Death of a Witch

∨ Death of a Witch ∧

4

I expect that woman will be the last thing to be civilised by man.

– George Meredith

A small sun was shining through a thin veil of mist when Hamish returned to Lochdubh, creating that odd white light so typical of the north of Scotland. He could never quite get used to the mercurial changes of weather in his home county. It was hard to believe that a wind had ever blown across the still landscape. Everything was hushed and frozen as he got out of the Land Rover in front of the police station. No bird sang. There wasn’t even anyone on the waterfront.

Hamish wondered where all the press had gone and why there was not even one sign of Blair and his policemen.

Then as he stood there, he realised how bitterly, bit-ingly cold it had become. He decided to collect his pets and set off to see the forestry worker before the mist became any thicker. He drove round the end of the loch, round to the other side, and stopped outside the forestry foreman’s office. Hamish blessed the invention of mobile phones when the foreman rang Timmy Teviot and told him to come down to the office. It saved him from driving up the tracks, trying to find the man.

Timmy Teviot was small, thin, and wiry with grizzled hair and a weather-beaten face. “Let’s step outside the office,” said Hamish. “I’ve a few questions to ask you.”

Timmy followed him outside and lit up a cigarette. Hamish had a sudden sharp longing for one. He found it hard to believe that he had given up smoking some time ago.

“It’s about Catriona Beldame, the murdered woman,” Hamish began.

“And what has that got to do with me?” demanded Timmy. His voice was soft and lilting.

“I believe you went to the woman for one of her potions.”

“Who’s the wee gossip then?” demanded Timmy. “I’ll bet it was yon blabbermouth Willie Lamont.”

“Never you mind. I want to know what happened when you went to see her.”

“I went to see her for the indigestion…”

“Not again,” said Hamish. “Out with it. What did you really go and see her for?”

Timmy sighed and sat down on a tree stump. “I heard talk that she could make you like a stallion. But it didnae work and all I got was a visit to the doctor. I went back up there and asked for my money back. She laughed at me. Well, I’ll be honest wi’ ye, Hamish. I threatened her. She looked at me peculiar and said she’d put a curse on me. I’m telling you, I ran for my life. But I didn’t kill her. I cannae stand up in court and give any evidence. If anyone got to hear of it, they’d laugh their heads off.”

“Do you know of anyone else who threatened her?”

“None of them want to talk about it. You don’t when someone’s made a right fool of ye.”

“Do you know anything about a brothel?”

“I wouldn’t know about such things.”

♦

Hamish dressed carefully that evening in his one good suit for his date with Lesley Seaton. He left in plenty of time, for the mist had thickened. As he drove slowly and cautiously towards Braikie, he began to worry about Lesley, motoring in this weather and maybe not being familiar with the road. He wished he’d taken a note of her mobile phone number.

By the time he arrived at the hotel, thick white frost had formed on the leaves of the rhododendrons on either side of the drive.

He was ushered into the hotel lounge to wait. A log fire was crackling up the chimney. To his relief, Lesley arrived five minutes later. She took off her heavy coat, revealing a plain black wool sweater and black corduroy trousers and serviceable boots. Her face was free of any make-up. Not hopeful signs, thought Hamish, who was always on the lookout for a new romance.

“So, any more news?” he asked as they walked into the dining room.

“Nothing much apart from a furious bollocking from Blair. He really does hate you. She had been viciously stabbed by someone in a rage. It’s hard to pinpoint the exact time of death but from the report of the contents of her stomach, or rather what they could guess the contents were from a charred body, I guess it was sometime during the night and when she was asleep. There are no defensive wounds. I think it was the first stab that killed her, right in the heart.”

