Death of a Dustman

∨ Death of a Dustman ∧

6

Now, thieving Time, take what you must –

Quickness to hear, to move, to see;

When dust is drawing near to dust

Such dimunitions needs must be.

Yet leave, O leave exempt from plunder

My curiosity, my wonder!

—Mark Antony DeWolfe Howe

Jimmy Anderson called in to the police station that evening. He was unshaven and looked tired.

“Anything?” asked Hamish.

“Just it’s beginning to look as if it was done by someone who knew what they were doing. I mean, it was planned.”

“How do you make that out?”

“Any whisky?”

Hamish went to the cupboard and took down the whisky bottle and set it and a glass in front of the detective.

Jimmy poured a glass and leaned back in his chair. “All the surfaces in that kitchen and the doorknob had been wiped, and he or they, on the road out, wiped the floor behind them as they went.”

“There’s something I’d better tell you,” said Hamish. “The new schoolteacher. It might be important. I think it’s nothing. Her name’s Moira Cartwright. She was married to a criminal, but a long time ago. She worked in Dingwall and while in Dingwall, she was blackmailed. The police set up a trap but never got the man.”

“So it could have been Fergus?”

“Could have been. Just before he left Dingwall.”

“So why haven’t we seen a report on this?”

“Because I couldn’t see a motive.” Because, thought Hamish wearily, I’m still protecting the blackmailed of the village. And I promised myself I would only hold on to that information for one day, and now there’s been another murder.

“I can see a motive,” said Jimmy. “You’re slipping. She wants a nice wee job up here and comes up afore-hand. Bound to have. Got to see the schoolhouse. See where all her stuff will go. Fergus recognises her. Says if you don’t pay up, I’ll tell the village about your evil husband.”

“I thought of all that. If she went to the police in Dingwall, then she would have come straight to me.”

“Still, I’d have a word with her.”

“Why isn’t Blair here annoying me?”

“He’s got to walk on eggshells. That Annie Robinson stuff. Our man didn’t find that. You did. Daviot’s singing your praises. You aren’t holding anything back?”

Hamish longed to tell him about the letters, but once again he promised himself, just one more day.

He shook his head. “All I can think of is asking and asking. Often there’s something that people have seen or heard that didn’t seem important at the time. What about that Greek at the hotel? What do we know of him?”

“I’ve been to see him. So has Blair. Wealthy man. Owns four hotels in Scotland. Makes them pay all right.”

“Any good? His hotels, I mean. Will the new one be competition for the Tommel Castle Hotel?”

Jimmy gave his foxy grin. “I know you, Hamish Macbeth, and I know the way that Highland brain of yours is working. You’re praying it’s some outsider. Nasty foreign hotel owner plans to ruin the Tommel Castle, so Fergus finds out and blackmails owner and owner hires goons to bump him off.”

Hamish gave a reluctant grin. “Aye, that would suit me just fine. I’m beat. Is there any hope of getting any sleep tonight?”

“If the press leave you alone. But they’re mostly badgering headquarters in Strathbane. That Fleming woman got herself on television at last. She turned up at the press briefing and made a speech. Daviot was furious.”

“Wish it would turn out to be her,” said Hamish gloomily.

“Where’s your man?”

“Clarry’s gone out to interview more people. He’s wasted in the police force. He’s such a grand cook. He’s left my dinner in the oven.”

“What is it?”

“Coq au vin.”

“Enough for two?”

“Knowing Clarry, I should think there’s enough for a regiment. Want some?”

“Aye. Got any wine to go with it?”

“No.”

“I’ll nip along to Patel’s and get us something.”

When Jimmy returned, Hamish gave them each two large helpings from the casserole. “This is magic,” said Jimmy. “Is Clarry still courting the widow?”

“Who said anything about that?” demanded Hamish sharply.

“Everyone in the village, that’s who.”

“They’re just friends.”

“Listen tae me, Hamish Macbeth, you keep going on as if you’re a sheriff in a Wild West movie, a one-man law officer. But one day you’ll hold back stuff and someone will get hurt.”

Hamish’s conscience smote him. Maybe if he had told them about the letters, Angus would be alive. But then, he was sure Angus had been blackmailing someone, someone Fergus had told him about. Then it could be argued that if the blackmailing had been out in the open, then Angus would not have even tried. Suddenly, with a forkful of food halfway to his mouth, he remembered that tiny thread of pink he had found in the Curries’ fence. Damn, he would ask them about it first and then send it to Strathbane.

♦

After Jimmy had left, Hamish ignored Lugs’s pleading. “No coq au vin for you,” he said severely. “The bones are too soft for ye and the food’s too rich, and you’ve had your dinner. Bed for us.”

