Death of Yesterday by M. C. Beaton Page A

began to apply the kiss of life. The pulse grew slightly stronger. Dick drove up. “Oh,
     michty me!” he cried. “Is she dead?”
    “Nearly,” said Hamish. “Where’s that damn helicopter.”
    “I hear it!” said Dick. “Coming from ower there.”
    The helicopter landed on the road. Paramedics rushed to Hannah and put an oxygen mask over her mouth before lifting her on
     board. “I’ll go with her,” said Hamish. “Phone headquarters and say she’s been found.”
      
    Hamish was joined in Strathbane Hospital by Jimmy and Blair. Blair tried to send Hamish away, but Jimmy protested. “He found
     the lassie. If she recovers, he’ll be the first person she’ll want to talk to.”
    The day wore on as the news of the discovery of Hannah Fleming went out over the airwaves.
    Someone, it seemed, had tried to strangle her. Eventually a doctor joined them. “It looks as if she will recover,” he said.
     “But no one is to interview her at the moment. She’s still barely conscious.”
    “I’m hungry,” said Jimmy. “Let’s go to the canteen and get something, Hamish.
    “I’m off,” said Blair. “Phone me as soon as she’s ready to speak.”
      
    After they had eaten, Hamish and Jimmy went back downstairs. They sent for the doctor they had seen earlier. “She has recovered
     consciousness,” he said. “You can have a few words, but that is all.”
    Now, thought Hamish, we’ll get the identity of this murdering bastard at last.
    The doctor followed Hamish and Jimmy into the room. Hamish took one look at Hannah and cursed. He had seen death many times
     before and recognised it in Hannah’s clay-white face.
    “What’s happened here?” demanded the doctor, striding to the bed. “Her tubes have been pulled out, and what’s that pillow
     doing lying on the floor?”
    “Don’t touch it!” yelled Hamish as he made to pick it up. “I think someone’s got in here and smothered her.”
      
    Blair soon came roaring back followed by Superintendent Daviot. Blair raged that she should never have been left alone.
    “We’ll get the CCTV stuff,” said Jimmy, “and find out who went into her room.”
    “Won’t do you much good,” said Hamish miserably. “I took a look at the one in the corridor and it’s been spray-painted black.”
    Blair howled with rage and cursed and stamped and then he clutched his throat and fell unconscious on the floor.
    Medics rushed to bear him away. Daviot shook his silver head. “A guard should have been put on her door. This is terrible
     publicity. What am I to tell the press?”
      
    Hamish finally got back to his police station at three in the morning. He could hear snores coming from Dick’s bedroom. He
     had developed such a rage, such a personal hate for this murderer, that he felt that if Hannah had lived and had told about
     her night with him, he would gladly have faced the music if it got him the identity of this killer.
    He undressed and went to bed, falling into an exhausted sleep haunted by dreams of the people at the factory.
      
    In the morning, Hamish phoned Jimmy. “There’s a back stair leading from the corridor outside Hannah’s room,” said Jimmy. “No
     cameras there. We’re getting statements again from everyone at that factory.”
    “I’ll be right over,” said Hamish.
    “I’m in charge of the case now,” said Jimmy. “Blair’s had a wee stroke and is being kept in. You just get on with your usual
     duties.”
    Hamish sighed after he had rung off. If Blair’s condition turned out to be serious, then Jimmy saw promotion. Any kudos he
     would want for himself.
    Dick arrived in the kitchen. “Where were you yesterday?” demanded Hamish.
    “I didnae see that there was anything I could do,” said Dick plaintively. “Is she going to be all right?”
    “She’s dead,” said Hamish and told Dick what had happened, ending with, “Blair got a stroke so Jimmy has dreams of glory and
     I’m being asked to keep