Death of a Gentle Lady

‘Whoever her protector was, he’d just move on to the next good-looking girl. Now, if anyone wanted to get rid of a body around this castle, where would they dump it?’
    ‘Easy. Over the cliff she goes.’
    ‘I was afraid you’d say that. I’d best get back and pick up my climbing gear.’

    As they drove back, Jimmy said, ‘You should-nae be hoping to find a body, my friend.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘I don’t know what’s happened to your wits these days. You’d be first suspect.’
    ‘Not me. I was with you and then at the registry office in Inverness.’
    ‘Aye, but if the procurator fiscal got evidence that she’d been killed during the night, where would that leave you?’
    ‘Maybe Mrs Gentle got rid of her. There’s something not right about that woman.’
    ‘Havers! That wee woman?’
    ‘Do you know, I ran her name through the police computer. Nothing. I wonder what her maiden name is.’
    ‘Can you see an elderly lady taking on a big strapping Russian lassie? And then getting the body out of the castle and over the cliffs?’
    ‘Look at it this way. Maybe our Russian went out for a walk and was standing on the cliffs. What with the noise of the sea and the wind, she wouldn’t hear anyone creeping up behind her. One good shove and down she goes.’

    Later when Hamish was stowing his climbing gear in the Land Rover along with his dog and cat, Jimmy complained, ‘Do you need to take thae beasties with ye? That wild cat of yours fair gives me the creeps.’
    ‘She’s harmless,’ said Hamish. Sonsie had been found injured up on the moors, and Hamish had adopted the animal. Despite dire predictions that a wild cat could not be domesticated, she had settled in and, even stranger, formed a bond with Hamish’s dog.
    Jimmy sat on the top of the cliffs as Hamish began his slow descent. He looked over once and then shrank back. He pulled a flask out of his pocket and took a swig of whisky. Seagulls sailed overhead, screeching and diving. A few puffins, like fussy little men in tailcoats, came out of their burrows and stared at him.
    At last, Hamish came back. ‘It’s high tide,’ he said. ‘I’ll wait for low tide and go back down.’
    ‘And when’s low tide?’
    ‘Two hours’ time.’
    ‘I hope you don’t except me to sit here on this draughty hilltop for four hours.’
    ‘We’ll go into Braikie and get something to eat.’

    In Braikie, Jimmy looked around The Highlanders Arms in amazement. ‘It’s the spirit o’ John Knox,’ he said. ‘If you’re going to drink, you are not going to enjoy yourself. I didnae know places like this still existed.’
    It was a dimly lit establishment with tables scarred with old cigarette burns. The floor was covered in dark green greasy linoleum. The bar and the shelves behind looked as if they had not been cleaned in a long time.
    ‘Eat your pie and peas.’
    ‘I might get salmonella.’
    ‘The pies come from the bakery. They’re all right.’
    ‘I still don’t know how you let yourself nearly get trapped into marriage,’ said Jimmy.
    ‘I told you,’ said Hamish huffily. ‘I thought I was going to have to leave the force in order to keep my dog and cat. I thought I was doing a grand thing. Anyway, she told me she was a lesbian.’
    ‘That figures. A lot of tarts are. She could hae been lying, of course. Didn’t fancy you.’
    ‘Oh, shut up.’

    When they arrived back at the clifftop, Jimmy elected to stay in the Land Rover. The rising wind buffeted the car. His eyes began to droop, and soon he was fast asleep.
    He awoke with a start. Hamish had wrenched open the door. ‘I’ve got to phone air-sea rescue,’ he shouted. ‘Body at the foot of the cliffs.’
    ‘Is it her?’
    ‘No. It’s Mrs Gentle.’

Chapter Three

    I waive the quantum o’ the sin,
The hazard of concealing;
But och! It hardens a’ within,
And petrifies the feeling!
– Robert Burns

    Great gusts of rain blew in from the Atlantic on the grisly scene as the body of Mrs Gentle was brought up the cliff face. Blair had arrived and was marching about over the heather on the clifftop.
    ‘He’s wiping out any clues,’ muttered Jimmy.
    ‘There won’t be any footprints on this heather,’ said Hamish. ‘Here’s the pathologist.’
    Dr Forsythe arrived while a tent was being set up over the body. The men struggled with it for some time as the wind whipped it around until at last they got it firmly anchored.
    Blair approached Hamish and Jimmy. His choleric eyes