Death of a Dustman

∨ Death of a Dustman ∧

8

Times are changed with him who marries; there are no more by-path meadows, where you may innocently linger, but the road lies long and straight and dusty to the grave.

—Robert Louis Stevenson

Four weeks had passed since Geordie had brought down the helicopter, and Hamish was still suspended. He had spent hours over in Strathbane being interviewed by a police inquiry team. Investigations into Ionides’s company were still going on. The pilot turned out to have a long record of violent crime. His last had been for armed robbery. He had faked an illness and escaped from the prison hospital. He was still under arrest, but remained silent.

Geordie, thanks to Hamish sticking to his story that he had ordered Geordie to bring down the helicopter, was a free man. His case had been heard at the sheriff’s court in Strathbane, and Hamish had testified that Geordie had been only acting on instructions.

Hamish had been given a rocket by the sheriff for irresponsible policing.

Clarry had worked out his notice, but was still living at the police station until such time as he considered it decent to move in with Martha.

Hamish fished the blackmailing letters out of the bottom drawer of his desk and decided to put them in the stove. The weather had turned chilly and blustery. He had lit the wood fire in the kitchen and was waiting for the wood to catch before he dropped the letters in when the phone rang.

He put the letters on the kitchen table and went to answer it. It was Jimmy Anderson at the other end of the line, sounding very excited. “He’s broken, Hamish.”

“Who?”

“The pilot, Ian Simpson. He says he wants to do a deal.”

“Oh, aye? And you don’t do deals.”

“No, but we promised him a favourable trial.”

“So what has he said?”

“He says that Ionides killed Fergus. He told Fergus he would meet him up on the grazings and pay him ten thousand pounds. He bashed his head in and then got Ian, the pilot, to go back with him in the middle of the night. They wrapped the body in one of the sheets from the hotel. They were going to dump it in the loch when they got as far as the Curries’ cottage. Ionides said, “Let’s dump the bastard in that bin. I’m sick of carrying it.””

“And then they did Angus?”

“There’s the odd thing. He stubbornly says that Angus never came near Ionides. But he says Ionides was trading drugs. That was the real reason for the hotel so far north. They thought it would be an excellent, quiet landing place. There was a raid on all his hotels during the night and they found drugs in the cellar of the one in Aberfoyle, so they’ve arrested the brother. Miss Stathos is crying and wailing and sticking to her story that she knew nothing about it. Mind you, she says he was fanatical about fishing, any kind of fishing, and was determined to get the Tommel Castle Hotel. Things look better for you, Hamish. You’re to attend a special meeting this afternoon at two o’clock.”

“Another dressing down,” said Hamish.

“Aye, but take my advice, laddie, and look meek and humble.”

After he had rung off, Hamish went into the kitchen and looked thoughtfully at the letters. Surely Ionides had killed Angus. It couldn’t be anyone else. But he picked up the package and carried it through to the office and put it back in the drawer.

He brushed and pressed his uniform and wondered what awaited him in Strathbane. He hoped no one had reported that Clarry was still living at the police station or he would be in worse trouble than he was.

Detective Chief Inspector Blair was a happy man. Hamish Macbeth would be removed from his job. No more would that lanky Highlander plague him. He wished now that he hadn’t turned the case over to Jimmy Anderson. But he had been feeling weak and shaky after his last bout of drinking and his subsequent treatment in hospital.

He had been off the booze for six weeks now, and he was feeling fit and well. It all went to show he could take it or leave it. Still, the sacking of Hamish Macbeth demanded some sort of celebration. He went to his usual pub and virtuously ordered a glass of tonic water with ice and a slice of lemon.

♦

Hamish stood in front of a long desk and faced his judges. Superintendent Daviot was there, flanked by two hard-faced investigators from the Internal Investigations Department, the chief constable, and Daviot’s secretary, Helen, who looked happy because she disliked Hamish almost as much as Blair did.

They went over all the old ground. Hamish did not have any right to order a citizen to throw a hammer at a helicopter, which had resulted in the death of the owner. Hamish stood and listened, his face impassive.

“I am sorry, Macbeth,” concluded Daviot, “but there is no alternative but to remove you from the force.”

