they followed her up here and killed her to keep her quiet?”
“How do you know all this about Shona?”
“From the London press in the bar. You may not like the press, Hamish, but they sometimes can find out things the police can’t.”
“How long was Shona working for Trant TV?”
“I don’t know. I can easily find out. So can you.”
“It’s hard for me to get a bit of peace from my superiors these days. Could you…?”
“Very well. How can I contact you?”
“I’ll give you my mobile phone number. Is there anything serious between you and Luke?”
Elspeth hesitated. Then she decided it would be better to leave Hamish guessing. He had hurt her badly in the past, and she had no intention of letting him hurt her again.
“Mind your own business,” she said. “Any news of darling Priscilla?”
Hamish flushed angrily. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Sonsie let out a slow hiss.
“I’d better go,” said Elspeth. “Your guard cat is getting upset.”
“Look, I’m very grateful to you for this stuff about Shona. There may well be something there. I’ve got to follow the professor again tomorrow. I feel it’s a waste of time.”
Elspeth had half risen. She sat down again. “I’ve a thought. What about Miss Creedy?”
“She may well have been fiddling the bingo results – but murder!”
“There are still people in this wicked world today who prize respectability, particularly in small towns and villages.”
“But Mrs. Gillespie couldn’t have threatened to expose her without exposing herself.”
“Look at it another way. She must have had something on Miss Creedy to make the woman even want to cheat.”
Hamish groaned. “I only wish I wasn’t stuck with the professor.”
“I really am off now, Hamish.” Elspeth stood up, and Hamish followed her to the door. “I tell you what, I might have a go at Miss Creedy myself.”
“Would you? That would be grand. I’ll buy you dinner tomorrow night.”
“Oh yeah, Sherlock? And like those previous times, you’ll fail to turn up.”
“I’m sorry about that. If I could just explain…”
“Forget it. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
¦
Hamish showered and got into his pyjamas, lifted his grumbling pets off the bed, and got in himself. The cat leapt back on and lay beside him, and Lugs lay at his feet. He fell into a dreamless sleep, not waking until seven in the morning.
¦
Hamish left his pets at the police station and was getting into the Land Rover again when Mary Gannon came up behind him, making him jump.
Hamish swung round. “Just off to Braikie,” he said.
“See you keep on the job. Do not speak to the press. I know you show great insight and intelligence, but it is necessary in a big case like this that we all work together, and that means following orders. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“That’s the stuff,” said Blair, coming up to join them. “That laddie needs a wumman’s firm touch.”
“Mr. Blair, if I want your advice, I’ll ask for it,” snapped Mary.
“Och, come on. It was just a wee joke. The way you females take on.”
“Any more of that, and I’ll have you up before the board for sexual discrimination. Also for alcoholism. You stink of booze and at this time in the morning!”
Hamish got into Angela’s car and sped off, leaving them to it.
It was one of those grey misty days in the Highlands where all the colour is bleached out of the landscape and sounds are muffled. The mist grew thicker as he reached Braikie and parked at the end of the cul-de-sac.
It was one of the few times when he regretted remaining a mere policeman. He was out of the loop, away from recent discoveries and statements from the suspects.
Maybe he should have told the inspector about the possibility Shona had found out something about one of the suspects when she was working in London, but Mary would ask how he had come about such information and then would give him a row for discussing the case with a member of the hated press.
He was just bemoaning the fact that he had forgotten to bring coffee and sandwiches with him when a police car drew alongside. He rolled down the window.
“Driving licence and papers,” snapped one, “and get out of the car.”
Hamish uncoiled his length from Angela’s small car and pulled his police card out of his pocket, saying as he did so, “I’m PC Hamish Macbeth from Lochdubh. I’m here to watch the professor. Instructions from Inspector Gannon. What’s up?”
“The neighbours have been complaining about a sinister-looking man – that’s you – casing the houses.”
God bless them all, thought Hamish. He phoned headquarters and got patched through to Mary’s phone. When he finished explaining, she said impatiently, “It’s your fault for making yourself so obvious.”
“It’s hard not to be obvious in a highland town,” protested Hamish.
“You’d better leave it. Get back and put your uniform on and go over to Styre. Mrs. Barret-Wilkinson was not available when we called. Find out where she was the night before last.”
¦
Back to the police station, into uniform, picnic basket loaded up with people food and animal food, and off in the Land Rover with the dog and cat. Hamish whistled cheerfully. He was glad to get out of what had looked like a long and boring day.
As he mounted the crest of the hill above Lochdubh, the mist rolled up the mountain sides, and soon the sun shone out. The landscape was a blaze of colour: yellow broom, purple heather, and rowan berries as red as blood.
Mrs. Barret-Wilkinson was not at home. Her car was gone. Hamish drove down to the beach and let the dog and cat out. He unpacked the picnic basket, spread a rug on the beach, and ate a leisurely brunch after feeding Lugs and Sonsie.
The sea was calm with sunlight rippling on tiny waves plashing gently on the shingly beach. The air smelled of salt and peat smoke. From one of the little cottages of Styre came the sounds of a football match on the radio.
How far it all was from the bustle and grime of the cities and the miseries of murder, thought Hamish. But unless the murders were solved, a dark stain of suspicion and dread would be left.
Back to work. He packed everything up with a sigh. Time to see if Mrs. Barret-Wilkinson had returned.
When he went back to her house, he was in time to see her getting out of her car. She took a large suitcase out of the boot. Hamish approached her.
“What now?” she asked.
“Do you know a television researcher called Shona Fraser was murdered in Lochdubh two nights ago?”
“Yes, I heard it on the radio when I was driving north. What’s it got to do with me?”
“I have to take a statement from you,” said Hamish soothingly. “Where were you the night before last?”
“I was visiting a friend in Glasgow.”
“I’ll need the name and address.”
She sighed. “Come into the house, and I’ll write it down for you.”
Hamish followed her into the faux country house living room.
She went to a desk and wrote on a pad of paper and then tore a sheet off. “There you are. Bella will confirm that I was with her the night before last. And last night, I stopped at the Palace Hotel in Inverness.” She opened her handbag and took out a receipt. “There is my hotel receipt. Now, I’d like to get on with unpacking.”
That was that, he thought. He’d phone over the details, and Strathclyde police would check her alibi.
“Just one thing,” said Hamish. “Why did you choose to live in an isolated place like this?”
