“I suppose you think you’re damned clever,” she sneered.
Hamish looked at her, at the thin mouth and at the dislike in her eyes.
“You look beautiful when you’re angry,” he said. He jerked her into his arms and kissed her on the mouth. Then he walked off whistling.
Her voice followed him. “Why, Hamish! I never knew…I never guessed. Hamish, darling…”
Hamish threw one horrified look behind him and then ran to his Land Rover and drove off, breaking the speed limit all the way to Lochdubh.
At the police station, he fed Towser, locked up the hens for what was left of the night, and started to make himself some supper. And then the bell at the police station door sounded.
He walked up to it and shouted, “No comment!” through the letter box.
“It’s me, Donati,” said a voice.
Hamish opened the door.
Donati walked past him and into the police office. “I’ll need your notes, Macbeth. Was it a lucky guess?”
“No, I hae proof.” Hamish fished in his pocket and brought out the statement by the owner of the scrap yard along with the photographs. Then he outlined what he had found out about Mrs. Todd’s background.
“I should say ‘good work,’” said Donati crisply, “but we could have found all this out much sooner if you had confided in me.”
“But I only got the proof this evening,” said Hamish.
“So you say. Well, type up your notes and let me have them along with this statement and the photographs. I shall be at the hotel until lunchtime tomorrow.”
“Very well,” said Hamish.
“Very well, what?”
“Very well,
After Donati had left, he typed up his notes and put everything in an envelope.
The next morning, Donati simply took the envelope without a word of thanks. “We are now leaving for Strathbane,” said Donati. “They will be raising that mini today. The divers will be along, but Anderson here will be in charge of that so there is nothing to take you away from your village duties.”
Jimmy Anderson gave Hamish a sympathetic wink.
Hamish left the hotel and walked along the waterfront. The day was sunny and mild. Terror and murder had left the village. Mrs. Todd had been among them all for so long and yet none of them had realised she was unbalanced. But there were so many oddities in any village and no one ever stopped to wonder overmuch about them. There were at least four religious maniacs in Lochdubh apart from Mrs. Todd, and that was a small number for the Highlands where old–fashioned Calvinists still abounded and nothing moved on a Sunday for fear of incurring the wrath of God.
He took a deck chair out into the garden, stretched out in the sun, and fell asleep.
P.C. Macbeth had returned to his normal village duties.
? Death of a Hussy ?
9
Poverty is an anomaly to rich people. It is very difficult to make out why people who want dinner do not ring the bell.
—WALTER BAGEHOT
AS THE SHADOWS OF VIOLENT MURDER WITHDREW FROM THE village of Lochdubh, the weather took a turn for the better and long, lazy, hot days sent mist curling up from the sea loch and the mountains stood out stark and awesome against the bluest of skies. Purple heather blazed in all its glory on the hillsides and moorland and children collected wild raspberries from the hedgerows. The whole world seemed to have slowed almost to a halt as the sleepy village sank into a sunlit torpor.
Hamish was happy. Two whole weeks had passed since the murder and already it was fading from his mind. He had heard that Crispin and James had left the bungalow but that Peter Jenkins had stayed on, which explained, thought Hamish, why he had not been pestered by Alison. He had caught a fleeting glimpse of her when Peter had driven her through the village. He would have expected Alison to have bought another car, but perhaps the obsession for motoring had left her.
And then into this idyllic peace and quiet came Detective Chief Inspector Blair. Hamish was weeding the garden when the bulky shadow of Blair fell across him.
He straightened up, waiting for the inevitable remarks about lazy coppers but Blair surprised him by saying mildly, “Care tae come along tae the hotel for a drink, Hamish?”
“Sure,” said Hamish, surprised. “I’ll be with you in a tick. Just got to wash my hands.”
He went indoors and quickly washed and scrambled into his uniform. Blair must be on a case. He could hardly have come all the way from Strathbane to pass the time of day.
They walked along together to the hotel, but Blair seemed to be reluctant to get to the point of his visit. He asked questions about the fishing and was it any good and then barely seemed to hear Hamish’s replies. Once they were seated in a corner of the hotel bar, Hamish said, “Well, what’s the case?”
“What? Oh, ah, I amnae on a case, Hamish. Fine day. Jist popped over to hae a wee chat.”
“About what?” asked Hamish suspiciously.
“That nasty bugger, Donati.”
“Oh, him,” said Hamish. “What about him?”
“Well, I had it frae Anderson and MacNab that it was you that solved the murder case.”
“You would get that from Donati’s report,” said Hamish sharply.
“Not a bit o’it.”
“I saw the newspapers crediting him with solving the murder,” said Hamish, “but I didn’t think a man like Donati would take all the credit back at headquarters.”
Blair gave him a long, bleak look.
Hamish shifted uncomfortably. “Now I come to think of it, that’s what he
“Aye, I got a look at his report. He said he had sent an officer, no name mentioned, to a scrap yard in Brora with photographs o’ the suspects and thereby had obtained proof o’ the Todd woman’s guilt. When Anderson and MacNab finally told me, I felt it my duty to go to the super.”
Hamish grinned. “It must hae choked ye to give me any praise.”
“I’m a fair man,” said Blair huffily. “But the super said that Donati’s success had given him the transfer to Glasgow C.I.D. that he’d been angling after and it would rock the boat to start accusations flying around at this late date. So that scunner, Donati, went off south yesterday. Made my life a misery while he was in Strathbane. When they made him detective chief inspector, too, I knew it would only be a matter o’ time before they demoted me.”
“Then it’s all to the good,” said Hamish. “It’s one way of getting rid of him. Thanks for telling me, anyway.”
“I put the super’s back up, ye see, because o’ that Graham woman. The bitch. I really thought you’d gone off your trolley, Hamish, and assaulted her.”
His voice was wheedling and conciliatory. Hamish looked at him sharply. Blair had been plotting his downfall for years. What was behind it all?
“So I hae been thinking…another drink, Hamish?”
“Yes, thank you. Whisky again, please.”
Blair came back, carrying two doubles. Hamish blinked at this unusual generosity.
“So you didn’t come all this way to tell me what you could hae told me on the phone,” said Hamish. “What do you want?”
“It’s like this.” Blair hitched his chair closer to Hamish. “Ye seem tae attract murder. Now, say you get