He left a note on the table thanking Clarry for the dinner, washed, undressed and got into bed. Lugs leapt up beside him. Hamish stroked the dog’s rough fur. He would need to see the Curries in the morning and then the colonel again. He fell straight down into a nightmare that he was in Chief Superintendent Daviot’s office being asked why it was that he had held back vital information from the police. “If it had not been for this,” said Daviot, “then that crofter might still have been alive.”

Hamish awoke, feeling as if he had not slept at all. He wearily washed and dressed and then selected a new toothbrush from the whole packet of them that he had bought, and scrubbed his teeth. This definitely was the very last day, he told himself. Just one more day and then those letters would go to Strathbane.

He and Clarry had a silent breakfast. Hamish was worried about the case and Clarry was worrying that the murder would never be solved, and if it were not, he feared that Martha would not marry him. “I don’t like this shadow hanging over us,” she had told him. “I feel I can’t even be seen with you until the murderer is found.”

Hamish took Lugs for a walk along the waterfront. It was still August, but there was already a chill in the air, a harbinger of the long dark northern winter to come.

He took Lugs back to the police station, collected the envelope with the little bit of pink thread in it and then approached the Curries’ cottage. He saw the curtains twitching as he walked up the garden path, and Nessie opened the door to him before he could ring the bell.

“What is it now?” she asked.

Hamish took out the envelope and showed her the little scrap of thread. “I found this caught in that fence of yours at the side. Could it have come from any of your clothes?”

“No, we have nothing pink. Wouldn’t be seen dead wearing pink at our age.”

“What about blankets or sheets or towels?”

She shook her head. “Nothing pink at all.”

“And you haven’t remembered anything that might be of help?”

“Not a thing. All the gossip’s about Josie cancelling the wedding. Jilted that fiancé of hers at the last minute! I don’t know what girls these days can be thinking about.”

“She jilted him?”

“That’s what she’s saying. Her mother came round to return our present. I said to Jessie, I said, we’ll just put it away safe and keep it for the next wedding, but I don’t know when that’ll be. Nobody gets married these days, not even you, Hamish Macbeth.”

Hamish made his escape. He collected the Land Rover and drove up to the Tommel Castle Hotel. Every time he arrived at the hotel, he could not help remembering the days when it had been a private house, the days before the colonel had invested wildly and badly and lost everything. Although he had suggested to the colonel that he might consider the idea of turning his home into a hotel, the colonel had never given him any credit for the suggestion.

Priscilla was crossing the entrance hall with a sheaf of papers in her hands when he walked in. “Your father around?” asked Hamish.

“Oh, Hamish, he’s gone off to stay with friends. He didn’t say where he was going.”

“What about your mother?”

“She’s gone with him.”

Hamish clucked his tongue in annoyance. “I’ve got to find him. Did you get anything out of him?”

“No, he says Fergus was poaching.”

“Fergus didn’t even like fish, Priscilla. Your father’s lying.”

“So you say.”

“Oh, Priscilla, this is important. If he phones, find out where he is. I’ve got to talk to him.”

“I can’t think he would have anything to do with this. Have you considered that Fergus might have been at the river to find a quiet place to get drunk? And that Daddy might just have assumed he was poaching? He thinks that everyone near that river is poaching. He once bawled out an innocent family of picnickers.”

“Could be. But I’d still like to speak to him.”

Priscilla’s face took on a closed look. Hamish surveyed her for a moment and then said gently, “You know something’s wrong, Priscilla. Please try to help me on this one. Two men are dead.”

“I’ll do my best,” she said stiffly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Hamish, we’ve just had new bookings to replace the ones we lost, so I’ve got to get on.”

Hamish left and then wondered what to do next. He rang Jimmy Anderson’s mobile. “Is Kirsty Ettrik ready to see anyone yet?”

“No, she’s still heavily sedated, and the doctors won’t let anyone near her. I’m up at Angus’s croft. We’re still looking for clues. I think you should still keep going round the village from door to door, Hamish. Someone must have seen or heard something.”

Hamish rang off. He decided to call on Josie Darling again.

Josie answered the door to him. Her face was blotchy with tears. “It’s you,” she said in a bleak voice. “I heard about Angus.”

He followed her in. “I gather you’ve been telling everyone that you jilted Murdo.”

“I wasn’t going to let everyone know the rat had jilted me,” she said. “It was going to be such a beautiful wedding.”

“Josie, I want you to think about Fergus’s visits to you. Didn’t you threaten to go to the police?”

“I didn’t. I was too ashamed. It’s all Darleen McPhee’s fault.”

