met Clarry and talked a bit and then went back with the whisky. He had a couple of drams and then he said he was going out. He put the whisky bottle in his pocket. He must have been going somewhere in the village because he didn’t take the truck.”
“Aye, but when your man had the drink taken, he’d often wander up on the moors, so why would you think it was somewhere in the village?”
“I think he must have been going to meet someone.”
“Why?”
“He put a clean white shirt on and a tie and his jacket. He liked his white shirts to be very white. That’s why I thought someone might have seen him, even in the gloaming.”
“So when he didn’t return, weren’t you worried about him?”
“No. Any time before he had started to drink, he would disappear for a few days.”
“But you thought he had gone to see someone.”
Martha burst out with, “Don’t you see? I was just so damn glad he had gone, I didn’t think. I lived for his disappearances.”
“Did he often get phone calls?”
“No. He wasn’t popular.”
“I think that’ll do for now.” Hamish looked around the bleak cottage. “Have they been to search his things?”
“Yes, the detectives were here, looking for letters or papers. But there wasn’t anything.”
“I’ll arrange for someone to come and help you clear out his stuff. Best to get rid of the reminders.”
“Thank you.”
Hamish said good-bye and left. He made his way back to the police station. He walked into the kitchen. Clarry was sitting bouncing Martha’s baby on his knee while the children sat around eating ice cream.
Hamish addressed Johnny. “You’d all better get home right away and look after your mother. She’ll be beginning to wonder where you are, and I don’t want her pestered by reporters.”
Clarry carried the baby out to the pram. He would have gone with them, but Hamish ordered him to stay. When the children had gone, he said, “Clarry, you’ve caused enough gossip. Leave the poor woman alone for a bit.”
“She needs help!”
“I’ll get her help. Now I’ve got to make a phone call.”
Hamish went through to the police office and dialled Strathbane headquarters. He asked to be put through to Blair and to his surprise the phone call was answered by Superintendent Peter Daviot.
“I was trying to reach Mr. Blair,” said Hamish.
“I happened to be in the detectives’ room when the phone rang. There’s no one here at the moment. What’s it about?”
Hamish said, “I had a word with Martha Macleod, the dustman’s widow.” He told Daviot about the phone call, ending with, “So I thought headquarters could get on to tracing that call right away.”
“Good work, Hamish. I’ll let Blair know.”
Back in the kitchen, Clarry was producing out of the oven a steaming casserole of boeuf bourguignon.
“Smells great,” said Hamish, “but I’ve got to go out for a bit, and, when I get back, until we hear from Blair, we may as well start questioning everyone in the village, even if they have been questioned already.”
He made his way to Dr. Brodie’s house and knocked at the kitchen door. Angela, the doctor’s wife, answered. “Oh, come in, Hamish. Terrible business about Fergus.”
Hamish followed her into the kitchen. “I’ve come about Martha,” he said. “Perhaps you and some of the other women could call on her and give her a hand clearing out Fergus’s old stuff.”
“I was going to do that anyway. You’d best have a word with the Currie sisters.”
“Why? Are they terribly upset over the murder?”
Angela pushed a wisp of hair away from her thin face. “It’s not that, Hamish. It’s Clarry.”
“What about him?”
“Jessie overheard him in Patel’s on the evening Fergus disappeared threatening to kill him. Martha’s neighbours heard him before that threatening to kill Fergus. You’d better shut them up.”
“Like I told you, Clarry’s already been grilled by Blair and wonder upon wonders, he hasnae been arrested. And talking about shutting people up, I’d best go round to the Currie sisters.”
“What?” demanded Nessie Currie wrathfully. “Us gossiping? I thought it was too much to hope that a lazy loon like you might actually call to see how we were.”
“The situation is this,” said Hamish severely. “I sent Clarry up to Martha Macleod to look after her. If he wasn’t with her, he was with me.”
“Huh,” snorted Nessie, “and why would she need looking after?”
“This was afore the murder. Her husband had been beating her.”
“Beating her?” echoed Jessie. “But herself always said she was clumsy, was clumsy.”
“Well, he was beating her, and she’s a poor soul in need of friends. Angela Brodie’s getting some of the women together to help Martha clear out Fergus’s things.”
“And I suppose you want us to help?” demanded Nessie.
“It would be a Christian act.”
“But did I not hear Clarry Graham saying he would kill Fergus, would kill Fergus!” exclaimed Jessie.
“Come on. Half the village must have been heard saying they would kill Fergus.”
“And he was beating her?” said Nessie.
“That he was. Can you imagine what her life was like, ladies?”
“So she must be feeling glad that he’s dead.”
“Dead,” echoed her sister.
“It’ll be a long time afore she feels that way. She feels guilt, anger, remorse and fear. She’ll be worried sick about money.”
“She could get a job, get a job,” said Jessie.
“How? She’s got four young children.”
“Eileen, who works up at the Tommel Castle Hotel, told me she has an arrangement with the other workers. They work shifts, and the one that isn’t working at a specific time looks after the children of the others,” said Nessie.
“I’ll be looking into that. So you’ll help?”
“Yes,” said Nessie. “Only, if more women stayed unmarried like us, there’d be less grief in the world. And by the way, the new schoolteacher is arriving in a couple of days. I hope you’re not going to chase her like you did the last one.”
“Good evening,” said Hamish firmly, and made his escape.
¦
So Maisie, the previous schoolteacher, had decided not to come back. Hamish wondered what the new one would be like. Then he remembered Priscilla’s friend who would have arrived by now. He wished he had some lady friend to show Priscilla that he definitely did not care anymore who she invited or what she did.
But curiosity overcame him. He returned to the police station and got in the Land Rover. Before he switched on the engine, he heard Lugs scrabbling at the kitchen door. He sighed and got down from the Land Rover and opened the door. “Come on, boy,” he said. “I’ve been neglecting you.” When he straightened up after fastening a leash around the dog’s neck, he saw an empty plate on the kitchen table with a note beside it. It was from Clarry. “I heard you coming so I left your dinner on the table.”
Hamish looked down at his dog, who licked his lips and hung his head. “You’re full o’ boeuf bourguignon you lousy animal.” Lugs looked up at him imploringly out of his odd blue eyes.
“Oh, come on anyway,” said Hamish crossly. “But if you go on like this, you’ll be as fat as Clarry.” Hamish lifted his dog into the passenger seat, got in himself and drove off.
It took him just five minutes to drive to the Tommel Castle Hotel. The car park was full. He walked into the hotel foyer with Lugs on a leash. He looked in the bar and hurriedly retreated. It was full of journalists. One was trying to balance a glass of whisky on his nose and the others were cheering him on. Hamish retreated and then looked in the dining room. Priscilla was sitting at a table with a tall, good-looking man. She looked up and saw
