own. If I were in a film, he thought, I would render them all helpless with a few well-placed karate chops. But this wasn’t a film, yet he was reluctant to phone for backup unless he had some proof.
He silently crept up. The back of the truck was covered with a tarpaulin. He looked underneath it and in the fading light saw boxes and boxes of Christmas lights. On the other side of the truck, he found a Christmas tree lying on its side.
He quickly and quietly sprinted back to the Land Rover and phoned headquarters at Strathbane. “I’ll go on into Lochinver,” he said after he had given his report. “I don’t want one of them looking out of the window and seeing a police vehicle.”
He set off for Lochinver and parked by the waterfront and waited, cursing the long distances in the Highlands. He hoped the police contingent wouldn’t come racing along the Lochinver road with lights flashing and sirens blaring.
At last four police cars arrived and Hamish’s heart sank when Detective Chief Inspector Blair heaved his bulk out of the leading car.
“I would have thought this would have been too small a case for you, sir,” said Hamish.
“I think these are the lads responsible for a chain o‘ thefts across Sutherland,” said Blair. “Just tell us where they are, laddie, and get back to yer sheep.”
Hamish stood his ground. “It’s dark and you won’t find them without me.”
“Oh, all right. Lead the way.”
Hamish drove off and the police cars fell in behind him. Curtains twitched in cottage windows. He found himself hoping that none of them had a girlfriend in Lochinver. In these days of mobile phones, villains could be communicated with just when you didn’t want them to be.
He pulled up down the road and peered across the moorland. The trailer was still there. He hoped they were all inside. He got out and set off without waiting for Blair and the others. But he knew they would be quickly behind him. Blair was not going to let Hamish Macbeth take any credit for this.
When he reached the trailer, Blair’s truculent voice whispered in the darkness. “All right, Macbeth, knock on the door and then leave the rest tae us.”
Hamish knocked on the door. “Who is it?” called a voice from inside.
“Police!”
Then loud and clear he heard a dog give a warning bark. He knew that bark. It was his dead dog, Towser. He threw himself on the ground to the side of the door just as a shotgun blast shattered the door and would have shattered one Highland policeman had he been standing in front of it.
“You’re surrounded!” he yelled, getting to his feet. “And we’re armed. Throw out that gun and come out with your hands in the air.”
There was silence from the trailer. Hamish cursed. He had never thought for a moment that they would be armed.
The door was kicked open and the men emerged, one by one, their hands on their heads. Blair took over and ordered them to lie on the ground, where they were handcuffed. The charges were announced: theft and attempted murder of a police officer. The men were led off to a police car.
“You’re a fool,” Blair snapped at Hamish. “Putting our lives at risk by failing to tell us they were armed.”
“I didn’t know and you didn’t know,” protested Hamish. “And it was me that was nearly killed.”
“But you knew that shot was coming. How?”
Hamish grinned. “Highland intuition.”
“Crap,” muttered Blair.
After they had gone, Hamish found his hands were trembling. He drove back into Lochinver and went into a hotel bar and ordered a double whisky. Then he ordered a pot of coffee. The germ of an idea was forming in his brain. He waited for a couple of hours and then set out for the trailer again. A forensic team was just packing up.
“That truck with all the lights in it shouldn’t be left there,” said Hamish. “Someone might pinch them. Are the keys to the truck around?”
“They were in the ignition.”
“Right, maybe it would be a good idea if one of you could drive the truck to the police station where I can take care of them.”
“I suppose we could do that.” One of them said, “You two, go with this officer and take that truck and leave it at Lochdubh police station. It is Macbeth, isn’t it?”
“Aye.”
“I’ve heard of you.”
“Wait a bit. Could you take the tree as well?”
“Come on. Who’s going to take a big tree like that?”
“You never know.”
“Okay. Boys, put that tree on the back of the truck.”
¦
After the lights had been stacked in the police office and the tree stacked at the back of the police station, Hamish said goodbye to the two forensic men. He then made himself a meal and went to bed. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve and he had just had an outrageous idea. But he would need help.
¦
In the morning Hamish went along to the local garage to see the owner, Ian Chisholm. “I want to hire that Volkswagen minibus of yours,” he said. “I’m taking some folks down to Inverness on Christmas day. Is it still working?”
“Good as new. Come and see.”
He led the way through to the yard at the back. The old minibus stood in all its horrible red-and-yellow glory, Ian having run out of red paint and gone on to yellow. His wife had made chintz covers for the passenger seats and it looked, as Hamish thought, as daft a conveyance as ever.
“I’ll take it,” he said.
He made his way back to the police station and saw the small figure of Morag running towards him. “Glad to see you,” said Hamish. “Tell your parents and Mrs. Gallagher that we’ll be leaving at one-thirty from the war memorial on the waterfront. What’s up? You look a wee bit strained. Parents been giving you a hard time?”
“No, they say Mrs. Gallagher’s punishment enough. It’s not that.”
“So what is it?”
“Mrs. Gallagher’s a Roman Catholic.”
Hamish privately cursed all religious bigotry everywhere. If the Andersons knew that Mrs. Gallagher was a Catholic, their precious child would not be allowed anywhere near her.
He forced his voice to sound casual and not reflect the rage and frustration he felt.
“I would not be bothering them with such a thing at Christmas. Sometimes it is better not to trouble people with facts that would distress them.”
“So it’s all right not to tell?”
“Oh, yes.”
And God forgive me for encouraging a wee lassie to lie to her parents, thought Hamish as Morag scampered off. Then he quietened his conscience by reflecting that he hadn’t exactly told her to lie, he had just advised her not to say anything.
He walked on. As he passed Patel’s, none other than Mrs. Gallagher emerged. She had two carrier bags and Hamish could see they were full of Christmas decorations. “That’s nice,” he said, indicating the bags. “Getting ready for Christmas?”
“Why don’t you mind your own business?” demanded Mrs. Gallagher. “Haven’t you got any work to do?”
“I’ve told Morag I’m picking you up at the waterfront at one-thirty tomorrow. Chust make sure you don’t die o‘ spleen afore then,” snapped Hamish.
She glared at him and then the anger died out of her face and she let out a surprisingly girlish giggle. She was still giggling as she walked to her car.
“Whit’s up wi‘ that old crone?” asked a voice at his elbow. Hamish looked down and saw Archie Maclean. “I havenae seen that woman laugh afore,” remarked Archie. “Whit happened? Did she see someone slip on a banana