“Who’s Darleen McPhee?”

“She’s a girl I work with in the bank.”

“So what’s she got to do with it?”

“She was always bragging about her boyfriends and hinting that I’d never get a man. The day I walked in with my engagement ring and flashed it in front o’ her stupid face was the best day o’ my life. I couldn’t let her know I’d been jilted. Now I’ve got to go back to work and tell her the wedding’s off.”

Fergus must have been acute enough to guess at such desperate vanity, thought Hamish.

“Tell me about Fergus,” he said. “What was his manner when you last saw him?”

She sank down in a chair and scrubbed at her eyes with a grimy handkerchief. “He was different,” she said at last.

“What d’ye mean, ‘different’?”

“Well, joking, excited. Funny, that was the only time he didn’t ask for the money.”

Hamish’s hazel eyes sharpened. That could only mean one thing. Fergus was blackmailing someone with real money. His heart sank as he thought of the colonel. But then he reflected that there was no way the colonel would kill anyone. Somehow he believed that the murders had been planned. Dumping Fergus’s body in the bin, he was sure, smacked more of revenge than any effort at concealment. Whoever put the body there could not know that the Currie sisters rarely put rubbish in the bin, that they recycled what they could.

He thanked Josie and left and drove to Callum McSween’s croft. Callum was out in the fields with his sheep. Hamish waved to him, vaulted a fence and walked across the springy turf to join him. There is very little arable farming in Sutherland. The land is mostly used for sheep rearing because the hard old rock which makes up most of Sutherland is only covered with a thin layer of soil.

“I’m getting ready for the sales in Lairg,” said Callum. “Thank God I’ve got the garbage job because sheep prices have been dropping like a stone.”

“You go around the crofts and houses. What’s the gossip about Angus’s murder?”

“They’re all shocked. We all thought we knew Angus, but no one really knew him that well. He must have said something to Kirsty.”

“We’ll need to wait until she recovers a bit,” said Hamish. “Keep listening, Callum, and let me know if you hear anything.”

As he made his way back to the police station, he reflected on the oddity of the case. How could a man walk out to meet someone in the Highlands and not be noticed? Fergus must have been seen in Lochdubh. Unless, of course, he had walked straight up through the grazing land at the back of where his cottage lay and met someone up on the hill.

When he got back to the police station, Clarry called from the police office: “Is that you, sir? Anderson’s on the phone.” Hamish went through and took the receiver from Clarry.

“I’m down in Strathbane,” said Jimmy, “and I’m a bit tied up. I want you to go and talk to that schoolteacher. Find out if Cartwright is her married name and what her husband’s name was. It’s all a bit odd. You see, I checked with the police in Dingwall, and they have no record at all of any trap to catch a blackmailer. I checked the schools in Dingwall as well, and there’s no record there of a Mrs. Cartwright ever having been employed as a teacher.”

“Why would she lie?”

“That’s something you’d better find out, and quick, too.”

“Why’s Blair leaving me in peace? It hasn’t ever mattered before what Daviot said. He likes to rile me.”

“He’s in hospital.”

“Nothing trivial, I hope?”

“Something up with his kidneys.”

“The whisky is what’s up with his kidneys. I’ll get onto the schoolteacher right away.”

“I’m going out again,” Hamish called to Clarry. “Could you take Lugs for a walk?”

“I’ve got to get some shopping. I’ll take him with me.”

Hamish walked along to the cottage next to the school and rapped on the door. Moira Cartwright answered it. “Come in,” she said. “How are you getting on with the case?”

He followed her into the living room of the cottage, removed his peaked cap and sat down.

“I’m here to find out why you told me that story about the blackmail attempt in Dingwall,” he began.

“Would you like some tea?”

“No, just answer the question. The police in Dingwall have no record of any trap set up for a blackmailer fifteen years ago, nor is there any record of you having ever taught in Dingwall. So were you lying?”

There was a long silence. The wind had started to rise outside, the vicious wind of Sutherland that whipped across the county with ferocious force.

Then she said, “Yes.”

“Why on earth?”

“Do I have to tell you?”

“Of course you have to tell me. Headquarters have been checking up, and they want an answer.”

“I’m a fantasist. Anyway, when I saw the look on your face when you walked into that restaurant, I guessed you had made a mistake, that you had seen my niece and thought she was the schoolteacher.”

“So you decided to waste police time and present me with a red herring?”

“Yes.”

Hamish studied her face and then said slowly, “You’re still lying. And I am going to stay here until you tell me the truth.”

She looked at him helplessly and then said, “If I tell you, she’ll never forgive me.”

“Who?”

