But it never came. Instead, the undertaker looked somewhat sheepish.
‘I – er – I need to report something.’
Ewan picked up his pencil and licked the tip. ‘Fire away then, Mr McNeish. I am all ears. What is the complaint?’
‘It’s not a complaint, it’s a report I am making. About a theft. I have been robbed, sort of.’
‘At your house, you mean? You live out on Sharkey’s Boot, don’t you?’
‘Aye. Well, really all I need is a crime number for my insurance company.’
‘I just need some details first Mr McNeish. Then I can call round on Nippy sometime this morning.’
‘There’s no need for that, it’s just a number they say.’
‘Well, what’s been stolen?’
‘Oh just a few bits of antiques. Nothing grand.’
‘Funny that. I’ve got a few cases of burglary on the books at the moment. Antique clocks, old knick-knacks, that sort of thing. You must be the—’
The bell tinkled again and the door opened to the sound of several dog barks. This was immediately followed by the entrance of Annie McConville in her usual panama hat, cheesecloth dress and a pack of assorted dogs on leads.
‘Ah PC Ewan McPhee, the very man,’ she said, advancing to the counter. Then she saw Rab McNeish, standing rigidly in front of her, both hands clutching the edge of the counter. ‘Ah, and as for you, Rab McNeish, I want a word with you! You’ve been spreading rumours and making complaints about me, I hear.’
It was as if the dogs all noticed him for the first time as well, and two of them bared their teeth, barked and made a lunge at him. Annie immediately tugged their leads and Zimba, her German shepherd put himself between the two small dogs and the joiner.
‘Wheesht, boys!’ she called and they instantly quietened, but stood glaring menacingly at the now stricken Rab McNeish.
Ewan sensed the possibility of conflict and tried to intervene. ‘I’ll be with you in a moment, Mrs McConville. I was just dealing with Mr McNeish.’ He turned to the joiner-cum-undertaker. ‘So would you like to give me the details of these antiques?’
‘Er – no! I’ve changed my mind. They’re not worth claiming. Not now. Not yet. I’ll – er – I’ll maybe come back.’
He edged round the dogs.
‘I won’t take kindly to hearing any more tittle-tattle, you know,’ Annie went on. ‘If you have something to say to me, say it instead of going scuttling about behind my back.’
Rab McNeish bobbed his head up and down and made a dash for the door.
‘But, Mr McNeish,’ Ewan began.
‘Oh don’t bother your head about him, Ewan McPhee. He’s just a scunner and a troublemaker.’ She slapped her hand on the counter. ‘Now, I have a clue for you.’
‘A clue, Mrs McConville?’
‘Yes, about the case of the abandoned cats and dogs that you are investigating.’
‘Er – are we?’
‘Of course you are! Miss Melville reported it all to Sergeant Morag Driscoll. Don’t tell me that you don’t know.’
Ewan considered that discretion would be the best option. ‘So what is this clue, Mrs McConville?’
‘They don’t like the sound of a saw. I have four of them that just cower away.’
‘I don’t understand you, I am afraid.’
‘I get spare shanks from Mathieson, the butcher. I saw them up for my doggies so that they all get good marrow and plenty of calcium. Well, they all start howling and then they just cower away into corners as if there’s a thunderstorm going on.’ She stared at Ewan who was uncertainly chewing the end of his pencil. ‘Well, write it down then, it could be crucial to the case. Tell Sergeant Morag. Good day to you.’
And without more ado she flounced out with her pack of animals leaving a bemused Ewan to add her information to the day record. He would marry it up with the case which he was sure would be in the backlog.
He was still writing when the bell tinkled again and Sandy King came in, dressed in a plain black track suit.
‘Are – are you—?’
‘Sandy King, that’s right. I just wondered if I could have a quick word with Sergeant Driscoll.’
‘I’ll see if I can find her,’ Ewan said, and turned to find Morag coming in.
‘Did I hear my name mentioned,’ she asked. Then she saw the footballer and colour appeared in her cheeks.
‘It’s a personal matter, actually,’ he said, looking meaningfully at Ewan.
‘Oh, I’ll just put the kettle on, Sergeant Driscoll,’ Ewan said, leaving diplomatically.
‘I’ve been plucking up courage, Morag,’ Sandy King said. ‘Is it OK to call you that? I just thought maybe we could have that drink I mentioned the other day. Just you and me.’
‘I – er – would love to,’ she said. ‘When I’m off duty.’
His smile enchanted her. ‘That’s settled then.’ He handed her a card. ‘My mobile is on there. Just ring when you are free. Look I need to rush, myself. I have another appointment to keep. Look forward to our date.’
Morag stared at the door as it closed behind him. ‘I don’t believe it,’ she said to herself.
‘Ewan,’ she called through to the kitchen. ‘Am I dreaming or not? Did Sandy King just come in?’
‘He did, and he asked you out on a date.’
‘Were you listening, you big galoot?’
‘Of course I was, and I’m happy for you. Could you get his autograph for me, or maybe a football shirt?’
There was a chorus of laughter from the rest room and the Drummond twins appeared, both of them dressed in the West Uist police navy-blue jumpers.
‘Special Constables Wallace and Douglas Drummond reporting for duty, Sergeant Driscoll,’ said Wallace. ‘We just came in the back door in time for tea and heard the good news too.’
‘You’ll be asking Torquil for a holiday then,’ said Douglas with a grin.
The bell tinkled again and Torquil himself came in with Crusoe trotting loyally at his feet.
‘Did I hear someone mention the word holiday?’ Torquil asked, as he lifted the flap and let himself in. ‘I’m afraid there will be no holiday leave for a while folks. We’ve got a murder investigation to set up.’
EIGHT
Ewan made a huge pot of tea and distributed mugs to the team as they sat around the rest room listening to Torquil’s news.
‘Ralph McLelland is still conducting tests, but it is conclusive enough already to know that there has been foul play.’
Morag stared at him in disbelief. ‘So it is definitely murder? No mistake?’
‘Foul play, Morag,’ said Torquil as he absently stroked Crusoe who was lying contentedly at his feet. ‘It looks like murder, but that is not absolutely certain. What is certain is that he didn’t die on Kyleshiffin moor. His body was dumped there.’
‘Aye, I see what you mean,’ said Wallace. ‘Why would someone move the body if he hadn’t been murdered?’
‘But where was he killed?’ Douglas asked. ‘And why was he moved?’
‘That’s what we need to find out,’ said Torquil. ‘But so far we know next to nothing about him, apart from the fact that he was an entomologist here studying midges.’
‘He was a drinker,’ said Ewan. ‘He ruined that TV show, Flotsam & Jetsam, and he spent time in the cell.’ He patted Morag’s shoulder. ‘And if it is murder, then it lets all of us off the hook.’
‘Maybe, Ewan,’ Torquil replied. ‘But he would have been safe while we held him. Someone may have been waiting for him to be discharged.’
Ewan beetled his brows. ‘Och, but we didn’t know that. Surely the Press won’t keep up that tack?’