Then Betty in the witness box had taken against the judge and called him a deaf old bugger when he asked her to repeat an answer.
But surely, Elspeth had thought, it would all be worth it after Betty’s husband had been found guilty, so they typed up all the background to the story and looked forward to seeing their bylines prominently displayed in the morning edition.
Not one word appeared. When they demanded the reason, they were told that the editor had decided their background story was too fish-and-chip – too sordid for a family paper – and had spiked the lot.
Elspeth had never thought she would long for the days when she wrote the astrology column for the Highland Times and covered everything from shinty matches to dried flower arrangement competitions. And her psychic abilities appeared to have deserted her in the city as if blocked out by all the sordidness.
“It’s going to be late by the time we reach Inverness,” said Matthew. “Let’s book into a hotel and have a decent dinner and we’ll go north first thing in the morning.”
“All right,” said Elspeth, thinking it would be nice to have a hot bath and a change of clothes and make-up before she saw Hamish Macbeth again.
As they crossed the highland line and the Grampian mountains reared up on either side of the car, Elspeth’s pulse began to quicken. She was going home again.
♦
Hamish eased back the driver’s seat of Freda’s little car to accommodate his long legs.
“You’re wearing a suit!” exclaimed Freda. “Never tell me you’ve got a suit on under that coat of yours.”
“It iss my best suit.”
“You don’t go clubbing in a suit. You wear casuals. Jeans. Stuff like that.”
“I cannae be bothered going back to change,” said Hamish huffily. “I’ll take my tie and jacket off.”
Freda was beginning to regret having asked him. What would her friends make of him?
♦
Elspeth and Matthew made good time and reached Inverness much earlier than they had expected to.
But the prospect of dinner beckoned, and so they decided to stick to the original plan of setting out for Lochdubh in the morning.
When dinner was over, Matthew said, “It’s early yet. What’s Inverness got in the way of amusement?”
“There are a couple of clubs.”
“What about dropping into one for a drink? I’d like to see what the local talent looks like.”
“All right. But not for long. We can walk. It’s round the corner from this hotel.”
“Good,” said Matthew cheerfully. “Now I can have a really big drink.”
♦
Hamish Macbeth was not enjoying himself. Although still in his early thirties, he felt old and crotchety. Where was the fun of being jammed on a small dance floor where the music hurt his ears and the air was thick with smoke, cheap perfume, and sweat?
Freda had cast her long winter coat to reveal that she was wearing nothing more than a cropped top and a tiny red leather skirt. Hamish had left his jacket in the cloakroom along with his tie. The dancing came as no problem to him: it seemed to consist of jumping around and waving his arms in the air.
I wish I hadn’t brought him, thought Freda. Her friends, the ones she had made since first visiting the club, were sitting over in the small bar area staring at them.
When the dance number finished, she said, “I would like a drink.”
“I’ve got to go to the men’s room,” said Hamish. “I’ll join you in a minute.”
“What are you drinking?”
“Give me a minute and I’ll get them when I come back.”
Freda’s friends, Cheryl, Sharon, and Mary, moved along the banquette they were sitting on to make room for her.
“Who’s the boyfriend?” asked Cheryl.
“He isn’t my boyfriend. He’s the local bobby.”
“He’s got gorgeous red hair,” sighed Sharon. “I was dancing up next to him. I’d give anything for eyelashes like that.”
Freda looked round at them in amazement. “You fancy him?”
“Who wouldn’t?” sighed Mary.
At that moment Hamish appeared. “What are you all having to drink?” he asked. They all ordered Bacardi Breezers. Gloomily Hamish went to the bar. It was going to be an expensive night. He ordered the drinks and then a tonic water for himself. “Where are the glasses?” he asked the barman.
“They all drink from the bottle here,” said the barman.
Hamish made his way back to the table and sat in a chair facing Freda and the girls.
The disco music started again just as they were beginning to speak. Conversation was nearly impossible.
♦
Elspeth came onto the dance floor, and as she gyrated with Matthew, she glanced across at the bar and stumbled. “Sorry,” she shouted in Matthew’s ear. “I’ve just seen Hamish Macbeth.”
“The bobby?”
“That’s the one. He’s in the bar.”
“Let’s join him.”
Hamish slowly rose to his feet as he saw Elspeth approaching. She looked more sophisticated than the last time he had seen her. Her thick hair had been defrizzed, and she was wearing it in a French plait. She was dressed in a tailored blouse and skirt and high heels. Gone were the thrift shop clothes and clumpy boots.
“What are you doing here?” he shouted.
“On that murder story. Can we have a word with you outside?”
He nodded.
Freda got up and followed him. Her interest in Hamish was awakened anew by her friends’ admiration of him. Besides, who was this woman?
Hamish turned round in the doorway and saw Freda following. “This is business, Freda. If you like to wait inside, I’ll come back for you.”
“And dance by myself? A date’s a date, Hamish.”
“All right. We’d best get our coats. It’s freezing outside and you haven’t got much on.”
Matthew and Elspeth were already outside. “Let’s find a pub,” said Matthew. “I was only in there a few minutes and I’m deaf already.”
“You haven’t introduced us, Hamish,” said Elspeth, looking at Freda.
“Oh, sorry. Freda, this is Elspeth Grant, who used to work for the Highland Times. Elspeth, our new schoolteacher, Freda Garrety.”
“And I’m Matthew Campbell,” said Matthew. “There’s a pub on the other side of the street.”
“More noise, probably,” said Elspeth. “Let’s use the hotel bar.”
In the hotel, after they had sat down in the bar, Elspeth covertly studied Hamish. Did he remember making love to her? As if picking up her thought, Hamish blushed and stared at the table.
Freda’s eyes darted suspiciously from one to the other.
The waiter came up and they all ordered drinks. Hamish stuck to tonic water, although he suddenly felt that a whisky would be nice. Then he thought a cigarette would be even better. He had given up smoking but was still occasionally haunted by a yearning for nicotine.
“Now, Hamish,” began Elspeth, “we’re going up to Lochdubh in the morning to do a background piece on this murder. Any other press around?”
“No, they’ve given up apart from checking every day with headquarters in Strathbane. There isn’t much I can tell you aside from what’s been in the papers.”
“Tell us from the beginning,” said Matthew. He looked curiously at Hamish. He sensed Elspeth’s tension and had seen Hamish blush. Surely she hadn’t. Had she? Some of the already rebuffed reporters were going around saying she was a lesbian. But then, they said that about every girl who turned them down.
Hamish began to talk about the writing class and the bruised egos of the would-be writers. He described the murder and the false arrest of Alistair Taggart.
“It’s bound to be one of those people in the writing class,” said Matthew.