She gave a helpless shrug. “Fiona McClellan.”

“The banker’s wife?”

She nodded.

Hamish took out his notebook. “Begin at the beginning and go on to the end.”

“We’re old school friends. We both went to school in Edinburgh. We wrote to each other from time to time. I finally wrote and said I was taking the job in Lochdubh. She phoned me up. She said I wasn’t to tell a soul but she was being blackmailed and told me about it. I told her to go to the police, but she said her husband couldn’t bear another scandal. I called on her just after I arrived. She said she had told you and that you were trying to keep it quiet for a bit. But I thought, she’ll never be happy until the murderer is caught and how can you go about finding the murderer if you didn’t know Fergus was a blackmailer, so I decided to tell you I had been blackmailed.”

“But you must have known we would check!”

“I didn’t think the police records at a wee place like Dingwall would go back that far.”

“The police in Dingwall cover quite a large area. They’re sharp and efficient and, yes, they keep files. How could you have been so stupid? All you’ve done is force me to tell the police about Mrs. McClellan. And how am I going to get you out of being charged with wasting police time?”

Tears welled up in Moira’s eyes. “I was only trying to help.”

“I can tell you this, if I don’t get a break today, tomorrow is the longest I can hold this report. Now, that criminal husband of yours. Was that a lie as well?”

“No, I use my maiden name. His name was John Sampson.”

“I’ll forget about him for the moment and see what I can do during the rest of the day. You’ll just need to hope I find someone.”

“Maybe I can help.”

“No,” said Hamish sharply. “You’ve done enough damage.”

“What’ll I tell Fiona?”

“Nothing at the moment. Pray.”

♦

Hamish went back to the police station, went through to the office, sat down at his desk and buried his head in his hands. He needed to think things through. Angus was dead. Had Fergus confided in Angus? Had Angus, desperate to keep the croft, decided to go on where Fergus had left off? By tomorrow, he would really need to put in a full report to Strathbane, turn over the letters and put in a report about the colonel as well. They would want to see Sean, to interrogate him as well, and would wonder why Hamish had just let him go on his way. He stood up. He would need to find Sean and tell him to report to the police station in the morning. He could only hope the tramp had decided not to leave the area.

He went out and got in the police Land Rover and drove off. He went back to the place where he had found Sean the day before and then started to slowly cruise along, looking to right and left. Then he remembered that the village of Drim was one of Sean’s favourite places, and he turned the vehicle and headed towards the Drim road.

Once in Drim, he parked outside the general store. Ailsa Kennedy was behind the counter. Hamish waited until she had served a customer and then asked, “Have you seen the tramp, Sean Fitz?”

“What’s he done?” asked Ailsa.

“Nothing. I just want a wee word with him.”

“I saw him a while ago. He’s probably at one of the houses.”

Hamish patiently set off, calling at cottage after cottage, until he found the tramp sitting outside a house, a mug of tea in one hand and a large sandwich in the other. “Oh, it’s yourself, Hamish,” he said.

“Look, Sean, you’ll need to promise me you’ll come to the police station tomorrow morning. I’m going to have to put in a report about the colonel, whether he likes it or not.”

“Och, Hamish, that bugger Blair’ll have me locked up in Strathbane for questioning. He’ll hae me for being on the colonel’s river.”

“He can’t. Just say you were wandering around. I need you, Sean.”

“I tell you something, I’d like a soft bed for the night.”

“All right. You know where the cell is. Come and stay the night, and we’ll deal with it in the morning.” Hamish sat down beside Sean and heaved a sigh. “I tell you, Sean, it’s not just the colonel I’ve been covering up for, it’s other people as well, and now I feel bad about it.”

Sean drank his tea and munched his sandwich. Then he said, “Has it no’ dawned on you, Hamish, that you won’t maybe be the only one keeping quiet to protect people? Say someone in Lochdubh actually saw Fergus talking to someone, a friend of theirs. They wouldnae be giving you the name.”

Hamish thought about that. The villagers would certainly close ranks to protect someone they knew and liked. But he had questioned and questioned.

“I’ve asked and asked, Sean. Why should anyone tell me now?”

“You could trick them. Let them think you know.”

“But who?”

“Well, laddie, if anyone in Lochdubh’s going to notice, it’s them Currie sisters.”

“Come on, Sean. They report everything.”

“Maybe not.”

Hamish looked at him sharply. “If you know something, Sean, you’d better tell me. I’m getting desperate.”

“Chust an educated guess.”

Hamish rose to his feet. “I’ll see you this evening, Sean.”

“Aye, grand.”