“Wait a minute,” said one of the detectives, raising his hand. “The fact that Ionides was a murderer and a drug runner and a scab on the face of society puts a different complexion on the matter, in my opinion. Had it not been for Macbeth here, we would never have got on to him. There is another factor. The pilot swears blind they had nothing to do with the murder of Angus Ettrik. I cannot see he had any reason to lie. He could well have lied and claimed that Ionides was totally responsible for the murder of Fergus.”

“Maybe he didn’t mind saying he helped in one murder but did not want to say he had assisted in two,” said Daviot.

“I don’t think so. This officer” – the detective pointed a pencil at Hamish – “has had several remarkable successes in the past. I know you don’t like his methods, sir, but nonetheless, I am worried because I think we have an unsolved murder here, and Macbeth knows his territory and the people in it.”

Daviot said, “Would you wait outside, Macbeth?”

Hamish walked stiffly out, his cap under his arm. He sat down in Helen’s chair and swung it to one side and then the other. Then he rose and raided Helen’s cupboard, where he knew the biscuits were kept. He made himself a cup of coffee on her machine. She would be furious, but he would probably never have to see her again.

Time passed. His eyes drooped. He fell asleep with his feet on Helen’s desk.

When Helen came out after an hour to summon him back, she took in the spectacle of the empty coffee cup – her own private best china coffee cup – the plate full of biscuit crumbs and the sleeping constable. Her face flamed with anger. “Officer Macbeth!” she shouted in his ear.

Hamish jerked awake. “Och, it iss yourself, Helen,” he said amiably.

“Get in there!” snarled Helen.

Hamish got lazily to his feet. “My, your colour is awfy bad, Helen. It could be the high blood pressure.”

He smiled at her and walked past her into the room.

“Macbeth,” said Daviot, “as a punishment you will lose your sergeant’s stripes. But you will continue your duties in Lochdubh. You will see Detective Anderson before you leave, and he will brief you. That will be all.”

Hamish went out, feeling dazed and happy. He still had his job and his beloved police station.

He went down to the detectives’ room where he found Jimmy. “So you’re still with us,” said a grinning Jimmy. “Reduced to the ranks.”

“Aye, but I’ve still got my job,” said Hamish happily.

Jimmy handed him two enormous folders. “What’s this?”

“You’ll need to try to find out who murdered Angus. I’ll be over there with Macnab to go over the case with you. In those folders are all the interviews after the death of Angus. Go through them again and see if there’s anything there we can work on. Now, off with you. I’ve got a phone call to make.”

When Hamish had left, Jimmy dialled the number of the pub where he knew Blair to be and asked to speak to him. “This is a great day, Jimmy,” crowed Blair over the phone.

“That it is,” said Jimmy smoothly. “We never like to see one of our own get the push.”

There was a shocked silence. Then Blair roared like a bull in pain, “D’ye mean tae tell me that pillock’s still got his job?”

“Yes, but he isn’t a sergeant anymore.”

“How did he get away with it?”

Jimmy was enjoying himself immensely. “I don’t know. I wasn’t there, but they phoned down and asked me to brief him on the Angus Ettrik case.”

Blair uttered a stream of Anglo-Saxon words and then slammed down the receiver. He went back to his table in the bar. He had gone back to the police canteen for his lunch and, because it was his day off, had returned to the pub through force of habit. A nearly full glass of tonic water winked at him in the flashing lights of the fruit machine next to the table. He picked it up and strode to the bar. “Put a double gin in there,” he shouted. Blair was normally a whisky drinker, but there was no point in wasting good tonic water.

♦

Hamish whistled and sang as he drove back to Lochdubh with Lugs beside him. Once clear of Strathbane, he stopped the Land Rover on a grassy verge and let Lugs out. The animal had been cooped up for too long. As he watched Lugs scampering through the heather beside the road, he had a sudden memory of Kirsty Ettrik’s fear when she had seen his dog.

His happiness fled. If Angus had not been murdered by Ionides, then it followed it must have been done by someone in Lochdubh. If Fergus had confided in him about the hotel, might he not have confided in him about the other people he had been blackmailing?

He wondered if Priscilla was back. She had left for London a few days after the death of Ionides. He looked over his shoulder at the two folders. He persuaded himself that he only wanted to see Priscilla again to use her help. She had a logical mind.

He whistled for his dog and then reached over and helped Lugs up onto the high seat. He fastened the seat belt around the dog and then set off again.

