questions I’m going to answer.”
“Come on,” coaxed Hamish. “This is unofficial. I’m not out to blame you for anything. I want to know what the woman last calling herself Catriona was like.”
Paul stared into his coffee cup. Then he raised his head. “You’re not wearing a wire, are you?”
“I’m here at my own expense and my boss would kill me if he found out.”
“You’re that Hamish Macbeth from Lochdubh, aren’t you?”
“The same.”
“Well, I’ve heard nothing but good about you. I suppose there’s no harm in telling you. I’m out of the force. I think she really was a witch. Yes. We had her bang to rights. Found a bag of Ecstasy tablets. I phoned over the find. She didn’t seem the least put out. Just smiled and said, ‘Let’s drink to success.’ It was a bottle of twelve-year-old malt. I was all for hauling her off but Peter said it wouldn’t hurt to have just the one drink. I don’t know what was in that drink but I suddenly felt happier than I’d done in my whole life. The fire was crackling on the hearth and the room was cosy what with the wind howling outside down the loch.
Suddenly she looked beautiful. ‘We’ll have a party!’ she cried, and somehow there we were singing and dancing. It was all a blur. Then she kissed us both good night, and when we were halfway to Inverness we came to our senses and searched for the evidence. It was gone and in that moment, we realised we hadn’t even arrested her. We went back but the place was in darkness and she didn’t answer the door. We tried to break it down because we still had the warrant, but the door was too tough for us and man, we were still drunk and shaky.
Then came the enquiry. They cleared us of any wrongdoing but it was on our records and we knew we’d never get any promotion after that. I’m right glad she’s dead and I hope she suffered.”
“And was she using her maiden name of Catriona Burrell?”
“Yes. Look, if you catch whoever killed her, shake his hand from me.”
“When you were searching the house for drugs, can you remember anything else, letters, postcards, photos, things like that?”
“Let me think. I know, Peter picked up a framed photograph and says, “Do you think her man’s still around?” I only had a wee keek at it, mind, but it was of a big strong fellow and written at the bottom was FROM YOUR LOVING HUSBAND, RORY.”
“That’s grand,” said Hamish. “Anything else?” He sat for a few minutes in thought. Then a voice from the tanoy barked, “Security guard, report to the main entrance.”
Hamish handed over his card. “If you remember anything at all, phone me.”
Simmonds got to his feet. “I ‘member now. Behind the fellow was a view of a harbour. It looked like Oban.”
¦
When Hamish reached Inverness airport, before getting into his old car, he phoned Mr. Johnson at the Tommel Castle Hotel. “Do me a favour,” said Hamish. “If Blair phones you, tell him I was up at the hotel all day checking on the guests.”
Mr. Johnson agreed. Hamish drove off towards Lochdubh, feeling that at least he had covered himself in case the erratic Blair had suddenly decided to hound him.
As he drove back, he turned over in his mind what Simmonds had said. If Catriona had married this Rory, then it might be worthwhile to go to Oban and look for a Rory McBride.
Jimmy Anderson was waiting for him. “I thought you might be back soon. Have you anything for me because I’m right tired of getting nowhere.”
Hamish led him into the kitchen and told him what he had found out.
“I thought,” said Hamish, “if you’d cover for me, I might take a run over to Oban in the morning and see what I can find out.”
“I’ll think of something if there’s any whisky left.”
“One, Jimmy, only one. I don’t want you to be done for drunk driving.”
When Hamish put the bottle and a glass on the table, Jimmy filled the glass up to the brim and took a swig. “That’s better. Blair’s been worse than ever. Mike Haggerty, thon foreman who gave Fergus Braid an alibi, well, Blair’s decided they’re in cahoots and Mike is lying. Mike’s in the cells at the moment.”
“Why?”
“He shouted, “Are you calling me a liar?” Blair said yes, so Mike socked him on the nose. But I think Mike will be out by now.”
“Why?”
“Because Mike’s sister, Shona, is an advocate who lives in Dingwall, and she’s demanding to hear a tape of the interview and screaming police harassment. Daviot told Blair to let her hear the tape and wouldn’t you know it, Blair hadn’t got the interview recorded so he’s in deep poo.”
“Let’s hope that keeps him quiet for a time,” said Hamish. “He was always awful about badgering and arresting the innocent, but I swear he’s getting worse.”
“Aye, that’s the drink for you,” said Jimmy, taking another hearty swig from his glass.
¦
Hamish drove down to Oban the following morning, taking the cat and dog with him. He sometimes thought the pair were worse than children, having to be regularly watered and fed. At least Sonsie’s company meant that Lugs would roam far and wide with the cat up on the moors and manage to consume quite a large amount of food without getting fat.
The day grew darker as Hamish drove south into Ross & Cromarty. Oban was a pretty place in the summer but as he drove down to the waterfront, a gale was whipping across the harbour. He asked about Rory McBride in various shops, pubs, and restaurants along the waterfront but without meeting any success.
He then went up to the offices of the local newspaper, the
The editor listened to his request and then asked a reporter, Isla Damper, to go with Hamish and search the files. Isla was a tall thin girl with thick glasses and a spotty face. Her unfortunate appearance was redeemed by a soft highland voice, a charming smile, and beautiful large brown eyes flecked with gold.
“I’ll try the weddings first,” she said, going to a large filing cabinet. “We’re putting everything on computer disks but it’s a long slow job and Wee Geordie who’s supposed to be doing the job went off to Thailand two months ago and hasn’t come back. The best thing is to look in the photo file. If this Rory McBride wasn’t local then there might just be a photo and caption.”
She searched diligently, puffing on a cigarette. “I thought smoking was banned in offices in Scotland,” said Hamish.
“Aye, well, there’s offices and offices.”
After an hour of searching, she sighed. “You know, I should just put the mannie’s name up on the computer.”
She sat down at a computer and switched it on. Hamish could see the early northern night coming down outside the window, where a seagull looked in at him with contempt before flying off.
“Got something!” she cried. Hamish unwound himself from the typing chair he had been sitting on and looked over her shoulder. “There was a photo,” she said, “but not under marriages.”
The photograph showed Catriona and Rory McBride on the waterfront. “On their honeymoon in Oban, happy couple Rory McBride and his wife, Catriona.”
“Can you give me a copy of that photograph?” asked Hamish.
“If I can find it.”
“Try under Catriona McBride.”
“Okay.”
She tapped away busily. Then she said, “Our cross referencing leaves a lot to be desired. Here we are. But it’s about him. That photo was taken four years ago in July. Now here we are, still in the same July, and Rory McBride is appealing for any sighting of his missing wife.” There was the same photograph of the couple to illustrate the news item. Rory McBride was described as a crofter from Torgormack outside Beauly in Inverness-shire. He and Catriona had come to Oban to spend their honeymoon. In the middle of the second week, she had disappeared, but as she had taken her belongings with her, Hamish gathered the police were not really looking very hard for her.
