Clarry hurried to his old car, which he kept parked out on the road. Hamish went into the police office, switched on the computer and began to type while the pale dawn rose outside the window. When he had finished, he sent over his report and decided to get some sleep. He washed and changed into civilian clothes and decided to sleep with them on in case he was roused by Blair. Blair would no doubt howl at him for not being in uniform, but he did not want to sleep in all that scratchy serge. With Lugs curled against his side, he fell into a deep sleep, only struggling awake at ten in the morning as he heard a knock at the kitchen door.
The banker’s wife, Mrs. McClellan, stood there. “Come in,” said Hamish. “I was just about to make some coffee. Like some?”
“No, I won’t be long. I remembered one little thing.”
“What’s that?” asked Hamish, plugging in the kettle. He felt he needed a cup of strong coffee to help him wake up properly.
“The last time Fergus Macleod called to see me, he was quite genial – I mean, he wasn’t his usual sneering self. He was bragging how he would soon be getting out of Lochdubh to start a new life. That’s it, I’m afraid.”
“Nothing more?”
“No, but it occurred to me that what he might get out of me was hardly enough to enable him to start a new life somewhere else. And it almost seemed as if he had lost interest in what I could give him. I mean, maybe he’d found someone rich.”
“I’d best ask around again,” said Hamish. “Have you heard? Angus Ettrik has been murdered.”
“The crofter?”
“Himself.”
“That’s terrible. What evil’s come to Lochdubh?”
“Whatever it is,” said Hamish grimly, “Fergus Macleod did something to bring it here.”
♦
He had just changed into his uniform when Clarry arrived, tired and unshaven. “Phew!” he said, sinking down into a chair in the kitchen. “That Blair had me going round all the outlying crofts. I’m knackered. I told Blair I’d nothing, and he said you were to get out there and go round everyone again.”
Hamish looked gloomily out of the window. A steady drizzle was falling, what the sturdy locals called ‘a nice, soft day.’
He put on his oilskin and said to Clarry, “Do me a favour and walk Lugs, or let him into the garden. I’ll probably be away all day.”
Hamish decided to drive up to Elspeth MacRae’s croft. She was a widow and ran her croft single-handed. She had a nose for gossip and her land bordered Angus’s.
♦
Elspeth was returning home with her dogs just as he drove up. She was a tall, leathery woman with cropped grey hair. “Bad business, Hamish,” she said, walking up to meet him as he got down from the Land Rover.
“Yes, that’s why I’m here. Did you hear anything, notice anything? Anyone calling on Angus?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t have much to do with him. We had that row over the peats.”
Hamish nodded. Angus had been digging into Elspeth’s peats, and she had complained about him to the Crofting Commission. “Mind you, Kirsty and I often had a word if he wasn’t around. I had no quarrel with her. That fat policeman of yours, the one that’s been chasing after Martha Macleod, was up here during the night asking questions.”
“So there’s nothing you can tell me?”
“There’s someone might help you. I just remembered after your man had gone.”
“And who’s that?”
“Sean Fitz is back. He called here two days ago for a cup of tea. He might have called on Angus.”
Hamish brightened. Sean Fitz was the last of the genuine Highland tramps, roving through the mountains and moors.
“I’d best drive around and look for him,” he said. “Did he say where he was headed?”
“No, but he usually stays around the same area for a bit.”
Hamish drove slowly around the network of one-track roads joining the outlying crofts, and then out on the main Lochdubh-Strathbane road. The rain had stopped and the clouds had rolled back from the mountains. The blazing heather on either side of the road glittered with raindrops. He rolled down the window and breathed in the scent of wild thyme, heather and pine. The magnificence of the glorious landscape reduced the nasty little doings of men to insignificance.
And then, as he crested a hill, he saw the shambling figure of the tramp on the road ahead of him. He drove up and stopped just in front of Sean and jumped down.
Sean was a bearded old man with young eyes in a wrinkled and tanned face. He was dressed in the layers of clothing he wore winter and summer.
Hamish hailed him. “I need some information, Sean.”
“It wisnae me what took thon trout out o’ the colonel’s river,” said Sean, backing away.
“I’m not after poachers,” said Hamish. “Did you know Angus Ettrik had been murdered?”
“Him, too? My, the Highlands are becoming as violent as the cities. I wass up there the ither day. The wife gave me tea and a bit of money for chopping kindling.”
“Did you see Angus?”
“No, he wass out somewheres.”
“Did Kirsty say anything about them maybe getting some money from somewhere?”
“No, Hamish. Herself said as how the bank might be going to take the croft away. She only gave me a wee bit o’ money for the work, but I felt right guilty at taking it.”
“You see things. You hear things. You wander around. Let’s take Fergus, for instance. Two days before he was found, he disappeared after getting a phone call. No one saw him. No one saw him meet anyone. You didn’t see anything?”
Sean hesitated. “I am not interested in your poaching,” said Hamish sharply. “I can see by your face that you saw or heard something.”
“If you get me for this, Hamish Macbeth, I’ll neffer trust you again.”
“Go on, Sean. I’m getting desperate.”
“I wass up at the river…”
“The Anstey?”
“Aye, I was on the colonel’s estate…You will not be…?”
“No, I will not be. Go on, man.”
“I heard the cracking of twigs a bit downstream, and I thought it might be the water bailiff. I was guddling for the trout.”
Hamish nodded. He knew Sean meant that he hadn’t a rod; he had been standing in the shallows of the stream, hoping to hook a trout out of the water with his bare hands.
“I moved out of the river and edged back up the bank. Through the trees I could see the pair of them.”
“Who?”
“It wass the colonel and that dustman. The colonel, he wass red in the face. I couldnae hear what wass being said, chust the angry voices. I wass too far away.”
“So what you saw was Colonel Halburton-Smythe and Fergus Macleod having a row?”
“Aye, I thought maybe Fergus had been poaching and the colonel had caught him at it.”
“Thanks, Sean,” said Hamish. He dug out his wallet and took out a ten-pound note. “Keep this to yourself. When was this?”
“I’m bad at dates and time, but I ‘member it must have been around the time afore Fergus was found, for I ‘member reading it in the papers.”
“Anything else?”
“No. Fergus wisnae popular but you must know that yoursel’.”
“Right, Sean. I’ll look into it.”
Hamish climbed into the Land Rover, his mind racing. After Fergus’s death, the police had appealed for anyone with any information to come forward. The colonel must have heard it.
He drove to the Tommel Castle Hotel. He glanced in at the windows of the gift shop and saw Priscilla behind the counter. He parked the vehicle and walked into the gift shop.
“On your own?” he asked.
“As you can see,” said Priscilla. She was wearing a loose, scarlet cashmere cardigan over a white silk blouse and tailored tweed skirt. The gold bell of her hair framed her calm features. Hamish had a sudden, irrational desire to shake her.