It was probably playing havoc with his garden at the back. He put the teapot on the hearth beside the fire and then opened the back door. His raspberry canes were flattened and the door of his garden shed was swinging wildly on its hinges. He went out into the small garden and shut the shed door and wedged a brick against it.
A fitful gleam of watery sunlight struck through the clouds as he turned and shone on something lying beside his back door. He went and looked down. A full bottle of whisky.
He grinned. Just like devious Hamish Macbeth. Leaving the whisky and hoping he’d get well oiled before the constable came back to ask his questions.
He carried the bottle inside. Time to switch on the television and watch the long-range forecast. People were always amazed at his ability to predict the weather so accurately although they watched the same programme themselves. He settled down in his battered armchair by the fire and poured himself a glass of whisky, noticing that the top had already been opened. “Decided to have a dram himself and thought the better of it,” reflected Angus with amusement.
The wind increased in force and shrieked and battered at his cottage like a maniac. As he raised his glass to his lips, the room whirled away and he suddenly saw his long dead mother. She was looking surprised and delighted, the way she had looked when he had unexpectedly come home on leave during the war. And then the vision faded. He sat very still and then put the glass down on the floor beside him with a shaking hand.
As a youth, he had been sure he had been gifted with the second sight, as that ability to see into the future is called in the Highlands. He had had it during the war. He had seen in his mind’s eye his friend getting shot by the Germans and sure enough that’s exactly what had happened. He had gradually built up the reputation of a seer. The gift had never come back, but he had found it easy to impress the locals as he knew all about them anyway and listened to every bit of gossip.
He was sitting, staring into space, when Hamish came back.
“Here’s your whisky,” said Hamish, holding up a half bottle. “Why, you greedy auld pig, you’ve got a whole bottle there.”
“It’s death,” said the seer in a thin voice. “Oh, tak’ it away, Hamish. I saw death in it.”
He was white and trembling.
“Where did you get it from?” asked Hamish sharply.
“It was outside the kitchen door – at the back. People aye leave me things, you know that, Hamish. I didnae hear anyone because o’ that damn wind.”
“And what stopped ye?” asked Hamish, looking at him intently.
Angus shook his head as if to clear it. “I saw my mither,” he said. “She was standing by the door and she looked surprised tae see me as if I’d jist crossed over tae the other side.”
“And ye hadn’t been drinking anything before that?” asked Hamish cynically.
“No, man, no. I swear it.”
Hamish took out a clean handkerchief and lifted the bottle of whisky. “Have you a bit o’ kitchen paper or something so I can take the glass as well?” he asked.
Angus nodded in the direction of the sink where there was a roll of kitchen paper standing on the draining board.
“I’ll just be off,” said Hamish, tenderly carrying both glass and bottle.
“Dinnae leave me,” wailed Angus, getting to his feet.
“Aye, I suppose ye’d better come with me to Blair, although what he’s going to make of this, I shudder to think.”
Blair was in the police station office when Hamish returned with the seer. The police station, like most of the houses in Lochdubh, was hardly ever locked.
“I know you’re not staying at the hotel,” said Hamish crossly, “but I thought Johnson had given you the free use of a room.”
“Aye, well I jist happened to be passing and needed tae use the phone. Who’s he? And whit are ye daein’ stinking o’ whisky?” Hamish was carefully carrying a glass of whisky and the bottle he had taken from Angus.
Hamish and the seer sat down and Hamish in a colourless voice recounted Angus’s vision.
Blair laughed and laughed, slapping his knees in delight. “Daviot’s arrived from Strathbane. He’s along at the hotel now tae see how the investigation’s going on. Wait till he hears aboot this.”
Blair gleefully picked up the phone and started to dial. If ever the superintendent needed extra proof that Hamish Macbeth was a simpleton, this was it.
“You’ll never guess what I have tae tell you, sir,” said Blair. “Macbeth has brought the local seer, Angus Macdonald in. Someone left this local weirdo a bottle o’ whisky on his doorstep and he’s about to drink some of it when he sees his dead mither calling to him from the other side and decides it’s poisoned.” Blair laughed and laughed. The voice at the other end of the phone squawked and the laughter died on Blair’s lips. Mr Daviot was a Lowland Scot in love with the Highlands and everything Highland. Seers were Highland and therefore to be treated with respect. “Well, if you say so, sir,” mumbled Blair and put the phone down.
“I’ve to take this whisky tae Strathbane fur analysis,” he growled, “and you and Macdonald here are tae go along to the hotel and see the super. They’ll be naethin’ in that bottle but straight Scotch, and then you’ll look like the fools you are.”
Mr Daviot treated Angus with great courtesy, ushering him tenderly to an armchair and handing him a cup of coffee.
Angus told his story to an appreciative audience this time. “And I gather that Macbeth here went to see you to ask what Mrs Thomas had wanted to know,” said Mr Daviot. “Did you tell him?”
“I was about to,” said Angus, “when I got that fright. Och, she didn’t want to know anything. She offered me a fiver for thae wally dugs on my mantel, but I ken they’re worth a bit these days. I told her greed would be the end of her.”
“And why did you say that?” asked Mr Daviot sharply.
“I hae the second sight,” said the seer.
“You may just have had it today,” said Hamish. “But it’s my guess you’d heard about Trixie already and you were cross because she was trying to cheat you out of your china dogs. I’d better take you back, and look about and we’d better get forensic up to your cottage.”
“You gang along yourself,” whined the seer. “I’ve a mind tae stay here wi’ Mr Daviot. He has the sign of greatness in his face.”
That was enough for Mr Daviot so Hamish left with only Towser for company.
The wind had dried the ground and he was doubtful whether the forensic team would be able to find a footprint. The path to the back door was formed of paving stones and outside the back gate was springy heather moorland.
If someone had tried to poison Angus then that someone must have known Hamish was going to call on him. But according to Blair, the whole village knew of Hamish’s proposed visit. He strolled over the moorland at the back of the cottage and found himself looking down on Iain Gunn’s farm. He wondered whether either Blair or his detectives had interviewed Gunn. He had not told Blair about the bats, having felt it to be of not much importance. Now with the cloud shadows chasing each other across the moorland and with the soughing of the wind, Iain Gunn seemed like someone who ought to be taken seriously. All he would have had to do was to run up the hill to the back of the seer’s cottage and leave that whisky. Hamish suddenly remembered the look of hate on Iain’s face as he watched Trixie leaving. He would need to tell Blair and Blair would rightly point out that he had been withholding valuable information.
Iain Gunn was in his farmhouse kitchen, just removing his Wellington boots, when Hamish arrived. His son, a tall, gangling youth, was sitting at the kitchen table and Mrs Gunn was stirring something on a pot on the stove.
“It’s yourself, Hamish,” said Iain cheerfully. “Sit down.”
“I would like a wee word with you in private,” said Hamish.
Iain and his wife exchanged an odd look and then he said slowly, “Come ben.”
Hamish followed him through to the living-room. It was bleak and cold and had a little-used look despite the new, fitted carpet on the floor, the plastic flowers in vases, the noisily patterned nylon curtains at the window, and the three–piece suite of acid green uncut moquette.
There was a large television set in one corner but Hamish was sure the Gunn family hardly ever had time to