“I’ve been thinking about the fire,” said Hamish. “At first I thought it was done in a last-minute panic to cover up any forensic evidence, but now I wonder. Potassium nitrate isn’t just lying around. Someone had to have ordered it. Someone had to have got a key to the place somehow. I don’t want it to turn out to be one of the villagers, but a lot of people still leave a key in the gutter above the door. I do myself. Maybe someone knew about a spare key. Catriona was a stranger. She wouldn’t think of searching in the gutter. Anyway, her name, last known was a Mrs. McBride. She performed an illegal abortion on a woman who subsequently bled to death.”

“There’s no need for back-street abortions these days,” said Lesley. “Shall we order? The waiter’s hovering and we’re the only customers.”

It was a set menu. They ordered game soup, followed by roast rabbit and a bottle of Merlot.

When the waiter had left, Hamish said, “It was evidently a doctor’s wife who went on the game to make a bit of extra money. She was afraid her husband would find out, him being in the Freemasons and the Rotary Club. But it’s a good motive for murder.”

“So you’d better find out who this doctor is.”

“Jimmy’s working on it,” said Hamish.

He had to admit that she looked quite pretty in the soft lighting of the dining room. He wondered if she had a boyfriend. Maybe she was married! He judged her to be about the same thirty-something age as himself.

She was not wearing any rings but that might not mean anything. She would not wear rings when she was working.

“I just hope it doesn’t turn out to be someone in the village,” said Hamish. “Maybe she was married. Are you married yourself?”

“Was. Not now. The food here is very good.”

Recognising a no-go area, Hamish ate steadily and then returned to discussing the case. “It was really meant to look like a hate murder. And the fire…I wonder if someone really cold and calculating, and knowing about the superstition of the villagers, staged that fire when it would have the most effect.”

“You mean the wrath of God?”

“Or the devil come up from hell to take her home.”

“How can you live in such a place?”

“You are not a highlander, are you?” asked Hamish.

Those large blue eyes stared at him. “What’s that to do with it? I’m from Perth, actually.”

“Strange things do happen up here. I think it’s to do with the rock. It’s some of the oldest in the world and the soil on top is very thin. I sometimes think the ground in some places records strong feelings. You can go up some of the remote glens and get an overwhelming feeling of tragedy and then you find out that glen was the scene of a massacre after Culloden when the Duke of Cumberland’s troops were not just routing the last of Prince Charlie’s supporters but killing indiscriminately.”

“Fanciful,” she said briskly, “but hard to believe.”

“Oh, it helps to keep an open mind. How are you getting on in your job?”

“Well. I don’t drink to excess and I don’t play rugby and I’m a female. They play silly tricks on me and it’s getting wearisome. I’d like to see this case through to the end and then I think I’ll get a transfer to Strathclyde.”

“Anything that could be described as sexual harassment?”

“Lots.”

“There you have them, lassie. Simply tell the lot of them that you are thinking of bringing a case of sexual harassment against them, and it’ll amaze you how they back off.”

“I’ll try that. Thanks. One thing puzzles me about the case. I would have thought it impossible to move about a village at any time of night without someone noticing.”

“I thought about that. Whoever it was could have approached the cottage from the back through the communal grazing ground.”

“Tell me a little about yourself,” said Lesley. “Why aren’t you married?”

“I’m choosy,” said Hamish. “Let’s talk about something else.”

Somehow the conversation became stilted after that. Hamish had been about to suggest they take their coffee through to the lounge in front of the fire but he suddenly missed the love of his life, Priseilla, with such a sharp pang that it amazed him. To Lesley’s surprise, he quickly drank his coffee and called for the bill.

She found a sudden interest in this constable whom she had a few moments ago been privately damning as a local hick. He certainly was attractive looking with his flaming-red hair and hazel eyes. And he must be well over six feet tall.

When they emerged from the hotel, it was to find the fog had lifted and an icy wind was blowing down from the mountains.

“My turn next time,” said Lesley.

“Aye, well, maybe when all this is over,” said Hamish. He walked her to her car, shook hands with her, and said good night.

♦

Once back in the police station, he phoned Jimmy. “Any news of that doctor?”

