work. And they showed respect to their elders.” Her voice had a whining, grating edge. The room was small and stuffy and crowded with tables cluttered with photos and china ornaments. There were lace curtains at the windows which let in very little light.
It all felt claustrophobic. He rose to go. “You’ll stay for a cup of tea,” she said. Naked loneliness suddenly looked out of her eyes. Of course she was lonely, Hamish thought, nasty old bat. But he sat down again. One day he might be old and nasty, too.
So he patiently listened to her complaints while he drank tea and agreed that her scones were the best in the world. She complained first about the village, then about the government, then about the European Community, then about the way America was being run, and when she reached the forthcoming independence of Hong Kong, Hamish felt he had had enough. He took his leave, promising to call again.
Outside, he took a deep breath of sandy, salty air. His best plan now would be to stroll past the police station and see if any of the police looked friendly. He stopped at the church notice-board opposite the police station and pretended to read, twisting round every now and then to watch the comings and goings. And then he saw a smart little policewoman arriving in a patrol car. He waited, wondering if she might be going off duty. After half an hour, she emerged in a blouse and trousers and headed in the direction of the pub. Hamish followed. He waited until he saw her going into the pub and then went in himself.
She was standing at the bar, sipping a gin and tonic. Hamish stood beside her and ordered a whisky. He turned and smiled down at her. “Cheers, Constable,” he said, raisttg his glass.
“Cheers,” she said, studying him. She saw a tall, thin man with an engaging face and hazel eyes. His red hair had a natural wave and shone in the dim light of the pub.
“I’m a copper as well,” said Hamish. She had a pert little face, small eyes, small nose, small mouth, and a quantity of shiny, curly fair hair and what Hamish thought of as an old–fashioned body: rounded bust, tiny waist and generous hips.
Her eyes took on a hard, suspicious look. “You’re Hamish Macbeth,” she said.
“Aye, that iss right. Suspect number one.”
Her face relaxed a bit. Hamish looked so inoffensive. “Did you do it?”
“Murder Harris to enliven the boredom of my holiday? No.”
“You just stick to seducing the ladies.”
He silently cursed Miss Gunnery. “As to that,” he said, “I might tell you something about the case if you’re interested.”
“I am interested. I would like to have more to do with it. I’m from Dungarton and my job is to do all the dogsbody work. That Deacon even asked me to make the tea.”
“Neffer!”
“Aye. Treats me like a secretary.”
“What’s your name?”
“Maggie Donald.”
“You’re not from these parts?”
“No, Fife. I came up here to live with my auntie when my parents died.”
“Let me get you another drink,” said Hamish, “and we’ll sit over there and have a wee chat.”
“As long as you’re going to talk about the case and not chat me up.”
Hamish looked at her severely. “Well,” she said defensively, “you have earned yourself a bit of a reputation.”
He bought them a drink each and carried them over to a table in the corner. The pub was quiet. Apart from them, there were only two seedy-looking youths over at the fruit machine.
“So,” said Maggie, “who do you think did it?”
“I would have thought the wife was the obvious choice,” said Hamish. “The man was a nag. He made her life a misery. Then along comes this Andrew Biggar and I think that pair are falling in love. But Andrew seems a decent fellow, and Doris is so meek and mild, and she was terrified of her husband. I can’t see her biffing him on the head.”
“What about the fascinating Miss Gunnery? Did she know Hamish before?”
He shook his head. “Look, I’ll tell you something about me and Miss Gunnery if you promise not to repeat it.”
“I can’t promise that in case it turns out to have any bearing on the case.”
“No, it hasn’t. Can you see me coming all the way from Lochdubh to murder a man I don’t know? Miss Gunnery, in a mistaken attempt to save me from being charged with murder, or that was the way she saw it, got herself up like a tart and told those gullible detectives that I had spent the afternoon in bed wi’ her.”
“And had you?”
“No.”
“But you should have told Deacon! That’s obstructing the police in – ”
“I know all that,” he interrupted impatiently. “I wass fed up wi’ the row I had that morning, what with Harris calling the police and accusing me of assaulting him. I went off and bought a couple of paperbacks in the village and went out to that bend of the river on the Dungarton side of the village and read all day. Then I bought a fish supper and took it to the harbour to eat it. That’s when I found Harris.”
“And you expect me to keep quiet about Miss Gunnery’s lie?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you want to get in on this case. Because I am living at the boarding-house. Because I know the people concerned.”
“I can’t promise. But I would like to know a bit more about them. Deacon has pulled in those two young girls.”
“Why did he do that?” asked Hamish. “I mean, they were evidently shooting their mouths off at the dance about how they would like to murder someone for kicks, but surely that isn’t enough to make them suspects.”
“Cheryl has form.”
“What kind of form?”
“GBH.”
“Grievous bodily harm! And her so young. She must be about nineteen at the oldest.”
“She’s twenty. She cut someone’s face with a bottle two years ago at a Glasgow dance hall. A drunken row. Cheryl thought the other girl was stealing her boyfriend. She met Tracey in prison.”
“And what was Tracey in for?”
“She did a short sentence for shoplifting. She was sent to prison because it was her fifth offence.”
“I’m slipping,” said Hamish, shaking his head ruefully. “I would haff said they were chust a pair of regular young girls who wore silly clothes and too much make-up.”
“So what do you know?” asked Maggie.
Hamish settled down and told her the alibis of the residents, some of which she had already heard from her colleagues. It was when he got to Doris’s alibi that he suddenly stiffened. “Wait a bit,” he said. “Doris told me and the others that she had walked away from the village along the beach the day of the murder. But I saw her myself walking towards the village. Why did she lie?”
“Perhaps she and this Andrew planned the murder together,” said Maggie. “It keeps coming back to her somehow.”
“I certainly don’t want to believe it, because they are nice people.” Hamish tilted his whisky this way and that in his glass. “I can’t imagine either of them murdering anyone.”
“It happens,” said Maggie. “Think of it – years of bullying building up resentment after resentment in Doris’s mind, and then she falls for this Andrew. Light the blue paper and retire. She might have gone up like a rocket, seen him standing right at the edge of the jetty and
“I’ll find out. What did she tell the police?”
“I’ll need to look at the statements. I tell you what, I’m working until seven this evening. I’d better not be seen with you. If you start walking from the boarding-house just before seven, on the road, not the beach, I’ll pick you up and we’ll go somewhere and talk and share notes.”