Once back at the police station, he fed Lugs and then settled down to pick the sergeant’s stripes off his two police sweaters and then his tunic.

Clarry came in and beamed all over his face when Hamish gave him the good news.

“It couldn’t have come at a better time,” said Clarry. “I’m packing up today and moving in with Martha. We’re getting married next year. Will you be best man?”

“I’d be delighted, Clarry. How are things going on at the hotel?”

“I’ve never been happier, Hamish.”

Clarry had slimmed down and was always clean and fresh looking, a big change from the slob of a constable who had first come to Lochdubh.

“The thing is, Clarry,” said Hamish, “they’ve reopened the investigation into Angus’s murder.”

“That’s daft. It was that Greek, surely.”

“They don’t think so. The pilot’s confessed that Ionides killed Fergus, and he helped to dump the body, but he swears blind that his boss had nothing to do with the murder of Angus.”

“He’d expect leniency for helping solve one murder. If he says Ionides didn’t kill him, then he’s clear of a more serious charge.”

“That’s what I thought. Me and my famous intuition. I ended up concentrating on Ionides, so delighted it wasn’t one of us, that of course I thought Angus’s murder was done by him.”

“Where’ll you start?”

“I’ve got two big folders of printouts of what everyone interviewed said after Angus’s murder, Clarry, gossip to the staff up at the hotel. But keep this under wraps. People at the hotel might gossip a bit more freely if they think the murder solved. People will aye try to protect people, and that’s what always stops me getting at the truth.”

Clarry went off to pack his suitcase, and Hamish settled down and began to go through the folders. Kirsty had said that Angus had believed their troubles to be over. What did that mean? Angus’s bank account had been checked and there was nothing other than an overdraft.

He phoned up Angela, the doctor’s wife. “Is Kirsty up at the croft?”

“I believe so. I saw her the other day in Patel’s. What’s this about?”

“I chust wanted a word with her; see if she’s all right.”

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, I’ve still got my job.”

“Come round for a coffee when you can.”

Hamish buttoned on his tunic, minus the three stripes. He called to Clarry, “I’m going out.”

Clarry appeared in the doorway. “You’ve got nothing for your dinner as usual. Call round at the kitchen. I’ve got some nice braised venison. It’ll do you and Lugs a treat.”

“I might do that. Is Priscilla back yet?”

“I heard she might be on her way up.” Clarry drew himself up and said, “I would just like to say that you were the best boss a man ever had. I will never forget your kindness. Furthermore…”

“That’s all right,” said Hamish, turning red with embarrassment. “I’m off.”

“May I give you a hug?”

“Well, no, Clarry. Take care of yourself and stop watching those touchy-feely soaps.”

Hamish drove up to Kirsty’s croft house.

♦

She jerked open the door as if she had been waiting, had noticed his arrival.

“How are things, Kirsty?”

“Oh, it’s yourself, Hamish. I’m managing as best I can. Everyone around is giving me help with the sheep until I decide what to do. Come in.”

Hamish walked into the kitchen. It sparkled and shone. Every surface gleamed, and the air smelled strongly of disinfectant.

Hamish removed his hat and put it on the kitchen table. “I don’t want to distress you, Kirsty, you’ve been through a lot.”

Her eyes widened. “What’s happened? Not another death? I mean, it’s all over. It was that Greek bastard who killed my Angus.”

“Maybe.”

“What d’ye mean, ‘maybe’?” she demanded shrilly.

“At Strathbane, they’re beginning to think that maybe someone else murdered Angus.”

Her face turned white, and she clutched at the table for support.

“Sit down, Kirsty,” said Hamish, in that moment hating his job. “There may be nothing in it.”

“But if it’s possible there’s someone else,” she whispered, “he could be out there, waiting for me, and I’m up here on my own.”

“There, now. We have to examine everything, and there iss no reason why anyone should come after you.”

“But it was all over,” she wailed. “After the funeral, I had to try to put my grief behind me.”

Hamish said quietly, “I’ll need to ask you if he said anything at all that might be of help. Now, I know you were in shock right after the murder. But you said that Angus had said your troubles were over. And he had a phone call from the same box on the waterfront that Fergus got his last call from. Now, he was, I gather, fairly friendly with Fergus. Fergus was attempting to blackmail Ionides. He may have told Angus what he had. And after his death, Angus, desperate not to lose his croft, might have tried the same trick.”

