“No, I’m driving.”
“Tea?”
“That would be grand.”
“The thing that amazed me,” said Hamish as he waited for the kettle to boil, “is the luck of the woman! I mean, if I walked down the waterfront here at two in the morning, at least five people would ask me the next day what I was doing at that time of night. No one saw her at the professor’s, yet when I park at the end of his street, the neighbours report me.”
“I think,” said Mary, “that if she hadn’t been such an amateur, we might have caught her. I know it sounds daft, but the chances she took! And nearly got away with it.”
“When’s the court case?”
“Sometime in February at the High Court in Edinburgh. You’ll be informed. You’ll need to be a witness for the prosecution. She got herself a top advocate – but too late, because, in a mad rage, she told us at the interview exactly how she had done the murders. I think her advocate will try for a plea of insanity. Scotland Yard are investigating that murder in the brothel that Bella talked about.”
“Crystal must have really craved respectability. Help yourself to milk and sugar. I’ve got biscuits somewhere. Did she confess to frightening Mrs. Samson to death after trying to set her house on fire?”
“Yes.”
“How did she know about the package that Mrs. Gillespie left for Mrs. Samson?”
“I love this one. Blair went to interview her some days after the fire, and they got very cosy. He told her about it. Of course, he’s denying the whole thing. No biscuits for me. Tea is fine. You’re a waste of a good detective, Macbeth.”
“Can you see me in Strathbane, taking orders from Blair?” asked Hamish. “I’m king and emperor of my own patch here. When things are quiet, it’s a grand life.”
“I know you must be feeling a certain amount of delayed shock,” said Mary, studying his face. “But you’ve got a miserable sort of haunted look in your eyes.”
Hamish found himself telling her all about how he had hoped to propose to Elspeth but had been pipped at the post by Luke.
“That’s bad. Had you known her long?”
“Yes, quite a bit.”
“Why didn’t you ask her before?”
“I think I was in love with someone else.”
She laughed. “You think? Let me tell you something. I think you were, or are, suffering from delayed shock. It’s not every day you nearly get killed. I think you wanted security. You’re a man. You wanted comforting sex. It wouldn’t surprise me if you’ve forgotten the whole thing by tomorrow.”
“I’ll never forget her,” said Hamish stubbornly, then, switching subjects, added, “I thought you were going to resign when the case was over.”
“I changed my mind. They’re a nice crowd in Inverness. I’ve bought you a present.”
“There was no need for that. What is it?”
“A joiner will call on you tomorrow and fix a cat flap in that door. It’ll be big enough for your dog as well. It comes with bolts so you can fasten it securely when the animals don’t need to use it.”
“That’s right kind of you.”
Mary finished her tea. “Call on me if you’re ever in Inverness.”
After Mary had left, Hamish walked along to Patel’s and bought himself some cold ham, liver for Lugs, and a fresh fish from the harbour for Sonsie. He fed the animals first and then added fried eggs to the cold ham for himself. He made a pot of tea and carried the lot into the living room. He set the tray on the floor, raked out the fire and lit it, switched on the television, and watched the news while he ate.
The arrest of Crystal had made the headlines. There was Daviot speaking at the press conference and giving all the praise to Inspector Cannon while Blair glowered in the background. Hamish was not mentioned, which, he thought, suited him fine.
The news was followed by a drama. He put his tray on the floor after he had finished eating and settled back to watch. Sonsie jumped on his lap, but he put the heavy cat down. “You’re a wild cat,” said Hamish. “Behave like one.”
Gradually his eyelids drooped, and he fell asleep.
He awoke with a start later. The fire had burnt down to red ash. The cat was back on his lap, and her weight had given him pins and needles in his legs. He rose and carried his tray of dishes through to the kitchen. He put the dishes in the sink, poured water on them, and left them to soak. Hamish thought the two best housekeeping excuses in the world were leaving the dishes to soak and the beds to air.
It was only when he was undressed and lying in bed that he realised he was not thinking of Elspeth. The whole business of wanting to propose to her seemed like a dream.
¦
A blessedly crime-free autumn moved into winter. A series of very hard frosts gripped the countryside. Quite often, Sutherland – the south land of the old Vikings – escapes the worst of the winter because of the proximity of the Gulf Stream. But as Christmas passed and the New Year dawned, a raging blizzard struck the Highlands. It came unexpectedly, for the day had started off fine and frosty.
Hamish was returning from Patel’s with a bag of groceries when he noticed a bank of black clouds looming up in the north. He walked to the wall and stared out over the loch. The air was very still, and yet those clouds advanced across the sky. The first flakes of snow soon began to fall, lacy flakes spiralling down and then upwards on the frosty air. The wind began to blow, and the snow thickened. Hypnotised, he watched the advance of the clouds as the wind blew harder. He could understand why, in the olden days, people thought the god Thor rode the gales with his army.
He turned and headed for the police station, dropped his groceries on the table, got bales of winter feed out of the shed, and set off up the hill to his small flock of sheep. He herded them into a shelter he had built the previous spring and watched them as they fed before he turned and hurried back through the yelling, screeching wind. Thor and his army had arrived over Lochdubh. The noise of the storm was deafening.
The cat flap banged, and Sonsie and then Lugs appeared. He got a towel and rubbed each of them down.
There was nothing he could do now but wait until the blizzard died down.
¦
The morning dawned sunny and frosty, but a gale was still blowing powdery snow off the tops of the drifts.
The snowplough passed the window of the police station, followed by a lorry spraying grit and salt.
Hamish had snow tyres on his Land Rover, something he had campaigned for and had finally got.
He decided to see if he could get up to the Strathbane road to find out how Geordie McArthur was doing and then, maybe, visit some more of the outlying crofts.
The road up to Geordie’s from the main road was impassable, so he strapped on his snowshoes and set out.
Geordie answered the door, his face flushed with whisky and bad temper.
“Get lost,” he snarled.
Hamish stood his ground.
“How’s the missus?”
“She left me afore Christmas to stay with her sister in Bonar Bridge. The minister’s wife got hold o’ her and she became that uppity, so I gave her a taste o’ ma belt and the next day herself was gone. She’s filing for a divorce. The minister’s wife told me you were concerned, so it’s all your fault, you bampot. Get the hell out o’ here.”
Hamish turned away. Some sixth sense made him duck as a large boot sailed over his head. Now, I could arrest him for that, thought Hamish, but just think of the paperwork. He plodded on through the drifts to his vehicle. Another blizzard was now screeching across the countryside.
Nothing more he could do but return to the police station and read books and watch television.
¦
