fertiliser, cotton, diesel, and you’ve got your bomb. Someone put the fertiliser wrapped in newspaper at the bottom of your stove, then put cotton soaked with diesel on the top. If you’d lit your stove, it would have blown apart five hundred square metres – which would have dealt with you and your police station.”
“Hamish,” said Jimmy, “maybe we’re being sidetracked by the whole Gentle family. You don’t think there might be some Russian connection?”
“No, I don’t. They would have caught up with her before this.”
“Maybe not. Who’d think of looking for her in the north of Scotland?”
“We should be looking for someone fairly tall and slim with size seven feet,” said Hamish. “Might be a good idea to check Kylie Gentle’s alibi.”
People were returning to their houses. The forensic team arrived and went into the kitchen.
“I’m going to go up to the hotel and see if I can mooch a room,” said Hamish. “Oh, there’s another thing, Jimmy. I was coming back over the Struie Pass when I ran out of petrol. Now, I filled the tank up just before I got to Inverness. Say someone followed me down and drained most of the tank to immobilise me so that they could race back to the station and plant the bomb?”
“Might get something on CCTV,” said Jimmy. “Where were you parked?”
“Away down on a side street off the Ness Bank.”
“It’s a pity you were too cheap to pay for proper parking. You’d best leave the Land Rover and let the forensic boys look over it.”
“Could one of your lads give me a lift to the hotel?”
“Aileen will do that. Wait a minute.”
Jimmy went off and came back with a policewoman. “This is Aileen Drummond.”
Aileen was small and chubby with a cheeky face. When he got into the police car, Hamish said awkwardly, “I wonder whether you might stop at that Italian restaurant on the waterfront to pick up my dog and cat?”
“No trouble,” said Aileen.
But she flinched as Sonsie and Lugs were ushered into the backseat. “No,” said Hamish, before she could speak, “it’s not a wild cat.”
“Looks fair savage to me,” said Aileen.
“Are you from Glasgow?”
“Yes. Recognise the accent, did you?”
“It’s not as thick as Blair’s, but yes. What’s brought you up here?”
“I wanted to work in the Highlands but I landed in Strathbane, which is a sort o’ Glasgow in miniature but without the culture, without the restaurants, and without the posh shops. One great heaving underclass o’ criminals. You all right? Must be a hell o’ a shock finding a bomb in your kitchen.”
“I’m fine.”
“Here’s the hotel. Want to go in and get blootered? I could say you were in shock and needed tender loving care.”
“I don’t want to get drunk, and you’re driving.”
“Suit yourself.”
“Tell you what,” said Hamish, “I’ll stand you one drink.”
“You’re on.”
When Hamish went into the bar, he found Priscilla with Patrick and Harold Jury, sitting at a corner table and enjoying after-dinner coffees and brandies.
Priscilla rose and came to join him. “I heard about the bomb,” she said. “How are you?”
“Not bad, but I need a room for the night.”
Priscilla smiled. “Meaning a free room. I’ll get you one.”
Hamish introduced Aileen. When Priscilla went off to find a room for him, Hamish asked Aileen what she would like to drink. To his relief she ordered whisky and water. The few young women he had entertained often asked for peculiar mixtures or cocktails he had never heard of.
¦
Elspeth struggled awake later that night. Her phone was ringing. It was the night desk. “You’re to get back up to the Highlands, fast,” said the night news editor. “That policeman was nearly blown up tonight. Someone put a bomb in his station.”
“Hamish, is he all right?”
“Yes, he escaped. They haven’t found anyone for those murders yet. They’ve had to let that Mark Gentle go. And stop taking your own photographs or there’ll be trouble with the union. I know you claimed they were taken by some highland fellow called Sean McSween, but no one’s ever heard of him and the picture editor’s swearing you made him up. So stop by the office and pick up Billy Southey.”
Elspeth scrambled out of bed and began to dress. Billy was a new photographer. She hadn’t been out on a story with him yet. She hoped he wasn’t a drunk.
¦
Hamish had managed to get rid of Aileen after one drink by promising to take her out for dinner. He had fallen asleep almost immediately only to be awakened an hour later by the phone ringing loudly beside his bed.
It was Jimmy. “Daviot’s in a fair taking,” he said. “He wants you hidden away. He says the attempt on your life could have killed some villagers as well. You’re to pack your suitcase and come to headquarters tomorrow. I’ll get you an unmarked car, and you can drive it to wherever they’ve decided to hide you.”
“I should stick around. The only way we might catch this female is if there’s another attempt,” protested Hamish.
“Sorry, laddie. Orders are orders.”
Hamish realised after he had hung up that his pets must have been out of the police station when that bomb was planted or they would have attacked the intruder and might have been killed. Perhaps it would be better to go into hiding.
¦
The next day, Detective Chief Inspector Blair arrived at police headquarters. He had checked himself out of rehab two days before. They had protested and told him they would send a report to Superintendent Daviot.
He made his way up to Daviot’s office. Secretary Helen smiled at him. She liked Blair, who occasionally bought her flowers and chocolates.
“We didn’t expect to see you for a while,” said Helen.
“I’m all right now.”
“I’m afraid Mr. Daviot is busy.”
“I’ll wait,” said Blair. “Any chance of a coffee?”
“Of course.”
Helen rose and went into the small kitchen next to her desk. The morning post was lying in a basket on her desk.
Keeping an eye on the kitchen, Blair riffled through it until he found an envelope with the name of the rehab on the front. He tucked it inside his jacket and retreated as Helen returned with his coffee.
“Who’s in there?” asked Blair.
“Mr. Anderson and Hamish Macbeth.”
“What’s up?”
“Didn’t you hear? Someone tried to blow up the Lochdubh police station last night. It’s the second attempt on Hamish’s life, so they’re going to hide him away. I had to start first thing this morning, phoning estate agents to find a suitable place.”
Blair paused, his coffee cup halfway to his lips. “Why’s someone trying to bump off yon loon?”
“The murderer seems to think Hamish knows something or something like that,” said Helen. “Really, that man is such a load of trouble.”
“Where did you find a place?” asked Blair.
“It’s top secret, you know, but of course there’s no harm in telling you. I found a cottage in Grianach. Ideal place. There’s just one road down into it.”
“Where is it?”
“Right up in the northwest of Sutherland, near the top.”