“If he did, he said nothing to me,” said Kirsty.

“I cannae myself believe yet it was anyone else. There’s that phone call. That’s what bothers me.”

“I’m tired of all this.” Kirsty leaned her head on her hand. “I just want to put it all behind me.”

“I’m asking you, however, to think and think hard,” said Hamish. She stayed where she was, silent, and after a few moments, he let himself out.

He then drove to Elspeth MacRae’s croft. “Come in, Hamish,” she said happily. “I was just about to have a cup of tea.”

How relaxed everyone was now that they thought the murders were solved. Hamish went into the stone-flagged kitchen. A peat fire burned in the hearth and an old clock ticked noisily on the wall, the chintz curtains fluttered at the open window: a scene of Highland tranquillity, far removed from murder and mayhem.

“It iss not really the social call,” said Hamish awkwardly to Elspeth’s back as she busied herself pouring boiling water into a teapot. Her back stiffened. She carefully put the lid on the teapot, placed it on a tray along with two mugs, milk, sugar and biscuits, and carried it to the kitchen table.

“I don’t see what it can be,” said Elspeth. “You have my sheep dip papers. Help yourself to sugar and milk.”

“It’s like this,” said Hamish. “It seems there’s a possibility that Angus was murdered by someone else.”

“How can that be?”

“The pilot swears blind that neither he nor Ionides was responsible for that murder. And yet it’s strange. For Angus got that call before he went out, and we traced it to that call box on the waterfront.”

She lowered her eyes quickly. Hamish eyed her sharply. “What iss it? You’ve got to tell me.”

She clasped her hands and said in a low voice, “You’ve known me a long time, Hamish.”

“Yes.”

“You know I’d never hurt a fly.”

“What have you been keeping from me, Elspeth?”

A sheep bleated nearby and a gust of wind blew around the cottage. The clock ticked away, marking out the seconds of her silence.

“Angus was going to sell me his croft house,” she finally said, “and then, having the house, I was going to apply to the Crofting Commission for the tenancy of the land. He had been saying one day he would do it, then the other that he had changed his mind. I was down in the village, and I saw the phone box and decided to call him before I got home and see if he had come to any decision. He sounded excited, happy, said something had come up. He said he would drive over and tell me. I said I was phoning from the village, and I would see him at my place. I went home and waited and waited. And then I heard he’d been murdered.”

“So why didn’t you tell me or any policeman that it wass you that made the call?”

“I was shocked. I didn’t know the call was important. I was shocked, Hamish,” she repeated.

Hamish sighed. “I may need to take a statement from you, Elspeth. You should neffer have held back information like this.”

“But I had nothing to do with the poor man’s murder!”

“Someone did. It looks as if it was you he was going out to see. Wait a minute, I remember Kirsry saying he had told I her to go away somewhere and leave him for a bit. I mean, why would he do that if he was the one that was going out? I’m sorry, but there’s no way I can keep this bit of evidence quiet.”

“Then you can take yourself off,” said Elspeth. “Just get out of my house. If it’s a choice between your friends and the police, you’ll always stick to the police. You’re a fascist!”

“I’m off,” said Hamish. “But I want you down at the police station at ten o’ clock tomorrow morning.”

As he left, he damned the secretiveness of the locals. What other bits of evidence were some of them keeping from him?

He went back to Kirsty. “What is this?” she demanded angrily. “Haven’t you upset me enough for one day?”

“Kirsty, you never told me Angus was thinking of selling to Elspeth.”

“Oh, that. He changed his mind from day to day.”

“But Elspeth was the one who phoned him, and he told her he was going to drive over and see her. He sounded happy. He said something had come up.”

“I didn’t hear any of that. I’m telling you, he told me to make myself scarce. What did Elspeth phone him about? And why did she call from that box?”

“She happened to be in Lochdubh. Evidently Angus was dithering about selling the house to her.”

“He didn’t mean anything by it. He would get frightened by the debt and then say he was going to sell the place, but he could never make up his mind.”

“Kirsty, a lot of people seem to have been holding back bits of information from me that might help. Are you sure there’s nothing you’re not telling me?”

