“Why?”
“Because,” said Hamish patiently, “I can check up on him. I can find out where he is and what he’s doing. He could be dead. Think of that. The man could be dead and here are you, talking to no one and living scared.”
“Hugh,” she said. “Hugh Gallagher.”
“Last address?”
“Springburn Road, number five-A.”
Hamish scribbled rapidly in his notebook. “And when was he arrested?”
“In nineteen seventy-eight. In March. It was the eighteenth when they came for him.”
“Right, I’ll get onto that right away.”
He stood up. She rose as well and clutched at his dark blue regulation sweater. “You won’t let him know where I am.”
“No, no,” he said soothingly. “I’ve told the schoolchildren to help look for your cat, so if you see any of them about, don’t be chasing them off.”
She sank back in her chair and covered her face with her hands.
“You should have friends,” said Hamish.
“You can’t trust anyone,” she said from behind her hands.
Hamish left and drove back to the police station. He phoned Strathclyde Police Headquarters in Glasgow and put in a request to find out what had become of an armed robber called Hugh Gallagher, arrested in March of 1978 for armed robbery.
They said they would phone him back. He fed his sheep and hens and decided to drive up to the Tommel Castle Hotel to see if there was any news of Priscilla Halburton-Smythe.
He was welcomed by the manager, Mr. Johnston. “Come to mooch a cup of coffee, Hamish?”
“Aye, that would be grand.”
“Come into the office. Herself won’t be home for Christmas.”
Hamish blushed. “I didn’t come here to ask that. But I thought she would come home to see her parents.”
“She’s working for some big computer firm and they’ve sent her to New York.”
So far away, thought Hamish. So very far away.
“So how’s business?” he asked with well-manufactured cheeriness.
“Business is booming. We’re fully booked for the Christmas period.”
“No news about the old Lochdubh Hotel down by the harbour?”
“Some Japanese put in a bid but then the Japanese recession hit. Then other folks seem to think there isn’t room up here for more than one hotel.”
“It’s a grand building. Could do for a school.”
“So how’s policing?”
“Nice and quiet.”
“No juicy murders for Christmas?”
“God forbid. I’ve got the case of the missing cat and the case of the missing Christmas lights at Cnothan.”
“Ach, Cnothan! That’s such a sour wee place they probably took away the lights themselves, them that thinks Christmas is sinful.”
“I think it was youths. Petty theft. Anyway, Cnothan may be a sour place but at least they wanted to put up some decorations. Look at Lochdubh, as black as the loch.”
“Well, Mr. Wellington the minister was all for putting up a tree this year on the waterfront but he came up against Josiah Anderson.”
“What! Him that lives in that big Victorian house?”
“The same. A real Bible basher. I’m sorry for that wee daughter o‘ his.”
“He’s got a wee daughter?”
“So you don’t know everything. Josiah and his wife were trying for years to have children.”
“Probably didn’t know how to go about it,” said Hamish maliciously. “They should have asked me and I’d have given them a map.”
“Anyway, the wife went down to Inverness for the fertility treatment and she had a girl. Josiah was fifty when the bairn was born and the wife, Mary, forty-five. The wee girl, Morag, she must be about nine now. What a life for her, they’re that strict. No presents for her.”
“She goes to the village school?”
“Aye.”
“I gave a talk to the kids there and asked them what Santa was bringing them and they were all expecting something.”
“What child wants to be different from the others?” asked Mr. Johnston.
“What does Morag Anderson look like?”
“Like a waif. All eyes. And clean. Oh, so clean. I think they scrub her every morning.”
Hamish’s hazel eyes narrowed. “Sounds like cruelty to me. I’ll have a talk to the schoolteacher.”
“I’ve heard you’ve been romancing her – dinner at the Italian place.”
“Have I no private life?” mourned Hamish.
“Aye, well, if you’d wanted a private life you wouldn’t have chosen to live in Lochdubh. But I’m in a generous mood. If you want to take her for lunch, I’ll let you have it on the house.”
¦
Hamish drank his coffee, then headed for the schoolhouse. He looked at his watch. School would be breaking up any minute for the Christmas holidays. The children were singing carols, their voices carried towards him on the wind. He waited in the Land Rover until he saw them streaming out. Then he got out and went into the schoolhouse.
Maisie Pease was clearing up papers on her desk. She looked up and blushed when she saw him. “Why, Hamish! What brings you?”
Ask me out again, a voice inside her was urging. But Hamish perched on the side of her desk and said, “You’ve got a pupil here, Morag Anderson.”
“Yes, and I won’t believe for a moment she’s in trouble. She’s my star pupil.”
“No, she’s not in any police trouble. I heard an unsettling piece of gossip about her parents, that’s all. Seems they’re a bit too strict. No Christmas for Morag.”
“I can’t really do anything about that, Hamish. I would be interfering with their religious beliefs.”
“Nonetheless, I would like to talk to them.”
So you’re not going to ask me out, thought Maisie huffily. “I can’t stop you,” she said curtly. “Go ahead. Have a word with them if you want.”
“I thought maybe since it’s just noon you would like to come with me and then we could have a bite of lunch.”
“At the Italian place?”
“No, I’ll take you to the Tommel Castle Hotel.”
“Oh, Hamish. That’s so expensive.”
“Think nothing of it. My treat.”
Maisie’s face was now flushed with pleasure. “I’ll get my coat.”
¦
Most of the houses in Lochdubh were eighteenth century when the then Duke of Sutherland had hoped to expand the fishing industry. But there were a few large Victorian villas built in the last century when the lesser orders copied their queen by having holiday homes in Scotland. But now that people who could afford it usually preferred their holiday homes to be in Spain or some other sunny country, the villas were no longer holiday homes but residences of the middle class. Josiah Anderson owned a clothing factory in Strathbane. Hamish opened the double iron garden gate and ushered Maisie inside.
“What are the parents like?” he asked in a low voice.
“A wee bit severe. I’ve met them on parents day. Morag always has top marks so I’ve never had any reason to talk much to them.”
