Death of a Maid Read Online Free

American wrestling. She’d never let me do
that.’ He hugged his knees. ‘And I can see my daughter again. Heather’s my daughter by my first marriage. Mavis hated her, so she never came around.’
    ‘Do you know anyone who might have wanted to kill her?’
    ‘Apart from me? Oh, lots, I should think. She never had a good word to say about anyone.’
    ‘Did she have a desk in the house? Any papers or letters I could look at?’ Hamish was beginning to wonder whether the snooping cleaner had gone in for blackmail.
    ‘No, nothing. She said paper carried dust. Never allowed a book in the house. Oh, my, now I can sign on at the library.’
    ‘There must be bank statements somewhere.’
    ‘We’ll look if you like. She handled all the bills.’
    But to Hamish’s amazement, after a diligent search, he could not find a bank book or bill anywhere in the house.
    ‘Where did she bank?’ he asked.
    ‘I don’t know.’
    ‘But, man, when you were working, you must have had a pay cheque.’
    ‘I worked over in Strathbane at the men’s outfitters, Brown and Simpson. I gave my cheques to Mavis, and she banked them.’
    ‘She must have given you money to buy things.’
    ‘Mavis gave me a packed lunch and my bus fare. That was all.’
    ‘The deeds to the house must be somewhere.’
    Mr Gillespie gave a shrug while Hamish stared at him, baffled.
    Hamish stood outside the house and wondered what to do next. Then he remembered there was only one bank in Braikie, the Highland and Island. It was a new bank, but surely they
would have taken over the accounts of the old one.
    He drove to the main street and parked outside the bank.
    Inside, he had to wait for the manager. He hoped the manager would not turn out to be one of those men who keep a person waiting to reinforce their own importance.
    But a woman appeared from the manager’s office, and Hamish was told he could go in.
    The manager introduced himself as Mr Queen. He was a tall, cadaverous highlander, the lines of whose face seemed set in perpetual gloom as if he had perfected the refusal of loans over the years
and so the results had become marked on his face.
    Hamish explained about the death of Mrs Gillespie and asked if she had banked with the Highland and Island. Mr Queen’s long bony fingers rattled over the keys of a computer on his desk.
‘Aye,’ he said, leaning back and staring at the screen.
    ‘May I see a printout of her account?’
    Mr Queen stared at the tall policeman, his eyes shadowed by heavy, shaggy brows.
    ‘I can get a warrant,’ said Hamish.
    ‘I suppose you can. I’ll print it off.’
    Hamish waited while the statement rattled out of the printer.
    Mr Queen handed it over. On her death, Mrs Gillespie had twenty thousand pounds in her current account.
    Hamish raised puzzled eyes. ‘There were no bank books or statements in her house.’
    ‘She asked for nothing to be sent to her.’
    ‘And these payments as far as I can see, looking back, were all made in cash?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Didn’t that strike you as odd?’
    ‘I never really studied her account before. She’d pay the money in to one of the cashiers. She would have memorized or kept a note of her bank account number and paid the money in
with one of the forms on the counter.’
    ‘The house, now. She bought her council house.’
    ‘That’s another search,’ he said gloomily. ‘Wait here.’
    Hamish waited impatiently, his brain whirling. Mrs Gillespie was a gossip. Mrs Gillespie had taken that letter from Elspeth. If she could do a thing like that, then she probably snooped on her
employers. Everything seemed to point to blackmail.
    A seagull landed on the windowsill and stared at Hamish with beady eyes before flying off. The wind was getting up. A discarded newspaper, blown upwards outside, did two entrechats and
disappeared up into the darkening sky.
    At last, Mr Queen came back. ‘Aye, she bought her house twenty years ago when council houses up here were going