As Hamish walked down to the waterfront and got in the Land Rover, he turned what Sean had said over in his mind. Then he phoned the station to see if there had been any messages. Clarry answered the phone. He sounded excited. “That friend o’ yours, Priscilla, was here. Her chef has just walked out, and she asked me if I could help out at the hotel with the dinners.”

“Clarry, we’re in the middle of two murder investigations.”

“I could do it. I know I could.”

“I’ll call at the castle and then I’ll let you know.”

Hamish set off and drove to the Tommel Castle Hotel. As he parked, he could see Priscilla’s blonde head in the guest shop. The car park was full of cars. Business must have picked up.

“Did Clarry tell you…?” began Priscilla when Hamish walked in.

“Aye. I’ll do a deal with you, Priscilla. You find that father of yours and get him to tell me the truth about why he was rowing with Fergus, and I’ll send Clarry up.” He studied her carefully blank face and exclaimed, “You know where he is!”

Priscilla looked down and fiddled with some Scottish silver jewellery she had been unpacking.

He eyed her for a moment. “I want you to get your father for me, Priscilla. I’ll have to put in a report about him, so either he deals with me or he deals with Blair.”

He left the shop and crossed the car park, went into the hotel and walked into the office. “What brings you?” asked Mr. Johnston.

“Do you know where the colonel is?”

He shook his head. “We’re in too much of a mess at the moment. We need a chef for this evening. Did Priscilla tell you to ask that man of yours?”

“Yes, and I told her, no colonel, no Clarry.”

“What’s he done?”

“Probably nothing. But he was seen having a row with Fergus, down by the river. Any idea what it would be about?”

“No. I’m too worried about the chef to think about anything else.”

“I might have another word with Heather Darling. Is she on duty?”

“She’s left.”

“Why?”

“Didn’t say.”

“I’d better go and see her.”

When Hamish drove off, he could see Priscilla working in the shop. What had happened to the days when they used to discuss his cases? Somewhere inside her, she had retreated even further from him.

He was driving slowly along the waterfront when he saw Nessie Currie working in her garden. He stopped and climbed down.

“Lazing about as usual?” asked Nessie, stooping to pull out a weed.

That remark irritated Hamish enough for him to say angrily, “I believe you’re hiding something from me.”

“And what makes you think that?” she demanded tartly.

But there was a certain shiftiness about her that made Hamish decide to use Blair’s tactics. “If you’ll chust step along to the station with me,” he said.

“Why? Why should I?”

“I want to take down a statement from you that you never saw Fergus Macleod on the night he was killed, and I want you to swear on the Bible that you are telling the truth!”

She stared up at him, her eyes magnified by her thick glasses. Hamish stared back, his normally genial face hard and set.

“You’d best come in the house.”

Hamish followed her in. “Where’s your sister?”

“Along at Patel’s.”

Hamish removed his cap, sat down and took out his notebook. “Right, Nessie, let’s have it.”

“I didn’t want to get him into trouble, such a decent wee man.”

“Who?” demanded Hamish.

“Archie Maclean.”

“And when and where was this?”

“It must’ve been the night Fergus was killed. I went up the back for a bit o’ fresh air. I saw them up on the grazing.”

“Were they arguing? Fighting?”

“No.”

“And then what?”

“Fergus went away over the back, and Archie walked down past the house here.”

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me this afore?”

“It wasn’t important.”

“A man’s murdered and you’re the only witness for that evening, and you thought it wasn’t important?”

“There’s no need to shout at me like that, Hamish Macbeth. I used my intelligence, which is something you should try. Archie Maclean. As decent a body that ever lived in Lochdubh.”

“I want you to come to the police station tomorrow and make a statement.”

“Why tomorrow?”

Because tomorrow, thought Hamish, I bring the whole house of cards, of subterfuge and coverup, down around the ears of everyone.

“Because I’m busy today,” he said stiffly.

♦

He drove to the police station and left the Land Rover and then went in search of Archie. Archie Maclean, he thought bleakly. Archie with his tight suit and bullying wife was part of the scenery of Lochdubh. He was a kind and gentle man. But just what if Fergus had found something out about him and threatened to tell Mrs. Maclean? The only thing in the whole wide world that frightened Archie was his wife.

When he saw Archie sitting on the harbour wall, he wondered for the first time when Archie slept. He went out fishing at night but was often to be seen wide awake around the village during the day.

“Archie!” Hamish hailed him. “A word with you.”

“What about?” asked Archie amiably. He rolled a cigarette, popped it in his mouth, lit it and inhaled smoke. Hamish had a sudden sharp longing for a cigarette.

“I have a witness, Archie, that saw you up on the grazing land on the night Fergus was murdered, and you were seen talking to him.”

