Old Tarn shook his head. “He was that excited, I can tell you that. He fancied himself as Inspector Poirot. Questions, questions, questions. He was so proud you had told him to help.”
“I think I helped to kill him,” said Hamish miserably.
The sharp old eyes looked at his distressed face. “Now, then, laddie,” said Tarn, “don’t be getting yourself in a bind. We’ve all got to go sometime. Fred was so happy and interested and he’d been gloomy and distressed of late. He smoked about eighty a day and I don’t think he would have kept his health much longer. I’ll miss him. There’s not that many men around the club. It’s aye the ladies who outlast us. So that made the pair of us great favourites. An interest in the ladies is something you dinnae lose with age although you can do damn all about it.”
“Was there any particular lady he was friendly with?” asked Hamish.
“Aye, Annie Tame. She’ll be in a sore state over his death.”
“And where does she live?”
“She’s got a wee bit o’ a croft house out near Mrs. Harrison, her what was soft about Gilchrist. It’s called Dunroamin, right on the road. You can’t miss it.”
“I wonder why Mr. Sutherland didn’t tell you what it was he found out,” said Hamish.
“All he said was, “I think I’m on to something, Tarn, but I’ll let you know after I’ve had a word with that policeman.” I’m telling ye, he had the time of his life.”
Hamish stood up. “I only wish he were still alive. I think I’ll have this on my conscience till the end of time.”
Tarn put one old gnarled hand on a large Bible on the table next to him. “You cannae criticise the ways o’ the Lord. If Fred had been meant to live, then he would have lived on. I gather he was hit on the head.”
“Yes, I should think he died instantly.”
“Look at it mis way, a short sharp death was a kinder way for old Fred to go than coughing out his life.”
Hamish thanked him and left. As he drove out on the road to where Annie Taine lived, he thought again about Mrs. Harrison. Perhaps he should see her again. But he went straight to the cottage called Dunroamin first.
Mrs. Annie Taine was a well-preserved seventy-something with hair of an improbable blonde. Her eyes were red with weeping. “Poor Fred,” she said when she saw Hamish. “What a dreadful thing to happen.”
She invited Hamish in. How independent these old people were, thought Hamish, the ones who managed to keep fit enough to manage a home of their own. Everything in her little living room was neat and sparkling.
“I have just come from Mr. Tarn Carmichael,” began Hamish, “and he told me you were a particular friend of Mr. Sutherland. He was interested in the death of Mr. Gilchrist and I gather he was asking questions. He left a message for me last night to say he had found out something about Kylie Fraser. Did he tell you what that something was?”
She shook her head. “He was so excited. I think he dreamed of standing up in court and giving evidence. He asked me to repair a small tear in his best suit for him because he said that would look grand in front of the television cameras. We didn’t take him seriously. I suppose we all seem a bit gaga at times. And men are such little children. Always living in Walter Mitty dreams. Let me think. He did say something.”
Hamish waited.
“He said, “The things middle-aged men get up to wi’ wee lassies, you’d never believe.””
Hamish gave a little sigh. “I suppose he was talking about Gilchrist.”
“You mean Mr. Gilchrist and Kylie. My!”
“He didn’t get anywhere with her but I suppose Fred Sutherland found out and that’s what he wanted to tell me.”
“But don’t you see,” cried Annie, “that must have been the reason Fred was killed! Kylie hangs out with some awful fellows at the pub.”
“There was no reason for Kylie to worry. I already knew, you see, and she knew that.”
She clasped her hands and looked at him beseechingly. “You must find out who did this wicked thing. Mr. Gilchrist was a nasty man and no one really mourns him, but everyone loved Fred.”
“I’ll do my best,” said Hamish, “but if you find out anything or remember anything, please let me know.”
She promised she would. He then went to Mrs. Hamson’s but she was not at home. He then remembered he had asked Mrs. Edwardson of the dress shop to ask about Kylie as well and thought he had better warn her.
She was there as usual in her empty shop among the droopy dresses and china dummies with 1930 faces and improbable wigs.
“You don’t need to worry about me,” she said in answer to Hamish’s warning. “I haven’t been asking about although I did warn Kylie you’d been asking about her. I’ve got so much to do here, you see.”
“Such as what?”
She bridled. “Serving customers, of course, making alterations, and taking inventory of the stock.”
Hamish’s Highland curiosity almost prompted him to ask her when she had last sold anything at all.
“So you haven’t heard anything that might be of help to me?”
“Not really, and I do not see why I should do your job for you, Officer.”
“I’ll leave you to all your customers,” said Hamish with a flash of Highland malice. “I’ll chust be fighting my way to the door through them all.”
He stood outside the shop, irresolute. Then he saw Jimmy Anderson loping down the street.
“Just the man,” hailed Jimmy. “Let’s go for a dram.”
They walked in silence to The Drouthy Crofter. The bar was empty.
Hamish knew Jimmy had to be fueled up with whisky before he could get any information out of him and so he bought him a double and said, “Let’s sit down over there. What’s the latest. Was anything stolen from Fred Sutherland’s flat?”
“No sign of it. He wasnae the type o’ old boy to keep it under the bed either. How did you get on with Kylie’s boss?”
“Not very far. He kept her on because she was a steady worker and the customers liked her. I see his point. The young people up here like to go on the dole and do a bit of moonlighting. They’re hardly the workers o’ the world. This is the second time someone has gone up that stair to commit murder and no one’s seen anyone. Certainly the lights were out on the stair but there was a streetlight outside.”
“I’ll tell you something about Braikie,” said Jimmy. “Has it ever dawned on you how dead it is, even in the middle o’ the day? What am I talking about? Especially in the middle o’ the day. Down south the supermarkets are open the whole time and some o’ the Asian shops are open round-the-clock, but up here everything closes down as tight as a drum at lunchtime. Then any other wee town in Scotland, you’ll aye see groups o’ people standing about talking. Not here. It’s as bad as that other hellhole, Cnothan. I’ve been watching. About nine in the morning, everyone goes to the shops, get what they want and disappear. By ten o’clock, the place is as dead as anything. Around five o’clock, just before the shops close, they all come out again. The young people spend their day in this pub after they awake about two in the afternoon, and the old people go to that club of theirs. A special bus goes round and collects them at nine in the morning. The middle-aged stay at home and watch the soaps. I’m telling you, Hamish, if I had to live in Braikie, I’d cut my wrists.”
“What’s happened to Kylie now?”
“Back at Strathbane for questioning. She’s got a lawyer now.”
“Who’s she got?”
“Mr. Armstrong-Gulliver.”
Hamish raised his eyebrows in surprise. “That’ll cost her a pretty penny. How can she afford him, and where are her parents and who are her parents?”
“Mother. Single mother in Inverness. On the game. Hasn’t seen Kylie for two years. Broken home. Violence.”
“What do you make of Kylie?”
“Sexy little piece, but as hard as nails. I’ve seen strong men crumble before Blair. But not our Kylie.”
Hamish leaned back in his chair. “If Gilchrist were still alive, I would be suspecting him o’ the murder of Fred to keep the old man’s mouth shut about him and Kylie. There’s something verra obvious we’re missing, Jimmy.”
“The fact is,” said Jimmy, “we’re cluttered up wi’ crime and suspects. There’s that robbery at the hotel and Mrs. Macbean being an auld flame o’ Gilchrist. There’s the Smileys and their illegal still. You said they were going to
