Death of a Dentist

∨ Death of a Dentist ∧

7

“Well, now that we have seen each other,” said the Unicorn, “if you’ll believe in me, I’ll believe in you. Is that a bargain?”

—Lewis Carroll

“There’s coffee in that thermos on the floor beside you,” said Hamish as they drove slowly along. “It’s got milk and sugar in it because I meant to use it to make any policeman on guard outside Gilchrist’s a bit friendlier towards me.”

“I don’t take sugar, but I may be driven to it if we’re trapped in this snow.”

“We’ll go over by Dornoch and take the bridge,” said Hamish, peering out into the gloom. “I think the snow’s getting a bit wetter.”

By the time they reached the long bridge over the Dornoch Firth, Hamish’s eyes felt tired and gritty with the strain of peering ahead. As they made their way over the bridge, Hamish could see a yellowish light at the end and wondered what it was.

He soon found out.

On the other side was a different world. They drove straight out of the swirling snow and blackness and into brilliant sunshine. Hamish looked back in his driving mirror in amazement at the black wall of bad weather behind him. “Let’s just hope the storm stays where it is,” he said, “and doesn’t follow us into Inverness.”

“I will never get used to this weird climate. What do you hope to find out from Mrs. Gilchrist?” asked Sarah.

“I want to find out all I can about the man. She surely knew him better than anyone else.”

“What about Maggie Bane?”

“She was just having the affair with him. Marriage fair brings out the beast in people.”

“Yes, it does,” she said sadly.

He glanced sharply at the hunched figure in the passenger seat. “What would you know about it?”

“Observation,” she said, “just like you.”

When they reached Anstrumer Road in Inverness, Hamish climbed down from the Land Rover and looked up at the sky. Long ragged trails of black cloud were streaming out from the west, the fingers of the storm clawing eastward.

Jeannie Gilchrist was not at home. “Of course, she’ll be back at work,” said Hamish. “Let’s go into Inverness and get something to eat and then we’ll try the council offices.”

They found a self-service café. Sarah had a salad and Hamish, a Scotch pie and chips.

“You don’t worry about your cholesterol level, I see,” remarked Sarah.

“It’s comfort food,” said Hamish. “Salad makes me tetchy.”

“I cannot imagine you getting tetchy,” said Sarah. “You seem much too laid-back.”

He smiled at her. “I have the vicious temper.”

“I don’t believe that. Look at all the people inside and out. Where do they all come from? I was amazed to find Inverness such a busy place.”

“Aye, it’s grown out o’ recognition. There’s something suddenly bothering me.”

“And what’s that?”

“Thon still o’ the Smiley brothers. I keep thinking of that long shed. I mean a few bottles here and there for the locals is all right. What if they were into big production?”

“You keep saying it’s hard to keep anything quiet in the Highlands. Someone would have told you. I mean, you said that Kylie girl in the chemists knew about them.”

“I suppose that’s true. Well, murder comes before illegal hooch.”

After their meal, they went to the council offices and found Jeannie Gilchrist. She led them into a side room. Hamish introduced Sarah, saying she was a friend he had met in Inverness and that she could wait outside if Jeannie objected to her presence. Jeannie shrugged. “I’ve no secrets. I will have to cope with Frederick’s funeral after the procurator fiscal releases the body.”

“That’s why I’m here. He had no wedding photographs or photographs of any kind in his house. There must have been some relatives at the wedding.”

“Oh, that’s easily explained. He hated photographs of himself. I think he carried a glamorised picture of himself in his head and didn’t like to look at the reality. He was very vain. There were no relatives at the wedding. He was actually adopted from an orphanage. The couple who adopted him are long dead. He had a few colleagues at the wedding.”

“You said something to me about thinking he might have been married before. Surely that would have come out in his papers when you were making the wedding arrangements.”

“He handled all that. No, I suppose he was never married before if there’s no evidence of it. It was just a feeling, an intuition that one time he had been heavily involved with someone and that no one else was ever going to match up.”

