Death of a Snob by M. C. Beaton

Author:M. C. Beaton
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Mystery & Detective - General, Detective, Hamish (Fictitious character), Mystery fiction, Mystery & Detective, Mystery, Fiction - Mystery, Political, MacBeth, General, Fiction, Suspense, Traditional British, Police - Scotland - Highlands, Mystery & Detective - Traditional British, Highlands (Scotland)
ISBN: 9780804109123
Publisher: Ivy Books
Published: 1992-05-23T03:53:09.773000+00:00

FIVE

I hope I shall never be deterred from detecting what I think a cheat, by the menace of a ruffian.

—SAMUEL JOHNSON

Hamish supposed there would be a doctor on the island. There must be. He stood up and stretched and looked up at the crag above him and then at Heather’s body. The only heights on the island were the crags at various parti of the coast. How could she have broken her neck? The crag was only about fifteen feet above the beach. It was no enormous cliff with a fall onto jagged rocks. Admittedly, if she had bounced against one of the sharp projecting edges, that might have done the trick.

The wind was less savage now and he could clearly, hear the sound of voices above him. Occasionally a torch beam searched him out as more islanders began to gather. And then he heard Sandy Ferguson’s voice. “Is that you, Hamish? I’ll send a couple of men down to collect her so that Dr. Queen can have a look at the body.”

“No, you won’t,” shouted Hamish. “Nothing has to be touched. Get him down here and bring a tent to cover the body until the pathologist arrives.”

There was the sound of swearing and then a scuffle followed by the clatter of falling debris as Sandy and a thin elderly man made their way down.

“This is Dr. Queen,” said Sandy.

The doctor was a thin, spare man with a face set in lines of permanent arrogance. “I gather you’re some sort of local bobby from the west coast,” he said. “Well, stand aside, man, and let’s have a look at her.”

“Gently, now,” warned Hamish. “Don’t disturb anything.”

The doctor ignored him. “Bring that lantern closer, Sandy,” he said. “Mmm, yes. As I thought. She was blown off the top of the crag and broke her neck. Sad but straightforward. Get some men to take her up, Sandy, and get her put in my surgery while I prepare a report for the procurator fiscal.”

“You are not to touch her.” Hamish Macbeth stood foursquare beside the body.

“Why not?”

“Because I think it might be murder. I think someone struck her a savage blow on the neck wi’ a rock.”

“Dear me, don’t be a fool, there’s a good fellow,” said the doctor.

“I repeat: no one touches this body until a team from Strathbane arrives,” said Hamish stubbornly.

“You have not the authority. This is my island,” protested Sandy.

“Aye, and-you’ll find yourself off it soon enough if I have my way,” snapped Hamish. “I’m telling you to leave it where it is or, by God, I’ll make trouble for both o’ ye.”

The doctor glared at him, but snobbery came to Hamish’s rescue. Had Hamish been a holidaying policeman who was bird-watching or hiking, then Dr. Queen would have ignored him. But this Macbeth was a guest at The Happy Wanderer where, the doctor had learned, there was a barrister in residence. He and the other guests might back Hamish.

“Have it your way,” he said haughtily. “But you’re going to look a right idiot, wasting the taxpayers’ money like this.

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