M. Beaton: Death Of An Addict

"I'm keeping this for the end of my book," Tommy had written, "in case Parry looks at my computer. He's in it somewhere, this drug business. Billy, a chap I used to share a flat with, met me one day in Strathbane. I told him I had given up drugs and just wanted to get away from it all. He told me about Parry, just said he'd happened to hear of this man out of Glenanstey who had chalets to rent. Parry seemed just a simple crofter. I'd suspected something might have been going on at the Church of the Rising Sun, but they were just a lot of daft folk talking about sex. I was at a loose end and wanted to take a break from writing, so I decided to follow Parry. I didn't think there would be anything there. I was just playing at detectives. Then one day, I saw him go into Lachie's. Nobody like Parry would have gone to Lachie's for any innocent reason. The next day when he was out on the croft, I looked in his cottage. There was an admiralty map of the area and there was a circle around the entrance to Loch Drim. Then two nights later, a car arrived. I saw Lachie get out with another man and they went into Parry's cottage. I went out and crouched down and peered over the window. Parry was showing them the map. I wanted to keep all this for the book but it's too heavy. I think they were plotting the landing of drugs. Everyone knows Lachie deals drugs. That's where I got the stuff anyway. It's too scary now. I'd better go to the police. But I feel bad. Parry's been kind to me. I'll tip him a warning. He probably just recommends safe locations along the coast."

"Parry," hissed Hamish. "The bastard. Why did he do it?"

"Let's arrest the bugger and find out," said Olivia.

Parry's cottage was in darkness. Hamish hammered at the door. After a few minutes, the lights went on. The door opened.

"Parry McSporran," said Hamish. "I am arresting you for the murder of Thomas Jarret. I must caution you that…"

"You're talking rubbish," howled Parry. "This is me, your friend."

"We found the Bible at the tip."

"So? I told you I threw it out."

"There was a piece of typescript inside where Tommy described the visit you had from Lachie and, I assume, Jimmy White, and about Loch Drim circled on the admiralty chart and that he was going to the police but going to warn you first."

Parry turned white. "I neffer thought to look inside."

At headquarters in Strathbane, the whole story came out in the interrogation room as the tape whizzed.

Parry had borrowed heavily from the bank to build the chalets and the bank was demanding he pay back the loan. He was in danger of losing his croft house. He had run into an old school friend, Hughie Grant, who was looking very prosperous. They had a drink and Parry had told Hughie about his troubles. Hughie said he could put Parry in the way of big money. When he heard it had to do with drugs, he refused. But the bank became even more pressing. He panicked. He went to see Hughie. At first it was storing drugs for them at the croft house and delivering them to certain locations. Then it was helping them to suss out locations to land the drugs. The bank loan was paid off. He told them he wouldn't be having any more to do with them but they told him the only way to retire from the trade was to die.

Then Tommy had come to him and told him he had found out about him and was going to the police but giving Parry time to make a break for it.

"It would have meant it wass all for nothing," said Parry. "I would lose my sheep, my house, my croft, everything. So I told Lachie. 'Sit tight,' he said, 'and don't interfere.' "

Parry said that two young men had called at Tommy's cottage on the day of his death. One was small, with a tattoo of a snake round one arm, and the other was tall and with his hair in a ponytail. Tommy's flatmates, thought Harnish. He had done nothing, as instructed. After a time, they left, and he went in and found Tommy dead. He had phoned Lachie. "Call the cops," Lachie had said. "He's taken an overdose."

Parry began to cry.

So much for me being a shrewd judge of character, thought Hamish bitterly.

Olivia and Hamish got to bed about ten o'clock the following morning and both fell instantly asleep, wrapped in each other's arms. Hamish awoke in the late afternoon. Olivia's hands were caressing his body.

"I don't have any condoms," he whispered.

"I've got the coil. Do you have AIDS?"

"No."

She raised herself on one elbow and smiled down at him. "Then what are you waiting for, copper?"

Blair was sitting at an AA meeting in Inverness on Ness Bank. Outside the windows, the river flowed lazily past. The man behind him nudged him in the ribs. "Oh," said Blair, "I'd rather just listen." If you swine think I'm going to join you and tell you anything about me, you've got another think coming, he thought.

God, he could murder for a drink. But it was back in the minibus to the rehab. The man who had nudged him, Cyril, said, "You know, if you want to get well, you're going to have to speak up a bit."

"Leave me alone," growled Blair.

Once back at the rehab, he made for the public phone and phoned Daviot. He listened while Daviot told him of the arrest of Parry. Then Blair took a deep breath. "Anything come of that investigation, sir?"

"We're still looking into it. Carry on with the cure."

Blair went up to his room and sat on the bed and stared into space. Another success for Hamish Macbeth.

It was too much. He opened the window and looked down. He was two stories up but there was a drainpipe next to the window.

He shinned down it and softly made his way out of the grounds. Down the road was a pub called the Bell but known at the rehab as the Alkies Slip, because that was where some of them fell off the wagon.

Blair pushed open the door and went in. He ordered a double whisky. He knocked it back, feeling the warmth permeating his body. It was nectar. He was about to order another when he knew that if he did, it would lead to another and another and he wouldn't be able to make it back up the drainpipe. So he bought a half bottle over the counter and reluctantly made his way back to the rehab. It was all Hamish Macbeth's fault, he thought bitterly.

The speaker at the meeting had said that when he was drinking, he blamed everyone and everything for his troubles.

But Blair hadn't been listening.

Olivia was on holiday and she enjoyed her first few days playing house immensely. The weather was glorious, an Indian summer, and apart from a sad visit to Tommy's parents, she and Hamish had gone for walks, had gone fishing, made love and had eaten the meals she had prepared.

But then the weather had changed. Driving rain had blown up the long sea loch, clouds had covered the mountains, and Olivia began to feel claustrophobic and very far from home. For a few days she had entertained the dream of marrying Hamish. But now she knew she was a city girl to her bones.

She was sitting in the kitchen one morning, watching the rain smear the windows, looking out at a blurred view of damp sheep and wondering what to do. Her shrewd mind told her that Hamish was not in love with her, though he might think he was. He just wanted to get married. She had found a photograph of a beautiful blonde tucked at the back of his sock drawer, and from local gossip she gathered the blonde was Priscilla Halburton-Smythe, to whom Hamish had once been engaged. He had not thrown the photo away, only hidden it so that she would not see it.

She heard him coming back and went to put on the kettle. He had said he was going into Inverness.

He came in and kissed her and then fished in his pocket and took out a small velvet jeweller's box. "For you. Open it."

Olivia opened the little box. A diamond and sapphire ring winked up at her.

"Is this what I think it is?" she asked.