“She fairly trashed the Robertses and said she’d always been scared of them, which is a lie because, murderers they may be, but they doted on her with a passion.”
¦
After Jessie had left, Hamish felt he should really phone Elspeth and tell her that the mystery of the video had been solved. He had behaved childishly by avoiding her. He picked up the phone. It was only five in the evening although it was as black as pitch outside. She would probably still be at the office. Her line was engaged. He felt relieved and then damned himself for being a coward and dialled again.
“Hamish,” said Elspeth in a cool voice. “What a surprise. How can I help you?”
“I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch with you lately,” said Hamish, “but I’ve been awfully busy.”
“Oh, really? Your beat abounding in crimes I don’t know about?”
“Nothing newsworthy, but a lot of irritating little things.”
“Like avoiding me?”
“Come on, Elspeth. Let’s be friends.”
There was a long silence and then Elspeth said, “Take me for dinner at the Italian’s. I’ll be there at eight.”
“See you then,” said Hamish, and rang off.
¦
As he dressed that evening, Hamish found he was nervous and excited. He realised he had missed Elspeth’s visits and company.
At ten minutes to eight, he shrugged himself into his oilskin. Lugs let out a low whine. Hamish eyed his dog. “Oh, all right,” he said. “You can come as well.” Taking Lugs with him, he felt, would make sure it stayed a friendly evening rather than a romantic one.
The evening got off to a bad start. Elspeth was wearing a blue silk blouse, a white jacket, and dark blue skirt. Lugs, who had got drenched during the walk to the restaurant, shook water over Elspeth and then placed his muddy paws on her skirt and gazed accusingly up into her face.
Fortunately, the cleaning-mad Willie Lament was on hand to sponge out the stains with a new stain remover and to remove the dog to the kitchen and towel him down.
Willie reappeared to hand them menus. “Where’s my dog?” asked Hamish.
“We’re just giving the wee chap some pasta. Lugs likes pasta.”
“Not too much, Willie,” admonished Hamish. “He’s overweight already.”
Hamish told Elspeth about how the video had got to the community centre – “but don’t put anything in that paper of yours.”
“I’m just glad Jessie’s getting herself straightened out. Have you heard from Jenny?”
“Not a word. But I got a call from Priscilla yesterday. She said she was seeing Jenny that evening. She said she had kept clear of her for a bit because she didn’t like the way Jenny took all the praise for solving the case.”
“Jenny’ll be back up for the trial and she’ll make the most of the publicity again. Sam says Pat is working on a paper in Dublin. He must have forged a reference.”
“Knowing that one, he probably forged several references.”
Hamish ordered a bottle of wine and told Elspeth all about Cyril Roberts’s confession, and then, somehow, found himself ordering another. He felt relaxed and happy.
“Did anything come from your appeal in the paper for the old folks’ club?” Hamish asked.
“Oh, that will be appearing in the next issue. Mr. Blakey is getting lottery money to buy proper cinematography equipment.”
“That’s grand.” Hamish studied her. “There seems to be a bit o’ worry at the back of your eyes, Elspeth. Anything bothering you?”
Yes, thought Elspeth. An offer from the
¦
The evening before, Jenny once more found herself in Priscilla’s elegant flat. “I thought you would never speak to me again,” said Jenny.
“I was angry with you for taking the credit away from Hamish.”
“But I didn’t!” protested Jenny. “I guessed it all by myself.”
“Hamish says you were listening at the police station door when he was discussing the case with Elspeth.”
Jenny blushed but said hotly, “That’s not true!”
“Have it your way. Is Hamish keen on this Elspeth?”
“Not really. They just seem to be friends. As a matter of fact,” said Jenny with a toss of her dark curls, “Hamish rather fancied me.”
“Didn’t sound like it when I spoke to him this morning.”
“Oh,” faltered Jenny, “you spoke to him.” She rallied. “Well, he wouldn’t want to say anything about it to you in case he hurt you.”
“How on earth could it hurt me? Hamish is old history.”
“You wouldn’t think so the way you go on about him. In fact, you talk more about him than that fiance of yours.”
“You’re being silly, Jenny. Shall we eat?”
¦
Early the following day, Priscilla sat at her computer in the City, not really seeing the figures on the screen. She was suddenly homesick for Lochdubh. She was having doubts about getting married. Just nerves, she told herself. But she could not let go of the thought of going home. She rose and went in to see her boss and said she had just received a phone call that her mother was ill. The excuse worked and she was free to go.
I can drive up and be there before midnight, thought Priscilla.
¦
Hamish and Elspeth finished their meal with two large brandies. When they left the restaurant, with a pasta- filled dog rolling along behind them like a drunken sailor, they found themselves walking together in the direction of the police station. Elspeth stumbled on her high heels and Hamish put an arm about her shoulders. All Hamish had drunk sang in his brain and he hugged Elspeth closer.
He opened the kitchen door and switched on the light. They stood close together, looking at each other while Lugs yawned and slumped down onto the floor by the stove.
Then Elspeth held out her arms. One sharp little alarm bell went off in Hamish’s brain, but he ignored it. He took her in his arms and kissed her rain-wet lips and then somehow they were staggering towards the bedroom, shedding clothes as they went.
At one point, Hamish dimly heard the phone ringing from the office, but he ignored it.
¦
Priscilla tucked away her mobile phone. She had called the police station from the Tommel Castle Hotel. Why didn’t Hamish answer? Then she grinned, as she remembered all the times the lazy constable had ignored its ringing. He always said if it was anything urgent, he could hear it on his answering machine. She thought of leaving a message and then suddenly, tired though she was, decided to surprise him.
She carefully washed and made up her face again. She went out and got into her car and drove down into Lochdubh. It was a filthy night. Funny, she thought, how easily she had forgotten how vile the winter could be in the northern Highlands. Horizontal rain slashed against the windscreen and the car rocked in buffets of wind.
Priscilla was just driving along the waterfront when the stout figure of Mrs. Wellington, the minister’s wife, leapt in front of the car, waving her arms. Priscilla braked and rolled down the window. “Mrs. Wellington!” she shouted. “What on earth are you doing? I could have killed you.”
“I recognised the car,” gabbled Mrs. Wellington, rain cascading off a golf umbrella which she held over her head, “and I was so pleased to see you, dear. Come up to the manse and we’ll have a chat.”
“It’s too late,” said Priscilla. “I’ll call on you tomorrow. I’m just going to drop in on Hamish.”
“Oh, you won’t find him. He was called out to Drim. A burglary over there.”
Priscilla looked down the waterfront. Through the driving rain, she could see that the police Land Rover was