“What else can I tell you?” demanded Kirsty. “My husband’s been murdered. I’ve been coming to terms with my loss, and now you tell me the murderer is still out there! Oh, go away and leave me in peace.”

Hamish looked down at her and shuffled his large police boots. “I’ll be off now. But I’ll be calling on you again.”

He went back to the Land Rover. “It was that dog of yours,” Kirsty shouted after him. “It’s brought evil.”

Hamish drove off. He realised with a heavy heart that he would need to do the rounds of the people Fergus had been blackmailing in case Angus had taken up his role.

♦

Josie would be at work in Strathbane, so he headed for the banker’s house. Mrs. McClellan answered the door to him. How welcoming everyone was now and how much fear he was going to bring back into their lives.

“Come in,” she said. “I want to thank you so much for keeping that matter quiet. I can sleep at nights now.” He followed her through to the kitchen at the back. “Take a seat. Coffee?”

“Maybe not now,” said Hamish. “I’ve bad news.”

She stood very still.

“It’s Angus’s murder. It seems there’s a good chance he might have been murdered by someone else.”

She sat down abruptly. “But you have that cutting?”

“You’re safe there, for the moment. I still haven’t reported it. You see, Ionides’s pilot, he says his boss had nothing to do with Angus’s murder, and he’s sticking to it. As you’ve probably read in the papers, it was Ionides who killed Fergus, and the pilot helped him dump the body. But there’s still a big question mark hanging over Angus’s death.”

“And I’m a suspect?”

“I just have to start going over all the old ground. Did you know Angus?”

“Only by sight. Angus and Kirsty. I saw them at socials at the church, that sort of thing. I knew both of them to say hullo, but never anything more than that.”

“And Angus never approached you after Fergus’s death?”

“No.”

He looked at her intently. He was sure she was telling the truth.

“Look, a lot of people in this village know things, but they haven’t been telling me because they don’t want to get involved with the police, or because they think they’re protecting each other. If you can remember anything, or hear anything…”

“I’ll let you know.”

♦

Hamish next called on Mrs. Docherty. It was the same thing: the warm welcome changing to distress as he explained the reason for his call.

“Do you still have that dreadful letter?”

“I’m afraid I still have it. I can’t do anything about it until Angus’s murder is cleared up. Have you heard from that man, the travelling salesman?”

“He wrote once more, saying he would be back in Strathbane. I phoned him and told him he had to forget he ever saw me or he would maybe be part of a murder investigation. I haven’t heard from him since.”

“And Angus didn’t approach you in any way?”

“No, he didn’t. But it was a vicious murder. Surely it was done by a man.”

“Any woman with something like a hammer could have done the job.”

She shuddered. “So there’s a murderer out there?”

“Let’s just hope that pilot was lying, but I’ve got to keep trying.”

♦

He waited until evening, when he knew Josie would be home. “Where’s your mother?” he asked as he followed her into the living room.

“Working up at the hotel. She had to beg for her old job back.”

He sat down and told her that the murder of Angus was open again for investigation. Josie stared at him in open-mouthed dismay. “But what’s it got to do with me?”

“It could be that Fergus told Angus who he was blackmailing and Angus might have tried the same thing. He didn’t approach you?”

“No.” Although the living room was cold, there was a sheen of sweat on Josie’s face. She looked frightened to death. “It’ll all come out again,” she said.

“There’s nothing to come out that folks don’t know about,” said Hamish. “Think about it, Josie. You started cancelling the invitations after Fergus was murdered.”

“But Fergus was so pally with Angus. So maybe if someone murdered Angus, they’ll come looking for me.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“But don’t you see, there’s something about me that can drive men mad.”

Hamish looked at her in comical amazement. Then his eyes sharpened.

“Wait a bit, Josie. You said that Fergus was pally with Angus. How do you know that?”

“I just remembered it was one day last summer, I saw them laughing and chatting down by the harbour.”

“Josie, why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“It didn’t seem important.”

“If there’s any other little thing, you’ve got to let me know.”

“Sure.” She batted her heavily mascaraed eyelashes at him. “Would you like a drink?”

“No, thank you. I’ve got to get going.”

Hamish had a feeling of having escaped from something.

Somewhere in this village, he thought, was someone sitting on an important clue, and they didn’t even know it. The whole village of Lochdubh would just need to be interviewed again.

