himself?”
“What are you getting at?” demanded Jimmy.
“Only that it seems odd to me,” said Hamish. “The laddie phoned me earlier and said he had information for me. Now he’s dead. Could someone have drugged him and then slashed his wrists for him?”
“I suppose it’s possible. The pathologist will do a better estimation than me.”
“There were no footprints near the body other than your own, Hamish,” said Jimmy.
“So it happened earlier in the day. The falling snow would cover up any other footprints. Maybe we could have scraped off the top snow and seen if there was anything underneath but now everyone’s trodden everything. Cutthroat razors aren’t that common. I wonder if it could be traced.”
“Hamish, you’ll find it was suicide, plain and simple. You can go home now. There’s nothing more we can do till we get a full postmortem. Do you want to tell his mother? Or shall I send a policewoman?”
“Send a policewoman,” said Hamish gloomily.
“Where’s McSween?”
“ Ill in bed.”
“I’ll send Police Sergeant Sutherland. She’s good at that sort of thing.”
Hamish got home, feeling tired, cold, and miserable. Tomorrow the press who were waiting to see if they could interview Elspeth would be delighted to find they were all in the area of a murder. Press coverage meant pressure and pressure meant Blair.
Josie sat mutinously in Mrs. Wellington’s car the following morning. She had been appalled to learn that the minister’s wife was taking her to an AA meeting in Strathbane. Deaf to her protests, Mrs. Wellington had said that if Josie did not go, she would tell Hamish that Josie had been drunk. Mrs. Wellington had also found two precious half bottles of whisky in Josie’s underwear drawer and confiscated them.
As the car neared Strathbane, Josie protested, “I’ll be stuck in a room with smelly old drunks in dirty raincoats.”
“It’s where you belong,” said the minister’s wife. “But I happen to know respectable people go to these meetings.”
She parked outside a church in the town centre. “There’s a lunchtime meeting here. It’s only an hour long. I’ll see you inside and come back and pick you up when it’s over.”
A tall man in a business suit was standing at the door, acting as a greeter. “This is Josie,” boomed Mrs. Wellington. “First meeting. Look after her.”
“Will do. Come along, Josie. I’ll introduce you. My name’s Charlie.”
There were twelve people in the room, all smartly dressed and clear-eyed. Josie would have felt better if they had been dirty old men. There was no one to feel superior to. They pressed literature on her and gave her a cup of tea. Then they all sat around a long table. A woman was the speaker. Josie mutinously did not listen to a word. What had it to do with her? What a stupid place and what stupid slogans pinned up on the walls- LIVE AND LET LIVE, EASY DOES IT, things like that. Stuff for morons, thought Josie.
But she pinned an interested look on her face, wondering all the time what Hamish was doing. Was he really interested in Elspeth? What chance had she compared with a television star? The newspapers said that Elspeth’s engagement had broken off.
She realised with a start that the chairman was addressing her. “As it’s your first meeting, Josie, you don’t have to say anything.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I think you are all so brave.”
It went round the room. People talked about free-floating anxiety, about loneliness of spirit, about selfishness. What has all this bollocks got to do with drink? thought Josie.
At last the dreadful meeting was over. People gave her phone numbers and wished her luck, along with a meeting list. Josie thanked them all and hurried out to where Mrs. Wellington was waiting for her.
“How did you get on, Josie?” she asked.
“Fine. Nice people. I’ve got a meeting list.”
“Good girl. You’ll be all right now.”
Vodka, thought Josie. I’d best try vodka. It doesn’t smell.
If she had been listening at the meeting she would have heard a woman say that she had started drinking vodka because she thought it would not smell and everyone had burst out laughing.
On the way back, her mobile rang. It was Hamish. “You’re probably still in bed,” he said. “I’m over in Braikie. Percy’s dead.”
“I need to get over to Braikie,” said Josie. “There’s been another death.”
“This is horrible,” said Mrs. Wellington. “Braikie is becoming like Chicago!”
When Josie arrived in Braikie, it was to find the small town full of policemen going door to door, but there was no sign of Hamish. She asked one if he had seen him and was told that Hamish was back in his police station.
Josie hurried back to Lochdubh. She went straight into the police station without knocking, a fact that Hamish, crouched over sheets of notes, noticed with annoyance.
“Next time, knock at the door,” he snapped.
“I wondered what you wanted me to do today. I thought you would be in Braikie.”
“I was,” he said curtly. “But after chapping at a few doors as instructed by Blair and being told that the police had already been around, I thought I’d be better back here trying to figure out who killed Annie. Everything leads from the first murder.”
“I’ll help you,” said Josie, starting to take off her coat.
“Good,” said Hamish. “Get yourself over to Cnothan. There is a Mrs. Thomson, number nine, Waterway-that’s down at the loch. She says she’s been burgled but she has phoned before complaining about one thing or the other and it always turns out to be a figment of her imagination. Still, she sounded genuinely upset this time.”
Josie trailed miserably off. Hamish had a sudden qualm of conscience. “Are you feeling better?” he called.
Josie came hurrying back. “I still feel a little weak.”
“Help yourself to a coffee before you go. There’s some on the stove.”
“Can I bring you one?”
“What? Okay.”
Josie happily busied herself in the kitchen, looking about herself with possessive eyes. The kitchen was too small. It could be extended. Copper pans, hanging on hooks, she thought dreamily.
She took Hamish a mug of coffee. He leaned back in his chair and wrinkled his nose. “Have you been drinking vodka?”
“No!” exclaimed Josie, feigning outrage.
Hamish shrugged. “Smells like it to me. Drink your coffee and get over to Cnothan.”
Josie put her own mug down on the desk next to his and pulled up a chair.
“Take your coffee into the kitchen,” ordered Hamish.
Josie trailed off. He just didn’t know what was good for him, she thought. The cat suddenly looked up at her with yellow eyes and gave a low hiss. I’d better make friends with those animals, thought Josie. I’ll start to bring them food. If I drug Hamish, I’ll need to drug them as well.
The days for Hamish crawled past as he waited for the autopsy report. Finally Jimmy called. “This is a right mess,” he said. “There was a quantity of sleeping drug in the boy’s stomach along with a lot of whisky. The pathologist says that from the angles of the cuts, it looks as if someone did it for him. Have you worked out anything at all, Hamish? We’re getting desperate.”
“I found a video in his desk.”