“Aye, we found him all right. We traced him through a report in the paper about his wife being found dead in the street. Reason for the death was all hushed up. He’s a Dr. Wilkinson, a general practitioner, and, get this, a friend of Daviot’s.”

“Oh, my.”

“So we had to handle him with kid gloves. No getting him down to headquarters for a grilling. Daviot insists on handling it personally. But it seems to be a dead end. The doctor was off at a medical convention in Glasgow during the whole week covering the time she was murdered.”

“You can skip out of those conventions without anyone noticing,” said Hamish.

“Aye, well try telling that to Daviot. As far as he’s concerned, the investigation into Wilkinson is finished and crawly Blair is going along with it.”

“I think it’s got something to do with frustrated men,” said Hamish. “Hear any talk about a brothel?”

“Just the usual ones in Strathbane.”

“I cannae see any of the villagers going to one of those,” said Hamish.

“Sometimes,” said Jimmy, “a woman’ll set up on her own. Do it on the quiet. Just a few customers.”

“If it’s anywhere near Lochdubh, it’d need to be somewhere not overlooked,” said Hamish. “Gossip would have spread around if a lot of different men were seen coming and going from a house.”

“Why are you so interested in a brothel, Hamish? It’s got nothing to do with the case.”

“Unless it was someone to do with McBride or whatever her real name is. Also, I don’t want to find one of those places where girls are tricked into coming over here from Eastern Europe and forced into prostitution.”

“Come on! They’d hardly set up shop in a godforsaken place like Sutherland.”

“Maybe.”

♦

Hamish, going out to give his sheep their winter feed in the morning, found the ground covered with a light coating of snow. This was unusual, even for November. Because of the proximity of the Gulf Stream, Sutherland often escaped the harsher winters of central Scotland. Everything was still, grey, and quiet.

He suddenly heard the phone ringing in the police station, breaking the silence of the morning. He paused for a moment, the feed bucket in his hand. Then he shrugged. He would check his messages in a moment. It was probably only Blair nagging him about something.

When he had finished feeding his sheep, he let his hens out of the henhouse and fed them as well.

Then he returned to the police station and made himself a cup of coffee before ambling through to the office to check his messages. Timmy Teviot’s agitated voice sounded in the room. “Hamish, it’s me, Timmy. I’ve decided to tell you something I think you ought to know. I don’t want anyone to see me talking to you. Could you ring me on my mobile?” He left Hamish the number and rang off.

Hamish rang immediately. In the past he had received calls from someone saying they had important information for him and that someone had ended up dead. But after a few rings Timmy answered. “Could you meet me at my place out at the forestry?”

“Can’t you tell me now?” asked Hamish.

“No, later. At six o’clock when folks will be indoors having their tea.”

♦

As he went out on his rounds, Hamish was relieved to see that a good number of the press had left. He decided to take a break from the case and call on some of the elderly residents in croft houses up in the hills to make sure they were all right, but all the time he was wondering what Timmy had to tell him.

♦

Mr. Patel, owner of the general store, was enjoying a quiet afternoon. The morning had been very busy but the fog had come down again, thick and clinging, and the villagers appeared to be staying at home. He had been up since dawn unloading and packing goods. He knew that to compete with the big supermarkets in Strathbane, he had to keep a large stock. He also allowed people on benefits to pay for their groceries at the end of each month when they received their government payments. He never threw away damaged goods but gave them away to pensioners. The afternoon was quiet. He sat behind the counter, lulled by the warmth from a paraffin heater behind him. He was awakened by a terrible scream. He sat up with a jerk. Mrs. Wellington was facing him, her face grey with shock. “Get an ambulance!” she shrieked. “Get the police.”

“What is it?” he cried, reaching for the phone. “It’s poor Ina Braid…blood all over her back. I think she’s dead!”

