dived back to the sofa, slumped down, and closed his eyes just as she came out of the bathroom.
He felt her standing over him, smelled her perfume, sensed instinctively that she was going to do something to make sure he was really unconscious. When she slapped him hard across the face, he nearly betrayed himself, but instead he allowed his body to sag sideways on the sofa. He heard her make a phone call. “All set,” she whispered.
Then he heard the window being raised. Sounds of someone climbing in. A man’s voice said, “Good girl. Let’s get moving.”
Gloria’s voice: “Do we have to do this, Freddie?”
“I look after my own. Crystal wants him dead, and dead he’s going to be. No one will suspect anything. Did anyone see him coming into the hotel?”
“No, the reception was empty when he arrived.”
“Murphy’s outside, dressed in police uniform. He’s hot-wired the Land Rover. He’s bringing it round to the window. We’ll get this pillock out and into the back of the Land Rover. I’ll follow. Murphy knows where to go. If anyone sees him, they’ll think it’s this fool. All we do is lay him out in the snow, tip the Land Rover on its side. It’ll look as if he’s been thrown out. He’ll die in the cold before he ever gets a chance to come round. Tragic accident. You stay here and act the perfect guest.”
“I thought the reception was empty,” Gloria said, “but what if someone saw him come in? He isn’t in uniform.”
“Then say he got called out. He went back to the station to put his uniform on. You stay on here and act the perfect guest,” Freddie repeated.
Hamish recognised the sound of his Land Rover.
He heard Freddie say, “Climb in, Murphy. I’ll need your help getting him out.”
Hamish found it an effort to lie like a dead weight as he was shoved out of the window and into the snow. Then he was heaved into the back of his Land Rover.
As they drove off, Hamish cautiously slid his mobile phone out of his pocket. He texted Jimmy. Then he punched in Angela’s number, and when she answered, he whispered, “Hamish here. Danger. Freddie Ionedes is trying to kill me. Tell Strathbane. Set up roadblocks.”
He had been trying for ages to get a new Land Rover. Now he was glad of its age and the noisy engine that had drowned out the sound of his whispered voice.
As he had guessed, they only drove a comparatively short way. They wouldn’t want to get lost on the moors. They would stage the accident just off the main road, as the side roads were still banked up with drifts.
The Land Rover stopped. Hamish was dragged out and carried to a deep drift at the side of the road and thrown in.
“Shall we tip the Rover over on him?” he heard Murphy ask.
“No, I don’t want a mark on him.”
Hamish poked a finger upwards to give himself a breathing hole in the drift. He heard them panting and struggling as they tried to tip the Land Rover on its side.
“It’s no use,” came Freddie’s voice. “Leave it. Let’s get out of here.”
The cold was intense. Hamish fought against it. He did not want to die of cold after having survived this far.
To his relief, he heard them driving off.
He rose out of the snowdrift and climbed into the Land Rover, fishing for his keys and hoping the hot-wiring hadn’t messed up the engine. But the old vehicle roared to life. He turned the heater on full blast. He guessed they would take the road to Strathbane and then off down south. He set off in pursuit.
¦
Freddie and Murphy were laughing as they drove slowly through the white wilderness. “I’m telling you, I’m a genius,” said Freddie. “Can’t you go any faster?”
“The night’s so cold that the grit isn’t doing much. We’ll skid if we go any faster,” said Murphy.
Murphy negotiated a corner and then swore. An old car was blocking the road.
“Come on,” said Freddie. “Get out and help me move it.”
They both approached the car and began to try to push it to the side of the road.
Suddenly they were surrounded by a ring of men holding shotguns. “Get down on the ground,” shouted Willie Lament.
Freddie reached inside his parka for his gun and was felled with the butt of a shotgun. Murphy whimpered with terror.
Hamish Macbeth came driving up to a cheer from the men. He climbed down and handcuffed Murphy and cautioned him and then handcuffed the prone body of Freddie.
The pair were taken down to the police station and locked in the cell. Hamish changed into his uniform and sent for Dr. Brodie to examine Freddie, who was showing signs of coming round.
“He’ll have a big lump, and he’ll suffer from concussion,” said Dr. Brodie. “But he’ll live.”
Willie Lamont, the waiter who had once been in the police force, came in with Gloria.
“Shove her in the cell,” said Hamish. “The heavy mob’ll be along soon.”
Freddie recovered full consciousness and began to swear. Hamish charged him with attempted murder, kidnapping, and carrying a firearm. He then turned and charged Gloria with aiding and abetting kidnapping and attempted murder.
“He made me do it!” cried Gloria, her face streaked with tears.
Hamish ignored her. He ushered Dr. Brodie out of the cell and turned and locked it.
“Here they come,” said Dr. Brodie as the wail of sirens grew nearer.
“I’ll be glad to get rid of them,” said Hamish.
¦
It was a long night. Hamish had to follow the triumphant cavalcade of police vehicles to Strathbane, triumphant because the Northern Constabulary felt they had captured a dangerous criminal where Scotland Yard had failed.
His eyes gritty with fatigue, Hamish typed out a long statement. Then he was tested to find out what sort of drug had been put in his drink, although he complained that there was probably ample evidence of it somewhere in Gloria’s hotel room. Then he was interrogated by Daviot.
“If only you had married Miss Halburton-Smythe,” said Daviot after Hamish had finished his account, “you would not be easy prey to every harpy who crosses your path.”
“You’ve got your man, sir, and you wouldn’t have got him if he hadn’t come after me. And there’s one thing. That Land Rover of mine needs to be replaced. I cover a fair bit of the north of Scotland. What if it breaks down on an important job?”
“We’ll see what we can do. It’ll need to stay here while the forensic team go over it. I’ll get a constable to drive you home. Have you typed up your report?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I don’t think we’ll be needing you further. Mr. Blair and I will do the interrogation. Some officers from Scotland Yard will be arriving tomorrow.”
And Blair doesn’t want me around to steal any of the glory, thought Hamish cynically.
A pretty police constable was waiting for him. She had a mop of black curly hair and a rosy face. “Pat Constable,” she said.
“Pat what?”
“Constable. And spare me the jokes.”
“Been on the force long?”
“Only a few months.”
He leaned back in the seat of the police car, glad to be going home at last. He would have liked to sleep, but Pat kept asking him questions about the events of the night and Hamish found he was so bored with the sound of his own voice going over the whole thing again that he could have screamed.
As he got out stiffly from the car, highland courtesy demanded that he offer the constable some refreshment, and to his dismay, she accepted. He hoped his cat would take one of its rare dislikes to her and frighten her off, but Pat was intrigued by Sonsie and made such a fuss of the animal that the cat’s deep purrs reverberated around the