Hamish sighed. “Every time I think I’ve found something mysterious and significant, it’s all explained neatly away. I happen to know he was heavily in debt.”

“Finally caught up with him, did it?”

“What?”

“He liked to show off, big car, best restaurants, that kind of man.”

“Did you know he was having an affair with his receptionist, Maggie Bane?”

“I did not. But then I never saw or heard from him.”

“Mrs. Gilchrist, someone hated him enough to kill him in a savage way. Can you guess what he might have got into?”

She shook her head. “He was a braggart and a show-off but he was never involved in anything criminal.”

“Why do you assume that the murderer or murderers were criminals?”

“The drilling the teeth. That could have been a form of revenge.”

“Yes,” said Hamish slowly. “So it could.”

He could not think of anything else to ask her and so they took their leave. Once outside, he said, “That still is bothering me. I’ll drop you back at the hotel. No, I can’t take you with me. The Smiley brothers can be nasty.” He cocked his head to one side. “The Inverness seagulls have stopped screaming overhead and the sky is black. I wonder if we can make it back.”

They crossed the suspension bridge over the Black Isle and took the A9 north. Snowflakes began to whirl about them and the road in front was becoming whiter by the minute.

“This is hopeless,” said Hamish. “I think I’ll take the road over to Dingwall and find us a place to stay.”

“All right,” said Sarah.

Traffic had slowed to a crawl. They seemed to inch their way towards the town of Dingwall through the thickening, driving sheets of snow. Hamish finally drove up to the Station Hotel and parked.

At reception, he asked for two rooms. “Two,” said the receptionist, peering over the desk at Sarah’s wrists.

She grinned. “No handcuffs. I am a friend of Mr. Macbeth, not a prisoner.”

After they had been shown to adjoining rooms, Sarah insisted on battling out in the storm to a nearby chemists to buy makeup and a toothbrush and toothpaste. They also bought paperbacks and then retreated to the hotel lounge. But while Sarah read, Hamish looked idly out at the driving snow and turned all that he knew about the case over in his mind. Who was the most likely suspect? Maggie Bane. But how could Maggie Bane lift a man as heavy as the dentist and put him in the chair?

Then there was the deranged Mrs. Harrison. Could she have suffered from an extreme fit of madness that gave her unnatural strength? Or had the dentist been having an affair with Kylie – Kylie who knew so many young men in the bar?

There was a sudden vicious pattering against the glass of the lounge windows. “It’s turning to rain,” commented one of the guests.

Sarah looked up from her book. “If it thaws quickly, we might not have to stay here for the night.”

“Oh, I should think whateffer happens, the roads will be much too bad to move in the night,” said Hamish.

She returned to her book. Hamish studied her speculalively. Her shiny brown hair shielded her face. Here they were in a romantic situation, stranded in this hotel by the station. Was there any hope for Hamish Macbeth?

Perhaps it would be better to go on thinking about the murder and stop wondering whether he could get her into bed or not.

They had an early dinner. Rain was now falling heavily. They went out for a walk after dinner. The air was full of rushing water.

“Look, the road is clear,” said Sarah.

“Aye, but we’d best leave things to the morning,” said Hamish. “It could still be snowing farther north.”

When they returned to the hotel, Sarah said she was going to have a bath and go to bed and read. Hamish rather bleakly said good night to her. So much for a romantic evening!

In his room, he stripped off, washed his underwear and shirt and hung them up to dry. Then he had a bath and climbed into bed and settled down to read, trying to forget about Sarah in the next room. He had succeeded so well that when there was a knock on his door, he called out, “Come in!” thinking it to be one of the hotel staff. “It’s not locked.”

The door opened and Sarah came in. She was wrapped in a blanket.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said. She stood there, looking at him.

He sat up and pulled back the bedclothes. “Come and join me.”

