“I won’t have to wear that green uniform, will I?”
“I can’t see them running to the expense of another horror. I’ll make sure Fergus is buried in it.”
“Grand, Hamish.”
“I can’t promise. Oh, here she comes.”
Hamish rang off and tucked the phone in his pocket just as Mrs. Fleming drove up.
“I heard the news,” she said, lowering the car window. “This is dreadful.”
“That it is,” said Hamish seriously. “And garbage all over the village. You’ll need to get another man on it right away.”
“But who?”
“There’s a crofter about a mile along the Braikie Road, Callum McSween, good worker, hot on the environment. He could start today.”
“I’ll go directly.” Hamish gave her directions. Then she asked, “Who is in charge of the case?”
“Detective Chief Inspector Blair. You’ll find him at the police station. But I’d get to Callum first.”
¦
Callum McSween was dressed in a crisp white shirt and flannels with knife-edged creases when Mrs. Fleming’s car drove up. His wife, Mary, had quickly cleaned the living room and was in the kitchen making a pot of fresh coffee.
Callum answered the door to Mrs. Fleming. He was a very tall, well-built man with a craggy face permanently tanned with working outdoors.
“I am Mrs. Fleming from Strathbane Council,” she said. “Do you mind if I come in? I heard you might be prepared to take on the job of environment officer for Lochdubh.”
Callum, affecting surprise, invited her in.
His smiling wife came into the croft house living room bearing a tray with a pot of coffee, cups and homemade shortbread.
“I first must ask you if you understand what I have been trying to do in Lochdubh,” began Mrs. Fleming when she had been served with coffee.
“I think you are out to make an example of Lochdubh,” said Callum. He leaned forward, his face serious. “If it works, you can get it into the newspapers and on television as an example to other villages. And I can tell you, I am all for that. There’s a real pleasure in seeing a clean place.”
Mrs. Fleming smiled at him. She mentally judged that he would look well on television. “There would be the matter of a uniform, Mr. McSween.”
Callum repressed a shudder. “As to that, missus, I haff been thinking that maybe white overalls would be fine. You must want to save a bit o’ money. I mean, poor Fergus’s outfit must have cost a mint. But the white overalls would look just grand.”
“I’ll see to it. Ye-es, I can see white overalls.” In Mrs. Fleming’s busy mind, the cameras rolled. She raised her hands and made a frame of them and studied Callum through it. “When would you be able to start?”
“Right away.”
“Good. I will get that policeman in Lochdubh to give you the keys to the truck. As to salary…”
She named a figure which made Callum’s eyes blink rapidly. He would never have dreamed a dustman could earn that much. He had an appointment with the bank manager on the following morning. The bank was trying to call in his loan, and he had been terrified of losing his croft house.
They amicably discussed the details. Then Mrs. Fleming took her leave. Mary McSween, who had heard the size of the salary, just restrained herself from dropping a curtsy as Mrs. Fleming majestically swept out.
Callum dialled 1-4-7-1 and then dialled 3 and got connected to Hamish’s mobile phone. “I’ve got the job, Hamish,” he shouted.
Hamish held the phone away from his ear. “You didnae need to phone, Callum, wi’ a voice like that. You could have just stood outside your front door.”
“It’s great, Hamish. I tell you, man, if there’s anything I can ever do for you, let me know.”
“Just keep your eyes and ears open and let me know if you hear anything interesting.”
“I’ll do that. Oh, I need the keys to the truck.”
“I’ll go get them. Come by the station this afternoon.”
Hamish decided there was not much point anyway standing outside the Curries’ cottage any longer. The body had gone. The forensic team had finished their work and had left, taking the bin with them wrapped up in plastic.
Hamish walked up towards Martha’s cottage. He met Jimmy Anderson on the road. “How did you get on?”
“Nothing much,” said Jimmy. “Mrs. Macleod began to cry and that big tweedy woman, Mrs Wellington, sent me off with a flea in my ear. What sort of woman wears tweed in this weather?”
“Mrs. Wellington.”
“So what are you up to?”
“Going to collect the keys to the garbage truck. Forensic don’t want it, do they?”
“No, the neighbours say the truck was never moved from the outside of the house.”
“Fine. Call by later when you get rid of Blair.”
“He doesn’t want this case, Hamish. He was working on some drugs bust, and he wants to get back to it.”
“Let’s hope he does before he starts arresting everyone in the village.”
Hamish walked on. He saw Mrs. Wellington walking towards him before she saw him. He leapt over a hedge and crouched behind it until he heard her go past. Then he leapt nimbly back over and walked to Martha’s cottage. Martha was keeping to the old tradition. All the curtains in the cottage were closed tight.
Hamish walked up the path and knocked on the door. There was a silence. He waited and knocked again. At last he tried the handle and opened the door and called, “Mrs. Macleod.”
“Go away!” shouted a boy’s voice.
“It’s me, Hamish Macbeth.”
Johnny appeared. “Oh, it is yourself, Mr. Macbeth. The reporters have been around.”
“Is your mother in?”
“Come ben.”
Hamish walked into the living room. Martha was sitting there, dull-eyed, the baby on her lap.
Hamish removed his cap and sat down opposite her. Johnny joined the other children on the sofa. Their faces were white in the gloom.
“I know you’ve got the curtains drawn as a mark of respect,” said Hamish gently. “But it’s not good for the children. Do you mind if I let some daylight in here?”
“Do what you like,” whispered Martha.
Hamish jerked back the curtains.
Then he took five pounds out of his wallet and gave it to Johnny. “Take yourselves down to Patel’s and get yourself some ice cream. Put the bairn in the pram and take it with you. It’s no good to be locked up in here. Don’t speak to any reporters.”
Johnny looked at his mother, who nodded. Johnny took the baby from her and the children filed out of the room.
Hamish studied Martha’s white face and wide frightened eyes. He said, “You must be feeling a great deal of guilt.”
“I didn’t do it!”
“But you wanted him gone, but not in this way. You’re relieved and ashamed of being relieved. You’re frightened that whoever did this might come for you. That won’t happen. It was Fergus who caused bad blood in this village, not you. You’re worried about Clarry. Clarry when he wasn’t with me was either with you or in full view of the village. Can you remember exactly what happened the evening Fergus disappeared?”
“He got a phone call and became very excited,” said Martha.
“Good, that’s a start. We’ll check your phone records. What time would that be?”
“About six o’clock. He asked me to go and get him some whisky. I couldn’t help it. I said, what about your job? He told me to shut my mouth. He said there was more to life than being a dustman. I went down to Patel’s. I
