Death of a Chimney Sweep

She was just pinning up a wet note when she sensed a presence behind her and turned round. Hamish Macbeth stood there.

“I see you’ve found the money,” he said.

“It’s my money,” said Milly shrilly.

“Oh, aye? And do you often wash it? I’ve heard of laundering money but this is the first time I’ve seen it actually done.”

“It’s mine,” said Milly desperately. “It was my husband’s and now it belongs to me.”

Hamish sat down slowly at the kitchen table. He took off his hat. If he put in a report, it would show that Milly had every intention of keeping the money. By the mess of it, it must have been buried in the garden. He had heard over in Lochdubh about the cesspool clearance. Prosser had been a criminal, and the money should be impounded.

Milly stood before him, tears running down her face. What an irritatingly weak woman, he thought savagely, realising for the first time how easy it would be to bully Milly. Blair, for one, would have a field day.

“How much?” he demanded.

“About seven hundred and fifty thousand,” whimpered Milly, “or it was when I first counted. I’ve used some of it.”

“And what do you plan to do with it?”

“I can stay on here. Spend it in the village.”

Hamish thought again of Blair and of the paperwork involved.

He stood up. “I’m off,” he said. “I neffer saw the damn money. Get it?”

Milly seized his hand. “Oh, thank you! Thank you!”

Hamish jerked his hand free and walked out of the kitchen.

When Hamish returned to the police station, he found the editor of the Highland Times waiting by the kitchen door.

“Now what?” asked Hamish. “I’ve had enough of murders and mayhem to last me a lifetime.”

“Nothing like that,” said Matthew. “It’s a bit o’ news that might interest you.”

“Come ben to the kitchen and let’s hear it.”

Matthew sat down at the table and took out some notes. “You remember that Prosser was conned over some gold mine.”

“Yes, it did seem daft. I kept wondering why he was conned.”

“Well, you know the price of gold is now sky-high?”

“Aye, I read about it.”

“You know where Tyndrum lies, over by the mountains that march eastward along Glen Cononish?”

“Yes.”

“It’s going to be Scotland’s first gold mine. Chris Sangster—he’s the chief executive of Scotgold and a mining engineer—says that each ton of rock is likely to yield up to ten grams of high-grade gold, worth around two hundred pounds. It was talked about before in the sixties when the British Geological Society found evidence of gold in the Western Highlands, but the price of gold was so low, nothing was done about it.

“They’re all excited over in Tyndrum. I mean Tyndrum is only a straggle of houses along the main road from Perth and Glasgow to Oban and there isn’t much employment. Scotgold expects approval from Loch Lomond and the Trossachs Planning Authority by early summer. So the conning captain might have been on to something.”

“Prosser’s papers have been checked. The geological survey was a forgery and put the gold over by Ben Nevis,” said Hamish. “If the captain had stuck to the straight-and-narrow path and invested in Scotgold, he might have made something.”

They sat talking and then Hamish cried, “Look at the time! I’m late.”

Without changing out of his uniform, he hurried along to the Italian restaurant. The storm had passed, and the night was clear and starry.

“I was about to leave,” said Elspeth coldly. “You smell awful. In fact, you thought so little about this date, you couldn’t even get out of your uniform and take a bath.”

“It’s like this,” said Hamish. “I was over at Milly’s and she was getting her cesspool cleaned. Then Matthew called with a story and I forgot the time.”

“You forgot the…?” Elspeth grabbed her handbag and marched out of the restaurant.

Hamish tried to rush after her but fell headfirst over his cat and dog who were stationed outside. Thanks to the huge cat flap on the kitchen door, they could come and go as they pleased. Hamish cursed as he got to his feet in time to hear Elspeth driving off in her car.

He wearily returned to his police station, wishing he were not such an indulgent owner and could nail that cat flap shut. Instead, he took off his uniform and bagged it up. He put on clean clothes and drove to an all-night laundrette in Strathbane where they had a coin-operated dry-cleaning machine. As he sat and waited, he reflected it was amazing how a smell in the air could permeate his clothes like that.

“Milly’s found that missing money,” said Ailsa to her husband two days later.

“Did she tell you?”

“Not her. But smell that. She bought groceries with this twenty-pound note.”

Jock smelled it and wrinkled his nose. “It smells of perfume and…”

“Shite!” said Ailsa. “The way I see it, she must have had it buried in the garden and all the money got soaked. Look how wrinkled the note is, as if it’s been in the water.”

“Are we going to tell anyone?”

“Of course not. She buys all her stuff in our shop. I’ll take her money, smelly or not!”

The next day, Hamish felt he should call on Elspeth. He had stood her up so many times that her anger was understandable.

He was about to go to Strathbane and buy a bunch of roses when the post arrived and, with it, his bank statement. He had gone into the red. With the statement came a letter from the bank manager asking him to do something about the overdraft.

He went along to the offices of the Highland Times, seized a paper, and looked at the local events. There was the Highland Games at Braikie in a week’s time. It was a big event, sponsored by a building society and a bank. The prize for the hill running event was five thousand pounds.

Hamish drove to Braikie and entered his name. Then he returned to Lochdubh and changed into shorts and T-shirt and began to run up over the moors to the slopes of the mountains.

Elspeth went into Patel’s to buy some midge repellent. “Aye, they’re bad the day,” said Mr. Patel. “What’s our Hamish up to?”

“I’m sure I don’t know,” said Elspeth coldly, and the curiosity overcame her. “Why?”

Mr. Patel grinned. “The greater red-legged Hamish has been seen running through the village like the wind and then up into the mountains. He must be in training for the hill race at Braikie.”

Elspeth felt low. These days she was a celebrity. The only person who did not want her company seemed to be Hamish Macbeth. Of course, he had turned up at the restaurant but in such a state! And to think how carefully she had dressed.

Luckily for Hamish, there was no crime during the week of arduous training that he put in.

He was expected to police the games so, on the great day, he put on his uniform, put his running gear in a bag, nailed the cat flap shut because he knew if he took his pets they would try to run with him as they had when he was training, and set out for the games.

It was a fine day with only wisps of cloud across the blue sky. He was alarmed at the number of people who stopped him and said they had put money on him. Willie the gamekeeper was running a book and Hamish was tempted to arrest him for illegal gambling, frightened of all the money people would lose if he did not win, but he had never done such a thing before and decided to turn a blind eye.

At last, it was time for him to change and get to the starting line. As the pistol went off, he set off at an easy pace. Suddenly he did not care if he won or not. He was enjoying the beauty of the day and the exercise.

Up on the slopes of the moors, the Harris brothers rose from the heather and shouted, “Murderer! We’ll see you after the race.”

That night when he had pushed Prosser’s body up to the gully flashed into Hamish’s mind. If that evil pair had seen anything, then his career was over, not to mention his life in Lochdubh. Fuelled by a spurt of fury and anxious