He climbed up to the loft and collected the computer. “It’s a cold day, Lugs, but we’re going for a row in a boat.” Lugs wagged his tail almost as if he knew what Hamish was saying. Lugs loved going out on the loch.
Hamish put the computer in a plastic shopping bag and walked along to the pub with Lugs. He found Archie Maclean propping up the bar. The little fisherman was dressed in his usual tight clothes. His wife was a fanatical housekeeper and boiled all the clothes in a copper so that everything that Archie wore had shrunk.
“Can I take your rowboat out, Archie?”
“It’s a right cold day, Hamish. Won’t be much good for the fishing.”
“I feel like getting a bit of exercise and there’s nothing like a good row.”
“Help yourself. You know where it is.”
Hamish went down to the beach to where the boat was tied up at the foot of stone steps leading down from the harbour. He lifted Lugs in, settled himself, and picked up the oars.
He rowed and rowed to the middle of the loch, feeling all the tension leaving his body. He would talk to Elspeth and see what they could work out.
When he judged he was far enough out, he slipped the bag with the computer over the side and watched it spiral down into the icy waters of the sea loch.
Then he glanced at his watch. He had better row back fast or he would miss Elspeth.
He was just nearing the shore when he saw, to his horror, Heather Meikle standing outside the police station clutching a bottle. He rowed quickly round the far side of the harbour until he was out of sight.
♦
“What are you doing here?” Elspeth asked Heather.
“I’m waiting for Hamish. We have a lot to talk about. Where is he?”
“He may have been called to Strathbane.”
“His Land Rover’s still here. I’ll wait.”
“I have an appointment with him,” said Elspeth.
Heather glared. “Well, as his superior officer, I think my visit comes first.”
Matthew drove up and honked the horn. “Are you coming, Elspeth? We’d better get on the road.”
Elspeth gave a little shrug and joined Matthew in the car.
“No sign of lover boy?” asked Matthew.
“Shut up and drive. You’ve got my case in the back, haven’t you?”
“Yes.”
They drove a little way in silence. Elspeth twisted her head and watched Lochdubh disappearing behind her.
“You know, Matthew,” she said, “I’ve been thinking of asking Sam for my old job back.”
“God, you should have told me!”
“Why?”
“Freda and I are going to be married, and I asked Sam for a job and he’s given me one.”
“Matthew. He can’t take on both of us.”
“Look at it this way: I’m getting married and you aren’t.”
“No, I’m not,” said Elspeth in a small sad voice.
♦
Hamish finally tied the rowboat up at other steps on the far side of the harbour. He carried Lugs up and made his way to the pub. Archie was sitting at a table in the corner, playing dominoes.
“Archie, another favour,” said Hamish. “Detective Chief Inspector Heather Meikle is outside the police station. She might be waiting in her car. Could you tell her I’ve gone off to Inverness clubbing with Freda? And your boat’s at the foot of the steps on the far side of the harbour. I didn’t want her to see me.”
“All right, Hamish. Back in a tick.”
Archie made his way to the police station. He went to a car that was parked in front of it and peered into the driver’s side. Heather Meikle had a bottle of whisky and a glass and was just helping herself to another drink. “What is it?” she snapped. “What do you want?”
“Hamish Macbeth has gone off to Inverness to go clubbing with our schoolteacher.”
“Rats!”
Heather drained her glass in one long gulp. She screwed the top onto the bottle and put glass and bottle on the floor. Archie drew back as she drove off.
Then he returned to report to Hamish.
“I hope that’s the last I’ll see of her,” said Hamish. He went to the police station, and although it was only late afternoon, he fell on the bed with his clothes on and plunged back down into sleep.
Just before he had gone to sleep, he vowed to ring Elspeth on her mobile and explain what had happened.
But he did not awake until six o’clock the following morning.
♦
Jimmy Anderson phoned him later in the morning. “Was our Heather over at Lochdubh to see you yesterday?”
“Aye. But I kept out o’ sight.”
“She had a crash.”
“Oh, God. Where?”
“On the Lochdubh-Strathbane road. She found the only tree by the road and crashed right into it. She was as drunk as a skunk.”
“Is she seriously hurt?”
“Not a scratch. But her alcohol intake was so great they pumped her out, and they’re keeping her in Strathbane Hospital for observation.”
“I should maybe have seen her, but, man, I was frightened that that one would eat me alive. Is Paul Gibson fit to be interviewed?”
“No. The psychiatrist says his mind’s gone. We’ve been ferreting into his background. Seems he once worked on a police series, and they had a man there showing the actors how to break in to a car. That must have been how he learned to hot-wire that van. What are you doing now?”
“I’m still off duty, and I plan to eat and sleep.”
Hamish phoned Elspeth on her mobile. It was switched off. He tried her flat in Glasgow and got an answering service. He did not want to leave a message. He would try her later.
He took himself and Lugs along to the Italian restaurant, and he ate a large meal while the waiter, Willie Lamont, led Lugs off to the kitchen to spoil the dog with a large helping of osso bucco.
When he returned to the police station, he checked his messages. There was one from Elspeth. “It was typical of you not to turn up,” she said. “Face up to it. You don’t want to marry me. In fact, I don’t think you want to marry anyone.”
Hamish felt guilty and ashamed because deep down he felt a little surge of relief.
∨ Death of a Bore ∧
Epilogue
When I observed he was a fine cat, saying, “why yes, Sir, but I have had cats whom I liked better than this;” and then as if perceiving Hodge to be out of countenance, adding, “but he is a very fine cat, a very fine cat indeed.”
—Samuel Johnson
A week after the arrest of Paul Gibson, the vet phoned Hamish. “Come and get your cat. It’s spooking the other animals.”
“Is the plaster off?”
“Of course not. But you’ll need to look after it yourself.”
Hamish decided to take Lugs with him. If the dog saw him taking the cat home, he might not react so badly.
“Can it walk?” he asked Hugh.
“Yes, it can limp around with the plaster on. But you’d better keep her indoors.”
“It’s a she-cat?”
“Yes. What are you going to call it?”
“Nothing at all, since I’m going to let her free as soon as the plaster’s off. How long exactly?”
“Bring her back in three weeks’ time.”
“Three weeks!”
The vet put on a pair of thick gloves before lifting the cat out of the cage. He handed her to Hamish.
Hamish expected her to twist and fight, but she lay supine in his arms.
“She’s still weak,” said the vet. “But look out when she recovers her energy.”
Hamish carried the cat back to the police station. Lugs plodded amiably beside him.
“What’s up with you, Lugs?” demanded Hamish. “I thought you’d be barking your head off.”
At the police station he found two mackerel laid out on a plate on the table with a note from Angela: “For your cat.” The news that Hugh had ordered him to take the cat home must have already gone round the village. Angela had obviously let herself in with the new spare key that Hamish had put in the gutter. Now the computer was gone, he didn’t see any reason to keep visitors locked out.