Death Of An Addict

croft. The days had stayed sunny, days to relax and breathe in some of the cleanest, balmiest air in the world.

A week after the death of Tommy, he drove back to the police station with the windows of the Land Rover open, whistling 'The Road to the Isles' and waving to people he knew.

And then a bright image of Tommy's young face rose in his mind. He whistled louder to banish it.

As he approached the police station, he could see two figures standing outside. As he drew nearer, with a sinking heart, he recognised Tommy Jarret's parents.

He parked the Land Rover and got out.

'We want to speak to you,' said Mr. Jarret.

'Come into the station,' said Hamish. He opened the kitchen door. 'Would you like some tea?'

'No, thank you,' said Mr. Jarret. 'What we have to say is very important.'

They both sat down at the kitchen table, the picture of middle-aged respectability.

Hamish sat down as well and said easily, 'How can I be of help?'

Mr. Jarret took a deep breath.

'Our son was murdered and we want you to find out who did it.'

CHAPTER THREE

I am … a mushroom

On whom the dew of heaven drops now and then.

– John Ford

Hamish leaned forward. 'You mean they found something in the pathologist's report other than heroin?'

'They found heroin, all right,' said Mr. Jarret, 'but they also found traces of a strong sleeping drug. Don't you see? Someone must have drugged him, injected the heroin into him and made it look like an accidental overdose.'

'I thought there was something wrong about the whole business,' said Hamish. 'But surely the detectives in Strathbane are investigating the case. Why come to me?'

'Because they're not,' said Mr. Jarret heavily. 'They say it was a simple drug overdose and they won't listen to us.'

'So how do they explain the presence of the sleeping drug?' demanded Hamish, exasperated.

'They say these drug addicts will take anything. They just don't want to know. That's why we came to you.'

'Why me?'

'I heard on the grapevine that you were clever, that you had solved cases and let your superiors take the credit. Justice must be done.' Mr. Jarret clasped his hands tightly. 'I am prepared to pay you for your investigation.'

'That would not be necessary,' said Hamish, thinking hard. 'It will be difficult for me. I can keep on asking around. Tell me about Tommy.'

'He was so clever at school,' said Mrs. Jarret, her eyes bright with unshed tears. 'We had great hopes of him. He was going to be an engineer. He went to Strathbane Technical College and the first year was fine. During his second year, that was when he started acting strange. He had been living at home, with us, but then he said he was moving out to a flat to share with two others.'

Hamish took out his notebook. 'What were their names?'

'We only ever heard their first names. Angus and Bob.'

'Address?'

'Number 244, Kinnock Tower, Glenfields Estate. We went there once. It was awful. Graffiti everywhere. And the smell! And the boys' flat was so bare. No furniture, only bedrolls on the floor. Not even a television!' Mrs. Jarret looked at Hamish in a bewildered way, urging him to share her amazement at the oddity of a home without a television set.

'Give me a description of Bob and Angus.'

Mrs. Jarret looked to her husband for help.

'Tommy said they were fellow students,' said Mr. Jarret, 'but they didn't look like students to me. Although, mind you, I'm out of touch with modern youth. Angus was very tall, with straggly hair and a moustache. He wore jeans and a leather waistcoat over an undervest. No shirt.'

'No shirt,' echoed Mrs. Jarret dismally.

'The other one, Bob, was small and fat and dirty. He had a shaven head and tattoos down his arms, small eyes and a sort of squashed nose.'

'Anything particular about the tattoos? Anchor, dragon, I Love Rosie?'

'There was a snake tattooed on one arm, a big snake which went round and round his arm.'

'Did Tommy ever bring them home to you?'

'Never,' said Mrs. Jarret with a shudder. 'We tried to get Tommy to leave and come back home, but he said he was happy.' Her voice broke.

'He dropped out of college and out of our lives for a bit,' said her husband. 'Then the next thing we knew he was up on a drug charge. After that, things got better. He was so keen on writing this book, you see. He said that people thought they all knew what went on in the drug world, but they hadn't a clue. We said we would support him until the book was finished. It seemed so safe at that chalet he rented. McSporran seems a nice man, straight, no nonsense.'

'And what about his girlfriend?'

'Girlfriend?' Mr. and Mrs. Jarret looked puzzled.

'Felicity Maundy.'

Mrs. Jarret's face cleared. 'Oh, that odd little girl who lives in the other chalet. He said she was just a neighbour, nothing romantic. She wrote us a very nice letter of sympathy.'

And yet, thought Hamish, the bright and intelligent Miss Black had said they seemed in love.

'About this book,' said Hamish instead. 'I had a look. It seemed to be a sort of autobiography. There was only chapter one.'

'But that's the problem!' cried Mr. Jarret. 'The last time we saw him, he said he was halfway through the book and there was a pile of pages on the table in the chalet the last time we visited him.'

'So what you think,' said Hamish, 'is that someone was frightened by what he was writing and they staged it so that it would look like an accidental overdose. Have you told the police this?'

'Yes, but they assured us we were wrong. That detective, Anderson, he said we were suffering from a reaction to the shock of Tommy's death but that there was no mystery at all.'

'What about the sleeping pills? Did he take sleeping pills? What did his doctor say?'

'His doctor in Strathbane checked him into the rehab clinic but said he hadn't seen him since.'

Hamish leaned back in his chair and surveyed them thoughtfully. Then he said, 'It's a wee bit difficult. I do not have the resources of Strathbane, but I'll see what I can do.' He pushed over his notebook. 'Write down your address and phone numbers at which you can be reached.'

Mr. Jarret wrote down their phone number, his business number and his mobile phone number. He raised weary eyes to Hamish. 'Does this mean you'll do it?'

'I'll do what I can,' said Hamish. 'Is there anything else you can think of?'

'He wouldn't have done anything to harm himself,' said

Mrs. Jarret. 'He believed in God.' Hamish looked at her enquiringly. 'He even bought a Bible. He said God would stop him from taking drugs again. I would have liked that Bible.'

'You mean the police have still got it?'

'No, they said they had let us have all his effects.'