Hamish jerked awake. “Och, it iss yourself, Helen,” he said amiably.
“Get in there!” snarled Helen.
Hamish got lazily to his feet. “My, your colour is awfy bad, Helen. It could be the high blood pressure.”
He smiled at her and walked past her into the room.
“Macbeth,” said Daviot, “as a punishment you will lose your sergeant’s stripes. But you will continue your duties in Lochdubh. You will see Detective Anderson before you leave, and he will brief you. That will be all.”
Hamish went out, feeling dazed and happy. He still had his job and his beloved police station.
He went down to the detectives’ room where he found Jimmy. “So you’re still with us,” said a grinning Jimmy. “Reduced to the ranks.”
“Aye, but I’ve still got my job,” said Hamish happily.
Jimmy handed him two enormous folders. “What’s this?”
“You’ll need to try to find out who murdered Angus. I’ll be over there with Macnab to go over the case with you. In those folders are all the interviews after the death of Angus. Go through them again and see if there’s anything there we can work on. Now, off with you. I’ve got a phone call to make.”
When Hamish had left, Jimmy dialled the number of the pub where he knew Blair to be and asked to speak to him. “This is a great day, Jimmy,” crowed Blair over the phone.
“That it is,” said Jimmy smoothly. “We never like to see one of our own get the push.”
There was a shocked silence. Then Blair roared like a bull in pain, “D’ye mean tae tell me that pillock’s still got his job?”
“Yes, but he isn’t a sergeant anymore.”
“How did he get away with it?”
Jimmy was enjoying himself immensely. “I don’t know. I wasn’t there, but they phoned down and asked me to brief him on the Angus Ettrik case.”
Blair uttered a stream of Anglo-Saxon words and then slammed down the receiver. He went back to his table in the bar. He had gone back to the police canteen for his lunch and, because it was his day off, had returned to the pub through force of habit. A nearly full glass of tonic water winked at him in the flashing lights of the fruit machine next to the table. He picked it up and strode to the bar. “Put a double gin in there,” he shouted. Blair was normally a whisky drinker, but there was no point in wasting good tonic water.
♦
Hamish whistled and sang as he drove back to Lochdubh with Lugs beside him. Once clear of Strathbane, he stopped the Land Rover on a grassy verge and let Lugs out. The animal had been cooped up for too long. As he watched Lugs scampering through the heather beside the road, he had a sudden memory of Kirsty Ettrik’s fear when she had seen his dog.
His happiness fled. If Angus had not been murdered by Ionides, then it followed it must have been done by someone in Lochdubh. If Fergus had confided in him about the hotel, might he not have confided in him about the other people he had been blackmailing?
He wondered if Priscilla was back. She had left for London a few days after the death of Ionides. He looked over his shoulder at the two folders. He persuaded himself that he only wanted to see Priscilla again to use her help. She had a logical mind.
He whistled for his dog and then reached over and helped Lugs up onto the high seat. He fastened the seat belt around the dog and then set off again.
Once back at the police station, he fed Lugs and then settled down to pick the sergeant’s stripes off his two police sweaters and then his tunic.
Clarry came in and beamed all over his face when Hamish gave him the good news.
“It couldn’t have come at a better time,” said Clarry. “I’m packing up today and moving in with Martha. We’re getting married next year. Will you be best man?”
“I’d be delighted, Clarry. How are things going on at the hotel?”
“I’ve never been happier, Hamish.”
Clarry had slimmed down and was always clean and fresh looking, a big change from the slob of a constable who had first come to Lochdubh.
“The thing is, Clarry,” said Hamish, “they’ve reopened the investigation into Angus’s murder.”
“That’s daft. It was that Greek, surely.”
“They don’t think so. The pilot’s confessed that Ionides killed Fergus, and he helped to dump the body, but he swears blind that his boss had nothing to do with the murder of Angus.”
“He’d expect leniency for helping solve one murder. If he says Ionides didn’t kill him, then he’s clear of a more serious charge.”
“That’s what I thought. Me and my famous intuition. I ended up concentrating on Ionides, so delighted it wasn’t one of us, that of course I thought Angus’s murder was done by him.”
“Where’ll you start?”
“I’ve got two big folders of printouts of what everyone interviewed said after Angus’s murder, Clarry, gossip to the staff up at the hotel. But keep this under wraps. People at the hotel might gossip a bit more freely if they think the murder solved. People will aye try to protect people, and that’s what always stops me getting at the truth.”
Clarry went off to pack his suitcase, and Hamish settled down and began to go through the folders. Kirsty had said that Angus had believed their troubles to be over. What did that mean? Angus’s bank account had been checked and there was nothing other than an overdraft.
He phoned up Angela, the doctor’s wife. “Is Kirsty up at the croft?”
“I believe so. I saw her the other day in Patel’s. What’s this about?”
“I chust wanted a word with her; see if she’s all right.”
“Are you all right?”
“Yes, I’ve still got my job.”
“Come round for a coffee when you can.”
Hamish buttoned on his tunic, minus the three stripes. He called to Clarry, “I’m going out.”
Clarry appeared in the doorway. “You’ve got nothing for your dinner as usual. Call round at the kitchen. I’ve got some nice braised venison. It’ll do you and Lugs a treat.”
“I might do that. Is Priscilla back yet?”
“I heard she might be on her way up.” Clarry drew himself up and said, “I would just like to say that you were the best boss a man ever had. I will never forget your kindness. Furthermore…”
“That’s all right,” said Hamish, turning red with embarrassment. “I’m off.”
“May I give you a hug?”
“Well, no, Clarry. Take care of yourself and stop watching those touchy-feely soaps.”
Hamish drove up to Kirsty’s croft house.
♦
She jerked open the door as if she had been waiting, had noticed his arrival.
“How are things, Kirsty?”
“Oh, it’s yourself, Hamish. I’m managing as best I can. Everyone around is giving me help with the sheep until I decide what to do. Come in.”
Hamish walked into the kitchen. It sparkled and shone. Every surface gleamed, and the air smelled strongly of disinfectant.
Hamish removed his hat and put it on the kitchen table. “I don’t want to distress you, Kirsty, you’ve been through a lot.”
Her eyes widened. “What’s happened? Not another death? I mean, it’s all over. It was that Greek bastard who killed my Angus.”
“Maybe.”
“What d’ye mean, ‘maybe’?” she demanded shrilly.
“At Strathbane, they’re beginning to think that maybe someone else murdered Angus.”
Her face turned white, and she clutched at the table for support.
“Sit down, Kirsty,” said Hamish, in that moment hating his job. “There may be nothing in it.”
“But if it’s possible there’s someone else,” she whispered, “he could be out there, waiting for me, and I’m up here on my own.”