“Lots.”
“There you have them, lassie. Simply tell the lot of them that you are thinking of bringing a case of sexual harassment against them, and it’ll amaze you how they back off.”
“I’ll try that. Thanks. One thing puzzles me about the case. I would have thought it impossible to move about a village at any time of night without someone noticing.”
“I thought about that. Whoever it was could have approached the cottage from the back through the communal grazing ground.”
“Tell me a little about yourself,” said Lesley. “Why aren’t you married?”
“I’m choosy,” said Hamish. “Let’s talk about something else.”
Somehow the conversation became stilted after that. Hamish had been about to suggest they take their coffee through to the lounge in front of the fire but he suddenly missed the love of his life, Priseilla, with such a sharp pang that it amazed him. To Lesley’s surprise, he quickly drank his coffee and called for the bill.
She found a sudden interest in this constable whom she had a few moments ago been privately damning as a local hick. He certainly was attractive looking with his flaming-red hair and hazel eyes. And he must be well over six feet tall.
When they emerged from the hotel, it was to find the fog had lifted and an icy wind was blowing down from the mountains.
“My turn next time,” said Lesley.
“Aye, well, maybe when all this is over,” said Hamish. He walked her to her car, shook hands with her, and said good night.
¦
Once back in the police station, he phoned Jimmy. “Any news of that doctor?”
“Aye, we found him all right. We traced him through a report in the paper about his wife being found dead in the street. Reason for the death was all hushed up. He’s a Dr. Wilkinson, a general practitioner, and, get this, a friend of Daviot’s.”
“Oh, my.”
“So we had to handle him with kid gloves. No getting him down to headquarters for a grilling. Daviot insists on handling it personally. But it seems to be a dead end. The doctor was off at a medical convention in Glasgow during the whole week covering the time she was murdered.”
“You can skip out of those conventions without anyone noticing,” said Hamish.
“Aye, well try telling that to Daviot. As far as he’s concerned, the investigation into Wilkinson is finished and crawly Blair is going along with it.”
“I think it’s got something to do with frustrated men,” said Hamish. “Hear any talk about a brothel?”
“Just the usual ones in Strathbane.”
“I cannae see any of the villagers going to one of those,” said Hamish.
“Sometimes,” said Jimmy, “a woman’ll set up on her own. Do it on the quiet. Just a few customers.”
“If it’s anywhere near Lochdubh, it’d need to be somewhere not overlooked,” said Hamish. “Gossip would have spread around if a lot of different men were seen coming and going from a house.”
“Why are you so interested in a brothel, Hamish? It’s got nothing to do with the case.”
“Unless it was someone to do with McBride or whatever her real name is. Also, I don’t want to find one of those places where girls are tricked into coming over here from Eastern Europe and forced into prostitution.”
“Come on! They’d hardly set up shop in a godforsaken place like Sutherland.”
“Maybe.”
¦
Hamish, going out to give his sheep their winter feed in the morning, found the ground covered with a light coating of snow. This was unusual, even for November. Because of the proximity of the Gulf Stream, Sutherland often escaped the harsher winters of central Scotland. Everything was still, grey, and quiet.
He suddenly heard the phone ringing in the police station, breaking the silence of the morning. He paused for a moment, the feed bucket in his hand. Then he shrugged. He would check his messages in a moment. It was probably only Blair nagging him about something.
When he had finished feeding his sheep, he let his hens out of the henhouse and fed them as well.
Then he returned to the police station and made himself a cup of coffee before ambling through to the office to check his messages. Timmy Teviot’s agitated voice sounded in the room. “Hamish, it’s me, Timmy. I’ve decided to tell you something I think you ought to know. I don’t want anyone to see me talking to you. Could you ring me on my mobile?” He left Hamish the number and rang off.
Hamish rang immediately. In the past he had received calls from someone saying they had important information for him and that someone had ended up dead. But after a few rings Timmy answered. “Could you meet me at my place out at the forestry?”
“Can’t you tell me now?” asked Hamish.
“No, later. At six o’clock when folks will be indoors having their tea.”
¦
As he went out on his rounds, Hamish was relieved to see that a good number of the press had left. He decided to take a break from the case and call on some of the elderly residents in croft houses up in the hills to make sure they were all right, but all the time he was wondering what Timmy had to tell him.
¦
Mr. Patel, owner of the general store, was enjoying a quiet afternoon. The morning had been very busy but the fog had come down again, thick and clinging, and the villagers appeared to be staying at home. He had been up since dawn unloading and packing goods. He knew that to compete with the big supermarkets in Strathbane, he had to keep a large stock. He also allowed people on benefits to pay for their groceries at the end of each month when they received their government payments. He never threw away damaged goods but gave them away to pensioners. The afternoon was quiet. He sat behind the counter, lulled by the warmth from a paraffin heater behind him. He was awakened by a terrible scream. He sat up with a jerk. Mrs. Wellington was facing him, her face grey with shock. “Get an ambulance!” she shrieked. “Get the police.”
“What is it?” he cried, reaching for the phone. “It’s poor Ina Braid…blood all over her back. I think she’s dead!”
¦
Hamish received the call about Ina’s murder just as he was about to head for his meeting with Timmy. He rang Timmy and told him what had happened, said he would phone him later, and rang off.
He raced towards Lochdubh, wondering who on earth would want to kill the inoffensive Ina Braid.
¦
A small crowd, looking like ghostly wraiths in the thick mist, had gathered outside the shop when he drove up. Mr. Patel was standing on the doorstep. “Dr. Brodie’s with the body,” he said.
Sirens could be heard approaching from the direction of Strathbane. “Who was in the shop?” asked Hamish.
“I wasnae aware of anyone,” said Mr. Patel. “I was tired and I must ha’ nodded off. First thing I hear is this scream and Mrs. Wellington shouting at me to call the ambulance and police. Och, Hamish, I feel sick.”
Before Hamish could ask any more questions, a car drove up and Blair got out. “Another murder right under your nose, laddie?”
“I was out on my beat,” said Hamish.
“Out on my beat, what?”
“Out on my beat, sir.”
Blair pushed his way past Mr. Patel and went into the shop. Hamish followed. Looking very small and crumpled in death, Ina Braid lay face down on the shop floor in one of the two small aisles.
Dr. Brodie straightened up. “I suppose the pathologist will be here soon,” he said. “Stabbed right in the back with something long and sharp. You know, sometimes when people have been stabbed, they just go on walking. She could have been stabbed somewhere else.”
“But she’d feel one hell of a sharp pain, not to mention the strength required to deliver the blow.”
“Not necessarily. It doesn’t take much force to stab someone provided the point of the weapon is sharp enough. Just slides in, like stabbing a melon. Oh, here’s Dr. Forsythe.”
