cat food. I suddenly wish I didn’t have to do this. I suddenly wish it was someone else.
He hoped he was wrong. The thought of telling Mrs. Gallagher made him quail. He had no doubt she would press charges. His heart was heavy as he left the police station and walked along the waterfront. He had a weak hope they might not be at home. But the factory at Strathbane would be closed for Christmas and no doubt Mr. Anderson would be at home, just as he had been when Hamish first called.
He rang the bell. Mr. Anderson answered the door. He drew down his brows in a scowl. “If you’ve come here again to lecture us about Christmas, I’ll report you to headquarters.”
“I would like to speak to you and your wife. It’s a case of theft.”
Mr. Anderson looked taken aback. “You’d better come in.”
Hamish walked into the dark sitting room where Mrs. Anderson was knitting. She looked up, startled, and a steel knitting needle fell to the floor.
“This officer is here to talk about a theft,” said Mr. Anderson, “although what it’s got to do with us is beyond me.”
“May I sit down?” Hamish took off his cap and sat down before they could say anything. “It’s like this,” he said. “Mrs. Gallagher who lives out on the Cnothan road, her cat’s disappeared.”
Mrs. Anderson goggled at him. “What on earth has that got to do with us?”
“Have you got a cat?”
“No, we haven’t got a cat!” raged Mr. Anderson. “How dare you come here and imply – ”
“Then why is Morag buying cat food?” said Hamish in a flat voice.
They both stared at him.
Then Mr. Anderson went to the foot of the stairs and shouted up, “Morag! Come down here!”
They waited in silence until Morag came in, small and neat in a crisp white blouse and block-pleated skirt.
“This officer says you have been buying cat food,” said her father.
Morag turned pale. “I was buying it for someone.”
“Who?” asked Hamish gently. “I shall check with the person you say you are buying the cat food for.”
Huge tears filled Morag’s eyes and she began to sob. The atmosphere in the room was electric.
Mrs. Anderson left the room and went upstairs. Morag stood sobbing.
“Will ye no sit down, lassie?” suggested Hamish.
But she continued to cry. Hamish glared at her father. Couldn’t he do something or say something?
Mrs. Anderson came back, a smile on her face. “Och, there’s no cat up there,” she said triumphantly. “All you’ve done is give Morag a fright.”
“It still doesn’t explain the cat food,” said Hamish. “Mind if I have a look?”
“Oh, go on!” shouted Mrs. Anderson. “But a complaint about you goes straight to Strathbane today. Terrorizing children! You’re a monster.”
Hamish went up the thickly carpeted stairs. He went into Morag’s bedroom. It was white and clean; white bedspread, white flounced curtains. He searched around and under the bed. Then he tried the sitting room and the bathroom without success. There was a door on the landing. He pushed it open. It was a box room full of discarded old furniture and old suitcases. Over by the window, he saw a bowl of water and a bowl of catfood.
“Smoky!” he called.
A faint meow came from one of the suitcases. He noticed it had airholes bored in the sides. He lifted the lid and a small grey-and-white cat blinked up at him. “Come here,” he said in a soft voice. He picked up the cat, which snuggled under his chin, and went slowly downstairs.
Mrs. Anderson screamed when she saw him with the cat and Mr. Anderson began to shout and rave at his daughter. She was a limb of Satan. How could she do this after all they had done for her?
“I wanted something to love that would love me back,” said Morag, now past crying.
“Did you go into Mrs. Gallagher’s house and take the cat?” asked Hamish.
“No,” she said, her voice little above a whisper. “I was walking up by her croft after school and I saw the cat. It came up to me. It likes me. Smoky
Hamish turned to the parents. “Look here. No harm done. I’ve got the cat. Why don’t I just tell Mrs. Gallagher I found it wandering by the road? You don’t want charges against Morag.”
“There will be no lying!” thundered Mr. Anderson. “You will take Morag and that animal to Mrs. Gallagher. It is up to her to punish the girl.”
Hamish looked at him in disgust. “Aye, I’ll do that and then I’ll be back to have a word with you. Get your coat, Morag, and put a scarf on. It’s cold out.”
¦
He walked with the now silent Morag along the waterfront to where the police Land Rover was parked outside the station. “I want you to take Smoky and hold him on your lap, tight,” he ordered. “Cats are sometimes scared if they’re not used to motors.”
Morag gently took the cat from him and climbed into the passenger seat. In a bleak little voice, she asked, “Will I go to hell?”
“Och, no,” said Hamish, letting in the clutch. “Don’t you have the telly?”
She shook her head miserably.
“Well, it was on the news. Hell’s been abolished. Fact. Trust me. You read your Bible, don’t you?”
A nod.
“I mean the New Testament?”
Nod, again.
“Don’t ye know the bit about there being more rejoicing in heaven over the entrance of one sinner than that of an honest man, or something like that?”
Her wide eyes looked up at him, startled.
“I am the law,” said Hamish grandly, “and I wouldnae lie tae ye.”
When they got to Mrs. Gallagher’s croft, he said, “Give me the cat and wait there. No running away.”
Cradling Smoky against his chest, he knocked at the door. Only one lock clicked and the door was opened.
“Oh, God, it’s Smoky,” said Mrs. Gallagher. Tears of relief coursed down her face. Hamish was beginning to feel like Alice in the pool of tears.
“I want to talk to you about it,” said Hamish, following her in.
She looked at him sharply. “Smoky hasn’t been wandering the fields. He’s well fed and clean.”
“Aye. Let me tell you the story.”
He sat down and told her all about Morag, about her strict parents, about how she seemed to have every material comfort but nothing in the way of love. “She said she only wanted something to love that would love her back. Wait!” He held up his hand, seeing the anger on Mrs. Gallagher’s face. “I was going to lie to you. It’s bad enough you bitching to grown-ups, but I didn’t want you taking your spite out on a wee girl. I wanted to tell you I had just found Smoky wandering about, but those parents from hell made me bring the girl up here, and you can press charges if you want and give the poor bairn a criminal record.”
“She’s outside?”
“Yes.”
“Bring her in.”
“All right,” said Hamish wearily. “What a Christmas!”
He went out to the Land Rover and said to Morag, “You’d best come in and apologize.”
Morag climbed down and then stood looking up at him, her eyes wide with fright. “She’s a witch. Everyone says so.”
“She’s only something that rhymes with it. Witches were abolished in the eighteenth century. I am the law and that is the fact, so stop having these stupid ideas.”
They went into the croft house, Hamish gently nudging Morag in front of him.
Morag stood before Mrs. Gallagher. “I am so very sorry,” she whispered.
Mrs. Gallagher looked at Hamish. “Get out of here, Officer, and let me have a word with the girl.” Hamish hesitated. “Go on. I’m not going to eat her.”
