?”
“Yes, they could not possibly go back to that house until the police have finished with it and the kitchen is repaired.”
“Was A
“I do not know.”
“Did you know that A
“What do you mean? Speak plainly.”
“She’d been having sex with him.”
“Rubbish. Who is spreading this filth?”
“Her boss, Bill Freemont, admits to it. A neighbour saw him going in to spend the afternoon with her when she was supposed to be off sick. A
He thumped the desk. “I will not believe it. A
Hamish and Josie got to their feet and made their way out. They had almost reached the garden gate when a voice from behind a laurel bush whispered, “Psst!”
“Come out,” ordered Hamish.
“Father will see me. Walk down the road a bit to the left and I’ll catch up with you.”
Hamish and Josie walked along to the end of the road. It ended at a scraggy field of gorse and tussocky grass, bordered by a dry-stone wall.
They were about to turn back again when Hamish saw a slight figure hurrying down the field, slipping and sliding on the frozen snow. A young woman came up to them, looking nervously to left and right. “I’m Martha Tallent.” Martha had obviously come round some back way.
“The minister’s daughter?”
“Aye.”
She had a large nose which dominated her thin face. Her sandy hair was scraped back from her forehead. She was wearing a dark anorak over black corduroy trousers.
“So, Martha, what do you want to tell us?”
“I was listening at the door and I heard what Father said. It’s not true. A
“What’s his name?”
“Mark Lussie.”
“And where does he live?”
“Down in the council estate. Culloden Way, number twelve.”
“How old are you, Martha?”
“Nineteen. The same as Mark. Oh, if you see him, could you say how sorry I am?”
“Yes, I will. The Flemings are staying with you? What are they like?”
“They’re grief-stricken. They and Mother and Father sit around of an evening talking about how good and beautiful A
Hamish glanced along the road. He saw that a car had arrived; Jimmy Anderson was getting out of it, followed by a policewoman. Jimmy saw Hamish’s Land Rover and looked down the road until he spotted him and began to walk towards him. Martha let out a squeak of alarm and scampered back off over the field.
“Who was that you were talking to?” asked Jimmy.
“The minister’s daughter. But don’t let on.”
“Find out anything?”
“Nothing much except Mr. Tallent thinks A
“We’ve now got at least a couple of witnesses to testify that A
“What’s happening about the shooting?”
“Blair’s in charge of that.”
“Jimmy, I think a leak came from headquarters somehow.”
“We’re checking. I’d best be off to see the minister. I’ve a feeling it’s going to be nasty. You try your luck with that latest boyfriend.”
Blair was sitting at a corner table in The Clarty Duck with Barry Fitzcameron.
“I swear I had nothing to do with the shooting o’ Jake,” said Barry. “I’m surprised an old friend like you could think such a thing.”
“I phoned you and you said you’d take care o’ it,” said Blair. “I didnae mean kill him.”
Barry raised his hands. “Would I do a thing like that? The silly fool was into drugs. Probably he didn’t pay for the last lot.”