Jimmy Anderson sent three constables over to Lochdubh to help Hamish. They all plodded from house to house until, at the end of a month, there was a large folder of new reports, all containing nothing of any importance at all. “You’ll just need to face up to it, Hamish,” said Jimmy. “You can’t win them all. I thought you were onto something with Elspeth MacRae, but she seems pretty clear apart from withholding information.”

♦

As the dark winter nights settled down over Lochdubh and the mountains turned white with snow, Hamish would sit in the police office at night, making notes, studying what people had said, hoping always to find something important he might have missed.

One afternoon the phone rang. It was Clarry. “The hotel’s closing down for a couple of weeks,” he said cheerfully. “Priscilla’s back.” Hamish’s heart gave a treacherous lurch. “And Martha and I were just thinking we hadn’t seen you for a bit. I asked Priscilla if she’d like to pop round for dinner tonight and she said yes, so I said I would try to get you as well.”

Hamish accepted with delight. When he replaced the receiver, he happily pushed away the reports he had been studying and went to prepare himself for the evening ahead.

When he went out fine snow was whipping down the waterfront. He was dressed in his one good suit, tie and clean white shirt. He decided to drive, and so he put Lugs in the passenger seat and set off.

Priscilla was already there when he arrived. The children gave Lugs a rapturous welcome. How different it all was, thought Hamish, looking around. There were pictures on the walls and the cherry red carpet from Angela on the floor. There was the exotic smell of good cooking coming from the kitchen. Martha had her hair cut in a new short style, which made her look years younger. Hamish flicked a quick glance at Priscilla’s hands. No rings.

While Clarry went to get them drinks, Priscilla said, “I hear you’re back investigating the murder. Do you still think Angus was murdered by someone else?”

“I don’t know,” said Hamish, taking a glass of whisky from Clarry. “I questioned everyone in the village all over again, and I can find nothing.”

“What will Kirsty do?” asked Martha. “She can’t go on running that croft single-handed, and with this snow, things are going to be rough for her.”

“The other crofters will help,” said Hamish. “And I think the bank’s probably going easy on the overdraft for the moment. How long are you here for, Priscilla?”

“I’ll be here over Christmas. It’s the one good thing about being a freelance computer programmer: When a contract finishes, I can take time off.”

“I’d better have another word with your father. Is he home? I’ve tried several times, but he’s always been away.”

“He’s here at the moment. Oh, he’ll be so furious if all that’s dragged up again.”

The conversation then became general, about village affairs. Clarry sat beaming all round, the baby on his knee.

When they were sitting round the dining table, which had to be cleared first of toys and paint books, and eating excellent roast beef, Martha said, “I might call on Kirsty.”

“I didn’t know you were friendly,” said Hamish.

“I wasn’t friendly. I mean, when Fergus was alive, I wasn’t friendly with anyone. But we had a lot in common.”

“How’s that? No, Lugs,” said Hamish severely, as the dog put a paw on his knee. “You’ve had your supper.”

“I’ve got a nice marrow bone for him,” said Clarry, getting to his feet. “I’ll get it for him now, and that’ll keep him quiet.”

Hamish turned his attention back to Martha. “What do you mean, you’ve got a lot in common?”

“Well, we had, rather.”

“Tell me about it.”

“It was one day, a couple of months before Fergus was murdered, I was down at Patel’s. I had a black eye, and people had given up asking me about things like that, because I always said things like I had walked into the door. But Kirsty followed me out and said, ‘My marks don’t show. He’s too clever for that.’

“I pretended not to know what she meant because being secretive had become a way of life. But she rolled up her sleeves and there was a great burn on her arm. “He did that with the iron,” she said. So it might help if I talked to her. Because even though her man is dead, it takes a while to get over things like that. Clarry came up behind me in the kitchen only a month ago, and he raised his arm to get something down from the shelf, and I screamed and threw up my hands to cover my face.”

Hamish slowly laid down his knife and fork. “Martha, along with everyone else in this village, I’ve been asking and asking if anyone had any information that might shed light on Angus’s murder, and all you did was shake your head.”

“I didn’t think,” said Martha nervously. “I mean, there’s a sort of freemasonry among battered wives. You don’t talk about it. I mean, she’s the victim. What has that to do with murder?”

