Jimmy went off and came back with a policewoman. “This is Aileen Drummond.”
Aileen was small and chubby with a cheeky face. When he got into the police car, Hamish said awkwardly, “I wonder whether you might stop at that Italian restaurant on the waterfront to pick up my dog and cat?”
“No trouble,” said Aileen.
But she flinched as Sonsie and Lugs were ushered into the backseat. “No,” said Hamish, before she could speak, “it’s not a wild cat.”
“Looks fair savage to me,” said Aileen.
“Are you from Glasgow?”
“Yes. Recognise the accent, did you?”
“It’s not as thick as Blair’s, but yes. What’s brought you up here?”
“I wanted to work in the Highlands but I landed in Strathbane, which is a sort o’ Glasgow in miniature but without the culture, without the restaurants, and without the posh shops. One great heaving underclass o’ criminals. You all right? Must be a hell o’ a shock finding a bomb in your kitchen.”
“I’m fine.”
“Here’s the hotel. Want to go in and get blootered? I could say you were in shock and needed tender loving care.”
“I don’t want to get drunk, and you’re driving.”
“Suit yourself.”
“Tell you what,” said Hamish, “I’ll stand you one drink.”
“You’re on.”
When Hamish went into the bar, he found Priscilla with Patrick and Harold Jury, sitting at a corner table and enjoying after-dinner coffees and brandies.
Priscilla rose and came to join him. “I heard about the bomb,” she said. “How are you?”
“Not bad, but I need a room for the night.”
Priscilla smiled. “Meaning a free room. I’ll get you one.”
Hamish introduced Aileen. When Priscilla went off to find a room for him, Hamish asked Aileen what she would like to drink. To his relief she ordered whisky and water. The few young women he had entertained often asked for peculiar mixtures or cocktails he had never heard of.
♦
Elspeth struggled awake later that night. Her phone was ringing. It was the night desk. “You’re to get back up to the Highlands, fast,” said the night news editor. “That policeman was nearly blown up tonight. Someone put a bomb in his station.”
“Hamish, is he all right?”
“Yes, he escaped. They haven’t found anyone for those murders yet. They’ve had to let that Mark Gentle go. And stop taking your own photographs or there’ll be trouble with the union. I know you claimed they were taken by some highland fellow called Sean McSween, but no one’s ever heard of him and the picture editor’s swearing you made him up. So stop by the office and pick up Billy Southey.”
Elspeth scrambled out of bed and began to dress. Billy was a new photographer. She hadn’t been out on a story with him yet. She hoped he wasn’t a drunk.
♦
Hamish had managed to get rid of Aileen after one drink by promising to take her out for dinner. He had fallen asleep almost immediately only to be awakened an hour later by the phone ringing loudly beside his bed.
It was Jimmy. “Daviot’s in a fair taking,” he said. “He wants you hidden away. He says the attempt on your life could have killed some villagers as well. You’re to pack your suitcase and come to headquarters tomorrow. I’ll get you an unmarked car, and you can drive it to wherever they’ve decided to hide you.”
“I should stick around. The only way we might catch this female is if there’s another attempt,” protested Hamish.
“Sorry, laddie. Orders are orders.”
Hamish realised after he had hung up that his pets must have been out of the police station when that bomb was planted or they would have attacked the intruder and might have been killed. Perhaps it would be better to go into hiding.
♦
The next day, Detective Chief Inspector Blair arrived at police headquarters. He had checked himself out of rehab two days before. They had protested and told him they would send a report to Superintendent Daviot.
He made his way up to Daviot’s office. Secretary Helen smiled at him. She liked Blair, who occasionally bought her flowers and chocolates.
“We didn’t expect to see you for a while,” said Helen.
“I’m all right now.”
“I’m afraid Mr. Daviot is busy.”
“I’ll wait,” said Blair. “Any chance of a coffee?”
“Of course.”
Helen rose and went into the small kitchen next to her desk. The morning post was lying in a basket on her desk.
Keeping an eye on the kitchen, Blair riffled through it until he found an envelope with the name of the rehab on the front. He tucked it inside his jacket and retreated as Helen returned with his coffee.
“Who’s in there?” asked Blair.
“Mr. Anderson and Hamish Macbeth.”
“What’s up?”
“Didn’t you hear? Someone tried to blow up the Lochdubh police station last night. It’s the second attempt on Hamish’s life, so they’re going to hide him away. I had to start first thing this morning, phoning estate agents to find a suitable place.”
Blair paused, his coffee cup halfway to his lips. “Why’s someone trying to bump off yon loon?”
“The murderer seems to think Hamish knows something or something like that,” said Helen. “Really, that man is such a load of trouble.”
“Where did you find a place?” asked Blair.
“It’s top secret, you know, but of course there’s no harm in telling you. I found a cottage in Grianach. Ideal place. There’s just one road down into it.”
“Where is it?”
“Right up in the northwest of Sutherland, near the top.”
Hamish and Jimmy came out of the superintendent’s office. “You can go in now,” said Helen.
“And how are you?” asked Daviot, looking doubtfully at Blair. “I thought you were going to be away for a few weeks.”
“They decided I wasn’t an alcoholic,” lied Blair. “It was all a result of a dirty trick played on me by that Russian.” He described the vodka-drinking session and ended by saying, “You must see, sir, I couldnae do anything else, with her being a visitor and all.”
“I think, however, you should go home and get some more rest,” said Daviot. “Detective Inspector Anderson can cope with everything.”
♦
Blair left in a foul mood. He could see the day approaching when he would be forced into early retirement and Jimmy Anderson would get his job. And he would hate to leave the force without first getting rid of Hamish Macbeth.
And then he had a brilliant idea. If some murderer was looking for Hamish Macbeth, why not help the murderer to find him?
He checked through his notebook and then headed down to the dismal tower blocks at the docks and was soon knocking on a dirty, scarred door.
“How are you, Tommy?” said Blair to the unsavoury creature who answered the door.
“I’m jist fine, so don’t you go trying tae pin anything on me.”
“I want you to do something for me. I’ll pay you. Or can I put it another way: If you don’t do it, I’ll have you back inside as soon as I can.”
“You’ll pay me?”
“Right. I want you to go over to Lochdubh, go to that bar on the waterfront, and spread a wee bit o’ gossip around.”
“Like what?”
“Let me in and I’ll tell you.”
♦
Hamish drove an unmarked car down into the village of Grianach. Grianach, he knew, was the Gaelic for ‘sand,’ and sure enough there was a small sandy beach at the front of the tiny village. He had decided to call himself William Shore.
To the side of the beach was a jetty with a lone fishing boat bobbing at anchor. The village consisted of a few fishermen’s cottages, a small church, and a general store and post office.
He went into the tiny dark shop. He wondered how it managed to survive. There was a musty smell of old grain and the scent of paraffin from a heater.