“Very important. Duggan had had plastic surgery at some time, so all these pictures of him that have been running in the press with headlines ‘Do You Know This Man?’ are nae good at all.”
“Who discovered the plastic surgery?”
“That’s what was so shaming. A wee bit o’ a lassie who works in the lab.”
Hamish heaved a sigh of relief. “That begins to put the murderer outside Lochdubh.”
“I don’t get your reasoning.”
“Plastic surgery, man! That puts Duggan in the big-class criminal league.”
“But the man was vain!”
“Well, he cannae have been that vain because plastic surgery didn’t exactly make him pretty.”
“Maybe he thought it did. Then if it was a gangland killing, Hamish, surely they’d just blast him. A woman, now, would drug him first.”
Hamish looked stubborn. “I still think it was done by someone outside. Any news on the chloral hydrate?”, Jimmy shook his head. “Could have come from anywhere. Brodie didn’t prescribe it. There’s another wee bit o’ news.”
“What?”
“We got the impression that Randy had nothing to do with the women. How could he? we thought, him bragging away in the pub at all hours.”
“So there’s a woman?”
“Aye, a writer, Rosie Draly. Some little bird told Blair that Randy had been seen going into her cottage.”
Jimmy’s foxy features suddenly sharpened with alarm at the sound of a heavy tread outside. He dived under the desk. Hamish opened the bottom drawer and put the bottle and Jimmy’s half-full glass into it just as the door swung open and Blair walked in.
“If you tried knocking,” said Hamish mildly, “I might know to expect you.”
“This place stinks o’ whisky,” grumbled Blair. “Then come ben to the kitchen,” said Hamish quickly before Blair could sit down on the side of the desk under which Jimmy was crouching. He walked off and Blair followed.
“I’ve a wee bittie o’ a problem.” Blair sat down on a kitchen chair which squeaked in protest under his bulk. “Now you know you’re not to be on the ease. Daviot said so.”
“And you liked that,” commented Hamish.
“But as your senior officer,” said Blair heavily, “and seeing as how you’ve naethin’ to do but sit in yer office and drink whisky, I want you to do a wee job for me.”
“If it’s to do with the case, why should I bother?” Hamish leaned his back against the kitchen counter and folded his arms. “You tried to get me off the force.”
“I was only doing my duty,” said Blair belligerently. “Do you want to help or not?”
Hamish longed to be able to say no, but curiosity would not let him.
“All right,” he said. “What do you want?”
“You should address me as ‘sir’ when you speak to me.”
“Aye, but I think this is in the way of an unofficial chat.”
“Here’s what it is,” said Blair. “Duggan was seeing that writer. Rosie Draly. I’ve tried to have a word with her, but all she does is tell me she was using him for local colour and then threatens me with a lawyer. You have sneaky ways with the women. Why not pay a call on her and see what you can find out? You let me know what you’ve got and I’ll see if I can wheedle Daviot into letting you in on the case.”
Hamish naturally did not want to say he had seen Rosie already and did not think he could get much further with her. He was also itching to be privy to all the research already done.
“Anything in her background?” he asked.
“She was married and got divorced ten years ago. No children. Schoolteacher who started writing and then found she could make enough at it to free-lance and give up teaching. Doesn’t earn all that much but works hard. Sells in America and Germany as well. I thought all thae writers earned a fortune, but not in her case. Agent says she’s quiet and efficient and delivers her manuscripts on time.”
Hamish said, “I’ll go and see her now and when I get back, I’ll report to you and I expect you to fill me in on the background to the case.”
Fury gleamed for a moment in Blair’s piggy eyes. He wanted to use Hamish’s flair for getting people to talk. And he would figure out a way somehow to make sure Hamish did not get any credit. He rose to his feet. “Get to it. Hae ye seen that layabout, Jimmy Anderson?”
“Aye,” said Hamish, “he was walking past a while ago in the direction of the harbour.”
“I’d better find him. See you later.”
Hamish went into the office after Blair had left. “He’s gone off looking for you, Jimmy, you can come out now.”
Jimmy crawled out from under the desk, stood up and brushed himself down with his hands. “You could do with a woman to clean for you, Hamish.”
“Well, I didnae think anyone would be crawling around under my desk. Blair wants me to have a word wi’ Rosie Draly.”
“That’s because he’s stuck as usual. He bullies and blusters and puts people’s backs up and then he tries to be oily and wheedle, but by that time the damage has been done. Which way did he go?”
“I sent him off towards the harbour.”
“I’ll go that way myself, men, and say I was looking for him.”
After Jimmy had left, Hamish was about to get into the Land Rover when he became aware that someone was watching him and swung round. Betty John was standing there, smiling at him.
“We all have telepathic powers,” she said. “They say if you stare long enough at the back of anyone’s head, sooner or later they’ll sense you’re there.”
“And what brings you here?”
“Looking for you,” said Betty. Once again he was struck by the sheer force of her personality, of her sexuality. There she stood, small, compact, plump, swarthy-skinned and black-eyed, and yet radiating femininity.
“And where’s John?”
“John, the reception tells me, is off having lunch with Miss Priscilla Halburton-Smythe, and so I thought I’d come along here and see if you were free for lunch.”
“I can’t. I’m off on police business, and even if I weren’t, Blair would not enjoy the sight of me entertaining a fascinating woman.”
“I’ve been called a lot of things in my time but never fasci nating. I rather like it. What about dinner tonight?”
“What about John?”
“I don’t like him going off with Miss Toffee-Nosed Priscilla. I want to get even, if you want the truth.”
“And here wass me thinking you wanted me for my beautiful body.”
“That, too, copper.”
“Och, well, a bit of dinner wouldn’t harm anyone,” said Hamish, who would not admit to himself that he wanted to get even with Priscilla. “Will I call for you at eight, say?”
“No, I’ll call for you and leave a message at reception for John.”
They both suddenly grinned at each other, two adults who knew they were behaving like children.
“See you,” said Hamish, and drove off whistling.
¦
Perhaps because the day was sunny and he still remembered the seemingly endless days of rain, perhaps because he was on the case, he exuded cheerfulness and goodwill when Rosie answered the door to him.
“Oh, it’s you,” she said. She turned away and he followed her in. The monitor of the word processor shone greenly in the dismal room. He looked for a place to sit down. The chairs were covered with magazines, books, papers and discarded clothes. She stood looking at him, her tight little features as closed as ever. Then she scooped up a handful of magazines and papers from a chair and said abruptly, “Sit down.” Hamish sat down and she leaned against the mantel of the fireplace. She was wearing a long skirt and those Edwardian tart’s boots which had come into fashion, a shirt blouse and a cardigan. Her eyes, he noticed, were grey-blue with thin fair lashes.
“I don’t suppose this is a social call,” she said with a trace of weariness in her voice.
