Death of a Dustman by MC Beaton Page A

nothing to stop the misery happening all over again.’
    ‘What were you doing on the night of July twenty-second?’
    ‘I was chairing the Mother’s Union at the church. Then I came home and watched a bit of television with my husband. Then we both went to bed. Will you be taking me to
Strathbane?’
    ‘As to that,’ said Hamish, ‘I will try to keep this quiet, for the moment. But I want you to let me know if you hear anything, however small, that might relate to the
case.’
    She looked at him, her eyes suddenly full of hope. ‘Are you saying you might be able to keep this quiet?’
    ‘I’ll do my best for a few days.’
    ‘But if you don’t find the murderer, then this will all have to come out?’
    ‘I’m afraid so.’
    ‘Then I will do my very best to find something out for you. Thank you.’
    Hamish, going towards Martha’s cottage, met Angela on her way home. ‘Did you tell the Currie sisters or Mrs Wellington about the letters?’ asked Hamish.
    ‘No, and I don’t think Martha said anything either.’
    ‘Angela, that wee scunner Fergus was using information he found in the rubbish to blackmail a few people. I’ll need to let Strathbane know eventually. But if I can protect them for a
few days, I will. I’ll speak to Martha. Get her to say she just found them when I tell her to.’
    ‘That’s awful, Hamish. Fergus deserved to be murdered.’
    ‘Nobody deserves to be murdered.’
    ‘He did,’ said Angela firmly.
    Hamish was turning away when he turned back and asked, ‘Can you think of any Helens in the village?’
    ‘Helen? Let me see, there’s Helen Macgregor out on the Braikie side, there’s Helen Jensen, but she’s just a wee schoolgirl, there’s Helen Docherty . . .’
    ‘Mrs Docherty? Her name’s Helen?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Right.’ Hamish strode off and left Angela staring after him.
    Martha opened the door to him and invited him inside. The cottage had a polished and scrubbed look. ‘I only wanted them to take away Fergus’s things,’ said
Martha, ‘but they insisted on doing the housekeeping as well. Was there anything in those letters that Angela found?’
    ‘That’s what I want to talk to you about. Have you looked at your husband’s bankbook?’
    ‘No, not yet.’
    ‘Did he leave a will?’
    ‘He did. He left everything to me, such as it is.’
    ‘Good. Right. Here’s the problem. It is my belief your husband was a blackmailer.’
    ‘Oh, no!’ Martha wailed.
    ‘He was using letters he found in the rubbish. I’m keeping it quiet at the moment, Martha. It’s all right if I call you Martha?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘We’re Hamish and Martha unless we’re being official. Now let’s see that bankbook.’
    ‘It’s in a drawer in the sideboard.’ Martha went to the sideboard which was one of those awful cheap thirties pieces of furniture made of yellowish wood and badly carved. She
jerked one of the doors open and produced a Bank of Scotland bankbook.
    Hamish studied it. There was the payment of two hundred, probably from Mrs McClellan, then there was another payment of five hundred pounds, and everything else was Fergus’s salary.
    ‘I may ask you to pay back the money he extorted from people, Martha. But I can’t do anything until I find the murderer. You see, the thing is, if I take the letters to the police, a
lot of innocent villagers might suffer, get their reputations ruined. I must ask you not to talk about this.’
    ‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ gasped Martha. ‘Oh, the shame of it!’ She suddenly turned a muddy colour. ‘But Hamish, what if one of them he was blackmailing
killed him, and they think I’ve got the proof?’
    ‘I’ve thought of that, believe me. Whoever did it will know your cottage has been searched from top to bottom. You were searched, weren’t you?’
    She nodded dumbly.
    ‘How they missed that bit in the bedroom floor is beyond me.’
    ‘They weren’t looking for anything like that,’ said Martha. ‘I mean, I