Elspeth indicated the photographer, who was crouched on the floor, taking cameras out of his box. “That’s Billy Southey.”
Helen came in with a laden tray. Elspeth waited until coffee had been poured and Helen had left before saying, “I hear Hamish Macbeth is hiding out in Grianach.”
Daviot looked at her in shock. “Who told you that?”
“It’s all over Lochdubh, and I want to know why. Some man turned up at that bar on the waterfront and started shooting his mouth off. The thing is, if it was supposed to be such a secret, how did it leak out?”
“I will look into it right away. I do not want you to write anything just now. It is a matter of PC Macbeth’s security.” He pressed a buzzer on his desk. When Helen entered, he ordered her to get Jimmy Anderson up immediately.
Blair was lurking around the detectives’ room. He was waiting to see Daviot to explain he was ready to return to work. He hated the idea of Jimmy being in charge.
A policewoman appeared and called to Jimmy, “You’re to go up to the super’s office right away, sir.”
“Now what,” grumbled Jimmy, heading for the door.
In Daviot’s office, Elspeth was saying, “He was a thin, scruffy man in his forties. Looked like a druggie.”
“It’s a pity no one got a photograph,” said Daviot.
“Oh, but they did. A photographer from the
She was carrying a manila envelope which she opened, pulling out a glossy photograph just as Jimmy entered the room.
Daviot outlined what had happened and said to Jimmy, “See if you recognise the man.”
Jimmy looked at the photograph. It showed a group of people outside Patel’s grocery store. He pointed to a man in the middle of the group. “That’s Tommy Shields, drug pusher and addict. I’ll find him.”
Billy began to rapidly pack up his cameras as Elspeth rose to go. “Elspeth,” said Jimmy, “come down to the detectives’ room and I’ll take a statement from you.”
No photographs, thought Daviot, disappointed. The new suit would have looked grand.
¦
Blair looked up as Jimmy came hurrying in. “Do you know someone called Tommy Shields?”
Feeling as if he had just gone down in a very fast elevator, Blair said, “No, what’s he done?”
“Never mind,” muttered Jimmy, switching on the computer.
“I am your senior officer,” raged Blair.
“Aye, sir, but you’re not supposed to be here. Find a chair, Elspeth, and I’ll take your statement. On second thoughts, I’ll take it later. I’d like to find this Tommy Shields first.”
Blair lumbered to his feet and headed rapidly out of police headquarters. He had to get to Tommy before they did.
He got in his car and raced down to the tower block by the docks. The lift was broken and he had to hurry up the filthy stairs, stopping on each landing to catch his breath. At last he reached Tommy’s door and hammered on it.
There was no reply. Frantic with fear, he took a small cosh out of his pocket, smashed one of the glass panes on the door, and, reaching inside, turned the handle.
There was a foul smell of booze and a sweetish smell of decay. He went into the bedroom. Tommy was sprawled across a dirty bed with a needle stuck in his arm. Blair felt for a pulse and found none.
“There is a God,” muttered Detective Chief Inspector Blair, and he fled from the flat, taking the stairs two at a time. He gained the sanctuary of his car and drove off – just in time. Two police cars swept past him going towards the tower blocks.
He had worn thick gloves the whole time, except when he had felt for that pulse. Could they get a fingerprint off a dead body? They surely wouldn’t be looking for one. Of course, the fact that the flat looked broken into would start them thinking about murder, but the only fingerprints they would find on that syringe would be Tommy’s.
Well, that pillock Macbeth would be safe now. He wouldn’t hang around Grianach waiting to be murdered.
¦
But that was just what Hamish Macbeth proposed doing. He told an angry Jimmy Anderson that it was their only hope of catching the murderer.
“I’ll see if I can get Daviot to agree to it,” said Jimmy finally, “but we haven’t got any spare men to go all the way up there on the off-chance. We found the informant.”
He told Hamish about Tommy Shields.
“That iss verra interesting,” said Hamish, the sibilance of his accent showing he was upset. “If you’ve got any spare time, see if Blair ever arrested the man.”
“Do you mean to say Blair was behind this?”
“Wouldn’t surprise me. I’m not saying he murdered the man, but if he got there before you and found him dead, he must ha’ been verra relieved.”
“Hamish, even if I found out Blair was behind it, I doubt if Daviot would believe me. I went up to tell him about Tommy when I got back and there was a big bunch of flowers on his desk. Daviot said, “Aren’t they lovely? So nice of Mr. Blair to remember my wife’s birthday.” Look, I’ll give you a day or two longer and then you’d better get out of there. Go somewhere else.”
“I’ll go back to Lochdubh. I’m not going to run away any more.”
¦
Hamish spent a pleasant day wandering around the village and chatting to the locals. When he settled down for the evening in front of the fire, he wondered if the murderer would come for him. If I were the murderer, thought Hamish, I wouldn’t drive down that road into the village. Everyone would see the car. So what would I do? I’d park a bit away at the top of the road and wait till it was after midnight. The weather’s on the turn, and there’s no moon tonight. I’d come quietly down into the village. But how would I know which cottage?
He lay back on the sofa and stared up at the nicotine-stained ceiling. He should really report this place to the Scottish Tourist Board, he thought. What a dump for a holiday let! His eyes began to close, and soon he was fast asleep.
He was awakened by a hammering at the door and the voice of his neighbour, Ellie, shouting, “There’s a fire down by the harbour!”
He made for the door and then stopped. That’s it, he thought. Light a big fire, get everyone running out of their cottages, and wait.
“You go ahead,” said Hamish.
He pulled a black woollen cap over his head, then pulled a sweater on over his shirt. He left the cottage quietly and headed towards the river. He had seen a track leading along the side of the river up to the top of the cliffs. Near the top, he turned and looked back. A shed by the harbour had been set on fire; the locals were passing buckets of water, one to the other, to throw on the flames.
Hamish gained the road and walked along to the west, looking for a parked car. He then turned and walked back along to the east. At last he saw it on a bend of the road. It was a small battered-looking van, and the number plates had been removed.
He tried the handles at the back and found that the van was unlocked. He climbed inside, shut the doors behind him, and settled down to wait.
An hour had passed when he heard the sounds of someone approaching. Let her drive off a bit, thought Hamish grimly, and then I’ll have a surprise for her.
The driver’s door opened. He heard the engine roar into life, and in a split second he realised he had not heard the driver’s door close.
He tore open the back door of the van, tumbled out, and leapt, seeing nothing but blackness below him. His flaying hands caught hold of a branch sticking out of the cliff. He clung on for dear life.
There was the sound of an explosion far below, and then flames shot up into the night sky.
He saw he was hidden by the overhang of the cliff. His arms felt as if they were about to be torn from their sockets. He kicked his boots into the soft ground of the cliff until he found footholds and felt the pressure on his
