Death of a Village Read Online Free Page A

cup of tea?’
    ‘Maybe later. Tell me what’s up.’
    She sat down at the kitchen table. Her once-dyed-blonde hair was showing nearly two inches of black at the roots and was scraped back from her face. Her pale blue eyes were red with recent
weeping.
    ‘I can’t take it any more,’ she said. ‘It’s like being in prison. I can’t go out anywhere. No movies, no meals out. Just stuck here, day in, day
out.’
    ‘Does he beat you?’
    ‘No, he doesn’t have to. He just threatens to and I do what he wants. Look at my hair,’ she wailed, holding out a strand for Hamish’s inspection. ‘He says if I dye
it again, he’ll kill me.’
    ‘What about marriage counselling?’
    ‘Can you see Sean going to a marriage counsellor? We keep ourselves to ourselves, that’s what he says, day in and day out.’
    ‘Where would you go?’
    She nervously twisted her gold wedding ring around her finger. ‘I’ve got a friend in Inverness. I should have married him. I phoned him. He said I could come to him anytime I
wanted.’
    ‘So why do you need me?’
    ‘Folks round here say you’re prepared to bend the rules a bit to help people out. I want time to pack up my things and get out.’ She looked anxiously at the clock.
‘We’ve only got about half an hour. I can’t drive. I thought you could lock him up for something and then give me a lift down to the bus in Lochdubh.’
    ‘I cannae do that,’ exclaimed Hamish, whose accent always became broader when he was upset. ‘You’ll need to talk to one of the women.’
    ‘I don’t know any of them.’
    ‘And I cannae interfere in a marriage. Och, I tell you what. Leave it with me. I sometimes see you around the village. How do you get down there?’
    ‘Sean drives me down. Then he goes off to the pub while I get the shopping.’
    ‘So next time, just get on the bus.’
    ‘And leave all my things? I’ve got my mother’s jewellery.’
    ‘You could put that in your handbag or in the bottom of a shopping bag.’
    ‘He searches my bags the whole time in case someone’s been slipping me letters. He checks the phone bill. If I’m still here when it next comes in, he’ll ask me what I was
doing phoning the police station. I’ll need to tell him I saw someone suspicious hanging around.’
    ‘So how did you get in touch with this fellow in Inverness?’
    ‘Last time I was down in Lochdubh, I phoned from the telephone box on the front as soon as Sean was in the pub. A couple of pounds it took and that was the very last of my own money. He
doesn’t allow me any except for the shopping, and when he gets home, he ticks every item off on the list.’
    ‘You need some friends here, women friends. Let me try to fix something.’
    ‘It won’t do any good. He’ll send them off.’
    Hamish suddenly grinned. ‘He doesn’t know Mrs Wellington, then.’
    Hamish drove back to the police station and put Lugs inside. He was walking up to the manse to see Mrs Wellington, the minister’s wife, when Elspeth caught up with
him.
    ‘It’s about Stoyre,’ she said.
    ‘Later, Elspeth,’ said Hamish curtly. ‘I’m busy.’
    She gave him an odd, disappointed look and turned away.
    I shouldn’t have been so rude to her, thought Hamish. But one thing at a time. Stoyre can wait.
    He went on to the manse.
    Mrs Wellington was a formidable woman dressed as usual, despite the heat, in a tweed jacket, silk blouse and baggy tweed skirt, thick stockings and brogues.
    ‘Oh, it’s you,’ she said ungraciously.
    ‘I want to talk to you about a delicate matter,’ said Hamish.
    ‘In trouble with the ladies again?’ she boomed. ‘Mary Bisset’s mother is going around saying you’re chasing her daughter.’
    ‘That’s rubbish. Can I come in?’
    Hamish followed her into the manse kitchen, a gloomy room which smelled strongly of disinfectant. Manse houses were always dark, he reflected, as if light were considered unholy.
    He explained Bella’s problem. Mrs Wellington listened