“A dead body in a rowing boat. Archie caught it when he was out at the fishing. Did you see anyone at all? I would guess down by the harbour or approaching the police station. It’s a young lassie. I can’t see anyone going to the trouble of putting a dead body in a rowing boat and floating it out to sea. My guess is that the girl was hit from behind with a hard enough blow to kill her. Then she was toppled over the sea wall but fell into one of the rowing boats. The murderer went down the stairs but maybe heard someone coming and slashed the painter so that the boat drifted off. The tide would be on the turn.”
“I didnae see anyone, Hamish. Coffee? I’ve made some fresh.”
“No, I’d better get on with it.”
Hamish opened the shop door and looked outside. Mary Cannon believed in blanket coverage. Policemen were knocking at doors all along the waterfront.
Where was Shona’s car? That is, if the dead girl was Shona.
Then he recognised it. It was parked a little away from the police station. His heart sank. Had he been so heavily asleep that he had not heard her knock?
He took out his torch because the car was parked between two street lights and in the shadow. He shone the torch around it and then saw a tyre iron lying on the ground.
Hamish picked it up gingerly with one gloved hand and walked over to where Mary Cannon was directing operations.
“I found this, ma’am,” said Hamish. “There’s blood on the end of it, and I think this is the murder weapon. I found it beside that television researcher Shona Fraser’s car. She left me a message saying she was going to call on me this evening because she had some information for me. Shona Fraser was supposed to be doing research for a documentary on Detective Chief Inspector Blair. Oh, here comes Mr. Blair.”
“Go over to the forensics’ van and get yourself an evidence bag and seal this and mark it.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
As Hamish moved off, he heard Blair saying, “I’m in charge here.”
Then came Mary’s frosty reply: “Everything is in hand.”
Blair: “This is a job for detectives, and you aren’t a detective.”
Mary: “Are you questioning my ability?”
Blair: “Och, no, sweetheart. Just you run along and get a cup of tea or something.”
Mary: “Don’t patronise me!”
Blair: “Look here, you boot-faced hag. You’ll stop getting your knickers in a twist and do what you’re told. God help the force the day the beaver patrol takes over.”
Mary swung round to her listening sergeant. “You’ve heard all of this? Then type up a report, and I will deliver it to Superintendent Daviot in the morning.”
Hamish, almost out of earshot, could hear the frightened Blair beginning to wheedle and beg.
After he had delivered the tyre iron and was heading back, he found himself confronted by Elspeth.
“What’s happened, Hamish?”
“I cannae tell you wi’ all my masters looking on. Over there, that woman is Police Inspector Cannon. You’ll need to ask her.”
Hamish went back to the car and began to search around it again. Then he shone his torch inside. A handbag was lying on the passenger seat.
Mary Cannon came up behind him.
“Her car?”
“Yes.”
“See if it’s locked.”
Hamish tried the handle on the passenger side, and the door opened. “Her keys are still in the ignition,” he said.
“Bring that handbag into the police station, and we’ll look through it. I’ll tell forensics to tow this car away for examination. I will join you shortly. Don’t open the bag until I am there.”
Hamish went into the police station. He stripped off the forensic suit, hung it on a peg behind the door, and lit the stove. He boiled up water for coffee and put sugar, milk, two cups, and a plate of shortbread on the table.
The kitchen door opened just after he had made the coffee, and Mary walked in. If it hadn’t been for her stern features, she would have appeared a motherly woman. She had a full face and brown eyes. Her figure was matronly. She took off her hat and rubbed her eyes. “Gosh, I’m tired.”
“Coffee?”
“Yes, just black.”
Then Hamish realised Mary’s eyes were widening, and she was reaching for the canister of CS gas on her belt. He swung round. Sonsie was crouched there, staring out of yellow eyes.
“Don’t!” he yelled. “It’s my cat. Sonsie, go back to bed.”
The cat slouched off.
“That’s a wild cat,” said Mary accusingly.
“It’s very domesticated,” said Hamish soothingly. “Besides, they’re all hybrids now. I doubt if you could find a genuine wild cat in the Highlands.”
Lugs pattered in, looked up at Mary out of his odd blue eyes, and walked out again.
“Do you have a whole menagerie in this police station?”
“No, no,” said Hamish, pouring coffee. “Just the two beasts.”
“Right, let’s get down to business. May I have a piece of shortbread?”
“Go ahead.”
Mary tried to take a bite. “This is made of bricks.”
Hamish flushed. “It wass made by my friend Mrs. Brodie. Herself iss not very good in the cooking department.”
“Okay. We need fresh gloves.” Hamish went through to a cupboard in the office and came back with a packet of latex gloves.
They both put on a pair, and Mary opened the handbag. “Get some clean paper, and I’ll tip this lot out.”
Hamish came back with sheets of computer printing paper. Mary gently turned the contents out onto the paper.
There was the usual clutter one would find in any woman’s handbag: house keys, wallet, driving licence, two pens, comb, lipstick, strong mints, a packet of tissues, address book and notebook, one earring, and an invitation to the opening of a new restaurant in Strathbane.
Mary looked at the driving licence. “Yes, it’s Shona Fraser. You look at the address book, and I’ll look at the notebook. Lock the door first.”
Hamish raised an eyebrow. “I don’t want to be interrupted,” she said. “Do it!”
Hamish locked the door and returned to the table. “This is in shorthand,” complained Mary. “I have speed writing, but I can’t read shorthand.”
“I’ll read it,” said Hamish.
He quickly scanned through the contents. At first, there were enthusiastic notes about the proposed documentary and then comments such as “I don’t think Macbeth is as stupid as he would like me to think. But Blair, now, is stupid.”
Hamish flipped to the end. “I decided to go and see some of the suspects on my own just to see if we could do a documentary on the murder. I couldn’t believe it. Got to see Macbeth…,” Hamish read. “That’s the last item. She must have been struck down when she got out of the car. She was a little thing. She was dragged across to the sea wall and tipped over. But it was high tide, and three rowing boats which are tied up just under that bit opposite where her car was parked would be afloat. The body lands in one of them. Our murderer goes down the steps but hears some noise above and, frightened of being discovered with a dead body, cuts the painter and pushes the boat out to sea. If Archie hadn’t spotted it, the boat would have gone out to the Atlantic on the receding tide, been tipped over, and the body might not have been found.”
A sudden hammering at the door made Hamish jump. Then they heard Blair’s voice. “If you’re in there, you lazy hound, get out here!”
They sat in silence until they could hear him retreating.
“You know,” said Mary thoughtfully, studying Hamish, “I’ve heard a lot of stories about you, how you didn’t