♦

Hamish received the call about Ina’s murder just as he was about to head for his meeting with Timmy. He rang Timmy and told him what had happened, said he would phone him later, and rang off.

He raced towards Lochdubh, wondering who on earth would want to kill the inoffensive Ina Braid.

♦

A small crowd, looking like ghostly wraiths in the thick mist, had gathered outside the shop when he drove up. Mr. Patel was standing on the doorstep. “Dr. Brodie’s with the body,” he said.

Sirens could be heard approaching from the direction of Strathbane. “Who was in the shop?” asked Hamish.

“I wasnae aware of anyone,” said Mr. Patel. “I was tired and I must ha’ nodded off. First thing I hear is this scream and Mrs. Wellington shouting at me to call the ambulance and police. Och, Hamish, I feel sick.”

Before Hamish could ask any more questions, a car drove up and Blair got out. “Another murder right under your nose, laddie?”

“I was out on my beat,” said Hamish.

“Out on my beat, what?”

“Out on my beat, sir.”

Blair pushed his way past Mr. Patel and went into the shop. Hamish followed. Looking very small and crumpled in death, Ina Braid lay face down on the shop floor in one of the two small aisles.

Dr. Brodie straightened up. “I suppose the pathologist will be here soon,” he said. “Stabbed right in the back with something long and sharp. You know, sometimes when people have been stabbed, they just go on walking. She could have been stabbed somewhere else.”

“But she’d feel one hell of a sharp pain, not to mention the strength required to deliver the blow.”

“Not necessarily. It doesn’t take much force to stab someone provided the point of the weapon is sharp enough. Just slides in, like stabbing a melon. Oh, here’s Dr. Forsythe.”

“I thought you had resigned,” said Hamish.

Before the pathologist could reply, Blair howled, “Get outside and dinnae stand here gossiping. Someone must have seen someone going in to the shop.”

But there was trouble waiting for both of them when they exited the shop to find a furious Daviot staring at them. “You pair! You went into the crime scene without any protective clothing.”

Blair cringed. “Awfy sorry, sir. I had to get in there fast to make sure Macbeth wasn’t messing up the crime scene.”

“I was outside the shop when you arrived,” protested Hamish.

“Don’t just stand there, Macbeth,” said Daviot. “Find out as quickly as you can who was in the shop with her.”

Hamish turned and addressed the crowd. “Step forward anyone who saw Mrs. Braid in the shop, saw her going into the shop, or saw her at all near the shop.”

Everyone began to edge away except a woman Hamish recognised as Tilly Framont. “I saw her, Hamish,” she said.

Hamish led her away from the shop and took out his notebook. “Where and when was this?”

She frowned with the effort of remembering. “It would ha’ been about five or ten minutes afore I heard the screaming. I didn’t speak to her. Just nodded. She had a basket ower her arm and was hurrying towards the shop.”

“Was anyone else around?”

Tilly was a very small woman wearing a tight old-fashioned tweed coat with square shoulders. Her face had a sort of faded prettiness. She had a woollen hat pulled right down over her head.

“Let me see, Mrs. Wellington was there talking to the Currie sisters. Archie Maclean was heading for the pub. There must have been other folks around but I couldn’t really see, the mist was that thick.”

Hamish saw the Currie sisters retreating along the waterfront in the direction of their cottage. He excused himself, saying he would take a full statement from Tilly later, and hurried off after the sisters.

They heard him coming and swung round.

“You’re not doing your job,” said Nessie.

“Doing your job,” echoed Jessie mournfully.

Hamish found it easier to shut out Jessie’s constant echo of her sister’s last words when he was talking to the twins. Their identical glasses were so thick as they looked up at him that he flinched a bit before two pairs of magnified eyes.

“Tilly Framont said she saw the pair of you on the waterfront just before Ina went into the shop.”

“That right,” said Nessie. “Oh, man, the pity o’ it! There was herself as large as life. She gave us a cheery wave as she went past. Who did it? Must be that husband o’ hers. He aye had a shifty look.”