“Oh, aye? And chust who saw me?”

“Never mind. Chust answer my question. Did you speak to Fergus?”

“Aye.”

“You’d better tell me about it, Archie. This is bad.”

“I wasnae going to be dragged down tae Strathbane and grilled over that dustman. I had nothing to do with his death.”

“Tell me what happened.”

“The wife’s been after me for drinking. I chust wanted a wee dram in peace and quiet afore I went out with the boat. I thought I’d get a half bottle from Patel’s and go up to the grazings. Nice and quiet up there. I was sitting in the heather when I saw Fergus, all dressed up, coming towards me.”

“‘Sneaking a dram,’ he jeered. “Bet your missus would like to know about it.””

“So I stood up, and I told him what I thought of him. I called him a nasty bugger. I said the whole village hated him. He chust laughed in that sneering way o’ his and said, “Cheer up. I’ll soon be leaving the lot of you.” Then he headed up through the grazing.”

“Any idea where he was going?”

“No.”

“Was he sober?”

“Stone cold and nasty with it.”

“I’ll need to get back to you, Archie. You should have told me this.”

Hamish went back to the police station. “Priscilla phoned,” said Clarry. “She says her father will see you at seven o’ clock this evening.”

“Good.”

“So I can go?”

“What?”

“The cooking?”

“Oh, sure. But I want you to go first up to the grazings.” Hamish told him about Archie Maclean. “Start searching. See if there’s any sign of blood. Except we’re too late. The rain’ll have washed anything away. But try to find something that might point to where he was heading. I’ll join you shortly. First, I want a word with someone.”

♦

As he walked up to the Darlings’ cottage, Hamish heard his stomach rumbling. He was hungry, but this little break had excited him. Food could wait.

There was no answer at the cottage. He stood still for a moment. He felt sure there was someone inside. He turned and walked away out through the garden gate and down the brae. He went a few yards and then whipped round and stared up at the cottage. A curtain twitched.

He marched back up to the cottage door and called through the letter box: “Police! I know you’re in there. Open up.” Then he waited.

After a few moments, the door opened and Heather Darling peered nervously up at him.

“Why didn’t you answer the first time I knocked?” asked Hamish.

“The washing machine was working in the kitchen,” said Heather. “I thought I heard something, but I wasn’t sure.”

“Can I come in?”

She stood back reluctantly and then turned around and led the way into the living room.

“What’s this about you leaving the Tommel Castle Hotel?”

“I don’t see what that’s got to do with the police,” said Heather defiantly. “But the fact is I need a rest. Josie’s gone back to the bank, and she’s got a bittie o’ a rise, so she asks me to turn in my job.”

Hamish studied her face and then said simply, “You’re lying. Somehow I feel that everyone has been lying to me about this and that. Come on, Heather, what happened? Did you have a row with the colonel?”

“I’m telling you, I just needed a rest.”

“And I’m telling you,” roared Hamish suddenly, “that you are lying and God help me when I find out why.”

And that, he thought privately, was a performance worthy of Blair.

She gave a little shrug and sat down. “I don’t like to seem disloyal,” she said. “Them up at the castle have been good to me.”

“And what does that all mean?”

“I’m starting work at the new hotel in two weeks’ time.”

“Why?”

“It’s all modern and posh.”

Hamish sat down and eyed her shrewdly. “More money?”

“Aye, a fair bit more. Anyway, what’s it to do with you where I work?”

“Nothing. But when you don’t answer the door at first and then you lie to me, I begin to wonder what’s behind it. Look here, Heather, I have to keep asking questions and following up everything because time is passing fast and if I don’t get something today, that letter to Josie from Murdo that was found at Fergus’s cottage will have to go to the police.”

“Now that everyone knows the wedding’s off,” said Heather, “Josie won’t mind so much.”

“Are you sure you’re making a good move?” asked Hamish. “I mean, the Halburton-Smythes are good employers. You don’t know about this new lot.”

“I’ve got to take a chance.”

“But if other staff start to leave, the Halburton-Smythes may be ruined.”

“Maybe if they put up the wages, I’ll go back.”

“Have you looked into this thoroughly? I mean, what are the working terms? Have you any sort of contract? What happens if they suddenly decide to sack you?”

“I’m a good worker.”

“So there’s good pay and good benefits. How long do they give you for holidays?”

“They said they would discuss all that sort of thing after I had started. You’ve got to see it from their point of view. They say all new staff will be on a month’s trial.”

“Surely it’s not usual to put a hotel maid on a month’s trial?”

