Paul ordered a Malibu and milk. Hamish was always amazed at the new exotic tastes of drinkers. He ordered a mineral water for himself and carried both glasses back to a round table and sat down in a plastic chair with arms made out of simulated stag’s horns.
“I want you to tell me all about John Heppel,” said Hamish.
“There’s not much to tell,” said Paul. “I wanted several changes in the script and told the script editor, and she got on to him.”
“But you must have met him?”
“Yes, he came with us on location to get a feel for the series.”
“And how did that go?”
“We had quite a pleasant time.”
Hamish leaned back in his chair and studied Paul’s face. “You must be the only person who ever had a pleasant time with John Heppel. You mean he just observed without interfering?”
“That’s it.”
“I will be talking to members of the cast of Down in the Glen. I hope they will all back up your story.”
Paul gave a rueful shrug. “You know how it is in show business.”
“No, I don’t. Explain.”
“We get into the habit of never criticising anyone. Oh, well, you’ll probably find out. John was a major pain in the arse. He kept interrupting and criticising the acting and criticising the actors. I complained I couldn’t work with him around, but Tarrant said I had to give him the best treatment. I need the work so I put up with it. I’ve directed soaps before and believe me, there’s always someone who’s a pill.”
“Did you ever go to John’s cottage?”
“No. I don’t even know where he lived.”
“Was he in any sort of romantic relationship with anyone?”
“Apart from spending his time halfway up Tarrant’s bum, no, not that I know of.”
“Thanks for your time, Mr. Gibson. I may get back to you.”
♦
Paul opted to stay in the pub, and Hamish returned to Strathbane Television. He was about to ask for Harry Tarrant when his phone rang. It was Angela. “Hamish, there’s a whisper round the village that Callum McSween, the dustman, drove off after John – you know, after everyone had been shouting at him on the waterfront – and cut in front of his car, got out, and threatened him with a tyre iron.”
“Do the police know this?”
“No. You know what we’re like here. We always try to protect each other, particularly from someone like Blair.”
“I’d better get back.”
∨ Death of a Bore ∧
6
Murder most foul, as in the best it is;
But this most foul, strange, and unnatural.
—William Shakespeare
When Hamish returned to Lochdubh, villagers were still clearing up after the storm. Garden fencing was down, and tiles had been ripped off roofs. He had driven straight past Dimity Dan’s but vowed to return on the following evening. He went up to Callum McSween’s cottage.
The dustman was sawing branches off a fallen tree in his garden. “Want a cup of tea, Hamish?” he called cheerfully. “Thon was a right bad storm.”
“No, I need to talk to you, Callum. It’s important. Do you mind if we go inside?”
The cheerfulness had left Callum’s face. He walked into his small one-storeyed croft house. Hamish followed him into the kitchen. “You’ve heard,” said Callum bleakly.
“Seems to be round the village. You followed John and threatened him with a tyre iron.”
“I wouldnae have hurt him,” pleaded Callum. “You know me, Hamish. I wouldnae hurt a soul.”
“What exactly happened?”
“I was that mad at him because of the way he sneered at all of us, and him an incomer, too. I followed him in my truck, and at that one wide bit outside the Tommel Castle, I cut him off and made him stop. I told him he had to give us all our money back. I waved the tyre iron at him to frighten him. He got a big fright and he said he would. That’s it. I moved my truck and he drove off.”
“Callum, if Blair gets to hear of this…well, you know what he’s like. With that man, it’s arrest first and ask questions afterwards. I’ll not be saying anything about this for the moment. But I warn you, if Blair does get to hear of it, then you’ll be in for a rough time. If that happens, just sit there and refuse to speak until they get you a lawyer.”
“Thanks, Hamish. I owe you.”
“In that case, keep your ear to the ground when you’re on your rounds. You know what we’re like up here. We can know something about someone, but if we think it’ll get them into trouble, we don’t say anything. Wait a bit. Do you pick up the garbage from Dimity Dan’s?”
“Aye.”
“I’m just wondering if you ever saw anything like a syringe or anything suspicious.”
“No. It may be a dirty pub, but he’s right neat with the garbage. Has it sealed up in wine boxes and things like that.”
“Does he now? Well, next collection day, do something for me. Keep aside some of those sealed boxes and take them round to the police station. I’ll get you to sign a statement saying where they came from. When’s the next collection?”
“Tomorrow.”
“At what time?”
“Six in the morning. Then I go to a good few of the outlying houses. I could be at the police station around ten.”
“I’ll be waiting for you, unless Blair turns up and orders me somewhere else. If I’m not at the police station, take them home and phone me later.”
“Anything I can do for you, I will,” said Callum fervently.
♦
When Hamish returned to the police station, he found the schoolteacher, Freda, waiting for him.
“Anything the matter?” asked Hamish.
“No, it’s just that you said you might like to go clubbing. I’m off to Inverness this Saturday. Would you like to come?”
“Let’s see what happens,” said Hamish. “I’m in the middle of this murder enquiry. You don’t happen to have heard anything that might help?”
“No, not a thing,” said Freda to the table. She’s lying, thought Hamish. I wonder why.
But instead he asked, “When would you be leaving for Inverness?”
“Round about eight o’clock. Do you mind driving if you decide to go? I like a drink or two.”
“No, I don’t mind. But I’ll drive your car. If Blair sees me with a civilian in the police car, he’ll blow his top. Leave your phone number with me. Would it be all right if I decided to go with you at the last minute?”
“That would be fine.” Freda took out a notebook and wrote down her mobile phone number.
♦
At the newspaper office in Glasgow, Elspeth Grant was complaining to Matthew Campbell about their delayed departure for the north. Another story involving the talents of both of them had cropped up, and they estimated it would be Saturday morning before they could get off.
“Was this copper a boyfriend of yours?” asked Matthew.
“No,” lied Elspeth. “Just a friend.”
♦
Hamish was curious about Miss Patty, Harry Tarrant’s secretary. Maybe she was just oversensitive. But her reaction to the news of John’s murder seemed extreme. He longed to get back to Strathbane, but Blair wanted all the villagers who had been at the writing class interviewed again and had given Hamish a list of those he most suspected. At the top were the Currie sisters.
Hamish knew that this probably simply meant they had got Blair’s back up, but duty was duty. And the only thing that kept the maverick Hamish in line was the fear of losing his precious police station in Lochdubh.