♦
On his return to the police station, Hamish got a message to phone Blair. Reluctantly, he called police headquarters and was put through to Blair.
“Whit’s this about a search warrant?” chuckled Blair.
“It’s important,” said Hamish.
“Important, what?”
“Important, sir. The damn woman is poisoning the village.”
“You’re all sae backwards up there, it’s a wonder ye ken the difference.”
“I wanted to examine her potions,” said Hamish patiently, “and she refused to let me take samples.”
“Anyone died?”
“No, but…”
“Listen, laddie, we’ve got real crimes here – gangs and drugs and mayhem. Until you’ve got yourself a real crime, forget it.”
“What do I have to do?” raged Hamish. “Kill her?”
Blair slammed down the phone.
Hamish sat until his rage had died down. He decided to make himself some comfort food for dinner. He boiled a small haggis and served it with mashed turnip and mashed potatoes. His pets had already been fed and were fast asleep.
He allowed himself one small glass of whisky while he wondered what he could do about the witch.
I’ll threaten her, he decided. I’ll go up there right now and tell her I’ll make her life one hell on earth unless she either leaves or quits selling quack medicine.
The wind had dropped. There was a clear starry sky and frost glittering on the ground as he set off.
But although there was a light shining through her cottage window, there was no reply to his knock.
♦
Ina Braid was sixty-three. She was married to Fergus, who worked at a paper mill over in Strathbane.
Theirs had always appeared to be a comfortable marriage. Tucked up beside her husband in their double bed that evening, Ina opened a romance called Highland Heart, removed the bookmark, and settled against the pillows to read. She had just got to the exciting bit where the laird grabbed the village girl in his strong arms and bent his head to hers.
“What about a wee bit o’ a cuddle,” said Fergus, trying to put his arms round her.
“Get off!” snapped Ina. “What’s come over ye?”
“We havenae done – you know – in a long while.”
“Because neither of us has wanted to. Leave me alone!”
“I want ma marital rights. Come here!” Ina leapt out of bed and stood there, panting. “Keep away from me or I’ll stab ye wi’ the bread knife.”
“Ye frigid wee hoor!” roared Fergus.
♦
Something very like that confrontation went on behind several closed doors in the village of Lochdubh.
Hamish was approaching his station from a field at the back where he had been giving his small flock of sheep their winter feed when he found the minister’s wife waiting for him.
Mrs. Wellington was the epitome of Highland respectability from her waxed coat and brogues to the felt hat with the pheasant’s feather in it on her head.
“Come ben,” said Hamish. “Trouble?”
“Bad trouble,” said Mrs. Wellington.
“Coffee?”
“Strong, black, and with a dram in it.”
“Bad night?”
“Up most of the night with calls from distressed women.”
“Wait till I get your coffee and you can tell me all about it.” Hamish put on the kettle and took a half bottle of whisky down from a shelf.
When he had served Mrs. Wellington, he asked, “Now, what is going on?”
Mrs. Wellington took a fortifying pull of her brew and said, “Sex.”
“Sex?”
“I am being asked for help by some women in the village whose husbands have started pestering them just when they thought all that nonsense was over. Just imagine it, Hamish. A woman settling down for the night as she has done for years with a good book and being subjected to…that.”
Poor old minister, thought Hamish.
“I think I know what’s at the back of it,” said Hamish, “and yes, I can put a stop to it. Tomorrow is the Sabbath. Tell your man I want to borrow his pulpit to make an announcement.”
“What about?”
“I’d rather break the news all at once.”
♦
After the opening hymn was sung on Sunday, the villagers looked in surprise as Hamish climbed up to the pulpit.
“This may hardly seem a fit topic for a church,” said Hamish, “but as it is causing misery in the village, I want to give all the men of Lochdubh a warning. If you have been going to a Miss Beldame for a potion to help your sexual prowess, it is the firm belief of Dr. Brodie that what you have been taking is Spanish fly. This does not enhance your prowess. It swells the genitals and could cause damage to your kidneys. I will deal with Miss Beldame myself. None of you is to go near her.”
Shocked faces stared up at him. He surrendered the pulpit to Mr. Wellington and went and sat in a pew at the back.
At the end of the service, he slipped out of the church and went back to the police station. He planned to visit Catriona after he had eaten his lunch.
But there was a knock at the kitchen door and then the Currie sisters walked in.
“This is a bad business,” said Nessie.
“Bad business,” echoed Jessie, who always repeated the end of her sister’s sentences.
“I thought you pair would ha’ known about it before this,” said Hamish.
“We did,” said Nessie. “But she’s a witch!”
“A witch,” said Jessie.
“Look here. There are no such things as witches.”
“Keep your voice down,” hissed Nessie, looking furtively around.
“Voice down,” came the Greek chorus.
Hamish sighed. He knew the highlanders were deeply superstitious.
“I’m going to deal with her,” he said firmly. “By tomorrow, you’ll have nothing to worry about. I’ll kill her if I have to. Don’t look like that. Just joking. Now, off with you.”
♦
Hamish ate his lunch, fed his pets, told them to stay behind, and set off for Catriona Beldame’s cottage. A group of villagers followed him. He kept turning and shouting “Stay back!” and they would stop, but as soon as he moved on, they would follow again, keeping a discreet distance.
He knocked at the door. Catriona answered his knock and stood there, one hand on the lintel. She was dressed in a long black velvet gown that made her look like the witch she was supposed to be.
“Well?”
“I am here to tell you,” said Hamish, “that if you continue to supply drugs to the people of this village, it will be the worse for you.”
She gave a mocking laugh. “Couldn’t get your search warrant, could you?”
He turned and looked at her Volvo, parked at the side of the cottage. He went over to it and shone his torch on it. “You need new tyres,” he said. “You cannot drive that car until you have them fitted. Your vehicle is not roadworthy.”
She followed him. The wind had risen and was whipping her hair about her face.
She pointed a long finger at him. “I cursed you, remember?” she said. “Black days are coming, Hamish Macbeth.”
“Oh, go to hell,” shouted Hamish. “I’ll haff ye out o’ my village and on your broomstick if it’s the last thing I do. Catriona Beldame, indeed. What’s your real name, lassie? Tracy Smellie, Josie Clapp, something like that? I’ll find out, you know.”
She flew at him, her hands clawing at his face.
He gave her a hearty push and she went sprawling in the heather.
Hamish went and stood over her. “Take my advice and leave by tomorrow.”
He turned and strode away down the brae. The watchers had vanished.
♦
The next day, a case of shoplifting took him over to Cnothan, his least favourite place. It turned out to be the theft of nothing more than chocolate bars. He identified the two culprits from the security camera, persuaded the angry shopkeeper not to press criminal charges, and went off to see the boys’ parents. He was damned if he was going to give two little boys a criminal record this early in their lives. It all took more time than he had expected between getting the boys, two brothers, from school, and taking them home to their shocked mother. Mother and boys were then taken to the shop, where they apologised while the mother paid for the stolen goods. After that, he stopped off to see some friends in Cnothan before heading home.