“I went to see him,” said Willie from behind the shield of his hands.
“When?”
“The evening of the day afore the murder.”
“And?”
“I told him if he ever went near Lucia again I’d break him in half.”
“Go on. Take your hands away from your face!”
Willie slowly lowered his hands. To Hamish’s dismay, Willie’s eyes were shining with tears. “He just laughed and laughed. He said awful things about Lucia. That she was hot for it and she’d be back. I tried to punch him and he just swung me round, got me by the scruff of the neck and threw me out. I’ve never been so humiliated in ffl my life. I shouted I’d kill him.”
“It’s a mercy nobody saw you or heard you.” Willie let out a broken little sob. “Only Geordie Mackenzie, and he won’t be saying anything.”
“Geordie! What was he doing?”
“He was walking past. I didnae think to ask him what he was doing, I was that upset. He made me feel more of a wimp than ever because he said he wasn’t going to take any more rubbish from Randy. I said, ‘The big ape’ll massacre you,’ and he said something about a man with brains could always get even with a man who was only brawn.” Hamish leaned back in his chair, digesting this new information. He had discounted little Geordie, had never even considered him. What a mess! He had initially thought that Randy was only dangerous as a man who bragged too much in the bar. Now all these nasty episodes were surfacing. He had humiliated Geordie, Annie, Andy, Willie and Archie, and probably Rosie Draly.
“But I didn’t kill him, Hamish,” said Willie. “I just didnae have the guts.”
“I’m beginning to think it took guts not to kill Randy,” said Hamish moodily. “If we could get something on the man, on his background, anything to move the suspicion away from Lochdubh. What’s Blair doing? He’s probably put up the backs of the Glasgow police so much they’re dragging their heels. I’ll have another word with you, Willie, but I won’t be saying anything to Blair unless I absolutely have to.”
Hamish went along to the bar in search of Geordie Mackenzie. The retired schoolteacher was drinking whisky and water and chatting to a group of fishermen. Hamish tapped him on the shoulder. “Outside, Geordie.”
Geordie looked up at him nervously but he obediently put down his drink and followed Hamish outside. “Walk away with me a wee bit,” said Hamish. “I want a private chat.”
Geordie brightened visibly and trotted eagerly after Hamish, like a small terrier trying to keep pace with an afghan hound.
“You need my help solving this case?” he panted.
“Aye, you could say that.” Hamish stopped by the harbour wall. Neither man noticed the rain. The short period of sunshine was forgotten and so both had settled back into living with the rain and ignoring it. It was what the Irish with their usual talent for euphemism would call ‘a nice, soft day.”
Drizzle was blowing in from the Atlantic, veiling the hills and forests across the loch. The air smelted of a mixture of pine and tar, wood-smoke and fish.
“This’ll do,” said Hamish, resting one arm along the wall.
“Now, Geordie, what’s this hear about you saying you could get even with Randy? You said something like that to Willie Lament.”
“He’s got no call to shoot his mouth off,” said Geordie angrily. “I’m disappointed in you, Hamish. A man of my intelligence could be of good help to you in finding the murderer.”
“Aye, well, a man of your intelligence should know that the police most certainly want to talk to everyone who had anything to do with Randy, and that means people who threatened him in particular.”
“It was just words,” said Geordie sulkily.
“I think you had something in mind. Come on, Geordie. What was it?”
“I’m good at accents,” said Geordie. “When he was drunk, Randy’s voice became Scottish and I recognized a Glasgow accent. I’ve got a wee bit put by. I was going to hire a private detective in Glasgow to find out all about him.” I’ Hamish looked at him with interest. “But you didn’t?”
“I didn’t have the time. Someone killed him, and good riddance,” he said venomously, “and I hope you never find out who did it!”
“Was that why you offered to help me with the case?” demanded Hamish. “So that you could make sure I didn’t find anyone?”
“Och, no,” said Geordie. “You do twist a man’s words.”
“You twist them yourself. You must have hated the big man.”
“Here now. It’s no use trying to pin it on me,” said Geordie, getting flustered.
“I’m simply trying to get at the truth,” retorted Hamish drearily. If you would all realize in this village that if you didn’t do the murder, then you’ve nothing to fear. If you think of anything, come to me.”
Geordie brightened. “I’ll look around and keep my ear to the ground,” he said. “But I think a woman did it.”
“What makes you say that?”
“The chloral hydrate. That’s a woman’s trick.”
“Not necessarily. A man, a small man, a weak man would just as easily have wanted a quiet and silent Randy to shoot.”
¦
He made his way up to Tommel Castle in the rain, which increased from a drizzle to a downpour. The castle, floodlit against the dark sky, loomed up as if under water. The windscreen wipers were barely coping with the flood. As soon as he had stopped outside the castle, Priscilla darted forward to join him. “What a night!” she gasped, shaking raindrops from her hair. “At least there will be no wandering poacher to see us.”
They drove to Rosie’s cottage. “Did you make sure she had left?” asked Priscilla.
“I phoned at regular intervals this evening, but there was no reply.”
“How are you going to break in? If you smash the windows, that’ll cause a fuss.”
“I’ve got a wee gadget for picking locks.”
“And where did a respectable policeman get this wee gadget from?”
“Fergie, over at the ironmonger’s in Cnothan, made it for me. He’s fair fascinated wi’ lock-picking. People who forget their keys and can’t get into their houses always come to him. I hope it’s an easy lock, mind. If she’s got a dead bolt or any thing like that, I’m stuck.”
He parked and they both got out. “I should have brought an umbrella,” mourned Priscilla as the rain bucketed down on them.
“I’m glad the efficient Priscilla has slipped up for once in her life,” he said.
“But don’t you see, it means if we get in there, we’ll drip all over the floor?”
“I’ll deal with that problem when I get to it,” said Hamish, starting work on the lock. Now he felt so close to finding out what was hidden in the word processor, he was determined to go ahead with his plan.
It was a simple Yale lock and he dealt with it quickly. They both crept inside, Hamish lighting a pencil torch. Then each put on gloves.
“Draw the curtains,” hissed Priscilla. “When we switch on the machine, if anyone even passes in a car, they’ll see the light from it.”
He jerked the curtains closed. Floppy discs were scattered over the table. “Give me the torch,” said Priscilla. “She’s written titles of books on each one. Lady Jane’s Fancy. Hardly the title of a detective story. This one’s marked ‘Letters’ and this one ‘Tax.’ No good. Hamish, maybe she told the truth and never even got started.”
“She didn’t cultivate such as Archie and Andy for nothing. I do believe she did want local colour. Any notes, papers?”
There were notes and papers and bundles of manuscript but nothing relating to Lochdubh or its inhabitants.
The table which was supposed to serve as a dining one was where she worked. “Damm it,” said Hamish after an hour’s futile searching. “I’m going to put on the light. If anyone comes to investigate, we’ll use your story about having seen a light. We’ll say we found a door open.” Priscilla switched on the light and they looked around the bleak room.
“She’s been burning something in the fireplace,” muttered Hamish, crouching down in front of it. “Come here,