She dropped the blanket. She was naked underneath it. She got into bed beside Hamish. He opened his mourn to say something but she put her hand across it. “No questions,” she whispered. “Let’s make love.”

♦

When Hamish awoke in the morning, sun was streaming in through the windows and Sarah had gone. What was it about women, he thought crossly, that they were able to wake early after a night of lovemaking and disappear?

He had another bath and dressed and then knocked on her bedroom door. There was no reply. He went down to the dining room. Sarah was halfway through breakfast.

“You looked so peaceful, I didn’t like to wake you,” she said cheerfully.

“You look remarkably well,” said Hamish, who felt exhausted. He looked at her curiously. “Do you usually carry a packet of condoms about with you?”

“I bought them in the chemists while you were looking for a toothbrush.”

“That was verra thoughtful of you. How do you feel?”

“Marvellous.”

He looked into her eyes but could see nothing more there than the glow of good health. He had an uneasy feeling that he had been used as some sort of gymnastic exercise.

He wanted to say something loverlike but felt inhibited by her cheerful, matter-of-fact attitude.

“It looks as if we’ll get back all right,” he said. “I’d best go and phone Strathbane in case they’re looking for me. I’d best not say I’m in Inverness or they’ll ask me what I was doing there.”

“You can tell them you went back to see Mrs. Gilchrist.”

“I’m a humble copper. I wasn’t even supposed to see her in the first place.”

He went through to the reception where there was a public phone and got through to Jimmy Anderson.

“Nothing’s been happening,” said Jimmy. “Nobody could move here because of the snow.”

Relieved to find out that Blair had not been looking for him or had even been back to Braikie, Hamish returned to the dining room.

He had coffee and toast and then suggested that they should make a move.

They were both silent for most of the journey back. Hamish longed to ask Sarah if their night together had meant anything to her, but was terrified of rejection, terrified of being told brightly that it was only a one–night stand.

He dropped her at the Tommel Castle Hotel and then drove to the police station. The air smelled dusty and stale. He went around opening windows.

He checked on his hens and sheep, changed his clothes and climbed back into the police Land Rover. Time to visit the Smiley brothers.

The road was atrocious, thick with slush and grit. But a mild wind blew from the west and the sky was a washed-out blue with trailing wisps of white cloud. There was an air of false spring in the air, bringing with it the thoughts that spring usually brings. But he clamped down on any thoughts about Sarah Hudson as soon as they arose.

As he bumped up the rutted track that led to the Smileys’ croft house, he could sense those troll eyes watching him.

Stourie came round the side of the house and stood watching as Hamish descended from the Land Rover and walked towards him. Stourie was joined by Pete.

“What brings ye?” demanded Stourie.

“I want a look at your lambing shed.”

“Do you haff the search warrant?”

“Don’t be silly,” snapped Hamish. “You want me to go and get a search warrant then I will. But I’ll need to tell Strathbane exactly why I want it and you’ll be arrested, for it seems well known you run a still.”

“Chust our wee joke,” said Stourie with a hideous smile. He had his dreadful dentures in that morning. “Come along.”

He led the way to the new extension. He took a large key from his pocket and unlocked the door.

Hamish stepped into the gloom of the shed. It just looked like an ordinary lambing shed. But why the shuttered windows? He searched about but could see nothing suspicious.

“There’s one more thing,” he said, “I’ll need to be examining that still of yours.”

“Och, Hamish, we’re no’ daft,” jeered Stourie. “The minute we knew you wass on to us, we smashed the whole thing up.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Well, chust believe it,” snapped Peter. “We’ve enough to dae on the croft anyways.”

Hamish insisted on searching their house, but there was no sign of a still anywhere.

He left with a feeling that he had been conned. But then, was it likely the Smiley brothers, who had no contact with Gilchrist, would have poisoned him? There was no motive.

Feeling low, Hamish drove back to Lochdubh. He took the salmon that the seer had not wanted out of the fridge and poached it in a fish kettle. Then he divided it up into steaks and put them in the freezer.

