Clarry told him how and Hamish laughed and laughed. “Man, I’d have liked to see Blair’s face when you threatened him with the Race Relations Board. Now let’s get a move on.”
Hamish headed for the harbour. He saw Callum McSween, who said he was ready to start work. Hamish gave him the keys to the garbage truck. Callum walked off. Hamish saw Archie, sitting disconsolately on the harbour wall.
“Nowhere to drink?” asked Hamish, who knew the fisherman usually headed for the Lochdubh bar after a night’s work.
“That foreigner bought it over,” said Archie, “and he iss going to turn it into the gift shop. So I’m stuck out here in the open where the wife can find me.”
“Archie, you didn’t like Fergus much, did you?”
“No, that I didn’t, and nobody else did either. We didnae notice him much until he got that stupid uniform and started bossing us all around. But none of us would ha’ touched him, Hamish. You know that.”
“Any gossip? Anyone see him around?”
“Well, there was one odd thing. One person seemed to like him.”
“And who was that?”
“Josie Darling.”
“Her? She’s getting all ready for her wedding.”
“Aye, she’s taken time off work, too.”
Hamish thought hard. Josie was young and frivolous. She lived with her mother in a cottage up a lane at the back of the new hotel. “I’ll go and see her.”
He walked towards Josie’s cottage, glancing up at the sky. It was a milky blue but there was a dampness in the breeze on his cheek. Rain coming soon, he thought.
He turned over in his mind what he knew about Josie. She worked in a bank in Strathbane and was engaged to someone from Inverness. Her father was dead. Her mother worked as a maid at the Tommel Castle Hotel. She planned to live in Inverness after her marriage. A big wedding was to be held in the Church of Scotland in Lochdubh, and, as was the tradition at Highland weddings, the whole village was going. The wedding was to be in two weeks’ time.
He knocked on the cottage door and then turned around and surveyed the view while he waited for someone to answer it. Down on the waterfront, he could see the white-overalled figure of Callum McSween working busily. He turned back as the door opened.
Josie stood there. She was a small girl with dyed blonde hair and a pug face. She had large, rather protruding eyes. She was wearing a short skirt which displayed fat legs to disadvantage and a low-cut blouse. Those eyes goggled when she saw Hamish.
“What is it?” she asked harshly.
“Can I come in?”
She backed away reluctantly. He followed her into the living room. On a coffee table were many glossy magazines, Brides, Your Wedding, Hair and Beauty.
“Getting ready for the wedding?” asked Hamish.
“Oh, that. I’m not having it in Lochdubh.”
“Why not? Everyone’s been looking forward to it.”
“Murdo wants to have it in Inverness.”
“Murdo being your fiancé?”
“Yes.”
“I thought the wedding was usually held in the bride’s parish.”
“Yes, but I’ve only got Mother. Murdo’s got loads of relatives, so we thought it would be more reasonable to have it in Inverness. Anyway, I’m sick of this place.”
“Lochdubh?”
“Where else?”
“Why?”
“It’s so provincial,” said Josie.
Hamish privately thought that Josie was hardly the picture of sophistication.
“Anyway,” said Josie, “is that why you came? To ask about the wedding?”
“No, it’s about Fergus.”
“The dustman? What about him?”
“I believe you were friendly with him.”
“Och, no. I just gave the wee man a cup of tea from time to time. That way he took all our rubbish.”
“Did you like him?”
Again that sort of false grande dame air. “He was just a dustman. I sometimes chat to the postman as well.”
“So is there anything you can tell me about him? Did he look frightened about anything? Did he say anyone was out to get him?”
“No, he just said they were all bastards, and he hated them. He didn’t say whether anyone hated him.”
“Well, if you remember anything, let me know.”
Hamish said good-bye. But as he walked down from the cottage, he thought, she’s lying. There’s something there. I’ll let her think she’s safe, and then I’ll go back. I’ll try Mrs. Darling up at the hotel.
He went to the police station to collect the Land Rover and was confronted by a raging Detective Chief Inspector Blair. He pointed to a torn trouser leg. “Look what your dog did!” he shouted.
“Did you just walk into the station?” asked Hamish.
“Yes!”
“Well, there you are. Lugs is a guard dog.”
“You’ll pay for this.” Blair was in a foul temper. Peter Daviot had called him in and had told him that Hamish had secured an excellent interview with the widow Macleod, much better than anything Jimmy Anderson had got out of her. Blair had gone in to see him with the full intention of asking that Hamish Macbeth be kept off the case. Instead, he had been told that Hamish had to be brought into everything.
“I’ve got someone to interview,” said Hamish, getting into the Land Rover. He drove off, leaving Blair glowering after him.
He stopped on the waterfront when he saw the foxy features of Jimmy Anderson. “I thought you were going to come and see me,” said Hamish.
“I did, yesterday evening, but there was no one there except that dog of yours up on the kitchen table scoffing something.”
“My dinner,” said Hamish.
“And now he’s ripped the boss’s trousers. Where you off to?”
“Tell you later if you come round.”
“Get the whisky ready.”
Hamish drove on to the hotel. The first person he saw when he parked the car was Jerry Darcy, who gave him a cheerful wave. Hamish scowled in reply, and then felt he was being petty. He got down from the Land Rover, meaning to chat to Jerry, but the man was driving off.
Hamish went into the hotel office where the manager, Mr. Johnston, was working on the accounts.
“What are you after, Hamish?”
“Mrs. Darling.”
“Heather Darling? Don’t tell me she’s a suspect.”
“No, I just want a wee word with her.”
“She’s just about to go off duty. Hang on here for a minute and help yourself to coffee, and I’ll fetch her for you.”
Hamish went over to the coffee machine and poured himself a mug of coffee. He had a sudden sharp longing for a cigarette although he had not smoked for some years.
The door opened and Heather Darling walked in, twisting her apron in red, work-roughened hands. She was a small, plump woman with greying hair and a round rosy face.
“Sit down,” said Hamish.
“What’s up? Is it Josie?”
“No, nothing’s wrong. I just wanted to ask you a few questions about Fergus.”
“The dustman?”
“Yes, him. I believe he was on friendly terms with you and your daughter.”
He knew before she opened her mouth that she was going to repeat word for word what Josie had said. But unlike her daughter, who had a hard streak, Heather Darling was frightened and trying hard not to show it. He wondered whether to use Blair’s methods, accuse her of lying and try to break her down. But he had a feeling she would stick to that story through thick and thin. In some way, she was protecting her daughter. To try to put her at her ease, he asked about the wedding.
“It’s fine,” said Heather curtly. “What’s it got to do with the murder?”
“Nothing,” said Hamish. “Look, maybe when you’ve had time to think you’ll remember something.”
Her face set in stubborn lines. Hamish said, “You know where to find me. I’ll be calling on you again.”