When Dr. Sing arrived, Hamish said, “Miss Donaldson has been beaten up during some undercover work. We fear this might be because of some informant at headquarters. Until we investigate further, we want you to sign her off for two weeks suffering from injuries incurred after a bad fall down the stairs. You would be helping an investigation considerably if you could do this.”
Dr. Sing was a young doctor, recently qualified and anxious to please. He wrote out the certificate and would have examined Alice but Hamish said a police doctor had already had a look. “But the certificate has to be issued by her own doctor,” said Hamish.
When the doctor had left, Hamish said, “Get over to your mother in Bonar Bridge and get her off to a wee hotel somewhere until this blows over. Now, if these men are caught and your name comes up, don’t say I had anything to do with it or we’ll both be out of the force.”
“I don’t know how to thank you,” said Alice.
“Just move fast and get out of here,” said Hamish. “Have you got a car?” She nodded. “Pack quickly and off you go!”
¦
Hamish stopped on the road back to Lochdubh and bought three fish suppers to feed his pets and himself, wondering all the time how to catch the men who proposed robbing the Braikie Post Office. They were getting bolder, he thought. The others had mainly been sub post offices in general stores, but Braikie was a pedigree one and quite new. No one could understand how Braikie, a remote highland town, should get a new post office when the government was proposing to close so many down.
Twice Hamish had been promoted to sergeant and twice he had been demoted. During the two periods he had held the rank of sergeant, he had policemen working under him. One was Willie Lamont, who had married the daughter of an Italian restaurant owner and left to work in the restaurant. The other, Clarry Graham, was now employed as a chef at the Tommel Castle Hotel. He decided to get them to help him. If he got a squad from Strathbane, they would insist on knowing how he got the information about the proposed robbery. Or Blair might take over and make a mess of it.
Hamish had a sudden image of Blair being blasted to death by a shotgun and he smiled. It was great that some of the things inside his head never got to the outside, he thought.
¦
In the morning, Hamish, flanked by Clarry and Willie, broke the news to the alarmed postmistress, Ellie Macpherson, that he expected the place to be raided. Unfortunately for Hamish, Ellie was the leading light of the local dramatic society and also a sort of female Walter Mitty. He had managed to talk to her just before she opened up in the morning. Ellie, a scrawny woman who jangled with cheap jewellery, drew herself up and said, “I shall throw myself on the guns!” Her eyes were half closed. Hamish repressed a sigh. He guessed Ellie was already seeing herself on the front page of some newspaper.
“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” snapped Hamish. “You’ll lie down behind your counter as soon as they come in. Now, Willie and Clarry here will be in the post office, looking at cards or something. They’ve got their shotguns and if anyone asks, they’ll say they are going out hunting rabbits up on the braes.”
The day dragged on. Hamish, hidden in the back shop, yawned and fidgeted. Willie and Clarry, tired of reading the rhymes of the greeting cards to each other, yawned as well with boredom.
Just when Hamish was beginning to fear that the robbers planned to attack somewhere else, the door of the post office was thrown open. He heard the customers scream and a man’s voice say, “Hand over the money or you’ll get shot.”
Hamish darted out of the back shop, holding his own shotgun. He trod on the prone figure of Ellie, who screamed.
Willie was holding his shotgun against the neck of the one armed man who had dropped his gun to the floor, and Clarry was covering the other two. Hamish leapt over the counter and, taking out three sets of handcuffs, arrested and cautioned the robbers.
¦
Blair was furious when he got the news. “Whit was that loon daein’ playing the lone sheriff?” he said to Chief Superintendent Peter Daviot.
“Now, now,” said Daviot. “Hamish has got these men and I am not going to quibble about the way he did it.”
Jimmy Anderson waylaid Hamish as he was on his way out of headquarters after typing up a full report.
“So was Alice the informant?” he asked.
“No, nothing to do with it. Chust a lucky guess on my part.”
“She’s not in today.”
“Och, the lassie had a bad fall. I called her doctor and he told her to take a couple of weeks off.”
“Aye, right,” said Jimmy cynically.
“Come over to Lochdubh one evening,” said Hamish. “Don’t forget, I’ve a bottle for you.”
¦
Hamish was just sitting down wearily to an evening meal of Scotch pie and peas when someone knocked at the door.
“Come in,” he shouted. “The door’s open.”
Alice walked in. “I heard about it on the evening news,” she said. “Did they say anything about me?”
“No, I’d have heard. They’re not going to confess to beating someone up for information. They’ll all be sent away for a long time. You can get drunk and run someone over in your car and get a suspended sentence, but if you steal money then the full weight of the courts comes down on your head. Sit down. I hope you’ve eaten, because this is all I’ve got.”
“Yes, I did have something earlier. So I can move back home?”
“Certainly. None of that lot will be getting out on bail.”
She sat down with a sigh. “I’m going to hand in my resignation.”
“Why?”
“I’m just not cut out for the force. It’s not really because of the beating. I don’t have much courage. I’m going back to university to get a degree and then maybe I’ll teach.”
“If that’s what you want to do…”
“But we can see each other sometimes?”
“Maybe. I do haff the girlfriend, you know.”
“Oh, well, I’d better be on my way.”
Hamish saw her out, finished his meal, undressed, showered, and went to bed, stretching out with a groan of relief. There were two thumps and the cat and dog got into bed with him.
A gale was howling outside, wailing round the building like a banshee. Before he plunged into sleep, Hamish found he was experiencing a stab of superstitious dread. Must be that pie, was his last waking thought.
¦
The morning was glittering with yellow sunlight. Wisps of high clouds raced across a washed-out blue sky, and the waters of the loch were churned up into angry choppy waves.
Hamish put on his uniform of serge trousers, blue shirt, dark blue tie, and police sweater with epaulettes. He put his peaked cap on his red hair. He noticed that his trousers were baggy at the knees.
He unlocked the large cat flap, big enough to let the dog in and out as well, and said to his pets, “You stay here. I’ve got a visit to make.”
The wind sang in the heather as he made his way on foot to Sandy Ross’s old cottage. Who was this Catriona Beldame that even the Currie sisters wouldn’t gossip about?
He sensed someone behind him and swung round. The seer, Angus Macdonald, his long grey beard blowing in the wind, was shouting something, but his words were whipped away with the gale.
Hamish waited until Angus caught up with him. “Dinnae go there, Hamish?” panted the seer.
“Why not,” said Hamish, rocking slightly in the force of the wind and holding on to his peaked cap.
“Because she’s a witch, that’s why,” said Angus. “She’s brought evil to Lochdubh.”
“Havers,” said Hamish. “What’s she doing? Setting up in competition?”
“I’m warning ye, Hamish. Black days are coming. I see blood.”
“Och, away wi’ ye,” said Hamish. “There’s no such thing as witches.”