The phone in the office rang and he went to answer it. “This is Kylie Fraser,” said the voice. “I want you to come to my flat this evening. I’ve got something to tell you about Gilchrist.”

“Tell me now.”

“No, this evening at eleven. It’s number fifteen, Wick Road.”

She rang off. Hamish looked thoughtfully at his own receiver before replacing it.

What was going on? Kylie’s voice had sounded excited, a tinge malicious, not frightened or anxious, and he was sure he could hear someone giggling in the background.

There was a knock at the kitchen door. He opened it and his heart leapt with gladness when he saw Sarah standing there, smiling up at him.

“I’ve brought you a present,” she said, holding out a plastic-wrapped package.

“Come in.” She followed him into the kitchen. “Don’t bother unwrapping it,” she said. “It’s a river salmon. Wild salmon. For the seer. Save you poaching.”

“Where did you get it?”

“Mr. Johnson said he had salmon in the hotel freezer, caught in the river. I had an ulterior motive anyway. I want to visit this seer.”

“We may as well go now,” said Hamish. “I went to the Smiley brothers and they said they had smashed the still. He may have heard something.”

He hesitated a moment. He wanted to take her in his arms but she was emanating that sort of hard, brisk cheerfulness which made him afraid to try.

The seer was at home – he hardly ever went out. It was not as if he had to shop for anything, thought Hamish. The old fraud emotionally blackmailed so many of his ‘clients’ into supplying him with goods.

Sarah was obviously thrilled with Angus and his old cottage. Angus accepted the salmon but Hamish noticed that he did not go to fetch his crystal, merely said, “Glad to have it at last,” and put it away in the kitchen.

He served them tea and then sat down and looked with bright eyes from Hamish to Sarah. “I suppose,” he said, “I cannot blame you for grabbing a wee bit o’ happiness.”

“I neffer know what you’re on about, Angus,” said Hamish repressively. “Now, I went to the Smileys’ and they told me they had smashed that still. I thought that new building they call a lambing shed might have been a place where they were manufacturing the stuff, but it looks like nothing more than a regular lambing shed.”

“Aye, well, that must be the case,” said Angus. “It iss the cauld day, Miss Hudson. Would you be liking a wee drap o’ something in your tea?”

“I think I would, thank you,” said Sarah, saving up every moment of this odd experience to tell her friends back in London. Would they believe there were still places in the British Isles where someone heated the kettle hung on a chain over a peat fire?

Angus produced a bottle of Johnnie Walker and poured a slug of the contents into Sarah’s cup.

“What do you know about a wee lassie called Kylie Fraser who works for the chemist in Braikie?” asked Hamish.

“Flirty wee thing, by all accounts,” said Angus.

“She says she has something to tell me and has asked me to go to her flat at eleven o’clock this evening.”

“I know you haff been asking the questions about her and the dentist and I know she didn’t like that,” said Angus.

Hamish’s hazel eyes narrowed. “So you think the idea is I go there and she’s got some of her thug boyfriends waiting for me?”

“I wouldnae think she would do that,” said Angus. “It’s not the city. No one up here would beat up a copper.”

“So what’s behind it?”

Angus half closed his eyes. “I cannae see clearly. The fact iss that it iss so cold here that I cannae think straight. Have you see those fine warm mohair travelling rugs in the gift shop at Tommel Castle, Miss Hudson? I’ve always fancied one of those.”

Hamish stood up abruptly. “Ignore that, Sarah. Your mooching is getting worse, Angus. A man can’t have a few moments’ conversation with you, but you’re asking for something.”

“Did I ask for anything?” demanded the seer huffily. “All I said was – ”

“Come along, Sarah,” said Hamish.

Sarah followed Hamish reluctantly from the cottage. “I thought he was a fascinating old man, Hamish. I would have liked to stay longer.” He opened the door of the Land Rover for her and then went round and climbed into the driver’s seat.

