wondered whether the leg show was deliberate. He could not imagine Helen Ross not being aware at any time of one inch of her body or dress.
“How will Jamie react?”
“I’ll have to tell Jamie first. It might not be a bad thing. He’ll learn what boredom can drive me to do. I’ve begged him to let me get a job, but he says the locals would sneer at him and say he’s such a miser that he has to send his wife out to work.”
“I didn’t think he would care what they thought.”
“Not in general. But he likes me here in the house, waiting for him. He’ll be in such a rage. How boring.”
“He won’t hurt you?” asked Hamish anxiously.
“Spoil the decoration he’s paid so much for?” Helen laughed. “I’m part of the show, along with those ghastly white leather chairs and the white Mercedes.”
“How do you mean, paid so much for?” asked Hamish sharply.
“The clothes, man, the clothes. This little number cost five hundred pounds and it’s only one of many. My only enjoyment in life is buying clothes, and Jamie gladly pays for anything I want. He gives me everything except sex and company.”
Hamish shifted uncomfortably. The room was suffocatingly hot and suddenly charged with a new atmosphere. His collar felt tight and his skin itched.
He rose to go. Helen Ross rose as well and came to stand in front of him. In her high heels, she was as tall as he.
“Stay a little and have a drink,” she murmured. One hand with its long red-painted finger-nails held the skirt of her dress open, her eyes dropping so that Hamish looked down as well.
“No, I have to be going,” said Hamish. His voice sounded strange in his own ears, all squeaky and afraid. She wound her arms round his neck and kissed him on the mouth. Hamish’s senses reeled. Before Jenny had come on the scene, he had been celibate for a long time. Now he dimly wondered how he had ever managed to survive.
Helen’s mouth had moved to his ear and she started nibbling the lobe. Her voice then whispered, “Me going to Inverness with William has nothing to do with the case. You’ll forget about it. Won’t you?”
Hamish pushed her away and straightened his tie. “No, Mrs. Ross,” he said. “I would like to help you, but I must put in my report.”
For one moment a flicker of…venom?…flashed in the depths of her eyes, and then it was gone.
When Hamish got outside a moment later, he gulped down great lungfuls of cold air. He set out to walk back to Cnothan.
¦
Jamie Ross arrived home an hour later.
Helen Ross poured him a drink and then said, “Hamish Macbeth was here. He has found out about me going to Inverness with Mainwaring.”
Jamie’s face darkened. “Is he going to put in a report?”
Helen shrugged. “He says he’ll have to.”
Jamie rounded on her. “Didn’t you try to shut him up, for Christ’s sake?”
“Oh, I tried,” said Helen. “Believe me, I tried. But he wasn’t buying any.”
“Damn Macbeth to hell,” said Jamie Ross.
? Death of an Outsider ?
8
Loaf, as I have loafed aforetime,
Through the streets with tranquil mind,
And a long-backed fancy-mongrel
Trailing casually behind.
—C. S. Calverley
Hamish awoke the next morning in his own bed with Towser beside him. “Anything would be better than you,” he said morosely, pushing the dog out of the bed. Towser usually lay across his master’s feet like a rug during the night, but had been recently banished from the bedroom.
Hamish could have stayed the night with Jenny if he had wanted, but he had made the excuse that he would have to sit up late, typing out a report for Blair. Although this was true, he also did not want to get further involved until he decided whether his intentions were honourable or not.
The weather forecast for the north of Scotland had been dreadful, but as if to prove the forecasters wrong, the sun blazed down outside.
An hour later Hamish was about to descend on Blair with his report when the minister, Mr. Struthers, called.
At first Hamish was puzzled. Why should a minister call on a policeman at breakfast time to discuss the problem of AIDS? Hamish grew more uncomfortable as the minister’s pale eyes began to gleam with a hectic light as he went on to damn homosexuals. “Revenge is mine, saith the Lord,” ended Mr. Struthers.
“And a good thing too,” said Hamish cheerfully, trying to lighten the atmosphere. “Revenge is best left to God and justice. Look at this murder. That came about because someone decided to take the law into their own hands.”
Mr. Struthers leaned across the desk and seized Hamish’s wrist in a strong clasp and his eyes bored into those of the policeman. “Homosexuality is a form of murder,” he said.
Hamish picked up the minister’s hand and removed it. The light began to dawn. “It’s a pity,” said Hamish, “that you have not got the real-live homosexual in Cnothan to practise your lack of Christian compassion on. You’re a terrible man for the gossip, Mr. Struthers.”
“I never listen to gossip,” said the minister.
Hamish eyed him shrewdly. “And so this wee visit has nothing at all to do with Alistair Gunn believing me to be gay?”
The minister flushed angrily. “A certain parishioner came to me in great distress. He did not want to see AIDS in Cnothan.”
Hamish looked at the minister in disgust. “You should be ashamed of yourself, Mr. Struthers, listening to rubbish from that malicious man.”
“If I am mistaken, then I apologize,” said the minister. “But where I find evil in my parish, I shall strike it down.”
“Would you say William Mainwaring was evil?” asked Hamish curiously.
The minister shifted uneasily. “He has suffered the wrath of God.”
“Mainwaring suffered at the hands of a very evil human being, and if you want to spend your time striking out evil in your parish, then it is better you look for the murderer,” said Hamish furiously. “Push off, there’s a good minister, and close the door behind you.”
“Daft,” muttered Hamish after the minister had left. “They’re all plain daft.”
He walked down the main street in the sunshine, wishing it were all over, wishing the murder solved and himself back in Lochdubh.
He met Diarmuid Sinclair and told him about the room having been booked for him at the Glen Abb Hotel, and continued on down the hill. A car slowed to a halt beside him, and Harry Mackay, the estate agent, popped his head out.
“Like to come back to the office with me for a coffee?” he called.
Hamish hesitated only a minute. Blair could wait. Harry Mackay might throw some light on the mystery.
The estate office was in a Victorian villa in the middle of the council houses. The office was in what used to be the front and back parlours on the ground floor. Harry Mackay led the way upstairs to his living-room, which was above the shop.
When he went off to make coffee, Hamish studied the bookshelves.
He turned round as the estate agent came back in carrying a tray with coffee and biscuits.
“This is very kind of you,” said Hamish.