“I’d better see her in the morning if the snow allows me to get up there.”

Clarry, who had given Lugs the bone, looked anxiously at Martha’s strained face. “Can we talk about something else at the moment, Hamish? I don’t like her reminded of the bad times.”

Priscilla promptly weighed in, telling funny stories about awkward guests they had suffered at the hotel. Hamish forced himself to put the case out of his mind and the evening ended pleasantly.

When Priscilla and Hamish walked out, the snow had stopped. “Will you get home all right?” said Hamish.

“I’ve got snow tyres on the car,” said the ever-efficient Priscilla. “I heard the weather forecast.”

“When will I see you?” asked Hamish. His breath came out in the cold air like smoke and hung between them.

“I’ll take you for dinner tomorrow night,” said Priscilla. “The Italian’s. Eight o’clock?”

Hamish grinned. “I’ll be there.”

♦

In the morning he checked on his sheep, checked on his hens, and returned to put on his uniform and then go and talk to Kirsty. He opened the kitchen door and found the banker’s wife, Fiona McClellan, standing on the doorstep.

“There’s something’s come up you should know about,” she said.

“Come in. Have the roads been gritted?”

“Yes, as I came along the gritter was going along the waterfront.”

“So what have you got for me?”

“It’s only a little thing, and my husband would be furious if he knew I had been discussing bank business.”

“Go on.”

“He never tells me anything about people or their accounts, but I’ve been thinking and thinking about Angus’s murder, and I said last night, “That poor crofter’s wife, Kirsty. I gather she’s in financial trouble.” And he snorted and said, “She could buy and sell us.” So I asked him what he meant, and he said, “She’s just deposited a cheque for two hundred and fifty thousand pounds.””

“Where did she get that sum of money?” asked Hamish. “I’ve got to know.”

“He said her premium bonds had come up. He said she had only a hundred pounds of premium bonds, and we have ten thousand, and yet we never win anything like that.”

“Thank you,” said Hamish. “I’m glad the poor woman got the money. All her troubles will be over. I don’t see what help it can be in this case…”

“There’s one odd thing.”

“What’s that?”

“She’s only just banked the cheque. It was sent to her last July.”

Hamish stared at her. “I’ll look into it,” he said slowly. “Was the cheque made out to her or Angus?”

“To her.”

She clutched his sleeve. “You musn’t let my husband know I told you!”

“It’s all right. I’ll get her bank account checked. Angus’s account was checked after his murder.”

When she had left, Hamish went into the office to phone Jimmy. Then he decided to see it through himself. There might be a perfectly innocent explanation.

The fields around Kirsty’s croft house were white and bleak under a lowering sky. As he switched off the engine, the eerie total silence of the countryside surrounded him. No dog barked and no bird sang.

He went almost reluctantly to the door and knocked. There was no reply. He stood there with his head cocked to one side, listening, and then he sniffed the air. He smelled something like cooking stew. Of course, she could have placed a pot of stew or lamb on a low heat before she went out. He stepped back and looked at the cottage. He sensed she was in there, waiting for him to go away.

He stepped back and tried the door handle. The door was not locked. He opened it and went in.

“Kirsty!” he shouted. “Police! Where are you?”

A pot simmered on the stove. The clock ticked on the wall. He heard a short, shallow breath. There was a battered sofa over to one side. He walked across and leaned over it.

Kirsty was crouched down behind it.

She looked up at him with the eyes of a hunted animal.

“Come out of there, Kirsty,” said Hamish heavily, suddenly knowing the truth. “Come out, and tell me how you killed Angus.”

She stood up and edged around the sofa. She went and sat down at the kitchen table and put her head in her hands.

Hamish removed his peak cap, laid it carefully on the table as if it were a precious object, and sat down next to her. “It was the money, wasn’t it?”

“Will I go to prison?”

“I’m afraid so. What happened?”

“Did you know he beat me?”

“I chust learned that yesterday.” He took her hand in his. “Tell me, Kirsty.”

She started to speak in a flat, emotionless voice, as if giving evidence in court. With a flash of intuition, Hamish realised she must have lived in dread of this moment, had rehearsed what she must say.

