Angela nodded.
“But Maggie Bane! I would have thought it a coldblooded murder by a pretty powerful man or men. That’s it! It might have been more than one person.”
Angela looked around the kitchen. The sink was piled high with dirty dishes and the table was covered with dirty coffee cups.
“I hope you aren’t planning on bringing her back here, Hamish. The place looks like a slum.”
Hamish coloured. “I haff had my mind on the other things.”
“I’d help you, but I have to get back and put dinner on the table.”
Hamish looked at his watch and let out a squawk of alarm. “Thanks, Angela. I’ll need to hurry or I’ll be late.”
Soon he was heading along the waterfront in the direction of the restaurant, feeling his regulation boots getting bigger and clumsier by the minute.
Sarah was already there and seated at the table by the window. She was wearing a scarlet wool dress and an expensive pair of ruby and gold earrings.
Hamish, struck afresh by her beauty, felt suddenly shy.
“I’m sorry I’m a few minutes late,” he said, sitting down opposite her. “I was on this murder case.”
“Oh, how’s that going?”
Willie came up with menus. They both ordered, and when Willie had left, Hamish said ruefully, “I’m not doing very well. Och, I may as well tell you. My one pair of good shoes had the sole hanging loose on one of them and I tried to stick it with Stickfast Glue and got stuck to the damn thing and had to wait for the doctor’s wife to come and free me.”
Sarah laughed. “I did notice the big boots when you came in the door and thought you’d forgotten to change them.”
“I don’t often dress up,” said Hamish. A picture of Priscilla came into his mind and he looked out the window. In that moment, she felt so near to him that he half expected to see her walking along outside.
Sarah looked at his sad face curiously and then said, “This case is getting you down.”
“You could say that. It’s the first time I’ve felt so frustrated at being an ordinary copper who’s kept out of things. Before I’ve found out the pathologist’s report by phoning tip and pretending to be Detective Chief Inspector Blair. I’ve found out about statements by plying another detective with whisky, but somehow I can’t be bothered pulling any of those tricks again.”
She studied him for a few moments and then asked, “Do you have a computer at the police station?”
“Yes, we’re all computerised now.”
“Did I tell you my job with the consultancy firm?”
“No, I thought you advised people on finances.”
“I’m a systems analyst. That’s how I met Priscilla. I was giving lectures on computers a few years ago at a business college.”
Willie brought their food. He hovered around the table after he had served it, obviously hoping to be included in their conversation, but the restaurant was busy that night, and so he soon moved off.
“How is Priscilla?” asked Hamish.
“Very well as far as I could gamer. Lots of social life.”
“Got a steady boyfriend?”
“She’s been seen around with a stockbroker.”
Hamish picked at his food.
“Was there something between you and Priscilla?” she asked gently, after studying his downcast face.
“No, no,” he lied. He suddenly wanted to forget about Priscilla. Her ghost was ruining the evening.
She wound a piece of tagliatelle neatly round her fork. “I might be able to help you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just suppose I could hack into the main computer at police headquarters, would you think that was illegal?”
Hamish’s face brightened. “Och, no. I mean I am a policeman. I’m on this case in a way. It would save me a lot of bother. Could you do that?”
“I don’t know. I could try.”
“That would be grand.” Hamish suddenly remembered the mess his home was in, but he thought that if he put her off and left it until the following day, she might change her mind.
“What is your superior officer like and what is his name?” asked Sarah.
“That’s Detective Chief Inspector Blair, a Glaswegian, thick neck, trouble with booze, nasty. Wants me to solve cases for him but disnae want to give me any information unless he has to. I don’t want to spoil this nice evening talking about him. Do you have a steady boyfriend?” he asked.
“No.” That no was abrupt and the shutters were down over her eyes.
He said quickly, “Have you been this far north before?”
“Do you know, this is the first time I’ve ever been in Scotland, let alone this far north. It’s another world, isn’t it? I’ve walked in parts of Sutherland where you can look right and left and see nothing made by man. It’s a scary feeling, like being on another planet. And the wind up here frightens me. You’re walking along on a still day, then there’s a little breeze and then without warning, a full gale hurtles out of nowhere, shouting and yelling and racing across the heavens. You walk forward against it at an angle while it tears at you like a live thing. And then it suddenly dies as abruptly as it had sprung up.”
“When do you plan to move on?”
“In a few days’ time. I must confess it’s wonderful to have comfort again. But all the walking has done me good. It’s a relief to get away from everything.”
They ate in companionable silence for a while and then she asked, “Why do people kill people?”
“If it’s Strathbane, then ten to one it’s because of drink or drugs. Mostly domestic. Husband gets drunk and comes home and beats his wife and doesn’t know when to stop. But when it’s a murder in a small town, then it’s usually passion or money.”
“And what do you think it is in this case?”
“I don’t know enough. It turns out that the dentist’s receptionist, Maggie Bane, might have been having an affair with him. But she couldn’t have committed the murder because she went out to do some errands between ten and eleven o’clock.”
“Could the murder have been done before then?”
He shook his head. “Gilchrist had a patient, a Mrs. Harrison, just before Maggie Bane went out. He was alive and well at ten o’clock.”
“I would like to get started,” she said. “You can give me coffee at the police station.”
Curious Highland eyes watched them leave. Willie sprang to open the restaurant door and then leaned out and watched the couple as they walked along the waterfront and turned in at the police station.
“She’s gone home with him,” he announced to the assembled diners. The locals grinned, except for a visitor, a heavyset man who was dining with a girl who was not his wife, who felt uneasy at this sign of village gossip.
¦
Hamish switched on the light in the kitchen. “This is cosy,” said Sarah, taking off her jacket.
The kitchen was gleaming and the wood stove was burning merrily. All the dishes had been washed. A note lay on the table. Hamish picked it up and read it. “Have fun, Angela.” He crumpled it quickly in his hand and stuffed it into his pocket.
“I’ll make us some coffee and then take you through to the computer. Milk and sugar?”
“Just black, please.”
He made two mugs of coffee and then led her through to the police office. She sat down in front of the computer. “I think you’d better go away and read a book or something, Hamish. This might take some time.”
“There’s nothing I can do?”
“Nothing but wait and pray.”
Hamish went through to his living room. Angela had cleared all the dead ash out of the fireplace and set it ready to light. He put a match to it and sat down in front of the crackling blaze. He then rose and switched on the television set. An alternative comedian was telling bad jokes. Alternative in Hamish’s mind meant humourless. He
