“Who else visited Fiona?”
“I don’t know and that’s the truth. I never asked her. I wanted to keep up the lie that she was mine only.”
Fergus began to cry, great gulping sobs. Hamish handed him a handkerchief and waited in sympathetic silence until Fergus had cried himself out. “Just look at me,” said Fergus. “Crying over a hoor when I cannae even shed a tear for my ain wife.”
“Here’s what I want you to do,” said Hamish. “I want you to go to Dr. Brodie and get him to recommend a good psychiatrist. You need to talk all this out.”
“I’m not mad!”
“No, but you’ll drive yourself mad wi’ the load o’ guilt you’re carrying. Now, do you have any idea who’s been committing these murders?”
“Hamish, I swear to God I haven’t a clue.”
¦
Elspeth was wondering what to do about Perry. They both had been summoned back to the office. Elspeth had pointed out that the roads south were still impassable in a lot of places. The news editor told her to get back as soon as she could and to bring Perry with her.
She was anxious to remove Perry from Priscilla’s orbit. Perry was easy and charming to both of them. Elspeth was only comforted by the fact that she had overheard Priscilla inviting Perry for dinner and Perry had refused, saying he still had work to do.
In order to get Perry out of the hotel, she suggested they go down to the police station. “It would be a shame,” said Elspeth, “to get on the road and then find out Hamish had solved the murders. Then we’ve got Catriona’s funeral later on.”
“Do you think he will solve the murders?” asked Perry.
“He always has in the past. Mind you, there’s a first time for everything.”
¦
Hamish was in his office. He had pinned a large sheet of paper up on the wall with the names of the four murdered women with arrows pointing to each name from a centre circle in which he had written the one word in heavy black ink – SEX.
“Come in,” he said. “I’m just trying to work something out. Now, Archie Maclean said to me, “We don’t do sex in Lochdubh.” I thought that was funny at the time. But think of it. If that’s the case, there must be a good few sexually repressed men around.”
“Including you,” said Elspeth.
“Don’t be cheeky. Let me think. Wait a bit. What if I’ve been looking at this the wrong way round?”
“The funeral’s today,” interrupted Elspeth.
“Whose funeral?”
“Catriona. She’s still legally married to Rory so he’s agreed to stump up. Don’t suppose any of the village will be going, but Perry and I may as well do a piece. Mrs. Wellington will be there, of course.”
“That’s it!” exclaimed Hamish. “Mrs. Wellington. The village women were complaining to her about Catriona. What if I should be looking for a woman instead of a man? Take Catriona’s murder. Lesley said that provided the weapon was sharp enough, then a woman could have done it. All the murders seem to have been done in a frenzy of hate. Now, if Ina wasn’t one of the murderees, I might have thought it was her.”
“Why Ina?”
“Never you mind. When’s the funeral?”
“Three o’clock.”
“Maybe see you there. I’ve got to dash.”
¦
As Hamish walked up to the manse, he marvelled at how little he actually knew of what went on behind the lace curtains of the cottages in Lochdubh.
Whoever would have thought that Fergus was a battered husband?
Mrs. Wellington greeted him with a curt “I’m busy.”
“It iss verra important,” said Hamish. Mrs. Wellington always made him feel nervous. She invited him into the manse’s vast and old-fashioned kitchen.
“Don’t sit down,” she barked as Hamish removed his hat.
He turned and faced her. “Before Catriona was murdered, a lot of the women came to you about their husbands visiting her. Was there any particular one that was more upset than the others?”
“If, as I think you are, you are trying to pin any of these murders on the respectable ladies of Lochdubh, then I have nothing to say to you.”
“There have been four murders and maybe there’ll be another one if you don’t help.”
“Then look for a man! Women are the gentler sex, or have you forgotten?”
“Did you know that Ina Braid beat her husband?”
Mrs. Wellington had been rolling pastry. She glared at him and brandished the rolling pin. Hamish took a quick step back.
“Either Fergus is really guilty or all this has turned his brain. I knew Ina Braid, and she was a gentle soul.”
¦
Hamish returned to the station. The wind was rising and blowing powdery snow from the tops of drifts. The sky above was getting darker. Villagers were queuing at Patel’s, frightened that more snow would mean that deliveries of goods wouldn’t get through.
In the police station, he sought out two camper’s gas lamps and placed them in readiness on the kitchen table. More snow would probably mean a power cut. Sonsie and Lugs crashed through the flap on the door. Hamish could see that their coats were embedded with hard little snowballs. He filled a basin with warm water and patiently began to remove the snow from them.
Then he put more peat in the stove before pouring himself a cup of coffee, going into the office, getting his notes, and once more spreading them out on the kitchen table.
The snow meant that he would have at least the whole of what was left of the day free from interruptions. Then he remembered Catriona’s funeral. Surely it wouldn’t take place on such a day.
He phoned Mrs. Wellington. “No, of course not,” she said in answer to his query. “Mr. McBride is unable to get further north because of the snow and we are going to wait until he arrives.”
“What…?” began Hamish when the phone went dead.
He went back to the kitchen and tried the lights. No success. The snow piling up against the kitchen window was cutting out any light.
He lit the lamps and hoped that his sheep were safely in the shelter he had built for them. He suddenly cursed, remembering he hadn’t given them their winter feed.
Hamish strapped on his snowshoes and collected two buckets of feed he had ready by the door. He put on a coat and woollen hat, opened the door, and plunged into the roaring white storm outside. He felt a superstitious shudder as he made his way up the hill at the back.
The wind was screaming and howling. It was as if the old gods had decided to take back Sutherland, take it away from the petty grip of man and restore it to a wilderness.
He was pleased that the low wooden shelter he had built for the sheep was holding up. He poured their feed into a trough, stood for a moment watching them, and then headed back to the station.
¦
Elspeth and Perry struggled back to the hotel. “We’ll never get out of here,” said Perry. “Not that I care much.” But that charming smile of his was not only for Elspeth but also for Priscilla, who had come to meet them.
“Clarry’s made some mulled wine,” said Priscilla. “Like some?”
“Lovely,” said Perry. “Wait till we get out of these wet clothes. My feet feel like two blocks of ice and we’re dripping melted snow all over the place. Come on, Elspeth.”
Priscilla watched them go. Was there anything going on between them? Her father had got on the phone to friends in the south and had found out all about Perry’s impeccable background and had started nagging his