“We got married when we were both eighteen. Too young. Maybe children might have made a difference. No, that’s wrong. I’m glad we didn’t have children, seeing the way it worked out. The work on the croft got harder. Every time he made some money from the sheep at the sales, he would start out on another idea. First it was the goats. Well, they kept breaking out, and they are very destructive animals. He sold them at a loss. Then it was the deer. But he wouldn’t build a proper deer fence, so the beasts just disappeared one night.

“Like all Highlanders, he liked his dram, but it got more and more. The first time he hit me, he was that remorseful after, I thought he would never raise his hand to me again. But he did, over and over. He liked Fergus because Fergus was a drunk, and Angus had become one, too.”

“He didn’t have a reputation of being one,” said Hamish.

“Oh, he would never get drunk in the village. He would sit in the evenings, drinking steadily, and watching me, watching me, enjoying my fear. He never knew about that hundred pounds worth of premium bonds. I kept them hidden. I dreamed of winning. He thought if we had money, everything would be all right.

“Then I won. And the cheque arrived. Like a fool I told him. It was immediately his money. He said he’d take it down to the bank and put it in our joint account. He said he was tired of the rough weather in Sutherland, and we would buy a nice farm down in Perthshire, and I saw that he would spend all the money on this farm, he would mismanage it, and the beating would go on. He had been putting up a shelf in the kitchen. The phone rang and he went to answer it. While he was on the phone, I picked up the hammer and hefted it in my hand. I can’t say for sure what happened immediately after that, but he came back and sat down and picked up the cheque and said, ‘Get my coat. I’m off to the bank.’

“I snatched the cheque out of his hands and said, ‘It’s mine.’ He swung round and his face was mad with fury. Then he turned back and stared straight ahead and said, “Give me that cheque, or you know what’ll happen to you.”

“Everything went blank, and when I came out of it, I was standing there with the bloody hammer in my hand, and he was lying dead on the floor. I took the cheque and hid it up in the rafters. Then I cleaned every surface. I’d forgotten that they’d expect to find my fingerprints everywhere, this being my home. I took a cloth and swept the floor towards the door. Then I went out and stuffed the cloth somewhere. I can’t remember. Then I went in and phoned and then took his bloody head in my hands and waited. I felt nothing. It was only after that the horror came.”

“What about the whisky bottle on the table and the two glasses?”

“I did that. I wanted it to look as if he was expecting someone from outside.”

Hamish released her hand and took out his mobile phone, called Strathbane and requested escort for a prisoner, giving them the address and directions.

“Did Angus ever hit you so hard you had to go to the doctor?”

“Yes, he broke two of my ribs one night. He was clever. He never hit me where it would show. I went to Dr. Brodie, who sent me to hospital.”

“What did you tell Dr. Brodie?”

“I said I had fallen.”

“And he believed you?”

“No. I had been to him the year before with a broken arm. I said I must be accident prone. But he was looking at the bruises on my arms. He said, “You’d better stop lying and report that husband of yours to the police.””

“So why didn’t you?”

“It had been going on so long…so long. I kept making excuses for him. I couldn’t begin to think how to manage on my own. I felt lost.” She began to cry in a dreary, helpless way. Angus Ettrik, thought Hamish, if you were alive today, I might be tempted to kill you myself.

He rose and took the pot off the stove and put on the kettle. He went into the bedroom to get Kirsty’s coat. Two suitcases were lying packed on the bed. She must have been planning to go away somewhere.

He picked up her wool coat and walked back into the kitchen and placed it on a chair. He waited until the kettle had boiled and made a pot of tea. He put a mug of hot, sweet tea in front of Kirsty and handed her a clean handkerchief ‘Drink that,’ he ordered. ‘You’ll need a good lawyer, Kirsty. You can afford it now.’

“Won’t they freeze my money?”

“The money’s yours. You didn’t get it as the result of a crime. Do you want me to get you a good lawyer?”

She nodded. He took out his phone and dialled a number in Inverness. He outlined the case rapidly and told the lawyer to make all haste to police headquarters in Strathbane.

Then he waited and waited. The snow started to fall gently, great white lacy flakes. At last, he heard the sound of the police siren.

When the police arrived, he turned and charged Kirsty Ettrik with the murder of her husband, Angus. He waited until she was led to the police car. He watched until the flashing blue light disappeared into the snow.

With a heavy heart, he got into the police Land Rover and drove back to Lochdubh.