villagers might think of Hamish as an unorthodox sort of policeman and a bit of a layabout, but Priscilla knew that despite his laziness and mooching and occasional poaching, he was deeply committed to law and order and that he loved Lochdubh; but if he was dismissed, he would not be able to stay, and despite all their past differences and hurts and upsets, Priscilla knew that Lochdubh would not be the same without him.
She went into the hotel office and phoned Mrs. Daviot, the Chief Superintendent’s wife.
After the hallos and how-are-yous had been dispensed with, Priscilla said, “I am deeply shocked to learn that Hamish might be dismissed.”
Mrs. Daviot’s voice was cautious. “Well, Priscilla, I did hear something about that. A policeman prepared to engage in a highly public brawl is herdly the sort of man to keep on the force.”
The superintendent’s wife’s genteel tones grated, as usual, on Priscilla’s ears, but snobbery had its uses.
“Such a pity if he goes,” she said. “We’ve always considered him one of us. Lord Farthers was saying to Daddy just the other day, ‘Hamish is one of us.’”
There was a slight quaver in Mrs. Daviot’s voice as she asked, “You mean the Earl of Farthers.”
“Don’t know of any other,” said Priscilla in a cheerful voice, although she was beginning to feel slightly grubby.
“We all know our Hamish is a wee bit eccentric,” ventured Mrs. Daviot.
“But with a tremendous knack of solving murders.”
“I thought…well, how do I put this…thet you and Hamish were no longer an item.”
“Oh, we’re still very close friends.” There was a little silence and then Mrs. Daviot said, “I might be over your way this afternoon.”
“And Hamish has an interview with your husband this morning.” Priscilla let that hang in the air. If this tiresome woman wasn’t going to do anything to help Hamish, then she was not going to waste any more time on her. “I could maybe just have a wee word with Peter and then drop over and see you.”
“How very kind of you,” said Priscilla, and with a little smile, she put down the phone.
¦
Hamish sat outside Chief Superintendent Peter Daviot’s office, sunk in gloom. The efficient secretary, Helen, clattered away at the keys of the typewriter and threw him an occasional unsympathetic glance. She did not like Hamish, never had. Police headquarters were buzzing with the news that Hamish Macbeth was finished in the force. Hamish was mentally turning over in his mind what he should do after his dismissal. He could not think of anything he would rather do than be Lochdubh’s policeman. At last a buzzer sounded on the secretary’s desk. She peered at him over her glasses. “You can go in now,” she said. Slowly Hamish uncoiled his lanky length and stood up.
Peaked cap under his arm, he took a deep breath and opened the door of Mr. Daviot’s office.
“Sit down, Macbeth,” said Mr. Daviot without looking up. Mr. Daviot was annoyed. He had been all geared up to firing Hamish and then his wife of all people had phoned in a panic land gabbled something about her social life being ruined if Hamish went. More to the point, she had reminded her husband of all the crimes which Hamish had solved.
At last be looked up. “Do you know why you are here, Macbeth?”
“Yes,” said Hamish bleakly.
“Yes what?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And what have you to say for yourself?”
“It iss not as bad as it looks,” said Hamish. “I wass not going to fight the man. Not at all. I said I would meet him but so that I could give him a very public dressing down and also caution him against harming anyone in Lochdubh.”
“But according to Blair, the whole village had turned out and they were even laying bets on the outcome of the fight.”
“They would hardly have turned out if I had said I was only going to give him a lecture. I wanted as big an audience as possible. You see, sir…” Hamish leaned forward with the intense and honest look his face always assumed when he was lying. “Duggan had been bragging and threatening. Now the one thing a man like that cannot bear is a public telling off. Now, sir, haff you ever known me to fight with anyone?”
Mr. Daviot looked at Hamish thoughtfully while Hamish prayed that Mr. Daviot had never got to hear of any of the times he had been involved in a fight. “No,” he conceded. “But you must see that by ostensibly engaging in a public fight, you have made yourself prime suspect in a murder inquiry.”
“Hardly. I was at the police station right up until the time I was due to meet Duggan. I was in my office with the blinds up and the lights on. I am sure you already have the reports that I was seen there by any villager who happened to be walking past. I mean, just because I am a policeman does not mean that there should not be evidence gathered to support my innocence.”
Mr. Daviot scowled. Blair had submitted no evidence, merely put in a report about the fight. “I don’t think there has been time,” he said. “But bringing a charge against me which would mean my dismissal is so serious that no policeman would do that without the correct evidence – unless, of course, he had a personal spite against me.”
“That’s enough of that,” snapped Mr. Daviot. Blair’s hatred of Hamish was well known. He was now as angry with Blair as he had been with Hamish. He felt that if Blair had wanted to get rid of Hamish, he might at least have tried to do a proper job of it.
“In fact,” said Hamish gently, “I feel so strongly about it, that if I were dismissed, och, well, there’d be nothing for it but I to put in an official complaint. It would mean coping with the press in the middle of a murder inquiry, but I never wass the one to put up with injustice,” he added piously. Mr. Daviot began to sweat Hamish looked calm and determined. He did not know that Hamish privately thought he would never get away with this load of rubbish but was determined to go down in flames.
The superintendent could see the police inquiry into Hamish’s dismissal, the questions the press would ask. And Hamish would drum up about twenty villagers to swear blind that he spoke the truth, that all he had really meant was to lecture Duggan. Then Mrs. Daviot would go on and on, never forgiving him if the visits to Tommel Castle to see Priscilla Halburton-Smythe were cut off.
He took a deep breath. “I will accept your version of events this time, Macbeth. But never, ever let such a thing happen again. Do I make myself clear?”
Hamish felt relief sweeping over him. He could hardly believe he had got away with it. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
“So be off with you. And when you get to Lochdubh, tell Blair to report to me immediately.”
“Certainly, sir.”
“Very good. You’re dismissed.”
Hamish stared at him in alarm.
“I mean, just go and get back to your job!”
Hamish moved hurriedly to the door. Policemen were lurking in the corridors as he made his way out. He quickly assumed a hangdog expression. He suddenly wanted Blair over in Lochdubh to get the news he was fired so that the carpeting he was due to get from Daviot would be even more bitter.
Once clear of Straihbane, he sang cheerfully the whole way home. It was still raining, with wreaths of mist moving up and down the purple heather-covered flanks of the mountains. It was as he was driving the last long winding stretch down towards Lochdubh that he found his mind turning to the case of Duggan’s murder. For he had been murdered. It would be difficult to ascertain the exact time of death. The murderer had been clever enough to turn up the thermostat on the central heating. But they should be able to get a fair idea from the contents of his stomach. Then there was Duggan’s background to be gone into. He found himself praying that it was someone from Duggan’s past, rather than one of the villagers. But tempers bad been frayed in the village because of the constant rain. What about Geordie Mackenzie? Perhaps a little squirt of a man like that could be burning up with rage and resentment…
He found himself hoping against hope that it would not turn out to be one of the villagers.
As he drove along the waterfront, he saw villagers standing around, talking. Up at Duggan’s cottage there were two mobile police vans, and the blue-and-white police tape to cordon off the area fluttered in the rising wind. He unlocked the door of the police station and went in. He felt a little pang that there was no longer the scrabble of
