He drove through Cnothan, remembering that Sheep Road was really just an unsurfaced track. He knew there was no sign on the road, and he couldn’t remember anyone living there. When Cnothan had been added to his beat, he had memorised every road in the neighbourhood.
He bumped along the track. His headlights picked out a dilapidated cottage at the very end. Anything stolen from a dump like that, thought Hamish, can’t really be worth stealing.
As he switched off the engine and climbed out, a woman came out to meet him. She was wearing an old-fashioned pinafore and had her hair covered in a headscarf that shadowed her face.
“I’m glad you’ve come.”
Hamish walked towards her. “When did this happen?”
“I was owerin Strathbane and just got back. Come in and see what the bastards have done. They’ve trashed the place.”
She held open the door. Hamish walked in. He found himself in a room, empty except for a table and two chairs. “What…?” he was beginning to say when a savage blow struck him on the back of the head and his world went black.
♦
Angela Brodie opened the door the next morning. Lugs and Sonsie stared up at her.
“This is too much,” complained Angela. “Come along. I’m taking both of you home.”
She marched along to the police station and knocked on the door. There was no answer. She felt for the key in the gutter and opened the door. “In you both go,” she ordered.
But the animals stood there, staring up at her. Perhaps Hamish was still asleep. Angela walked into the bedroom. The bed had not been slept in. Then she remembered she had not seen the police car.
She returned to Hamish’s pets and tried to drag Sonsie inside by his collar, but the wild cat hissed furiously, the fur on her back standing up.
Angela backed off. She walked back home. Both of them followed her. She dived into her cottage and shut the door on them.
An hour later, she opened the door. They were still there, and it was beginning to rain. “Oh, come in,” she said. “But don’t you dare frighten my cats!”
Throughout the day, Angela kept returning to the police station. At last she phoned Strathbane but was told that as far as they knew Hamish had not gone out on any job.
She kept the dog and cat for the night and tried again in the morning. To her relief, she saw Hamish’s Land Rover parked at the side. Once more she knocked and got no reply. Once more she went in and found the station empty.
Angela went into the police office, found Jimmy Anderson’s mobile phone number, and called him.
“Probably poaching,” said Jimmy, “but I’ll drop over later.”
♦
Hamish recovered consciousness. He found he was lying staring up at a dirty ceiling. He cautiously raised his head and then fell back with a groan. He slowly turned his head to find out where he was.
It was a bare room with a bucket in one corner. From the size of the room, he gathered that it had probably been the ‘best’ room in some croft house. A dining hatch was against one wall, perhaps installed there in the house’s better days.
He felt his head. There was a large lump on top of it but the skin did not seem to be broken. He squinted at the luminous dial of his watch. He estimated he had only been unconscious for ten minutes or so, but that had been enough to drag him in here.
He was wearing only his underwear. Someone had moved quickly. And what was the reason for it?
For the next few hours he rested, occasionally trying to get up and at last feeling strong enough to make the effort. As soon as he could stand, he stumbled across to the bucket and was violently sick. Then he relieved himself and went slowly back to the bed and lay down.
He heard bolts being drawn back, and then, pretending to be asleep and looking under his eyelashes, he saw a tray being pushed through the hatch. The hatch went down. He heard bolts being rammed back into place.
Hamish got slowly up again and went over and examined the tray. It contained a pot of tea, milk and sugar, and two large ham sandwiches.
He gratefully drank the tea but still felt too nauseated to eat anything. He examined the room’s tiny window, looking for a way to escape, but it was sealed shut.
He still felt dizzy and sick. He decided to sleep the night and see what he could do about escaping in the morning.
♦
Hamish awoke at seven in the morning. He heard a car arriving, a car door slam, and then the front door of the cottage being unlocked.
Sounds of plates and pans in the kitchen and the sounds of cooking. He put his plate with the uneaten sandwiches on the ledge in front of the hatch. If his captor planned to give him breakfast, then he could grab whoever it was through the hatch. But he didn’t know how many people were responsible for his kidnapping. Better to wait and see if they or he or she left the cottage and then try to escape.
Again the double doors of the hatch opened. He could see a head covered in a black balaclava. His old tray disappeared, and another was pushed through.
He found he was hungry. There were two bacon baps and a pot of tea. He ate and drank and waited.
The room was cold, so he wrapped himself in the filthy blankets from the bed.
He waited and waited while the late winter sun rose and shone in through the window. Then he heard the front door slam and a little after, the sound of a car driving off.
He walked over and examined the double doors of the hatch. He needed something to force those doors and break the bolts.
Hamish looked down at the tray. It was made of heavy metal, the kind used in hotels and restaurants.
He carefully removed everything off it. He went over to the hatch and rammed the tray at the doors. They gave slightly. He went on using the heavy tray as a battering ram, time after time, pausing only to rest because he still felt weak.
Finally frightened and furious, he struck at the hatch doors with all his might. They crashed open.
Panting, he waited a moment. Then, glad he was slim, he heaved himself through the open space and tumbled onto the floor on the other side.
It was the same bare room he had seen when he had arrived, but it had been augmented by a camping stove and a small television set.
The front door was, of course, locked. He wondered if the woman had been working alone and if she had put his clothes anywhere. He went into a small bedroom. There was an old wardrobe and an unmade bed. He opened the wardrobe and saw his uniform and boots lying at the bottom. He hurriedly dressed, listening all the while for the car returning. His belt with his police radio and all his other equipment was there. He strapped it on. In his pocket, he found his mobile phone and called Jimmy.
Quickly, he told Jimmy where he was.
“Found Macbeth!” Jimmy shouted to the detectives’ room. “Come on, Andy, and get a couple of coppers. We’d better get to him fast.”
Blair sat as if turned to stone. Then he suddenly seemed to recover from his shock. He rushed outside to the car park, got into his car, and phoned Ruby.
“You let the bastard get away,” howled Blair. “Don’t go back there. Did you use gloves?”
“The whole time,” wailed Ruby. “What’ll I do?”
“Just go home. I’ll call on you later.”
♦
Hamish heard the welcome sound of sirens. Then he heard the battering ram striking the front door; after a few blows, it crashed open.
“Are you all right?” asked Jimmy.
“I was knocked unconscious. I’m a wee bit shaky.”
“We’ll take you to the hospital. I’ll get this place dusted for prints. Any idea who the hell is behind this?”
“Not a clue,” said Hamish. “It was a woman who answered the door to me. I couldn’t get a good look at her.”