“Did you see anyone following her?”

“No, it’s right cold, you see, and the mist’s awfy bad. Just the few of us, I think, but with the mist there could have been more people about. I saw Mrs. Wellington. This is what they get for taking their mobile police unit away so soon. Let me see, there was that Archie Maclean going into the pub. Clarry Graham, the cook, was just standing there looking at the water, but I didn’t really remark anyone in particular.”

Hamish thanked them and said he would talk to them later. He decided to go up to the Tommel Castle Hotel, where Clarry was a chef. In his brief glory days when Clarry had been Hamish’s policeman, he’d been very inept – but maybe he had noticed something.

Clarry was just getting out of his battered old car when Hamish arrived at the hotel.

“What brings you, Hamish?” he hailed him. “Priscilla’s no’ here.”

“I didn’t come to see Priscilla,” snapped Hamish. “Haven’t you heard about the murder?”

“Aye, the wicked witch is dead.”

“No, not her! Just now. Ina Braid.”

“What’s happened to this place?” said Clarry, his round face creased up like a baby about to cry. “Such a nice wee body. It can’t be that man o’ hers. He’d never hurt a fly.”

“We’ll see. I’m sure they’ve gone to pick him up. Clarry, you were seen down on the waterfront near Patel’s. Who did you see?”

“I saw the Currie sisters and then Mrs. Wellington. I wasn’t really paying attention. Then the fog was so bad. I was thinking up a new recipe and I went for a wee walk to think better. I remember now that witch woman came up to the hotel one night for dinner.”

“Was she on her own?”

“Yes, she drank a lot and then began to complain about the food. She shut up when Johnson told her to pay her bill and get out or he’d call you.”

“What are the guests like? Anyone suspicious?”

“We’ve only got about six guests. It’s quiet there now. But why don’t you ask the boss?”

♦

Mr. Johnson was in the hotel office. “What’s all this I hear, Hamish?” he said. “Ina Braid murdered!”

“It looks like that.”

“How was she killed?”

“It looks like a stab in the back.”

“It’s that wretched Beldame woman. Somehow she’s stirred up a lot of decent people.”

“I just hope it isnae someone in the village,” said Hamish. “What about your guests?”

“They’re all middle-aged to elderly and very respectable.”

“Could you print me out a list of their names and addresses?”

“Help yourself to coffee and I’ll get it ready.”

Hamish left a few minutes later, studying the names and addresses. He would run them all through the police computer, but he hadn’t much hope of finding a villain amongst the lot of them.

He drove back to Lochdubh, parked on the waterfront, walked up to the builder’s house, and then slowly began to walk back the way Ina would have taken on her road to the shop.

The way led down a narrow lane between the cottages, bordered by fences and hedges. He looked to right and left. Someone could easily have stood in the narrow lane, waiting for Ina. Say the weapon was thin and sharp. But surely she would have felt something – turned around and seen her assailant. And would she just have gone on walking, determined to do her shopping? The fog was dense in the lane. Maybe she felt the stab, turned around and saw no one, and kept on walking. He began to call at the cottages whose gardens bordered on the lane, but no one had seen or heard anything.

When he got back to the waterfront, the police mobile unit was back in place. Hamish blessed his wild cat. Had Blair not been so terrified of the cat then he would have commandeered the police station.

He saw Jimmy Anderson outside the unit and went to speak to him. “They’re bringing Fergus in, Hamish,” said Jimmy.

“From the paper mill?”

“No, the man was out fishing. He had the day off. Blair all but charged him with murdering his wife but then fell into a passion when the water bailiff turns up and says he was talking to Fergus and sharing a sandwich with him all around the time they estimate his wife was being murdered.”

“How long until the pathology report?” asked Hamish.

“Dr. Forsythe’s working on it. I don’t know. These things take time.”

