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.""I wanted to ask you about The Friendly House."Her eyes gleamed behind her thick spectacles."Making a mess of it, are they? Good.Come in."He followed her into a dark parlour.A squat woman with sparse grey hair and a yellowish skin, she walked leaning heavily on a stick.She kept running her tongue over her pale, thick lips, looking more than ever like a toad in search of a juicy fly."Murder," she said with satisfaction."I knew they'd make a mess of it.But this is better than I hoped."Hamish sat down opposite her, wondering why she had not asked who he was or why he had come to see her."Why did you think the Rogerses would make a mess of it?""Me and Nancy ran a good house, good food, nice rooms.We tried to train Rogers in our ways.But he said he could make a fortune by cutting prices and cutting costs, more fool him.Cocky idiot.""So why did you sell to him?""Nobody else wanted it.We were getting too old to cope.So Harris is dead.Well, that's hardly a surprise.I suppose Brett did him in.""Dermott Brett? Why on earth him?""Oh, because of that scene last year.Yes, we ran that place like clockwork, me and Nancy.My scones are still a legend in Skag.Did you hear about my scones?""Not yet.What was the scene about?""Brett's wife turned up for the day, so that June, who calls herself his wife, had to make herself scarce and take the children with her.Me and Nancy didn't rat on Brett, but as soon as his wife had left, we told him we were having nothing of that sort here and he would have to go.Harris jeered at him and said he would tell his wife that he was spending his holidays with another woman.""But Dermott Brett said he didn't know the boarding-house was under new management, so if he thought it was still you and your sister, why did he come back?""That's havers.He knew we were selling all right because we told him we were putting the place on the market at the end of the season."Hamish sat thinking.Dermott had said he and "his family" had been on the beach at the time of the murder and that Rogers might have seen him.But the beach was a quarter of a mile from the boarding-house, across the dunes, and then shielded by that bank of shingle.How could Dermott even have caught a glimpse of Rogers through binoculars, and there was no way that Rogers could have seen him."Who are you?" demanded Miss Blane."I'm a policeman.""Why aren't you in uniform?""Because I am on holiday, but I happen to be staying at the boarding-house and—""You're the one that was helping the police with their inquiries.""Well," lied Hamish, "the press put it that way.As a matter o' fact, I'm helping with the investigation.""At least you had the courtesy to call.I thought the police would have been round here right away.""Have any of the others been at the boarding-house before? There's a Miss Gunnery, a retired schoolteacher, a Mr.Andrew Biggar, ex-army man, and two lassies from Glasgow, Cheryl Fink and Tracey Gamble.""Not that I recall.""Did Rogers meet Harris and Brett last year?""No, we didn't negotiate with Rogers until the end of the summer.""I wonder why he came back," said Hamish, half to himself."He's obviously worried about being found out, and yet he came back.And it's not really very much like living in sin when you turn up with a woman and her three children.And the children call him 'Daddy.' ""Maybe he is," said Miss Blane cynically."I don't know what the world is coming to.I remember when this was a nice village, with decent people, and the people who came in the summer were nice ordinary people as well.Now it's all drink and worse.In my day the teenagers didn't have enough to drink.Aye, and they had to work.And they showed respect to their elders." Her voice had a whining, grating edge.The room was small and stuffy and crowded with tables cluttered with photos and china ornaments.There were lace curtains at the windows which let in very little light.It all felt claustrophobic.He rose to go."You'll stay for a cup of tea," she said.Naked loneliness suddenly looked out of her eyes.Of course she was lonely, Hamish thought, nasty old bat.But he sat down again.One day he might be old and nasty, too.So he patiently listened to her complaints while he drank tea and agreed that her scones were the best in the world.She complained first about the village, then about the government, then about the European Community, then about the way America was being run, and when she reached the forthcoming independence of Hong Kong, Hamish felt he had had enough.He took his leave, promising to call again.Outside, he took a deep breath of sandy, salty air.His best plan now would be to stroll past the police station and see if any of the police looked friendly.He stopped at the church notice-board opposite the police station and pretended to read, twisting round every now and then to watch the comings and goings.And then he saw a smart little policewoman arriving in a patrol car.He waited, wondering if she might be going off duty.After half an hour, she emerged in a blouse and trousers and headed in the direction of the pub.Hamish followed.He waited until he saw her going into the pub and then went in himself.She was standing at the bar, sipping a gin and tonic.Hamish stood beside her and ordered a whisky.He turned and smiled down at her."Cheers, Constable," he said, raising his glass."Cheers," she said, studying him.She saw a tall, thin man with an engaging face and hazel eyes [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]