M. Beaton: Death Of An Addict

Blair could feel sweat trickling down inside his shirt.

"We'll need to start a full investigation," said Daviot.

"If I could make a suggestion." Hamish Macbeth again. Blair suppressed a groan. "If this Callum was selling information, then he would go to Lachie at the disco, and to get to Lachie, he would ask the bartender."

"Hasn't the bartender been picked up?" asked Daviot.

Jimmy Anderson shook his head. "He's disappeared."

"Then we'll need to find out from the young people who were there if anyone answering Callum's description was seen in Lachie's," said Olivia.

"We'll do that."

When they were back in their hotel room, Hamish said flatly, "I've a damn good idea who's behind the tip-off."

"Who?"

"Blair. Detective Chief Inspector Blair. He's aye hated my guts and saw this as a way to get rid of me."

"Surely not. But if those are your suspicions, you must tell Daviot."

"Waste of time. He won't listen. Not unless I have some concrete proof."

"There will be a thorough investigation. If Blair's guilty, then they'll get him."

"Maybe, but I doubt it. He'll be covering his tracks all over the place. Well, we've got two weeks' leave. I'm going back to Lochdubh in the morning and then I'll start looking into Tommy Jarret's death again. Want to come with me?"

She hesitated and then suddenly smiled. "I'd like that."

"I don't think anyone they've arrested is going to say anything about Tommy's death," said Hamish. "They know they wouldn't last long in prison if they talked. Do you want anything more to eat? That buffet supper at headquarters wasn't very filling."

"No, I'm all right. I'm very tired. I think I'll go to bed."

Later they lay in their twin beds in the darkness. Olivia rubbed her wrists, which still hurt from the wire. She closed her eyes but terror seized her. She was once more in that boat, tied up, without hope.

"Hamish.'" she wailed.

He came to her and got in beside her in the narrow bed and folded his arms about her. "Hush," he said. "It's all right. Hamish is here," and he cradled her like a child until she fell asleep.

In the morning, Blair sought an audience with Daviot.

"Good heavens," said Daviot. "You look a wreck."

Blair was unshaven, his eyes bloodshot, and he looked as if he had slept in his clothes.

"I want your advice, sir," said Blair humbly.

"Of course."

"The fact is, sir, I'm having trouble with the drink. Och, why beat about the bush. I'm an alcoholic."

"Are you sure? We all like our dram."

"The pressure of work has been making it worse," said Blair. "There's this rehab in Inverness which can take me for six weeks to get me cured. I would like to go there as soon as possible."

Daviot was touched. "Of course you can go. You are too valuable an officer to lose. You were quite right to come to me. A lot of famous people are alcoholics and take the cure," said the superintendent, naively convinced that there was a cure for alcoholism. "Keep in touch with us about how you are getting on. I was going to discuss our investigations into how Jimmy White got tipped off, but I think you need a break from it all." "I do, I do," said Blair fervently.

"And don't worry. Your whereabouts will be our secret." Blair thanked him fulsomely and left. He felt he had covered his tracks thoroughly. He had never discussed his snouts with anyone. He would suffer this damn rehab and keep his ear to the ground. One murmur that they had sussed him, and he would disappear.

Hamish began to fret about sleeping arrangements as he and Olivia travelled by police car driven by Kevin to Lochdubh. There was only one double bedroom. There was one cell with a bed in it, but he didn't much relish sleeping in it.

Kevin was silent and morose and, when they arrived at the police station, said curtly that he had better be getting straight back. He felt that he and Barry had been unfairly blamed for not keeping a close eye on Hamish and Olivia.

"Home at last," said Hamish with a sigh. He led her through to the bedroom. "This is all I've got," he said awkwardly. "I've got a bed in the cell I can use."

She smiled at him, a wonderful smile.

"It's all right, Hamish. I won't turn you out of your bed. We'll share it."

"Grand," said Hamish, who felt like whooping and cheering. He put his suitcase on the bed and opened it.

"Hamish, you've brought all those expensive clothes back with you!"

"Aye, well, I feel I deserve them."

"Thief!"

"No, chust taking advantage of a new wardrobe. I'll leave you to unpack. I thought we might have a bit of lunch and then call over on Parry McSporran."

"The crofter who keeps the chalets?"

"Yes. May as well get started."

Hamish went through to the kitchen. There was nothing to make a lunch.

"I forgot to do any shopping," he called. "When you're ready, I'll take you out for lunch."

Half an hour later they walked along to the Napoli restaurant, Hamish stopping every so often to introduce Olivia to the locals. "We'd best call on Archie Macleod sometime today and thank him properly," he said.

They went into the restaurant. Willie Lamont was waiting table. In the heady days when Hamish had been promoted to sergeant before being demoted, Willie had been his police constable but had fallen in love with a relative of the restaurant owner, had married her and had left the force.

Hamish made for the table at the window. Willie, who was a compulsive cleaner, rushed to wipe the table. "This will be that police officer you was kidnapped with."

"Yes, this is Chief Inspector Chater from Glasgow."

"So it isnae a romance, then?"

"Give us the menus, Willie, and push off."

Willie handed them the menus. "You have to watch out for Macbeth," he said to Olivia. "One christ after another."

Olivia blinked.

"He means crisis," said Hamish, who was used to translating Willie's malapropisms.

He looked at the menu. "The veal escalope's good."

"I'm a pasta junkie," said Olivia. "I'll have the linguine with the clam sauce."

"Do we want wine?"

"Better leave it until this evening," said Olivia. "We'll do some shopping and I'll cook dinner."

While they ate, Olivia went over and over again their ordeal on the boat. Hamish listened, knowing she had to talk it out. No victim support or therapy for us, he thought. We just need to help each other to get over it.

Then she asked him to tell her again all about the death of Tommy Jarret.

"The thing that still bothers me," said Hamish, "is why did he go to the Church of the Rising Sun? No drugs were found there. All the congregation seemed to talk about was sex. And yet he was searching from some sort of spiritual belief."

"Some sort of religious belief?" asked Olivia.

"Not exactly. You know what they say, religion's for those who believe in hell and a spiritual belief is for those who've been there. Maybe you could get that girl Felicity to talk a bit more."

The restaurant smells of good cooking were being replaced by a strong smell of disinfectant. "It's late. We're the only customers now," said Hamish, "and Willie is making sure there isn't one germ left behind."

"What's the time?"

"Three-thirty."

"Already! Let's do some shopping."

They left the restaurant and walked along to Patel's, the general store. Hamish paid from a wallet stuffed with notes.

"Hamish," said Olivia when they were outside, "surely that's still some of the money they gave you to flash around when you were supposed to be a drug baron. You were supposed to hand over what was left or at least account for it on your expenses."

"I'll think of something," said Hamish.

After they had put the groceries away, they drove to Glenanstey. "It's a grand day," said Hamish, "but it'll get dark quite soon now."