“This is big business, you see,” said Heather naively. “Mr. Ionides has hotels all over the place. He says if we’re good workers, he’ll even give us a chance of working in one of his foreign hotels.”

“I would be careful if I were you,” said Hamish, “and try to get some sort of written agreement. Tommel Castle won’t be anxious to have you back after they’ve gone to all the trouble to replace you.”

“It’ll be fine. You should see the bedrooms. Gold taps on the bath, pink sheets on the bed. Grand, it is.”

“And how did they approach you?”

“I got a letter asking me to come for an interview.”

“How did they know where you live?”

She looked puzzled and then she said, “Oh, you know what this village is like. Everyone knows where everyone else lives.”

“Promise me you’ll see them again and ask them for some proper arrangement.”

A flash of Highland malice gleamed in Heather’s eyes. “We all know you have a special interest in the Halburton-Smythes.”

“That’s enough of that,” said Hamish stiffly. “Chust take my advice.”

♦

He left Heather’s cottage and then stood outside the garden gate, looking down at the new hotel by the harbour. He had dismissed the proprietor of the hotel from his mind because he knew Ionides had been thoroughly interviewed by detectives. Now he was suddenly anxious to see the man for himself.

He marched down to the hotel and into the new hotel reception area. He headed for the door marked OFFICE, knocked and went in. An attractive woman was working at a computer. “Is it possible to see Mr. Ionides?” asked Hamish.

She stopped typing. “What about?”

“The murders, of course.”

“Mr. Ionides is tired of his valuable time being taken up, being interviewed over two murders in this village.”

“Nonetheless, I wish to see him.”

She carefully saved what she had been typing on the computer and went into the inner office.

Hamish looked around at the well-equipped secretary’s room. There were filing cabinets, fax machine, laser copy machine and three phones on the desk. The door opened and the secretary said, “He can spare you a few moments.”

Hamish went into the inner office. Mr. Ionides rose from behind a Georgian rosewood desk. “You are…?”

“Sergeant Hamish Macbeth of Lochdubh.”

“Ah, yes, please sit down.”

Hamish sank his long form down into a low chair in front of the desk. He wondered if the chair was deliberately low so that anyone facing the Greek owner would be at a psychological disadvantage.

He studied the owner. He saw a small dapper man with smooth hair and liquid brown eyes. His chalk-striped suit was double-breasted, and he wore a red silk tie with a red silk handkerchief in his jacket pocket.

“I am investigating the murders in Lochdubh,” began Hamish. “Have you or your staff seen any strangers in the area?”

“I have been asked this question before,” said Mr. Ionides. “Apart from myself and Miss Stathos, no.”

“And you plan to use local staff?”

“That is the idea. I always use local staff.”

“I gather you plan to take staff from the existing hotel.”

Mr. Ionides shrugged. “Why not? I need the help and all’s fair in love and the hotel business. There’s not that many jobs going up here in the Highlands. The Tommel Castle will soon find replacements, should they need them.”

“Why here?” asked Hamish abruptly. “Why Lochdubh?”

“Fishing,” said Mr. Ionides simply. “I am a passionate fisherman – deep sea fishing, freshwater fishing, the lot.”

“But the best fishing is on the River Anstey, and the colonel has the fishing rights.”

“I can buy a permit. Now, is there anything else?”

“I would appreciate your help. If you can think of anything or hear anything which might relate to the murders, I would be grateful.”

“I will tell Miss Stathos to let you know. Now if you don’t mind, I have a busy schedule.”

Hamish stared at him, his face quite vacant as he tried to think of something else. Ionides regarded him with amusement.

Hamish then struggled out of the depths of his chair and stood up. “Thank you for your time,” he said.

He made his way out. Once outside and back in the hotel foyer, he suddenly stood still and listened. He heard Ionides’s voice: “Anna, I think there must be inbreeding in this part of the world. That policeman looked half-witted.”

Hamish strode out of the hotel and went straight to the station and into the office. He decided to try to find out more about Ionides. Then he remembered Chief Inspector Olivia Chater in Glasgow. He reached for the phone and then hesitated. They had worked on a case together, had an affair, but she had left him to go back to Glasgow. Still, business was business and Olivia was one of the best detectives he knew. He phoned Glasgow and asked to be put through to her. After a few moments, a man came on the line and said, “This is Detective Constable George McQueen. I gather you’re asking for Chief Detective Chater.”

“Yes.”

“Who are you?”

“Sorry. I’m Sergeant Hamish Macbeth of Lochdubh in Sutherland. We worked on a case together.”

“I’m afraid Olivia’s dead.”

Hamish clutched the phone. “Dead?” he echoed. “What happened?”

