“I don’t know,” said Hamish. “I’ve never really thought about it.”
“I’ll get the coffee.”
Hamish took off his hat and put it on the floor at his feet. The cottage was on a slight rise and afforded a good view of the sea. A patch of blue sky was forming to the west, and seagulls wheeled and dived over the rising waves.
His eyes began to droop and he fell suddenly asleep, waking only when John put a tray of coffee and biscuits on the table.
“Sorry,” said Hamish. “A bad night.”
“So what brings you?” asked John, pouring coffee. There was no evidence of central heating, and the fire gave out little heat. He was wearing two sweaters and thick trousers.
“I need your expertise,” said Hamish. “You’ll have heard about the murders.”
“Yes, bad business.”
“I want to tell you what I know about four men and then hope you can somehow find out which companies they own, particularly if one of them has an umbrella company that covers the fact that he owns a restaurant in Guildford called Timothy’s.”
“Won’t your headquarters have experts?”
“Not that I know of. There’s another thing. The four men sent lawyers’ letters to the captain, but the demands for repayment did not involve a great deal of money. To have killed Captain Davenport in such a vicious rage leads me to believe that he scammed a great deal of money for some venture out of all of them. If you agree, I will arrange some form of payment for you from Strathbane.”
John sighed. “I’m so bored these days, I would do it for nothing.”
“I want you to be very careful,” warned Hamish. “Don’t get close to any of these men or their business. One of them, I am sure, is a murderer.”
Back at the police station, Hamish waited and waited to hear from Jimmy. “I’m coming right over,” said the detective. “Blair’s furious. He wanted it to be one of the villagers. He says the letter is just mad spite but Daviot has sent it off to Guildford. See you soon.”
Jimmy arrived just as the wind had risen to a full gale. “How you can live here beats me,” he complained. “Why is it so cold? It’s summer.”
“Global cooling,” said Hamish. “What have you got?”
“First of all, something bad. Stefan Loncar was booked on the noon plane to Zagreb but didn’t turn up. They searched his flat. He had packed up but there was no sign of him.”
“Someone must have spied me talking to him,” said Hamish.
“Maybe. The four suspects have been brought in for questioning. They lawyered up immediately. It’s English law, see? They don’t need to wait until we allow them lawyers.”
“What about the masks? And what fancy dress party were they going to?”
“They now say there wasn’t any party. They’d been watching the Iraq inquiry and they had these Tony Blair masks and thought it would be a bit of a hoot to wear them. They are all members of the Rotary Club and the Freemasons and you name it. Guildford said they had to let them go.”
Hamish told him about his visit to John McFee.
“Now, there’s a thing,” said Jimmy. “I wanted to hire an expert but Blair blocked it. Says we haven’t the funds.”
“Well, if McFee comes up with anything, you’d better get your chequebook out,” said Hamish. “I not only want to find out how much Davenport tricked them out of, I want to know if they have any connection to Scotland, Edinburgh in particular. Oh, and did they question Timothy again?”
“Yes, he swears blind the four men are regular customers and salt of the earth. His real name is Andreas Gristedes. Greek by birth. How soon can your expert come up with anything?”
Hamish groaned. “Probably a month or so. It isn’t the telly where some geek flicks through a computer and says, ‘Aha!’ Why haven’t you asked for whisky?”
“Drying out.”
“About time.”
“So we have to wait.”
Chapter Eight
In married life three is company and two none.
—Oscar Wilde
Hamish called on John McFee the next day, anxious for some sort of a result.
“It’s difficult,” said John. “I’ll let you know when I’ve got something. You see, you can hide names of any partners. It depends on what kinds of partners you have. For example, you can have active partner, ostensible partner, silent partner, secret partner, dominant partner, and limited partner. You can also pay to have the names of the partners in the company hidden.
“Then if it’s that secretive, say for hiding companies or laundering money, you could set everything up in Greek Cyprus or Ukraine. I’ll let you know as soon as I get anything.”
When he left John, Hamish stopped on the road back to Lochdubh and called Jimmy. “My expert’s proving slow,” he complained. “Surely you’ve got your own man on it.”
“Fact is, the whole business has gone on the back burner,” said Jimmy. “We’ve got illegal cigarette smugglers and drug smugglers and God knows what other mayhem. The press have forgotten about your case, so the pressure’s off.”
When he had rung off, Hamish sat scowling. He got down from the Land Rover and let the dog and cat out. “Go and play on the beach,” he said. He phoned Elspeth in Glasgow.
“I’m in my dressing room,” said Elspeth. “I’ve only got a few minutes.”
“It’s like this,” said Hamish. “Strathbane have dropped investigating the captain’s death because the press pressure is off. Can you get it on again?”
“I’ll try. Got to go.”
When Hamish returned to Lochdubh, it was to find Angela Brodie pacing up and down outside the police station.
“What’s up?” he asked. “No, you pair,” he shouted at the dog and cat. “You are not going to the Italian restaurant. Get inside. Sorry, Angela. But they’re getting ower fat.”
“My husband’s got the norovirus.”
“That’s bad. But he’ll be over it in three days.”
“It’s not that. The Haggart dinner is tonight in Edinburgh.”
“And?”
“I don’t want to go alone,” said Angela feverishly. “Would you come with me?”
“I think I could manage that. You’re in a right state, Angela. It’s not the Booker Prize. The Haggart people sell cakes.”
“Hamish!” said Angela impatiently. “It’s one of the oldest literary awards. Haggart may manufacture cakes but they set up this award in Edwardian days and it’s been on the go ever since. I’m tired of being just a nominee. The first book was nominated for the Booker. The one before last for the Haggart. I’ve got to win.”
“Angela, you never struck me as being ambitious!”
“Now you know.”
“Calm down. I’ll go.”
“Oh, thanks. Mrs. Wellington is going to check on my husband. We have to be at the Caledonian Hotel for the dinner. It starts at seven o’clock. Can we leave in an hour, say?”
“Won’t we be a bit early?”
“It’s better to be early. I mean there could be sheep on the road, or a tractor, or fog.”
Hamish looked up at the clear blue sky and then back down at Angela’s worried face.
“I’ll be ready,” he said gently.
Angela drove most of the way in silence, her knuckles white with tension on the steering wheel. The last time Hamish had seen her in such a state was when she was determined to be the perfect wife because of the malign influence of an incomer to the village. But ever since she had got over that, she had been her old self, gentle and unassuming and the worst cook in Sutherland.