Read Death of a Witch for Free Online Page A

stuff,” said Matthew. “I’ll get it out to the nationals and TV.”
    Blair hated Hamish Macbeth with a passion. He had previously enlisted the help of a prostitute to kidnap Hamish, hoping that in the policeman’s unexplained absence he could persuade his bosses to put the Lochdubh police station up for sale. But Hamish had not only ruined his plot but also managed to get the prostitute into blackmailing him, Chief Detective Inspector Blair, to marry her. Not that any of his colleagues ever even guessed at his wife’s rough background. After a few false starts, Mary Blair had modelled herself on Peter Daviot’s wife, and there was no longer any trace of the prostitute in her manner or dress. Daviot was fond of telling Blair what a lucky man he was to have found such an excellent wife.
    Before he switched on the television that evening, Blair was feeling quite kindly towards his wife. A glass of whisky had been waiting for him when he got home from work, his flat was clean and shining, and she had cooked him an excellent supper.
    He switched on the television news, hoping to see film of himself because he had held an impromptu press conference on the waterfront. But when the news item about the murder of the witch came up on the screen, he saw it was not a picture of himself, but of Daviot, speaking to the press outside police headquarters.
    He turned up the sound and Daviot’s genteel accents filled the room. “Yes,” he was saying, “I have just received a report from the laboratory that the fire was set off by a fuse, which explains why the constable who found the body did not find anyone in the house.”
    Mary looked over her knitting and saw her husband’s face turn a nasty purplish colour with rage.
    “Blood pressure!” she cautioned.
    Jimmy Anderson called to see Hamish later that evening. “Were you behind that leak to the papers?” he demanded.
    “Would I dae a thing like that?” asked Hamish. “Want a drink?”
    “Aye. Blair is furious. But that local reporter insists he was up by the cottage and heard you talking to the forensic lassie.”
    “So why blame me?” asked Hamish, all injured innocence.
    “Just a hunch.”
    “So what are the villagers saying?”
    “Damn all. Except for a few of the more religious ones who think God sent down the fire to cleanse the place of her evil deeds. I asked Dr. Brodie if any of his patients had come to him suffering from Spanish fly and he told me he couldn’t discuss his patients. And not a man in the village will confess to having been to see her. Know anyone?”
    “Not yet,” lied Hamish.
    Jimmy’s blue eyes had a shrewd look. “I know you’re a close-knit, loyal, superstitious community up here, Hamish, but a villager impeding the police in their enquiries is not nearly as serious as a copper doing the same thing.”
    “Och, drink your whisky,” snapped Hamish. “I’ll see what I can find out. But what about her background? If she supplied iffy potions here, then it’s ten to one she supplied them somewhere else. Was she ever married?”
    “We’re trying to find out.”
    “Catriona Beldame won’t have been her real name. Had she an account at the bank?”
    “The bank manager says no, and any personal papers she had went up in the fire.”
    “What if she changed her name by deed poll?”
    “Still looking into that. But she bought the cottage! She paid cash.”
    “How much?”
    “Twenty-five thousand. Willie Ross, Sandy’s brother, advertised the cottage in the paper. He says he was right glad to get the money because the place was beginning to fall to bits and no one wants a cottage with an iron roof and an outside toilet these days. All done privately.”
    “What about stamp duty?”
    “None required if it’s under sixty thousand pounds. Look, Willie Ross badly needed the money. Along comes this Beldame female waving a fistful of notes at him, saying they didn’t need to bother with lawyers. What was her accent?”
    “Slight