“I have to live with these people, Sarah, you don’t. I’ll take you back to the hotel and then I’ll think what to do about this evening.”

As he drove, he hoped she would ask if they were having dinner together, but she was very silent. In the hotel forecourt, she suddenly put her hand to her head. “I would ask you in for a coffee, Hamish, but I’ve got this awful stabbing headache. I think I’ll go and lie down.”

“Right you are,” said Hamish grimly, thinking, couldn’t she find a less hackneyed excuse than a headache. He was just driving off when he suddenly slammed on the brakes, reversed into the car park, jumped down from the Land Rover and rushed into the hotel.

Sarah was just going up the stairs. “Sarah!” he called. She turned round.

“Go into the bar and have a whisky – quickly. It’s the only cure for that headache. Can’t wait.”

Hamish rushed off again. He drove straight back to the seer’s.

“I know why you’re so anxious to let me believe that lambing shed was straightforward,” he said. “The Smiley brothers have been supplying you with their hooch.”

“And what gives you that idea?”

“Sarah’s headache. She got it from them whisky you poured in her cup.”

“That wass Johnnie Walker.”

“It was a Johnnie Walker label. Where’s the bottle?”

“In the kitchen.”

Hamish went through to the kitchen, which was a lean-to attached to the back of the cottage. A rinsed-out, clean and empty Johnnie Walker bottle stood on the draining board.

“You threw away the proof,” he said, coming back into the living room. “If you know anything, Angus…”

“I only know what the spirits tell me,” said the seer, his eyes bright with malice.

Hamish made a sound of disgust and strode out. As he drove back to the police station, he conjured up a mental picture of that lambing shed. But there had been nothing sinister about it, nothing at all. He would put it to the back of his mind and concentrate on what to do that evening about Kylie Fraser.

Now, if he were a regular citizen, thinking of how to deal with a young woman who seemed to be in some kind of trouble, he would not go alone. He would take his wife. A slow smile curved his lips. He walked along to the manse and found Mrs. Wellington, the minister’s tweedy wife, at home.

“I have a wee problem,” said Hamish, “and wanted to ask your advice.”

“You’ve been messing around with that pretty tourist.”

“I have not!” Hamish coloured up, a sudden vision of tumbled naked bodies in a hotel bed crashing into his mind. “It iss the other matter.”

“What matter?”

“There is a girl over in Braikie, Kylie Fraser.”

“That saucy piece. Oh, Hamish, and to think you could have had Priscilla.”

“I am not involved with Kylie Fraser!” shouted Hamish, exasperated. “And if you won’t chust listen to me like a sensible woman, I’m out of here.”

“Sorry, Hamish, but you do have a bit of a reputation. Go on.”

“It’s like this. I thought that Kylie Fraser might have been having a fling with Gilchrist, the murdered dentist. She phoned me this morning, asking me to call on her in her flat at eleven o’clock this evening because she said she had something to tell me. Now,” Hamish went on, pinning a pious expression on his face, “normally I would ask Strathbane for a policewoman to accompany me, but, och, it bass been my experience that the policewomen in Strathbane would be apt to frighten a girl like Kylie, whereas a woman of good sense like yourself, and the minister’s wife, too, might be the very person to go with me.”

“I take a strong line with girls like Kylie.”

“Chust what I thought,” murmured Hamish. “Would you be tree this evening?”

“I have a mothers’ meeting this evening at the church hall, but it would be finished by ten.”

“So you’ll come with me?”

“Yes, I would consider it my Christian duty.”

“Good,” said Hamish. “I’ll pick you up at ten-thirty.”

“I will follow you in my car,” said Mrs. Wellington severely. “Members of the public should not be in a police vehicle. Which brings me to something I have heard…”

“Got to go,” said Hamish, heading for the door. “I’ll be here at ten-thirty.”

