When Clarry had left, Hamish asked, “Well, what’s new?”
“What kind of whisky do you have?”
Hamish went to a cupboard and pulled out a bottle of Johnny Walker. “That’ll do fine,” said Jimmy. He waited until Hamish had poured him a generous glassful. Then he said, “The autopsy report puts the death at about two days before he was found. Didn’t those Currie sisters notice the smell before then?”
“Can’t have. They only noticed when they lifted the lid.”
“You’re slipping, Hamish. Didn’t you ask them?”
“I should’ve. I was too concerned in stopping their gossip about Clarry and Martha Macleod.”
Jimmy sipped his whisky and then eyed Hamish speculatively. “Not like you at all. You’re that fat copper’s sergeant, not his father. I know he trounced Blair wi’ that threat o’ the Race Relations Board, but to my mind, he’s still a suspect.”
“If he wasnae wi’ me, he was with Mrs. Macleod.”
“Judging from the contents of the dead man’s stomach, he was killed sometime during the night. You don’t sleep wi’ your copper, do you?”
“It’s not him,” said Hamish stubbornly.
“Oh, well, Blair’s having a hard time wi’ that environment woman. But he’s not much interested in this case. He thinks he’s got the chance of making a drugs bust. Daviot told him to keep you informed, so he’s sulking and saying you can handle it. He’s trying to get me put in charge.”
“Can you get me the forensic report?”
“More whisky?”
“Help yourself. The bottle’s in front of you.”
“Thanks.” Jimmy poured a large amount into his glass. Then he dug into the inside pocket of his jacket and produced two sheets of paper. “One copy of a forensic report. Here you are.”
Hamish scanned it. “Could they judge if he had been killed far from the Curries’ bin?”
“No, not far. There was still some blood had leaked from his head into the bin.”
“The Curries live on the waterfront. I cannot believe that in this village, even in the middle of the night, someone carried a dead body and put it in that bin, without a soul seeing anything. Wait a bit. The bin’s round the side. The lane to Martha’s runs up the side of the cottage. And it’s a low fence. Did they find anything there?”
“They’re still working on it. But, say, two people could have done it. One to lift the body over the fence, another to catch it and put it in the bin.”
“But why the Curries?”
“I spoke to Nessie Currie. She seemed proud of the fact that she was the greenest person in Lochdubh, and Fergus didn’t appreciate it. Food refuse goes into the compost heap apart from the stuff they give to Mrs. Docherty next door for her hens. Jessie says they have the least garbage of anyone in Lochdubh. So whoever did it would guess the body wouldn’t be found for some time.”
“Ah, that’s daft. Anyone who didn’t want the body found could’ve weighted it down and dumped it in the loch. Or taken it up on the moors and sunk it into a peat bog. No, putting Fergus in a dustbin has an element of revenge and hatred in it, even after the man was killed. To tell the truth, I don’t know a soul in Lochdubh with that sort of character, or motivation. There is one odd thing. There’s a wee lassie up the back of the harbour, name of Josie Darling; getting married in two weeks’ time. Now she goes on as if she’s a glamour puss, but she’s just a wee village girl. But she was friendly with Fergus. And she’s hiding something. I’m going to have another go at her tomorrow.”
“Aye, well, you’d better concentrate a bit more. Forget about Clarry.”
They talked for some time, going over and over the case. Clarry came in. “Typed up my notes, sir. What about lunch?”
“That would be grand,” said Jimmy before Hamish could reply.
“I’ve nothing much in the house,” said Clarry, easing round them to the stove. “But I could make a cheese omelette.”
Jimmy drank, and he watched, amused as Clarry deftly whipped eggs. Soon he was placing three plates of fluffy omelette in front of them.
“Great,” said Jimmy. “You pair ought to get married.” He saw Lugs put a paw on Hamish’s knee. “Does your dog eat cheese omelette?”
“I’ve got something for him.” Clarry took down a bowl of chopped liver he had cooked earlier from a rack above the cooker and placed it on the floor.
“That’s an odd-looking dog,” said Jimmy. “But any dog that can attack Blair and tear his trousers deserves the best food.”
♦
After Jimmy had left, Hamish said to Clarry, “Check at that new hotel if there are any workers apart from the locals. I’ve got a call to make. Come on, Lugs. Walk.” With the dog trotting along beside him he walked to Mrs. Docherty’s cottage. He tied the leash to the fence and then knocked at the door.
Mrs. Docherty was a tired-looking middle-aged woman with grey hair and small eyes.
When she answered the door and saw Hamish standing there, a closed look came over her face, and she said primly, “What is it?”
“I wanted a word with you.”
“What about?”
“About the murder.”
“It’s got nothing to do with me.”
“I chust wanted to ask you a few questions. Is your man at home?”
“No, he’s working in Strathbane.”
“Can I come in?”
“No, I’m cleaning.”
“Then we’ll talk in the garden. I want to ask you if you saw or heard anything. Fergus’s body was put in the bin soon after he was murdered.”
“I didn’t see or hear anything. Why ask me?”
Hamish remembered Clarry telling him that the Curries had seen Mrs. Docherty walk across the road and stare at the loch and walk back again. It was just a small thing, and yet, Mrs. Docherty, like the rest of the locals, was so used to the magnificent scenery around her that she barely noticed. He’d had a mental picture of a worried woman going out to stare blindly at the loch. But maybe his imagination had run away with him.
“I heard that on the evening Fergus was found, you went out of your cottage and walked across and looked at the loch, and then walked back again.”
“So what’s up with that?”
“It struck me as the action of someone who was deeply worried about something.”
“Havers,” she said briskly. “I often go and have a look at the loch.”
“Why?”
“Why? Do I need a reason? Because it’s there.”
She was afraid of something, of that Hamish was sure, and it couldn’t be because she was being interviewed by a policeman. No one in Lochdubh was afraid of him.
“I’ll be back,” he said. He walked out of the small garden and unhitched Lugs and walked away. Mrs. Docherty stood watching his tall figure and clenched and unclenched her hands.
Hamish went back to the station and typed up his notes and then faxed the little he had, along with Clarry’s notes, to Strathbane.
Clarry came in just as he finished. “Anything?” asked Hamish.
“Apart from the secretary, a Miss Stathos, the rest are locals. Miss Stathos says Mr. Ionides plans to hire local staff as well when he’s ready to open, waiters and maids and manager and all that.”
Hamish leaned back in his chair. “Oh, my, that means he’ll go after the staff at the Tommel Castle Hotel.”
“Maybe they’ll stay loyal.”
“Times are hard. If he offers higher wages, then they’ll go.”
“There don’t seem to be any reporters left.”
“There’s a triple murder in Inverness. They’ll rely on the local man from now on. At least we should get a bit o’ peace.”
♦
Four more days went by, during which Jimmy Anderson, Hamish and Clarry assiduously interviewed the population of Lochdubh. Hamish went over forensic reports. The ground at the lane beside the Currie sisters’ garden had been hard with all the dry weather and had not yielded anything. The side of the house and at the back where the bin stood was covered in gravel.