“So why not just give him to the fishes?”
“I don’t know. Maybe someone planned to take him off in a car and dump him somewhere where we wouldn’t find him. I’ll start in the morning and talk to all the people whose cottage windows overlook the loch.”
“I’ll have plenty of men to help you. Every damn cottage seems to overlook the loch.”
“I suppose you’re in charge of the case now, Jimmy.”
“Aye. Great, isn’t it?”
“I would suggest you start by reopening the case on Effie. I’ll tell you everything I’ve got.”
Jimmy sighed. “It’s going to be a long night. I’ll call on you in the morning. I want bacon, sausage, eggs, and whisky.”
Hamish grinned and touched his cap. “Yes, sir!”
Hamish went to the Hamiltons’ cottage. Their father said they had kept the boys up, knowing the police would want to talk to them.
Diarmuid and Sean were in the living room, drinking cocoa and being watched over by their anxious mother.
“Now, boys,” said Hamish, “how soon after you left your home did you find the body?”
“About ten minutes,” said Diarmuid. “We went out to throw stones in the loch. I thought it was a seal. Then I saw it was a deid man.”
“Did you see or hear anything or anyone else?”
Their eyes widened with fright. “You mean the murderer might still ha’ been around?” asked Sean.
“Maybe.”
The boys looked at each other and then shook their heads. “It was awfy quiet,” said Sean. “Not a sound.”
“I’ll take statements from you both later. Off to bed with you and try to get some sleep.”
Mr. Hamilton let Hamish out. “They’re good boys,” he said.
“I know,” said Hamish. “They didn’t mean any harm. I doubt if they’ll be sneaking out for some time to come.”
As Hamish walked towards the police station, he saw police were already interviewing the villagers who had gathered. He decided to catch a few hours’ sleep, relieved that Blair was not on the case or Hamish would have been allowed no sleep at all.
He set the alarm for six o’clock and climbed into bed, followed by his dog and cat. His last thought was that he should stop them from sleeping on his bed. What if his friendship with Betty progressed to something more?
¦
The shrill sound of Hamish’s alarm clock woke him. He struggled out of bed, feeling as if he had not slept at all. The dog and cat moved into the warm space in the bed left by his body and went back to sleep.
He washed and shaved, put on his uniform, and went out to the hen house to collect eggs for Jimmy’s breakfast.
He went back in with the eggs in his cap, set them on the kitchen table, lit the stove, and was just putting the frying pan on it when a knock at the kitchen door heralded the arrival of Jimmy. The detective’s foxy face looked tired, and his eyes were bloodshot.
“Give me a dram, Hamish. I’m fair worn out.”
Hamish poured him some whisky and began to fry up breakfast. “So what’s new?” he asked.
“Damn all,” said Jimmy. “Nobody saw or heard anything. Forensic have moved their search to the rowing boats.”
“I’m sure it’s connected with Effie’s murder.”
“Still on about that? Why?”
“You may have learned from talking to the villagers that because of that notebook of his, they thought Hal was some sort of spy. But I don’t think any of them are to blame. I think the murderer of Effie is still around and thought that Hal had something in that book that would be incriminating. I hadn’t any help before, but now you can start digging into backgrounds. There’s Effie’s sister, Caro, the ex-wife, and Jock himself.” He told Jimmy what the gamekeeper had seen.
“I learned Jock’s agent is up here. What about her?”
“Not likely,” said Hamish, blushing slightly as he set Jimmy’s breakfast in front of him on the table.
“Oho!” said Jimmy. “Why the red face, Hamish? Fancy her, do you?”
“She’s a perfectly nice woman,” said Hamish defensively. Then he said, “What I was wondering was whether there was any madness in Caro, anything in her background – drugs, mental breakdown, anything. I think she’d had enough of Effie’s shenanigans, and Effie passing off Caro’s work as her own might have been the last straw.
“Then there’s Jock Fleming. He has a blazing row with her and then phones her later, he says, to be kind.”
Jimmy yawned. “When I’ve finished this, Hamish, I’ll use your bed for a few hours’ kip.”
“Take the bed in the cell.”
“Bound to be as hard as nails. Are you squeamish about me sleeping in your bed?”
“No, but the dog and cat are there, and they wouldnae take kindly to be disturbed.”
“Hamish! They are not humans. They’re animals. Get yourself a woman. Oh, stop glaring at me and put me in the cell.”
“How’s Blair?”
“In hospital. Not only a broken leg but a broken collarbone as well. He’ll be out of commission for a while.”
“Think they’ll let you run the case, or will they bring in some horror from Glasgow or Inverness like they’ve done before?”
“I think I’m safe provided we get a quick result. You were due to go on holiday, weren’t you? I hope you didn’t book up anywhere, because your leave has been cancelled.”
“I’d already cancelled it,” said Hamish, opening the door of the one cell in the police station. “Pleasant dreams.”
¦
Hamish did a few chores around the police station and checked on his sheep before rousing the dog and cat.
“We’re off to the Tommel Castle Hotel,” he said. “You can have a run around while I’m interviewing folks.”
He helped them up into the Land Rover and drove off. It was wonderful not to have Blair rampaging around.
At the hotel, he let Sonsie and Lugs out and made his way round to the back door and walked into the kitchen.
Clarry, the chef, was supervising his assistants, who were getting the hotel breakfasts ready.
“Have you time for a chat?” asked Hamish.
“Yes, we’ve only a few early birds. The rush doesn’t start until nine o’clock.”
In the days when Hamish had been made a sergeant and before his subsequent demotion, Clarry had been his policeman. But it had turned out that Clarry’s only interest was in cooking, and he had subsequently retired from the force to work at the hotel.
Hamish sat down next to Clarry. “You’ve heard about the death of Mr. Addenfest?”
“Yes, first thing I heard when I came on duty.”
“Did you speak to him yesterday?”
“I had words with him.”
“What about?”
“He’d ordered a packed lunch earlier. He came into the kitchen in the early evening to complain that what he was being charged for the packed lunches was much more than the contents were worth. I told him we supplied the best packed lunches in Scotland and if he had any complaints, he could take them to the manager. He asked me my name and wrote it down in that notebook he was always carrying around. He said, “I’m wise to the lot of you. What’s more,” he said, “that artist was murdered and I can prove it. I have insights that your local village idiot of a
