thought. The rain came down, whipping across the landscape.
He was glad the tide was out as he reached the shore road, but out in the Atlantic, huge waves lit by flashes of lightning were rearing up. It seemed like the end of the world, as though the sea were coming back to claim its own, to claim all the glens it had flooded of old. There was something about Sutherland on a bad day, thought Hamish, that made the human race feel like temporary inhabitants of an increasingly angry planet.
He got out of the Land Rover in front of the professor’s house and ran up the short drive. He had forgotten to wear his oilskin, and his regulation sweater and trousers were soaked by the time he reached the shelter of the porch.
He rang the bell. No answer. The professor’s car was in the drive. He tried the door handle. The door was not locked.
Probably drinking himself silly, thought Hamish. “Professor Sander!” he shouted.
The thunder rolled, but further away.
Hamish went into the study. Maybe gone to bed. He went upstairs, located the professor’s bedroom, but it, too, was empty.
Hamish began to feel more cheerful. Elspeth and her thoughts! The man had probably decided to walk to the shops and had got caught in the rain.
But why didn’t he lock the door? asked a little voice in his head.
He shrugged and decided to make a thorough search so that he could report to Elspeth that all was well. The sitting room was empty.
He opened the kitchen door, looked in, and then froze.
From a meat hook in the ceiling hung the lifeless body of Professor Sander.
What have I done? thought Hamish. He took out his phone and called police headquarters.
There was a sealed envelope on the kitchen table addressed to the procurator fiscal. He longed to open it. What did it say? Did it say it’s because of Hamish Macbeth that I can’t live any longer?
He retreated to the hall and sat down on a hard chair by the door and waited.
¦
Blair arrived, followed by Jimmy Anderson, two policemen, and the pathologist. It would have to be Blair, thought Hamish.
“In the kitchen,” said Hamish bleakly.
“Stay where you are,” growled Blair.
So Hamish stayed. The forensic team arrived.
“So,” said Blair, confronting Hamish, “what were you doing here?”
Hamish thought quickly. “It was believed that Professor Sander had plagiarised his book on Byron. Some student had been accusing him of pinching his work. I had just received proof that this was not true and called to tell the professor. I found him dead.”
“Get to your feet when you’re talking to a senior officer. Well, it wraps those murders up.”
“How?” asked Hamish.
“Oh, get back to yer sheep, laddie, and leave things to the experts.”
Behind Blair’s fat back, Jimmy held up a piece of paper saying, “See you later.”
¦
Back at the police station, Hamish phoned Elspeth and told her the news. “I’d better get a police statement, Hamish. I’ll get over to Braikie right now. Luke had better come with me.”
Luke, thought Hamish after he had rung off. I’d forgotten all about him. He experienced a sudden sharp pang of jealousy.
He did his various crofting chores during the rest of the day. The storm had rolled away to the east, and the day was bright and chilly.
As the first evening star twinkled in the sky, he found his thoughts turning to Elspeth. But a nasty little cautioning voice in his brain asked him whether he would be so interested if she had not arrived with Luke. He tried not to pay any attention to it. He could just see Elspeth living at the police station. It could be fun. He would have company during the long, dark winter months. She would not like to be idle, but she could surely get her old job on the local paper back again. Then it would be rather grand to have a son. Would she want a big wedding? If she didn’t, his mother would.
His happy thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Jimmy. “Well, that’s that,” said Jimmy. “Are you going to stand out here looking at your hens with a silly smile on your face all night, or can we go inside?”
Hamish led the way into the kitchen and took down a bottle of whisky and glasses from the cupboard.
“What’s what?” he asked.
“That letter Sander left. He said…wait a bit. I’ve taken a note of it.” He fished out a battered notebook and thumbed through the leaves. “Ah, here it is. “I am sorry for everything. Yes, I am guilty. I cannot bear to live with the shame. I would not survive in prison.” It’s signed with his name. So that’s that. We’re still trying to figure out why he killed Mrs. Gillespie except that the blackmailing old trout must have had something on him that Shona found out. Daviot’s thrilled to bits. Gave a press conference. All the press are going away. You’ll be glad of that.”
Hamish slowly poured two measures of whisky. “He didn’t do those murders, Jimmy.”
“Man, he as good as said so!”
Hamish told Jimmy about the rent boy and about how Mrs. Gillespie had been blackmailing him. “I should have told the professor I wasnae going to do anything about it. But he was so pompous that I decided to let him sweat for a little. God, I’ve as good as killed him.”
“Nasty wee man. No great loss,” said Jimmy heartlessly. “This whisky is foul, Hamish. What’s it called? Dream o’ the Glens. Probably made in Japan.”
“It wass on special offer. If you don’t like it, don’t drink it. Don’t you see the problem? If I tell Blair what I know, he may get me suspended or even fired. They’ll all be that furious that their precious case isnae wrapped up.”
“Hamish, I can’t really sit on this information. I mean, you don’t want a murderer getting off scot-free.”
“Could you give me a couple of days?”
“Hamish, this isn’t the telly where the senior officer says, “You have twenty-four hours.” And it’ll be worse for you if it looks as if you’ve been sitting on this information. Look, I tell you what I’ll do. I’ll try to get hold of the rent boy who spent the night with the prof and got caught by Mrs. Gillespie. I’ll put in a report about that and suggest it might be the real reason for his suicide. I’ll hint that the rent boy was about to blow the gaff. They’ll hate me for it.”
“Thanks, Jimmy. There iss something nagging at the back of my mind.”
“He could have done it, Hamish.”
“Let me think about it. I wass surprised not to see Inspector Gannon at the scene.”
“She’s been transferred to Inverness. Blair, who, as you must have gathered, did not stay suspended long, was heard saying that they wanted none of that feminist crap in Strathbane. Daviot was furious with her for causing what he called ‘an unnecessary ruckus.’ Sad day for women’s lib. The few women police who hoped to rise in the ranks are furious as well, thinking that she’s ruined their chances of promotion.”
¦
That night, Hamish lay in bed but could not sleep. All the people he had interviewed kept swirling around in his head. Then he suddenly sat bolt upright. Mrs. Gillespie had recognised Dr. Renfrew from a television show. A blackmailer would immediately slot in a video or DVD to record the rest of it. Probably a video. But she had a DVD player. The professor said she had made him buy her one.
Maybe it was before that. He phoned the stepdaughter, Heather. Tom Morrison’s sleepy voice came on the line. “What do you want?” he asked sharply. “It’s two in the morning.”
“It’s urgent,” said Hamish. “I need to speak to Heather.”
He could hear a lot of grumbling, and then Heather’s voice came on the line.
“Did Mrs. Gillespie tape a lot of television shows?”
“You got me up in the middle of the night to ask that!”
“It’s important. Think!”
“Well, yes, but only a few. In fact I was going over to my dad’s today to throw out a lot of old stuff. There’s a