He strolled back to the police station. The air was becoming colder and the wind was shifting round from the west to the north. He hoped there would not be another storm.

The phone in the police office was ringing and he went to answer it. It was Sarah.

“That cure of yours worked like a charm,” she said, “and then I remembered you telling me about the effect of the Smiley brothers’ whisky and that brought a little thing to mind. I’m sure it’s not important but it happened when I was at The Scotsman Hotel.”

“What’s that?”

“Mrs. Macbean went up to the bar and asked for a whisky and said, “Give me the decent stuff.” It may be nothing at all.”

“But The Scotsman could be stocking hooch and putting it into regular bottles on the gantry. If the Smiley brothers were supplying the hotels, that would mean a major operation. I turned a blind eye to it because I thought they were running the usual Highland still, a few bottles for themselves and their friends,” said Hamish.

“Do you want me to go out there and ask for a whisky and see if I get a headache?”

“Too risky. They’ve seen you before. I’ll send someone else.”

There was a little silence.

Then Hamish said tentatively, “I don’t need to leave until ten-thirty this evening. Any chance of us having dinner together?”

“Not tonight. I’m expecting a call from London.”

“Oh, well in that case…”

“Maybe tomorrow, Hamish. There’s always tomorrow.”

“Bye.” He rang off and sat looking sadly out at the loch. In this modern age, he could not ask things like, “Did our night together mean nothing to you?”

Well, of course he could, but the answer might be a simple no and he felt he would not be able to bear that.

He went down to the Lochdubh bar and found Archie Macleod. “I want you to do a wee favour for me, Archie.”

“I hivnae had much sleep, Hamish. I was going to have a snooze this afternoon.”

“It won’t take long. I’ll pay you. I’ll pay you to drink.”

“That’s different.”

“Okay. Here’s what I want you to do…”

Archie strolled into the bar of The Scotsman Hotel an hour later. The barman, Johnny King, looked with contempt at the little fisherman in his tight, shiny suit. “What’s your pleasure, sir?” he asked with a sneer in his voice.

“I’ll hae a shot o’ Bells,” said Archie, pointing to a bottle on the gantry. The barman held the bottle under the optic and then put the glass down on the bar. Archie paid with the money Hamish had given him, and tossed the measure back in one gulp. “Anything else?” asked Johnny.

“No, I’ll be on my way.” Archie headed for the door. Nothing. He felt fine. Whistling cheerfully, he went out into the car park. Then he stopped and clutched his head as pain stabbed through it. He opened his car door and fished a half bottle of Bells that Hamish had given him out of the glove compartment and took a swig of it. The pain in his head miraculously disappeared. Archie drove off to Lochdubh and straight to the police station.

“Grand,” said Hamish. “Don’t be telling a soul about this, Archie. I’ll bet those brothers haven’t destroyed the still at all.”

“Are ye sure it isnae a wee bottle here and a wee bottle there, Hamish? If it were a big operation, someone would have talked afore this.”

“If it were a big operation,” said Hamish slowly, “they’d be verra quiet about it, and those in the know wouldnae dare talk. I think those Smiley boys are nasty customers.”

“So are ye going to raid them?”

“I think I’d better get some more proof. Anyway, if I got that whole lot over from Strathbane, the Smileys would hear of their coming afore they even left the town.”

“I’ll ask about, Hamish. Someone might let something slip.”

“All right, Archie, thanks. But be careful.”

Hamish then phoned Jimmy Anderson. “Are you any, farmer forward wi’ the investigations?” he asked. “Full stop, Hamish. Someone’s been at Blair’s computer again. But when he went to complain to the super about it, the super got a bit worried about Blair’s mental state because the man was reeking o’ whisky.”

“Probably nobody’s been near his records,” said Hamish. “I thought Blair didn’t know one end of a computer from another and was always getting one of the girls to type up his notes for him.”

“Aye, that’s what the super says so nothing’s being done about it this time.”

