Docherty’s cottage. He tied the leash to the fence and then knocked at the door.
Mrs. Docherty was a tired-looking middle-aged woman with grey hair and small eyes.
When she answered the door and saw Hamish standing there, a closed look came over her face, and she said primly, “What is it?”
“I wanted a word with you.”
“What about?”
“About the murder.”
“It’s got nothing to do with me.”
“I chust wanted to ask you a few questions. Is your man at home?”
“No, he’s working in Strathbane.”
“Can I come in?”
“No, I’m cleaning.”
“Then we’ll talk in the garden. I want to ask you if you saw or heard anything. Fergus’s body was put in the bin soon after he was murdered.”
“I didn’t see or hear anything. Why ask me?”
Hamish remembered Clarry telling him that the Curries had seen Mrs. Docherty walk across the road and stare at the loch and walk back again. It was just a small thing, and yet, Mrs. Docherty, like the rest of the locals, was so used to the magnificent scenery around her that she barely noticed. He’d had a mental picture of a worried woman going out to stare blindly at the loch. But maybe his imagination had run away with him.
“I heard that on the evening Fergus was found, you went out of your cottage and walked across and looked at the loch, and then walked back again.”
“So what’s up with that?”
“It struck me as the action of someone who was deeply worried about something.”
“Havers,” she said briskly. “I often go and have a look at the loch.”
“Why?”
“Why? Do I need a reason? Because it’s there.”
She was afraid of something, of that Hamish was sure, and it couldn’t be because she was being interviewed by a policeman. No one in Lochdubh was afraid of him.
“I’ll be back,” he said. He walked out of the small garden and unhitched Lugs and walked away. Mrs. Docherty stood watching his tall figure and clenched and unclenched her hands.
Hamish went back to the station and typed up his notes and then faxed the little he had, along with Clarry’s notes, to Strathbane.
Clarry came in just as he finished. “Anything?” asked Hamish.
“Apart from the secretary, a Miss Stathos, the rest are locals. Miss Stathos says Mr. Ionides plans to hire local staff as well when he’s ready to open, waiters and maids and manager and all that.”
Hamish leaned back in his chair. “Oh, my, that means he’ll go after the staff at the Tommel Castle Hotel.”
“Maybe they’ll stay loyal.”
“Times are hard. If he offers higher wages, then they’ll go.”
“There don’t seem to be any reporters left.”
“There’s a triple murder in Inverness. They’ll rely on the local man from now on. At least we should get a bit o’ peace.”
¦
Four more days went by, during which Jimmy Anderson, Hamish and Clarry assiduously interviewed the population of Lochdubh. Hamish went over forensic reports. The ground at the lane beside the Currie sisters’ garden had been hard with all the dry weather and had not yielded anything. The side of the house and at the back where the bin stood was covered in gravel.
Frustrated, Hamish decided to examine the place closely for himself. He realised that like everyone else these days, he had been blinded by the glories of forensic science and had assumed they had missed nothing.
He knew the Currie sisters had gone up to Martha’s cottage with Mrs. Wellington and Angela to clear out Fergus’s things.
He carried a large magnifying glass, and, feeling ridiculous, feeling that he looked like a stage detective, he began to go over every inch of ground along with the fence and the road at the side. The rain he had expected had not yet arrived although the air was moist and damp.
After two hours, he was about to give up, when he saw a little spark of colour between the fence posts. He took out a pair of tweezers and eased out a tiny little pink thread of material. It was so small that when he took the magnifying glass away from his eye, he could barely see it. He put it in a plastic envelope. He would wait until the Curries had finished cleaning and ask them if they had any idea where it might have come from.
¦
Angela was glad she had given the children some money for sweets and had sent them off, for Mrs. Wellington was trying to persuade Martha that some of Fergus’s clothes could be cut down for the boys.
Surprisingly it was Nessie who stood up to the domineering minister’s wife. “Leave her be,” said Nessie firmly. “She doesn’t want anything of her man left in the cottage.”
“Left in the cottage,” echoed Jessie, and both sisters glared at Mrs. Wellington.
“Well, let’s bag up the stuff, and I’ll take it into a charity shop in Strathbane,” said Mrs. Wellington, capitulating.
The women worked busily, bagging up suits and shirts, socks and underwear. Martha, finding Angela the most sympathetic, kept close to her. In the bedroom Martha had shared with Fergus, Angela said, “The rugs in here could do with throwing out. I’ve got a nice carpet in the loft at home. My husband didn’t like it because it’s bright red, but it’s warm and cheery. Where did you get these rugs?”
“They’re awful, aren’t they?” said Martha with a weak smile. “Fergus found them in someone’s rubbish at a croft house and brought them home. They’re all cigarette burns.”
“I’ll take them away and bring you the carpet,” said Angela. “No, please take it. It’s a waste of a good carpet if it stays in my loft. Let’s just roll up these dreadful rugs.”
Angela got down on her knees and started to roll up one by the window. “There’s a floorboard been sawn here,” she said. “Is this where you hide the family jewels?”
Martha walked over and stared down. One of the floorboards had been sawn to make a square like a lid. “I never really noticed that before,” she said. “I’m sorry the floor’s dirty. I was going to wash it, but Fergus shouted at me to leave it alone.”
“Mind if I have a look and see if there’s anything down there?” asked Angela.
“No, go ahead.”
“I need something to lift it, a screwdriver or something.”
“I’ll get one. There’s a toolbox under the bed.”
Martha came back after a few moments with a screwdriver. Angela prised up the sawn square of wood. She peered in the cavity. Then she reached down and pulled out a plastic envelope with what appeared to be several letters in it. Angela peered through the plastic. Some of the letters seemed to be covered in food stains and coffee stains.
“I think if you don’t mind, Martha, I’ll just take this along to Hamish Macbeth. I would let you look at it first, but it might be important, and I don’t want to get too many fingerprints on it.”
“Go ahead,” said Martha wearily.
¦
Angela hurried out and made her way to the police station. A light rain was beginning to fall. Oh well, thought Angela sadly, it’s not often we’ve had a summer like this one. It couldn’t last forever.
She saw the tall figure of Hamish in front of her and hurried to catch up with him.
“Hamish,” she said. “Look what I found under the floorboards in Fergus’s bedroom.”
He took the plastic envelope from her. “It seems to be letters, Hamish. There might be a clue.”
“Thanks, Angela. I’ll take it into the station and have a look at it.”
“I’d better get back before Mrs. Wellington bullies poor Martha to death!”
Hamish hurried into the police station, into the office, sat down at his desk and gingerly eased the letters out
