Death of a Policeman by M.C. Beaton

Author:M.C. Beaton [Beaton, M.C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2013-12-31T23:00:00+00:00

Seven

A photograph is a secret about a secret. The more it tells you, the less you know.

– Diane Arbus

Jimmy and Hamish met up the next morning. They switched on the receiver and sat and waited. When Daviot’s phone rang, they both jumped nervously. Helen’s voice came loud and clear, “Superintendent Daviot’s office.”

“Put me through. It’s Mrs. Daviot.”

“You can hear both sides of the call,” exclaimed Jimmy.

“Wheesht!” admonished Hamish.

Then a click as Daviot took the call. “What is it?” he demanded harshly.

In quavering tones, quite unlike her usual robust voice, Mrs. Daviot said, “I’ve invited the Baxters for dinner tomorrow night and I wondered…”

“Cancel it!”

“What? But I…”

“I said, cancel it.”

The phone was slammed down.

Hamish and Jimmy stared at each other. Daviot had been under his domineering wife’s thumb as long as they could remember.

The day dragged on as they listened to one official call after another. Daviot went out for lunch. “We should get a bite ourselves,” said Jimmy.

“I don’t want to risk missing anything,” said Hamish.

“I’ll nip round to the caff and get us a couple o’ pies.”

When Jimmy came back with the pies and two cardboard containers of coffee, Hamish said, “I feel dirty doing this. What if he finds that bug? They’ll think terrorists and get the experts in and it’ll all be traced back to Dick.”

“Get it back tonight. May as well go on listening.”

Daviot’s phone rang, making them jump. Helen’s genteel tones announced, “Mr. Bentley for you.”

There was a long silence and then Daviot said wearily, “Put him through.”

“And how are we today?” asked Murdo. “Being a good boy?”

“You’ll ruin me,” said Daviot bitterly. “There are questions being asked downstairs about why we dropped any investigation.”

Murdo laughed. “They’ll get over it. Just you go on doing as you’re told or those photos of your wife go out on the Internet. Have a nice day.”

Jimmy and Hamish stared at each other. Mrs. Daviot was a plump, grey-haired matron. What on earth had she been photographed doing?

“That’s it,” said Jimmy. “We go up there and say we’ve had an anonymous call that Murdo’s holding incriminating photos of his wife.”

“All he has to do is deny it,” said Hamish. “Also, if he crumbles, he’ll lose his job and God knows who we’ll get instead. We’ve got to get these photos.”

“How? They could be in his office in town or somewhere in that damn restaurant.”

“There’s a big safe in a room off the corridor at the back of the restaurant,” said Hamish. “I’ll try there first. The restaurant closes on Monday.”

“There’ll be burglar alarms all over the place. And you’re no safe breaker.”

“I’ll think o’ something,” said Hamish desperately. “I don’t remember the place being alarmed at the back. I’ll get in there somehow and rummage through his desk. People sometimes leave a record of the safe code in their desks.”

“And if you’re caught?”

“I’ll take Daviot down with me,” said Hamish grimly.

“And just how will you do that?” sneered Jimmy. “All he has to say innocently is, What photos? You’ll be out o’ a job and Daviot’ll still be in Murdo’s clutches.

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