“If she was stabbed and went on walking,” said Hamish, “then it probably happened in the lane down from her house to the waterfront, but, och, surely she would have turned round and screamed or something. Not just gone ahead to the shop.”

“Patel says he dozed off. Someone may have nipped into the shop and stabbed her.”

“I hate that idea,” said Hamish moodily. “That might mean it was someone from the village that people were so used to seeing, it didn’t really register. Then with this damn fog, it could have been anyone.”

“Blair’s got coppers going from door to door. But you know these people. What sort of a person was Ina Braid?”

“Quiet sort of woman. Just one of the village women I occasionally spoke to. I barely knew her because there was never any trouble either with her or Fergus. No children.”

“Who’s the biggest gossip in the village?”

“Gossips,” corrected Hamish. “The Currie twins. I’ve already spoken to them. Nothing there. Wait a bit. I’ve had an idea. There’s a back way into the shop!”

“I’ll get along there and tell forensics. That lassie you’ve been romancing, Lesley Seaton, is working there.”

Hamish blushed. “I have not been romancing Lesley Seaton!”

“Well, you were seen having dinner with her up at the Glen Lodge Hotel.”

“Isn’t that chust typical?” said Hamish furiously. “No one sees a damn thing when a wee woman is being murdered under their noses but I take a colleague out for dinner in an empty dining room miles outside the village and immediately everyone knows about it.”

“You’re Lochdubh’s famous bachelor, Hamish. Anytime you’re seen with a woman, it’s a first-class piece o’ gossip.”

Hamish suddenly remembered Timmy Teviot. He wondered what the forestry worker had wanted to tell him that was so secret he had to meet him outside the village.

“I’ve got someone to see,” said Hamish. “Look, Jimmy, do me a favour. The minute you get anything from Dr. Forsythe, let me know.”

“I’ll do that if I can with Blair breathing down my neck.” Behind him, the mobile unit dipped and swayed. “Here he comes. You’d better be off.”

Hamish hurried back along the waterfront. Timmy, he knew, shared lodgings with several other forestry workers in caravans on the other side of the loch. He got into his Land Rover and drove off.

♦

He located Timmy’s caravan by dint of knocking on other caravan doors and asking where Timmy lived.

Timmy answered the door, and his face fell when he saw Hamish.

“I’m right sorry I brought ye all the way here on such a cold night,” said Timmy.

“Yes, it is cold, so ask me in?”

“I’ve got company,” said Timmy, looking nervously behind him.

“And who would that be?”

“It’s just a lassie who minds the bar in Braikie.”

“All right. Step outside and talk to me.”

Timmy reluctantly came down the caravan steps. “I feel a fool, Hamish. It’s really nothing now I think of it. I saw a couple of deer poachers up on the hill.”

“So what was so private about that?”

“Thae deer poachers can be vicious. I didn’t want any of them to see me going to the station. They saw me watching them.”

Hamish took out his notebook. “Where?”

“Up on Brechie moor. Two big fellows, one with a beard, a short grey beard. Must ha’ been middle-aged. The other was young. Could ha’ been his son. Tall thin laddie wearing a wool cap like the older one. They had dark green shooting jackets and both were carrying deer rifles.”

Hamish studied Timmy’s face in the light shining from the caravan window. “And did one of them have a scar on his face?” he asked.

“Now you come to mention it…”

“Timmy, you’re telling me a bunch o’ lies. What was it you really wanted to tell me?”

“I’m telling you the truth, I swear.”

“Your eyes tell me you’re lying.”

“That would make a good song, Hamish,” said Timmy. “Got to get back to business.” He nipped quickly into his caravan and slammed the door.

♦

Hamish remembered that Colin Framont and his wife, Tilly, lived next door to the Braids. Perhaps they could give him some details about Ina Braid’s life and whether she had made any enemies.

