“Have you ever seen Star Wars?” Mrs. Gallagher asked Morag.
“No, Mrs. Gallagher.”
“Call me Alice. It so happens I have a video here.”
Mrs. Gallagher put the tape in the video machine and sat back with a sigh of pleasure. It was nice to have someone to watch things with. She didn’t need to worry about Morag gossiping or being cruel. She was just a little girl. Not like a grownup. But grand company for all that.
Hamish went back at five o’clock to pick up Morag. She waved goodbye to Mrs. Gallagher and shouted, “See you tomorrow, Alice!”
“So it’s Alice, is it?” asked Hamish.
“I had a grand time,” said Morag.
“Well, she needs the company.”
The happy look left her face. “My parents are going to be mad at me.”
“It sometimes doesn’t do to let people know the whole truth,” said Hamish cautiously. “What did you do this afternoon?”
“We watched Star Wars.”
“Aye, well, I would keep quiet about that. Just say you’re keeping the old lady company, helping about the croft.”
“Dad doesn’t approve of the movies.”
“No, he doesn’t. So go easy. You’ve got off lightly.”
He went into the house with her. “Afore I go,” he said sternly to Morag’s parents. “We could get round this Christmas business and ye could be helping with a bit o‘ Christian work. There’s a concert for the old folks down in Inverness on Christmas day. I’m taking Miss Pease, the schoolteacher, and Mrs. Gallagher and Morag, I am sure, would like to come. It would cheer the old folks up to see a girl like Morag. She seems to have a way with old people. And she would be doing her Christian duty.”
He waited for a rant of protest, but Mr. Anderson said wearily, “I can see nothing against that.”
“Right, I’ll drive you all down. And I think Morag’s been punished enough. Mrs. Gallagher will be down to pick her up at noon tomorrow.”
Hamish made his escape. He’d better rent that bus from the garage. They’d never all fit into the police Land Rover.
♦
Maisie was studying a cherry red dress. It looked nice and festive and would do for Christmas day. She dreamily pictured the long drive down to Inverness with Hamish. In her mind, he put his hand on her knee and said, “I’ve been thinking of settling down.” Ah, well, when you got a man on his own, there was no saying what could happen.
♦
The next day Hamish, realizing all the business about Morag had delayed his visit to Lairg, drove over there to see if he could find out anything. The day was even colder than the one before, with a steel-blue sky above and un-melted frost sparkling on the trees and grass.
He dropped into various shops on the main street until in the butcher’s, a woman heard him questioning the butcher and turned round and said, “There were a couple of lads trying to flog boxes of Christmas lights.”
Hamish took out his notebook. “Can you give me a description?”
“One o‘ them had dyed blonde hair and one o’ thae rings through his nose. T’other was squat and dark. The fair one was wearing a red anorak and jeans and the dark one, an old tweed coat and jeans as well.”
“What were they wearing on their feet?”
“We used to call them ”sandshoes,“ then they were called ”sneakers,“ now they’re called ”running shoes.“ Them white things.”
“Thanks. Any other distinguishing marks? Tattoos? Funny haircuts?”
“They were wrapped up so I don’t know about tattoos. What d’you mean, funny haircuts?”
“Spikes or shaved all over or something like that?”
“The dark one was going a bit bald. That’s all.”
Hamish went out of the shop and worked his way down the street, stopping to talk to the locals, asking questions, until one man volunteered that he had seen two men answering the description Hamish had given, getting into a small truck. No, he hadn’t noticed the registration, but it was old and muddy and painted blue.
Hamish decided to search outside Lairg. He dropped in at the croft houses at Rhianbrech outside Lairg but no one there had seen anything, then past the station, always looking right and left. Then he went back through Lairg and out on the Lochinver road, cursing the rapidly failing light.
His eyes were getting weary with straining into the surrounding wilderness and he was tired of driving along at ten miles an hour. He decided to put his foot down and go on into Lochinver for a cup of tea. Then he saw a glimmer of white across the moorland. He stopped abruptly and climbed out of the Land Rover. In the gloaming, he could just make out a white trailer. He set out across the moorland. The sun had gone down and great stars were beginning to twinkle against a greenish sky.
As he approached, he saw the blue-painted tailgate of a truck parked beside the trailer. There was a dim light shining through the curtained windows. Hamish did not feel like tackling two, possibly four, young men on his own. If I were in a film, he thought, I would render them all helpless with a few well-placed karate chops. But this wasn’t a film, yet he was reluctant to phone for backup unless he had some proof.
He silently crept up. The back of the truck was covered with a tarpaulin. He looked underneath it and in the fading light saw boxes and boxes of Christmas lights. On the other side of the truck, he found a Christmas tree lying on its side.
He quickly and quietly sprinted back to the Land Rover and phoned headquarters at Strathbane. “I’ll go on into Lochinver,” he said after he had given his report. “I don’t want one of them looking out of the window and seeing a police vehicle.”
He set off for Lochinver and parked by the waterfront and waited, cursing the long distances in the Highlands. He hoped the police contingent wouldn’t come racing along the Lochinver road with lights flashing and sirens blaring.
At last four police cars arrived and Hamish’s heart sank when Detective Chief Inspector Blair heaved his bulk out of the leading car.
“I would have thought this would have been too small a case for you, sir,” said Hamish.
“I think these are the lads responsible for a chain o‘ thefts across Sutherland,” said Blair. “Just tell us where they are, laddie, and get back to yer sheep.”
Hamish stood his ground. “It’s dark and you won’t find them without me.”
“Oh, all right. Lead the way.”
Hamish drove off and the police cars fell in behind him. Curtains twitched in cottage windows. He found himself hoping that none of them had a girlfriend in Lochinver. In these days of mobile phones, villains could be communicated with just when you didn’t want them to be.
He pulled up down the road and peered across the moorland. The trailer was still there. He hoped they were all inside. He got out and set off without waiting for Blair and the others. But he knew they would be quickly behind him. Blair was not going to let Hamish Macbeth take any credit for this.
When he reached the trailer, Blair’s truculent voice whispered in the darkness. “All right, Macbeth, knock on the door and then leave the rest tae us.”
Hamish knocked on the door. “Who is it?” called a voice from inside.
“Police!”
Then loud and clear he heard a dog give a warning bark. He knew that bark. It was his dead dog, Towser. He threw himself on the ground to the side of the door just as a shotgun blast shattered the door and would have shattered one Highland policeman had he been standing in front of it.
“You’re surrounded!” he yelled, getting to his feet. “And we’re armed. Throw out that gun and come out with your hands in the air.”
There was silence from the trailer. Hamish cursed. He had never thought for a moment that they would be armed.
The door was kicked open and the men emerged, one by one, their hands on their heads. Blair took over and ordered them to lie on the ground, where they were handcuffed. The charges were announced: theft and attempted murder of a police officer. The men were led off to a police car.