whiskies to the islanders. Perhaps it was genuine sympathy, or perhaps because the news that free whisky being served acted on the Highland and Island brain wonderfully, but more islanders kept arriving every minute.
Hamish went to Diarmuid’s room and quietly opened the door. Diarmuid was sitting in an armchair, staring into space.
“I’ll get matters cleared up as soon as possible,” said Hamish quietly. “Are you all right?”
“My God,” said Diarmuid in a low voice, “I don’t feel a damn thing.”
“Shock,” said Hamish. “Do you want someone to sit with you?”
Diarmuid shuddered. “I ‘d rather be alone, Hamish.”
“I’ll send someone to fetch the doctor. You need a sedative to settle you for the night.”
Hamish went back to the lounge. John Wetherby came up to him. “Can’t you get rid of these people?” he asked. “This is hardly the occasion for a party.”
“I think it’s better for Jane that they stay,” said Hamish. “It’s high time they found out she’s just an ordinary person like themselves.”
John made a contemptuous noise which sounded like “garrr,” and strode off. The Carpenters were talking to some of the islanders. They did not look shocked, rather they looked happy and excited. Ian was talking about sheep, a subject close to any islander’s heart, and he had a rapt audience.
Harriet came back carrying a large bag. “Blankets and food,” she said briskly.
“Right,” said Hamish. “Now let’s see if someone can lend me a car.”
One islander, clutching a large tumbler of whisky, cheerfully parted with his car keys and Hamish with Harriet made his way back over to the west.
The men put on guard were happy to be relieved. “We will chust be going over to that hotel to offer our condolences,” said one eagerly.
“That’s nice of them,” said Harriet when the men had left after Hamish had instructed them to find Dr. Queen and send him to The Happy Wanderer to attend to Diarmuid.
“You’d be amazed if you knew how news travels up here,” said Hamish. “They’ve got the wind of whisky. In another hour, an awfy lot o’ islanders will have found their way to The Happy Wanderer.”
A small tent had been erected over Heather’s body, much to Harriet’s relief. The wind had dropped and the tide had started to go out. They sat down on the beach a little way away from the tent, wrapped in blankets, sipping hot coffee and eating turkey sandwiches.
“If it is murder,” said Harriet suddenly, “have you taken into account that Heather was wearing Jane’s oilskin?”
“Yes, I’ve thought of that. But we all knew Heather was wearing it.”
“But listen! The islanders didn’t know, and Jane was wearing another of her yellow oilskins, an older one, when we went out searching. In the dark, someone with a torch bent on murder might only see the gleam of yellow.”
“Could be. But I’ve a feeling, if it is murder, that the intended victim was Heather.”
“Wait a bit. Diarmuid could have staged that row. Instead of going back to the hotel, he could have followed Heather. It’s always the husband, isn’t it?”
“Yes, quite often,” said Hamish slowly. “But keep this to yourself. I thought Diarmuid had maybe staged that row so as to go back and be alone with Jane.”
“I don’t think that can be right.” Harriet shivered and Hamish put an arm about her shoulders. “Jane actually thought Diarmuid was a bit of a silly ass. She said he had only married Heather for her money because his real estate business was going down the tubes. She rather liked Heather’s adulation for her. I can’t really see Jane pinching anyone else’s husband.”
“But I saw her slip him a note on Christmas Eve.”
“Oh, well, you’ll have to ask him about that. Let’s talk about something else. Tell me about your other cases.”
Hamish talked on and they sat huddled together while the receding sea grew quieter.
Harriet was never to forget that night, sitting on a lonely Hebridean beach with a constable’s arm around her shoulders aad a dead body only a few feet away.
And then after a long time had passed and both were getting sleepy, they heard the roar of helicopters. Hamish jumped to his feet and picked up the lantern and began to wave it. The forces of law and order from Strathbane had arrived.
???
Harriet watched, fascinated, for the next hour as photographs were taken and samples of pebbles and grit put into envelopes as a forensic team got to work. Detective Chief Inspector Blair and his sidekicks, Detectives Jimmy Anderson and Harry McNab, stood silent. Blair made a sour remark that Macbeth always seemed to have some female hanging about and retreated to the shelter of the helicopter which had brought him to the island and waited for the pathologist’s report.
The pathologist eventually emerged from the tent. “Well?” demanded Hamish.
“Could be,” he said laconically. “On the other hand, ten to one she broke her neck in the fall. The forensic boys are crawling over those rocks on the way down to see if they can find anything.”
Blair’s bulk appeared on the crag above their heads. “Is it murder?”, he asked.
“Maybe,” said the pathologist. “You can get the body photographed now. The forensic team’ll probably be here the rest of the night and then I’ll get the body flown over to the procurator fiscal in Strathbane.”
Blair heaved a great sigh. “Come on up, Macbeth,” he said. Blair was feeling thoroughly fed up. He wished he had not come. But Hamish had a gift for nosing out murders and Blair was frightened that, had he not come, the case might have been given to some young up-and-coming rival. Hamish and Harriet scrambled up after Harriet had neatly stowed blankets, thermos, and sandwich paper wrapping into the bag.
“Show us where this Happy Wanderer place is,” said Blair. “We’ll take the helicopter over. It’s on the east, isn’t it?”
Hamish nodded. He told one of the hovering islanders to take the car he had borrowed back to its owner. Harriet was tired. Everything was becoming unreal.
The helicopter lifted them over the island and landed on the beach in front of the health farm. It took a very short time, Eileencraig being only about thirty miles long and fifteen miles across at the widest part.
They all climbed down. Blair stood outraged.
All the lights in The Happy Wanderer were glaring out into the night. They could hear raucous ‘hoochs’ and the sound of fiddle and accordion.
“Jings,” said the pilot, sounding amused. “They’ve got a ceilidh on.”
And sure enough, as Blair strode into the lounge, a full-scale party was in progress. Couples were dancing Scottish reels while the rest were clapping and shouting and cheering. Jane, face flushed, was enjoying herself, dancing a reel with a small bent man. The Carpenters were clapping in time to the music. There was no sign of either John or Diarmuid.
“Shut that bloody row!” bellowed Blair, his piggy eyes blazing with fury.
He stood blocking the doorway, a heavy-set figure of officialdom. The music stopped abruptly. As Blair, his detectives, Hamish, and Harriet walked into the room, the islanders slid past them and melted away silently into the night.
“Mrs. Wetherby?” demanded Blair, approaching Jane.
“Yes?”
“I am Detective Chief Inspector Blair from Strathbane. I am investigating the death of Heather Todd.” With heavy sarcasm, he added, “I am right sorry to have broken up yer wee party.”
“You mustn’t be shocked, Mr. Blair,” said Jane earnestly. “It’s like a funeral, you see. People react to death in this way. It’s shocking, but people are always jolly glad they’re alive when anyone else has died. I read an article – ”
“I’m no’ interested in any article,” glowered Blair. “Is there a room I can use for interviews? Ah’ll need tae see the husband.”
“I’m afraid that is not possible,” said Jane firmly. “Dr. Queen has given him a sedative.”
“Oh aye? Well, I’ll start wi’ the rest o’ you. Macbeth, you can go tae yer bed. I’d let ye know if ye’r’ needed.”