Tilly answered the door to him. “Come ben, Hamish,” she cried. “Isn’t it awful. Poor Ina who wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

Hamish removed his peaked cap and followed her into the living room, where her husband was watching television. He rose when he saw Hamish and switched the television off.

The living room was neat and clean. Almost too uncomfortably clean, thought Hamish.

“I wonder if you, Tilly, could tell me what sort of a person Ina was,” began Hamish. “I never really knew her that well.”

“Very quiet,” said Tilly.

“Did she and her husband ever quarrel?”

“Never a cross word.”

“That’s going a bit far, Tilly. All married couples surely quarrel sometimes.”

“Yes, but not violent. I mean I never heard any shouting or yelling. Besides, if there had been anything like that, Ina would have told me.”

“I keep wondering whether it had anything to do with the death of the woman who called herself Catriona Beldame.”

“It could be,” said Tilly. “I mean, there could be some maniac on the loose. The police have been in her house, searching it from end to end. Poor Fergus. He must be heartbroken. They took him away for questioning. They must be mad.”

“He should be back soon,” said Hamish. “It seems he has an alibi.”

“Oh, that’s grand, isn’t it, Colin?”

“Aye,” said Colin. “I’ll give him a knock and get him in here for a drink.”

Hamish asked more questions, but they did not seem to have anything interesting to say.

When Hamish began to walk down the lane, he saw a tall figure silhouetted by the lights from the waterfront. The fog had thinned to a slight haze.

“Is that yourself, Fergus?” he called.

“Yes, it’s me, Hamish.” His voice broke on a sob. “That bastard Blair. I could kill him!”

“Hush, now. Don’t let anyone hear you saying things like that. I’ll walk you back to your house. Do you want me to go and get you a dram?”

“I’ve got a bottle in the house. Come back wi’ me, Hamish. I feel a wreck.”

Housekeeping in Lochdubh, thought Hamish as he looked around the living room in Fergus’s cottage, was not a chore but a religion. It was so clean, it looked sterile.

He took off his cap and sat down as Fergus took a bottle of whisky from the sideboard along with two glasses and poured a couple of drinks.

Fergus settled back in an armchair and looked moodily at the fireplace. He took out a packet of cigarettes and lit one. “Who on earth would kill Ina?” he said. “I can’t get it into my head that she’s dead. I keep expecting her to walk into this room any moment.”

“Your ash is about to drop on the carpet,” said Hamish. “Can I get you an ashtray?”

“None in the house,” said Fergus, flicking the ash into the fireplace. “Ina was allergic to cigarette smoke.”

“I have to ask you this, Fergus. Could she have been seeing another man?”

“What? Ina? Man, who’d even look at her?”

“That’s a wee bit harsh.”

“Well, she wasn’t a beauty, that’s for sure.”

The doorbell rang. “I know who that is,” said Fergus. “It’s them next door. Could you go and tell them that after I answer police questions I’m going straight to bed?”

Sure enough, Tilly was standing on the doorstep holding a casserole. She listened to Hamish making his excuses for Fergus and then handed him the casserole. “It’s a good lamb stew,” she said. “You tell him I’ll be round first thing in the morning to pick up his laundry and do his cleaning.”

Hamish took the casserole in and placed it in the gleaming kitchen. “I heard what she said,” said Fergus when Hamish joined him. “I won’t answer the door.”

“So, Fergus,” said Hamish patiently, “rack your brains. Did Ina have any enemies?”

“No.”

“Did she have anything to do with Catriona Beldame?”

“No, I mean she wouldn’t.”

“She might have gone there for something like a love potion.”

“What for? Me? Ah, well, you’re not married, are you?”

Hamish continued to question him. He asked if there were any letters he could see but Fergus shook his head and said they hadn’t a computer, either.

Hamish at last rose. He turned in the doorway. Fergus was studying a TV guide. “Man, there’s American football on tonight,” he crowed.

There’s a man who looks as if he’s just been let out of prison rather than having lost a wife, thought Hamish.