baking would be a welcome change from writing.”
“They’re awful,” said Hamish. “I’ll buy what you’ve got left, and then you tell her you’ve cancelled the scheme.”
“But some of the cakes the others bake are very good!”
“Angela can only bake scones and shortbread. Tell her there’s no market.”
Hamish bought the rest of the scones. He wrapped them tightly and dropped them in a rubbish bin in the front. Then he realised the television vans had gone and there wasn’t a reporter in sight.
His insides cringed as he heard himself being hailed by Blair. Blair’s piggy eyes were gleaming with malice. “Step inside the unit, laddie. I’ve something to show you.”
Hamish followed him in.
“That’s Cannon’s desk ower there,” said Blair.
On the wall behind the inspector’s desk was a large poster of a highlander wearing nothing more than a tam·o’·shanter, a tartan scarf, a cheesy smile, and a large erection.
“I cannae wait to see old thunder thigh’s face,” chortled Blair, rubbing his fat hands together. “It’s high time she learned to put a smile on her face.”
And she’ll wipe the smile off yours, thought Hamish. I’m not going to warn you what she’ll do. Aloud, he said, “I got to go. Reports to write.”
¦
In the police station, Hamish fed Sonsie and Lugs and then went into the police office and began to work. At one point, he heard a woman’s voice raised in fury. Then all was silent. He wrote long and detailed reports, attached Mrs. Barret-Wilkinson’s hotel receipt to the report on her, printed out the reports, and went out of the station to deliver them to the mobile police unit. He stopped in his tracks.
Outside the mobile unit stood Mary Gannon, Blair, and Superintendent Daviot. Daviot was holding the crumpled poster in his hand.
“I don’t care if it’s a murder investigation,” Daviot was saying to Blair. “You are coming back to headquarters with me. You, too, Inspector.”
Jimmy Anderson arrived. Daviot ordered him to take charge of the investigation. He drove off with Blair and Mary following in their cars.
Hamish told Jimmy the reason for the ruckus, and Jimmy yelled with delight. “The whisky’s on me, Hamish. Blair must ha’ gone mad. What if one of the press had called in at the unit, seen that poster, and photographed it? It would have been front page o’ the
“Let’s hope he gets suspended,” said Hamish. “Here’s my reports, Jimmy. I would like to interview that Miss Creedy again. I want to know what guilty secret she has, if any.”
¦
Before Hamish drove off to Lochdubh, he took out his mobile phone and called Elspeth and told her about Geordie’s Land Rover. He felt he owed her some news in return for her research. “Don’t worry about Miss Greedy. I’ll tackle her again myself. Call at the police station this evening,” said Hamish, “and I’ll see if I can let you have anything else. Where have all the press gone?”
“Hostage situation in Perth. Young children involved. Luke’s rushed off to cover it, although the Perth man is furious at him invading his patch. See you later.”
¦
Miss Creedy’s shop was closed, and a For Sale sign was in the window. Hamish retreated to the Land Rover and looked up the local phone book. She lived, he noticed, in the same council estate as Mrs. Gillespie.
She was working in her small front garden when he arrived. She started when she saw him, made a move as if to run indoors, and then stood her ground.
“I have talked and talked to the police,” she said, her voice shrill with fear. “I have nothing more to say.”
“Yes, you have.” Hamish took a gamble. “Mrs. Gillespie was blackmailing you, and I know it. I think we should go into the house.”
Miss Creedy began to cry, great gulping sobs racking her thin body. Hamish guided her into the house.
When she was seated, he pulled a seat up in front of her and faced her.
“Why did you do it?” he asked when she finally dried her eyes.
“It was the price,” she said. “I’d ordered the tourist stuff before from a factory in Strathbane. Then one day, this Chinaman called at the shop and said he had an import-export business in Glasgow. There was a factory in China that made the stuff so cheap, Scottish tourist things, in fact tourist things for a lot of countries, and he could let me have cheap stock. I thought nothing of it. It seemed all right to order from him and save a lot of money.
“I had to answer the phone in the back shop one day and Mrs. Gillespie had dropped in, so I asked her if she would mind the shop. The order book was open on the counter. She must have read it. She said she would tell the local newspaper that all my Scottish tourist goods came from China. The shame! I pleaded with her. She said she wouldn’t say anything if I let her win at bingo. It was horribly easy. She gave me a bingo card with numbers on it. I made sure those were the only numbers to be called.
“Now it’s all come out, and you’re going to arrest me for fraud. I’d rather kill myself. I thought if I could sell the shop, I might get enough to move somewhere far from here.”
Hamish thought rapidly. If he took her in, she would be brutally interrogated by Blair, and she would certainly be charged. Even if she did not kill herself, her life would be over. Such as Miss Creedy just couldn’t bear the shame.
“Where were you the night Shona Fraser was murdered?”
“I was with my sister in Inverness. I went down for a visit and stayed overnight. I gave that detective her address and phone number.”
“Look, I tell you what I’ll do,” said Hamish. “We’ll keep this between us. You overreacted. The locals don’t buy tourist things. They really would have thought nothing of it. When you sell your shop, you’ll work out just how much money Mrs. Gillespie illegally got at the bingo, then we’ll see Father McNulty, and you’ll hand the money back.”
She leaned forward and clasped his hands. “Oh, thank you! I’ve been such a fool.”
“It’s amazing how decent people can be made to feel guilty over little things,” said Hamish. “Mrs. Gillespie preyed on that guilt. Have the police asked you about the bingo? I’m afraid I put in my report that Mrs. Gillespie might have been forcing you to cheat.”
“Yes, they did. But I lied, and poor Father McNulty, believing me innocent, backed me up.”
“Right. We’ll let the matter drop. They’ll have checked out your alibi, and you probably won’t have a visit from them again. So keep quiet until this is all over.”
“Thank you. I shall be in your debt for the rest of my life.” She looked at him with adoring eyes.
“Enough o’ that!” Alarmed, Hamish got to his feet. “Chust forget about it.”
“I must repay you. You are a bachelor. I – I could bake you cakes and clean your house and – ”
“
He left hurriedly as she followed him to the Land Rover, babbling thanks.
¦
Hamish drove a short distance round the next corner and stopped outside Mr. Gillespie’s house.
Mr. Gillespie was at home. He looked frail but happy. “Come in,” he said.
The living room was a clutter of books and DVDs.
Hamish removed his cap and sat down. “Your late wife was a blackmailer,” he said. “Did she just work for those five people – Professor Sander, Mrs. Fleming, Mrs. Wellington, Mrs. Styles, and Mrs. Barret-Wilkinson?”
“As far as I know. One day a week each. She did say she was thinking of leaving Mrs. Wellington.”
“You’re not shocked your wife was a blackmailer?”
“No. Man, I’d started to hate her a long while ago. Nothing awful about her would surprise me.”
“You used to have a good steady job. Why did she take to cleaning?”
“She liked it. I mean, she’d even clean the place to bits here. It’s a sort of power.”
“Has anyone come to see you to ask about her effects? Old letters, things like that?”
He shook his head.
