“You’ll be fine. I’ll see you later, maybe. I’ve got to talk to the colonel. Has Lugs been fed?”
“Yes, and walked. He’s sleeping in his basket.”
Clarry left. Hamish phoned Mr. Johnston, the manager of the Tommel Castle Hotel. “Can you give me the address of that chef who walked out on you?”
“Wait a minute, Hamish, and I’ll look for you.”
Hamish waited patiently. Then Mr. Johnston came back on the phone. “He’s living in that bed and breakfast, Mrs. Ryan’s, down by the bridge.”
“Right. What’s his name?”
“Jeff Warner.”
Hamish thanked him and rang off.
He got in the Land Rover and drove to Mrs. Ryan’s boarding house. Mrs. Ryan answered the door to him and said that Jeff was in his room. “Just show me which one,” said Hamish. She led the way up the narrow wooden staircase, her carpet slippers, worn down at the back, flip-flopping on the treads. “Is he in trouble?” she asked. “I keep a decent house.”
“No, no trouble at all,” said Hamish.
“That’s his room.”
“Right.” Hamish knocked at the door and called, “Police.”
A squat, burly man answered the door. He reeked of whisky. “What’s up?” he asked.
“I chust want a word with you,” said Hamish, aware that the landlady was listening avidly.
“Come in.”
The room was small and sparsely furnished. There was a narrow bed in one corner covered in a pink candlewick bedspread, one easy chair, a small television set, a wardrobe and a washstand basin.
“What d’ye want?” asked Jeff.
“You left the Tommel Castle Hotel?”
“So what? That a crime?”
“I want you to tell me if you have been offered a job at the new hotel.”
“Why?”
Hamish was tired and Hamish was hungry. “Chust tell me!” he shouted.
“Och, well, what’s the harm in it? I’m a good chef and the new lot offered me more money.”
“But the new hotel isn’t open yet.”
“Aye, but they’re paying me until I start, and it’s a damn sight more than that tight-arsed colonel was giving me.”
“I want you to come down to the station tomorrow morning to make a statement to that effect.”
“Whit is this, man? I mean, whit’s wrong wi’ me wanting a better job?”
“Chust do as you are told.”
“Oh, all right. But it seems daft to me.” Hamish left him and went out to the Land Rover. He was about to climb in when he suddenly froze. Pink. The thread he had taken from the fence at the Curries’ had been pink. Heather had said there were pink sheets in the new hotel rooms. Jeff’s bedspread had been pink. Then he climbed in. Colonel Halburton-Smythe was going to have to talk.
∨ Death of a Dustman ∧
7
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death.
—William Shakespeare
As Hamish returned to the police station, he could hear a whirring sound coming closer. He shielded his eyes and looked up at the sky. A helicopter was coming in to land behind the hotel. There was only the pilot in it.
He phoned Jimmy Anderson. “Look, there’s been a bit of a new development. Is there any chance of getting a search warrant for the new hotel?”
“You’d need a rock solid reason. What is it?”
“It’s just that I’ve been given the impression that Fergus thought he was onto big money, and the only big money around is Ionides, the new owner.”
“And that’s all you’ve got?”
“Well, not only that, but he’s got a shady record.”
“But nothing criminal. We went into all that. I told you, Hamish, you’re that desperate it should turn out to be an outsider that you’re clutching at straws. The answer is no, sonny, and there’s something else you should be thinking of.”
“What’s that?”
“If he thought he had a big cheese to blackmail, why aren’t you thinking of Colonel Halburton-Smythe?”
Hamish fell silent.
“Well?” demanded Jimmy. “Or is it that your girl friend’s father is beyond suspicion?”
“She’s not my girl friend,” said Hamish hotly. “I am looking into all aspects of the case, that’s all.”
“Get me something concrete on Ionides, and I’ll have your search warrant. There’s something wrong about you and this case, Hamish. I think your mind’s beginning to wander. Not holding out on me, are you?”
“No, no,” lied Hamish, now anxious to get off the phone. “I’ll let you know if there’s anything further.”
He sat chewing his knuckles in a sudden fit of nerves. What if he really was clutching at straws? What if Priscilla’s father should turn out to be guilty?
There was a knock at the kitchen door. Hamish went to answer it, sure that it would not turn out to be any stranger. They always knocked at the front door.
Josie Darling was standing there when he opened it.
“What is it?” asked Hamish.
“Can I come in?”
He stood back. She hobbled into the kitchen on stiletto heels and sat down in a chair. “You’ve been asking people if they remembered anything?”
“Aye.”
“Well, I didn’t think much of it cos I was so terrified about everyone finding out about me and Murdo. But there was one little thing.”
“What?”
“I was down on the waterfront…”
“When?”
“Two days before Fergus disappeared.”
“And…”
“I saw him with Callum McSween.”
“So?”
“He was jeering at Callum and saying he knew Callum would soon be broke, and Fergus was bragging about his new salary and saying that he bet Callum would like some money like that, and Callum said, “Get away from me or I’ll break your neck.””
“And you never thought to tell me afore this!”
“Like I said, I was frightened that folks would find out my wedding was off. I remembered and told Mother, and Mother said it was funny Callum hadn’t gone for work at the new hotel like a lot of other people because they were paying labourers good money.”
“Thanks, Josie, I’ll look into it.”
“Do you think Callum killed Fergus for his job?”
“I doubt it. Callum was recommended by me. But I’ll have a word with him. He should have told me about the row with Fergus.”
Hamish saw her out. Then he got into the Land Rover and drove up to Callum’s croft.
Callum and his wife were sitting in their kitchen eating steak and chips. The kitchen door was open so Hamish walked in.
“Welcome, Hamish,” said Callum. “Would you like some food?”
Hamish’s stomach gave another rumble. “No, I’m in a hurry. I’ve got an appointment.”
“So what brings you? Sit down, man, and take the weight off your feet.”
Hamish removed his peaked cap and sat down.
“Callum, why didn’t you tell me you had a row with Fergus?”
Callum looked awkward. “Care for a dram?”
“No, Callum. What was it about, and why didn’t you tell me?”
Callum looked down at the table and pushed his food around his plate with his fork.
“Somehow he’d found out I was in financial trouble, and he knew I’d failed to get a job at the hotel.”
“Wait a bit. You didn’t get a job at the new hotel? Why? A lot of it is chust plain labouring.”
“I don’t know why. I was interviewed by that Greek.”
“Ionides?”
“Yes, him.”
“Funny, you’d think he’d have a manager or have got that secretary of his to do the hiring.”