At the boarding-house, June took the children upstairs to change them.
Hamish went into the lounge. Miss Gunnery was sitting watching the news on television. She switched the set off. “When are we going for dinner?”
Hamish had forgotten about his invitation to her but he rallied quickly. “Oh, in about an hour. Have an early dinner. I feel tired.”
She stood up. “In that case, I’ll go upstairs and rest for a little before I change.”
Hamish walked to the window and looked out. He wanted to go to bed and sleep and forget about the whole thing. And yet he did not want to go up to his room, knowing that he would still expect Towser to run to meet him. The door opened and Doris and Andrew came in. They stopped short at the sight of him, looking wary. Then Andrew said, “Are you coming into the dining room, Hamish?”
“No, I’m taking Miss Gunnery out. I don’t know if there’ll be any food tonight.” He told them about Rogers, ending up with, “Dermott was a silly man to lie. It never does any good. While we’re on the subject of lying, Doris, you said you walked away from the boarding-house in the opposite direction to Skag, but I myself saw you going in the direction of the village.”
“That’s simple,” said Doris. “I changed my mind and turned back, not along the beach-but by the road, and then round the back of the house and down to the beach that way. Heather saw me.”
“Well, you’d better tell the police that. Where were you, Andrew?”
“I told you, Hamish. I went into Skag, hoping to find Doris, but didn’t.”
Hamish looked at them uneasily. He was sure Doris had just told him an elaborate lie, and as for Andrew, he could easily have bumped into Harris. Skag was a small place.
“You know,” he said, rubbing his hands through his fiery hair in distress, “I seem to keep saying this. It is no good lying to the police. They always find out one way or the other.”
“You mean even a fool like Deacon?” asked Andrew.
“Particularly a fool like Deacon. I have met the type many times. They are slow, tenacious and thorough. They can scent a lie, and when they are on the scent, they keep on questioning and questioning and digging and digging.”
“They can’t keep us here forever,” whispered Doris.
“They can keep after you for the rest of your life. Whoever murdered your husband must be found, Doris. Don’t you want to know?”
She flashed an odd little look at Andrew and said, “I don’t know.”
She thinks he did it, thought Hamish with a sinking heart. I’m sure of it. But if she thinks he did it, she can’t have murdered her husband herself. Unless she’s Andrew’s Lady Macbeth and spurred him on to it.
It had been a long day. He felt suddenly weary. He nodded curtly to them and left abruptly and went up to change, reflecting as he rummaged for clean underwear that he would need to take a pile of dirty clothes to the laundromat in Skag, if it had one, the next day.
He put his head around the dining room door when he went downstairs again. June was serving up bacon and eggs to everyone. “Mrs Rogers is at the police station,” she said.
“Bacon all right?” asked Hamish.
“Yes, I took it out of their own stores.”
He retreated. Miss Gunnery came down the stairs. She was very much made up and her hair was brushed down on her shoulders. She was wearing a print dress and white shoes. He had an uneasy feeling the spinster was falling for him and wished he had not invited her out for dinner. He ransacked his mind for an excuse but found none. And then the door opened and Maggie Donald walked in. “You’re to come to the station, Hamish. Deacon wants to see you.”
He felt relieved. Miss Gunnery looked bitterly disappointed and then she rallied. “I’ll wait for you, Hamish,” she said. “You can’t be all night.”
“Why don’t we make it tomorrow night?” suggested Hamish. “That’ll be a firm date.”
“All right,” said Miss Gunnery reluctantly. “I may as well get something in the dining room.”
“So what does Deacon want to see me about?” asked Hamish as Maggie drove him to Skag.
“I think he wants to talk to you about the case,” said Maggie. “He wouldn’t discuss it with a lowly WPC like me. And I thought you were taking me out for dinner tonight.”
“I forgot,” mumbled Hamish.
Maggie was feeling tired and her euphoria at being back among her ‘own people’ had quickly worn off. She had been excluded from all discussions of the case. Worse than that, she had tried to take full credit for the arrests of Rogers and Sinclair, but Deacon had had an account from the two of how Hamish had caught them red-handed at the kitchen door and so had said, “You’ll get nowhere in the force, Maggie, if you’re going to take credit for detective work done by someone else. I’m surprised at you. We could do wi’ a cup o’ tea. Hop to it.”
When they got to the police station, Maggie said, “I’ll wait for you in the car. If I go in there, they’ll use me as a waitress, even though I’m off duty.”
Hamish went in and was directed into a side room by the desk sergeant.
Deacon was alone. “Where are Rogers and Sinclair?” asked Hamish.
“Bound over to appear at the sheriff’s court in Dungarton. That was a good bit o’ work, Macbeth. Found out anything from thae folks at the boarding-house?”
But Hamish was too tired to ‘betray’ Doris and Andrew and voice his suspicions about them. He shook his head. “Haven’t had a chance.”
Deacon leaned back in his chair and pulled another one forward with his foot. “Sit down, laddie. I’ve been thinking. Say it wasnae the wife or the lying Bretts or Rogers, or the wife’s boyfriend. Have you thought o’ your friend, Miss Gunnery?”
“Why her?”
Deacon tapped the side of his nose. “Repressed spinster. All the guff about sleeping with you. I shouldnae believed it had she no’ got herself up like a tart.”
“This is the nineties, not the nineteen hundreds,” said Hamish. “Spinsters are often regarded as clever career women who’ve avoided the perils of marriage and children. They’re not repressed or twisted, and as a matter of fact, statistics show that an unmarried woman is likely to have less illnesses and live longer. The only thing that might have sent them off their trolleys in the days before I wass born wass that society treated them as failures and freaks.”
“Oh well, have it your way,” said Deacon moodily. “Did no one ever tell you in Strathbane to address your superiors as ‘sir’?”
“I forgot, sir; I happen to haff this mad idea that I am supposed to be on holiday.”
“Well, let’s forget about the holiday that never was. Despite your appearance, you have the reputation of being a shrewd man. Now, say this case was on your manor, how would you go about it?”
“I would be among people I know well from the start. The Highlander is a different sort of animal.”
“Aye, ye can say that again. But I’ve been checking up on your cases. Some of the murderers were English.”
“Usually I would start by looking into the background of each suspect,” said Hamish. “I know you’ve done that, but I have various connections outside the police force that I would use. There’s only a pay phone in the boarding-house.” An idea struck him. “I could maybe help you if you could give me a couple of days at my station.”
Deacon studied him for a moment and then said, “Aye, I think we can let you go. We’ve no real reason tae keep ye. Take Maggie Donald wi’ you.”
“Why?” demanded Hamish sharply. “To keep tabs on me?”
“No, no,” said Deacon soothingly. “We’re giving you a helper, see? She’s got good shorthand and typing. Can do any reports for you.”
Hamish did not want to take Maggie to Lochdubh, but, on the other hand, he was suddenly anxious to get away from Skag again. “You’ll need to let her pay for room and board if we stay overnight,” he said. “Can’t stay wi’ me at the station.”
“Right. Where is she?”
“Out waiting in the car.”
“Off you go then, laddie, and keep in touch. Send Maggie in.”