“Cancer.”

“Cancer?” Hamish felt engulfed by a sad bleakness. If only she had phoned, he could have been there for her.

“When did she die?” he asked.

“Must have been about three months ago. I’m sorry to have to give you such bad news.”

With a great effort, Hamish rallied. “We have two murders up here.”

“Aye, so I heard.”

“Now there’s a hotel owner here, Ionides. Would you have anything on him?”

“Hang on, I’ll check the computer.”

Hamish waited and thought miserably of Olivia. He had wanted to marry her, and yet he had forgotten her so easily.

At last the detective came back on the line. “There’s a smell about the man, but he’s never been charged with anything.”

“What do you mean, ‘a smell’?”

“Well, he wanted to buy a hotel out Aberfoyle way, but the owner didn’t want to sell. Then things started happening.”

“Like what?”

“The hotel had a good chef. He left and subsequently reappeared working at one of Ionides’s hotels, the one in Glasgow. Then the other staff started to disappear. Then the hotel was closed down after a health scare. Cockroaches found in the kitchen. The owner lost so much business he was forced to sell out to Ionides and at a cheap price, but we couldn’t prove anything. Then in Stirling, there was the business of the illegal immigrants. When he started up there, it was all local staff and soon after they started work, they were replaced by foreigners – Filipinos, I think they were. Got a buzz they hadn’t work permits and raided the place. Turned out to be the case. Somehow Ionides got off with it. Claimed he hadn’t known, that they had said they would supply the documents, and since they had all been recently hired, the sheriff let him off. That’s all I’ve got.”

Hamish thanked him and rang off. If, he thought, his mind racing, Ionides had been into dirty tricks before and planned some more in Lochdubh and Fergus had found out, what a ripe source of blackmail. What had he found? A letter? Perhaps a fax. Ionides wouldn’t E-mail any planned campaign against the Tommel Castle Hotel in case his E-mail got hacked into.

Clarry appeared and said nervously, “I’m off to do my cooking at the hotel.”

“All right,” said Hamish absently.

“Do you think I can do it? I’ve never cooked on a large scale before.”

“You’ll be fine. I’ll see you later, maybe. I’ve got to talk to the colonel. Has Lugs been fed?”

“Yes, and walked. He’s sleeping in his basket.”

Clarry left. Hamish phoned Mr. Johnston, the manager of the Tommel Castle Hotel. “Can you give me the address of that chef who walked out on you?”

“Wait a minute, Hamish, and I’ll look for you.”

Hamish waited patiently. Then Mr. Johnston came back on the phone. “He’s living in that bed and breakfast, Mrs. Ryan’s, down by the bridge.”

“Right. What’s his name?”

“Jeff Warner.”

Hamish thanked him and rang off.

He got in the Land Rover and drove to Mrs. Ryan’s boarding house. Mrs. Ryan answered the door to him and said that Jeff was in his room. “Just show me which one,” said Hamish. She led the way up the narrow wooden staircase, her carpet slippers, worn down at the back, flip-flopping on the treads. “Is he in trouble?” she asked. “I keep a decent house.”

“No, no trouble at all,” said Hamish.

“That’s his room.”

“Right.” Hamish knocked at the door and called, “Police.”

A squat, burly man answered the door. He reeked of whisky. “What’s up?” he asked.

“I chust want a word with you,” said Hamish, aware that the landlady was listening avidly.

“Come in.”

The room was small and sparsely furnished. There was a narrow bed in one corner covered in a pink candlewick bedspread, one easy chair, a small television set, a wardrobe and a washstand basin.

“What d’ye want?” asked Jeff.

“You left the Tommel Castle Hotel?”

“So what? That a crime?”

“I want you to tell me if you have been offered a job at the new hotel.”

“Why?”

Hamish was tired and Hamish was hungry. “Chust tell me!” he shouted.

“Och, well, what’s the harm in it? I’m a good chef and the new lot offered me more money.”

“But the new hotel isn’t open yet.”

“Aye, but they’re paying me until I start, and it’s a damn sight more than that tight-arsed colonel was giving me.”

“I want you to come down to the station tomorrow morning to make a statement to that effect.”

“Whit is this, man? I mean, whit’s wrong wi’ me wanting a better job?”

“Chust do as you are told.”

“Oh, all right. But it seems daft to me.” Hamish left him and went out to the Land Rover. He was about to climb in when he suddenly froze. Pink. The thread he had taken from the fence at the Curries’ had been pink. Heather had said there were pink sheets in the new hotel rooms. Jeff’s bedspread had been pink. Then he climbed in. Colonel Halburton-Smythe was going to have to talk.