M.C. Beaton - Death of a Bore

“No, chuck all the guns over the side. Untie that pair. They’ll try to do us for attempted murder, but we can all swear we were just trying to frighten them.”

“They got James’s boat as well.”

“They can’t give us much for running cigarettes. Relax.”

♦

Elspeth and Hamish arrived just as Freda and Matthew were being helped ashore.

Detective Chief Inspector Heather Meikle came driving along the dock. “Well done, you two. Now, if you will come to police headquarters and make a statement…”

“Can Hamish Macbeth take our statements in Lochdubh?” begged Matthew. “Freda is in shock.”

“Do you want to go to the hospital, Miss Garrety?”

“No,” sobbed Freda. “I w-want to g-go home.”

“Very well. Macbeth, take them back and send over their statements.”

“Before we go,” said Matthew, “those bastards are going to say they only threatened to drown us to frighten us, but they did mean to kill us. We heard them.”

“Put it in your statement.”

♦

Freda, Matthew, and Elspeth got into the police Land Rover. Hamish had ordered Matthew to leave his car keys with the police, who would drive his car over to the Tommel Castle Hotel in the morning. As they were moving off, Elspeth said, “Stop at the Highlands Hotel on the road out, Hamish.”

“Why?”

“Freda needs to use the Ladies.” She handed Freda a plastic bag. “There you go. Clean knickers and jeans.”

“How did you know?” asked Freda.

Elspeth grinned. “Been there, done that.”

♦

While they waited outside the hotel for Freda, Matthew said, “I’m glad I’ve got something to write.”

“You mean Standing Stones Island was a washout?” asked Elspeth.

“It wasn’t that. It was an eerie place. I felt…This is daft. I felt the island hated us – well, not the island, but the bit in the middle of the standing stones. If I wrote that, they would be asking what I’d been drinking.”

To his surprise, Elspeth said, “I know what you mean. There are parts of Sutherland where people get weird feelings and even see things. The rock up here is the oldest in the world, and any soil is a very thin covering. I sometimes wonder if in a way it records things. But what did you hope to write? I mean, you weren’t actually hoping to see a ghost, were you?”

Matthew gave a reluctant laugh. “I suppose I never really thought beyond the headline. ‘Reporter Matthew Campbell’s Night on the Haunted Island.’”

Freda came out and joined them, and Hamish drove off. “I know you’re both tired,” he said, “but I’d better get your statements as soon as we get back to Lochdubh, and that way you can both have a good night’s sleep.”

“All right,” said Matthew, “but make it quick.”

♦

Before he fell asleep in the safety and comfort of his hotel room, Matthew thought about Freda. He had liked the way she had clung to him. Elspeth would never have done that. He looked forward to seeing her with a feeling of pleasant anticipation.

They had made their statements. He had filed his story, and he knew Elspeth was filing her part in it about her race with Hamish to Strathbane and the activity on the docks.

And to think he had considered the Highlands boring!

♦

Angus arrived at nine in the morning. Hamish, bleary-eyed, let him in. “Are you getting a locksmith round?” asked Angus.

“No, I’ll change them myself. I meant to do it ages ago, and I’ve got locks out in the shed. Make some coffee for both of us, and then I’ll clear the desk in the office for you. Just in case my boss arrives and wants to go in there, I’ll tell her loudly that I’ve got something wrong with the police computer and you’re fixing it for me, and you hide the Heppel one.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll clear the desk now and then shave and get my uniform on. I’ve a feeling the Lady of the Cast-iron Liver will be here shortly.”

“Drink a lot, does she?”

“Like a fish. Make coffee.”

Hamish moved the police computer to one side of the desk and unlocked the drawer where he had hidden John’s laptop, and put it on the desk. Then he showered and shaved and got into his uniform.

He had drunk his coffee, walked and fed Lugs, and changed the locks before Heather arrived. He had hoped the excitement of catching the cigarette smugglers might have kept her away a bit longer, but there she was, rattling at the handle of the locked kitchen door.

He unlocked it and let her in.

“That was good work,” she said, shrugging off her coat and handing it to him. “Some members of that gang have been in prison already for running drugs. But cigarettes are so expensive in this country that a lot of the drug dealers have gone over to smuggling cigarettes. But that’s not why I’m here. The toxicology report revealed that Patty’s body contained traces of a heavy narcotic. Also, there’s now some forensic gobbledygook, which comes down to the fact that she could not have slit her wrists herself. There is no report from the computer expert in Glasgow yet. So I’m off back to Inverness. Got any whisky?”

Hamish glanced at the clock. It was eleven in the morning. He lifted down a bottle from the cupboard and a glass and put both on the table.

“Why are you leaving for Inverness, ma’am?”

“I’m not needed any more. Blair’s suspension has been cancelled. Now it has been established that Alice Patty was murdered and not driven to suicide, he’s been exonerated. It’s a pity. We could have made a good team, Hamish.”

More like master and servant, thought Hamish.

“Would you consider a move to Inverness?”

“It’s kind of you to suggest it, ma’am, but I’m more use here.”

She drained her glass and poured herself another hefty measure. Hamish watched the diminishing whisky sourly. I’ve a good mind to put another bottle on my expenses and say it was for entertaining her, he thought.

She drained that glass and stood up. “Coat!”

Hamish fetched her coat and helped her into it. “Well, I’m off,” said Heather. She kissed him on the cheek. “Be seeing you.”

“I don’t know which one is worse,” said Hamish to Lugs after she had gone, “her or Blair.”

Then he realised with a feeling of intense relief that the murder of Alice Patty would shift the focus away from the village.

The phone in the office rang. Hamish unlocked the door, shouting, “Don’t answer that.”

“I wasn’t going to,” muttered Angus.

Hamish picked up the phone. Blair’s guttural Glasgow accent sounded down the line. “Get out there and interview that lot in the village.”

“But surely the murder of Alice Patty means that one of the television people is probably the culprit?”

“I mean the television lot, you stupid teuchter. Haven’t you poked your nose outside that police station of yours? They’re filming there today. Jimmy Anderson and some police are there already. I’m too busy winding up a smuggling racket I exposed.”

“If you look at your records, sir,” said Hamish gleefully, “I was the one who reported it.”

“Just get to work, you lazy bastard!”

♦

Some of the villagers were baffled that day by the new lock on the police station door. It had become a handy place from which to borrow things, like a can opener or a carving knife.

Hamish did not know this and was occasionally puzzled by missing items which would suddenly reappear a few days later.

Hamish went out and found the television vans and equipment along the waterfront.

He leaned on the wall and looked down on the beach. He was joined by Jimmy Anderson. “Heard the news?” asked Jimmy.

“Aye.”

“It means we’ve got Blair back, and old Iron Knickers has gone back to Inverness.”