“What about the burglary at The Scotsman?”

“Dead full stop there as well, although it looks as if Macbean’ll probably get the insurance money anyway.”

“How come?”

“The company that owns the hotel have got hotshot lawyers who are pointing out that a robbery is a robbery: and even if the safe hadn’t had a wooden back, the burglar or burglars obviously knew what they were doing and that the money was there and so would have taken it anyway. Also the company has all their hotels insured with the same insurance company and they don’t want to lose their custom. Well, it’s not as if Macbean keeps the insurance money himself. It’ll go to a prize for the annual bingo night. So it’s not as if he stole the stuff himself and then meant to keep the insurance money.”

“Grant me patience,” moaned Hamish. “He could have stolen the money himself, kept it, reported the robbery, the company gets the money back from the insurance people and Macbean keeps the money he stole.”

“Aye, I suppose so. I wasnae thinking straight.”

“Have you gone thoroughly into Macbean’s background?”

“With a fine-tooth comb.”

“What about Mrs. Macbean, and the barman, Johnny King?”

“All there is tae know about Johnny King, I’ve already told ye.”

“And Mrs. Macbean?”

“Like I told you, born in Leith, bright at school, wouldn’t think it to look at her, would you? Used to be a looker, too. Policeman down there was questioning friends and relatives. Saw a photograph of her, Miss Leith 1970. He said she was a stunner.”

“What did she work at before she met Macbean?”

“Worked as a secretary.”

“Where?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, man. What does it matter? You’ll be saying next, a wee woman like that could murder a man like Gilchrist.”

“I know it seems daft. But Mrs. Macbean went to Gilchrist and got all her teeth removed.”

“So do a lot of people. You’re barking up the wrong tree, Hamish. That murder was committed by brutal men and strong men at that.”

“Someone did it,” said Hamish. “And that someone’s wandering about loose and may kill again. What about Gilchrist’s finances?” asked Hamish, as if he did not know the answer. “Was he well-to-do?”

“No, he was in deep debt. So what are you suggesting? That he went over to The Scotsman and pinched the money?”

“I know it seems daft. But I can’t help feeling there’s a connection somewhere.”

“Don’t worry, Hamish. We’ll get there. Someone’s bound to talk, sooner or later.”

“The thing that worries me,” said Hamish, “is that by that time whoever did the murder could be long gone.”

He rang off.

The evening before he was to meet Mrs. Wellington stretched out before him. He defrosted a salmon steak and grilled it for his dinner. Why did Sarah not want to see him? He could swear she had enjoyed her night with him. Perhaps she was just one of those women who wanted to sleep with a policeman out of curiosity. He should phone Priscilla and tell her about why they had needed her computer, but was reluctant to do so. For one brief glorious night, Sarah had seemed like his passport away from memories of Priscilla and feeling bound to Priscilla.

The wind moaned along the loch. He went back to the office and looked down at the silent phone. He suddenly wanted to call Sarah and ask her what she was playing at.

Then he gave a little shrug. Perhaps tomorrow.

Perhaps he would ask her tomorrow.

♦

Mr. Johnson looked up as Sarah came into the hotel office. “What can I do for you, Miss Hudson?”

“I suppose the gift shop is closed.”

“Yes, it’s after hours. Was there anything you wanted in particular?”

“I wanted to buy one of those mohair travelling rugs.”

Mr. Johnson reached behind him and took a key down from a board on the wall. “I’m not very busy. I’ll take you over to the shop.”

“Oh, thank you,” said Sarah. “And then I would like to borrow one of the hotel cars. I think I have done enough walking for one holiday.”

“Certainly,” said Mr. Johnson. “First, let’s get that rug.”

Half an hour later, Angus Macdonald, the seer, heard the sound of a car engine and lumbered over to his cottage window.

Sarah Hudson was climbing out of a car, a mohair travelling rug over one arm.

The seer gave a satisfied little smile and went to open the door.