Death Of An Addict

'Can we see that autograph, Hamish?'

'Och, no, I sent it to my cousin Rory in New Hampshire. He has it framed and hung over his fireplace.'

Hamish made his way out. In the small hallway was a framed photograph of Margaret Thatcher. He winked at it and let himself out.

He ambled back towards the police station. As he approached Patel's, the general store, he recognised the waiflike figure of Felicity Maundy. In the same moment, she saw him and her face turned a muddy colour. She unlocked the door of an old Metro, threw her groceries onto the passenger seat, climbed in and drove off leaving a belch of exhaust hanging in the air.

'Now, what's she got on her conscience?' murmured Hamish. 'Probably went on some demo when she was a wee lassie at school and thinks the police still have a eye on her.'

He shrugged and proceeded along to the police station. His rambling roses at the front were still doing well and their blossoms almost hid the blue police lamp.

Hamish began to plan a relaxed evening, maybe put on a casserole and let it simmer and go to the pub for an hour. The new alcopops had turned out to be a menace, those sweet fizzy alcoholic drinks. They had been designed, in his opinion, to seduce the young, but it was the Highlanders, the fishermen in particular, every man of them having a sweet tooth, who had become hooked on them. So Hamish meant to combine pleasure and duty by keeping a sharp eye on the drivers who were drinking over the limit. Then he would return at closing time and start taking away car keys.

He opened the kitchen door and went in. The phone in the police station office began to ring shrilly. He went quickly to answer it. He experienced a blank feeling of dread and tried to shrug it off. It would be nothing more than a minor complaint. Or a hoax call.

He picked up the receiver. 'Lochdubh police,' he said.

'Hamish, this is Parry. It's yon fellow, Tommy Jarret. He's dead.'

'Dead. How? Why?'

'They think it's an overdose. They found a syringe.'

'I'll be right over.'

Cursing, Hamish rapidly changed into his uniform. How could it all have happened so quickly? he thought. The lad had been all right. What had happened to his, Hamish Macbeth's, famous intuition? He could have sworn Tommy Jarret was not in danger of returning to his drug taking.

He drove off up the winding road leading out of Lochdubh towards Glenanstey, his heart heavy. Large black clouds were building up behind the mountains. They seemed like black omens, harbingers of trouble to come.

CHAPTER TWO

I will a round unvarnished'd tale deliver

Of my whole course of love; what drugs, what charms,

What conjuration, and what mighty magic,

For such proceedings I am charged withal.

– William Shakespeare

There is something particularly tragic about the death of a young person. Only that day, Tommy Jarret's life had seemed to stretch out in front of him. Now he was a crumpled piece of clay.

'You didn't touch anything?' Hamish asked Parry as they surveyed the body in silence.

'I checked his pulse. I had to make sure he was dead. Och, Hamish, he must have felt he was safe when you gave him that chance and so he decided to go back on the stuff.'

Hamish pushed back his peaked cap and scratched his fiery hair in bewilderment. 'But how did this happen so soon? How could it? Did he drive down to Strathbane?'

'I didn't see him go.'

'What about visitors? Where were you yourself this afternoon, Parry?'

'Here, now. You are neffer thinking I did it!'

'Come on, Parry. I want to know if you were around the croft. You might have seen someone or something.'

'I ran over to Dornoch to see about some spare parts for my car. I wass away the two hours.'

Hamish heard the wail of a police siren. 'That'll be Strathbane. I hope it's not Blair.' Detective Chief Inspector Blair was the bane of Hamish's normally quiet life.

But it was Blair's sidekick, Detective Jimmy Anderson, who came in. Policemen and a forensic team crowded in after him.

'No Blair?' asked Hamish.

Jimmy snorted with contempt. 'Blair wouldn't move his arse for a dead junkie.'

'Could be murder,' suggested Hamish.

'Oh, aye,' sneered Jimmy. 'The great detective has pronounced judgement. A junkie wi' a record is found dead with a syringe beside him and you ignore the obvious.'

'I was talking to him earlier today,' said Hamish stubbornly. 'And I could have sworn he would never go back on the stuff.'

'Let me tell you this, Hamish. Drugs is a dirty business. It gets them and it keeps them. Stuck up here in the backwoods wi' your sheep, you don't see much of life.'

The pathologist, Mr. Sinclair, pushed his way past them. 'Give me some peace,' he said, 'until I have a look at this.'

Everyone walked outside. 'Now,' said Jimmy, turning to the crofter, 'you're Parry McSporran.'

'Aye.'

'Who's in the other chalets?'

'Only a wee lassie called Felicity Maundy.'

'Let's go and see her. May as well pass the time until Sinclair finishes and then the forensic boys will have to dust the place.'

At that moment Felicity came driving up. Her face turned white when she saw all the police cars.

She stopped and got out slowly. Hamish thought she looked as if she might faint.

'What do you know about this?' demanded Jimmy, advancing on her with a truculence worthy of his master, Blair.

She looked about her in a dazed way. 'Wh-what?'

'Tommy Jarret's dead.'

'He… he can't be.'

'It looks like an overdose.'

'But he was clean,' wailed Felicity, and then she began to cry.

'You'll get nothing out of her that way,' said Hamish. 'I'll get her a cup of tea. Come along, Miss Maundy. Time to have a word with you. We'll just go to your chalet and have a cup of tea.'

She was unresisting as he led her towards her chalet. 'Got the key?' he asked.

'I n-never bothered locking up.'

He opened the door and led her inside. Her chalet was identical to Tommy's except that dried herbs hung from hooks in the ceiling, there was a knitting machine in one corner and a sewing machine in the other. 'Now sit yourself down,' said Hamish soothingly.

He went into the small kitchen. There was nothing but herb tea so he made a cup of camomile and took it to her.

Hamish watched her as she sipped her tea and then said gently, 'Why were you so upset when you saw me outside Patel's today?'

'I didn't even see you,' she said, her eyes moving this way and that like a hunted animal.