Father McNulty did his best. Hamish, Heather, and Mr. Gillespie sang the hymns and listened dry-eyed to the service. Then they followed the coffin to the public cemetery, where the body was interred.
“That’s that,” said Heather. “Now we can get on with our lives. Come along, Dad.”
“A moment of your time,” said Hamish. “Are you sure neither of you have any idea who might have killed Mrs. Gillespie?”
“I can’t think of anyone,” said Heather. “I’ll need to get Dad home. He’s not well.”
Hamish went back to the police station, in front of which a mobile police unit had been set up. Television crews and reporters were everywhere. Avoiding questions, he went into the station and changed into a sweater and jeans and pulled a black wool cap over his hair.
Then, running the barrage of press questions again, he got into his Land Rover and headed to Angela Brodie’s home.
“What is it, Hamish?” she asked.
“I’ve two favours to ask. May I borrow your car? I’ve got to follow someone, and I can’t do it in a police vehicle.”
“All right. I’m not going anywhere today. That poor little girl! What an awful thing to happen. I’ve been interviewed five times since last night. The whole thing is so badly coordinated. What’s the other favour? Oh, I know. That dog and cat of yours.”
“You don’t need to take them in,” wheedled Hamish. “I’ve left food for them on the kitchen table, and all you need to do is feed them and let them out for a walk.”
“Hamish!”
“I know, I know. But when this case is over, you’ll never need to see them.”
“This is the last time.”
“Okay, Angela. I’m off.”
“Wait! You forgot my car keys.”
♦
Hamish parked Angela’s small Ford Escort at the end of the cul-de-sac where the professor had his house, and waited. He wondered whether the inspector really hoped he would find something out or whether she was smarter than Blair at getting him out of the case. And did she realise how hard it was to tail someone on usually empty highland roads?
The morning wore on. Hamish had packed a flask of coffee and a packet of chicken sandwiches and was just thinking about getting out an early lunch when the professor’s car backed out of his driveway.
Hamish waited until he had driven past, then eased out and followed him as far back as he could without losing sight of the professor.
Professor Sander parked in the main street and got out. Hamish parked between two other cars and watched. The professor went into the butchers and emerged holding a carrier bag. Then he went into the greengrocers. Hamish waited glumly while the professor did his shopping, going from shop to shop. When he stowed his groceries in his car and moved off, Hamish followed. Back to his home went the professor.
Hamish parked again at the edge of the cul-de-sac. He moodily drank coffee and munched sandwiches and waited.
It was a rare fine day with little wisps of cloud drifting across a pale blue sky. He began to feel sleepy. He hadn’t had much sleep the night before. His eyelids drooped. He let out a gentle snore. He drifted into a dream of chasing a black figure up and over the heather. He was just gaining on the anonymous figure when it turned around, revealing the face of Detective Chief Inspector Blair.
Hamish awoke with a jerk. Had he missed the professor? He climbed stiffly out of Angela’s small car and walked along the cul-de-sac. The professor’s car was not in the drive.
Hamish raced back to the car and drove into Braikie, scanning the parked cars as he went along. He drove out of Braikie. The professor’s car was a black BMW. He came to the crossroads where one road led to Strathbane and the other to Lochdubh. He took the Strathbane road.
He drove quickly, the twisting road in front of him so far empty of any other vehicle.
He topped the rise where a long, straight stretch of road led down from the hills and into Strathbane, and in the distance he saw a black car. He raced the car up to ninety, hoping it would stand the strain.
He put on the brakes just as the thirty-mile-an-hour speed restriction loomed up. He now recognised the BMW ahead.
He followed carefully, glad of the town’s increased traffic. The professor drove to the multi-storey car park in the centre. Hamish followed. The professor parked. Hamish parked a little way away and then, getting out, followed at a discreet distance.
He had a sinking feeling that Professor Sander had come to Strathbane for no other reason than more shopping.
They were on the fourth floor of the car park. The professor walked to the lift. Hamish took the stairs and waited outside the car park.
The professor emerged and Hamish followed. First the professor went to a large bookshop and spent a considerable amount of time inside. When he finally emerged carrying a plastic bag full of books, he headed straight back for the car park.
No, thought Hamish, I am not going to follow him all the way back to Braikie. What a waste of time! He suddenly wanted food, and good food at that.
He saw a small French restaurant and decided to eat there. Occasionally good restaurants would spring up in Strathbane, only to close down after a few months, defeated by the local population’s desire for nothing other than junk food.
He glanced at his watch. Seven in the evening. He pushed open the door and went in. The restaurant was divided into booths, separated from each other by wooden partitions topped with curtained brass rails.
The prices made him blink, but there was a set menu for twenty pounds. He chose lobster bisque, followed by sea bream and salad, and although he would have liked some wine, he decided to settle for mineral water instead.
“I can’t go on like this,” said a woman’s voice in the booth behind him. “People are talking. Why don’t you get a divorce?”
Hamish, who had been about to remove his wool hat, pulled it further down about his ears instead. He recognised that voice. It was Fiona Fleming.
“I can’t.” Male voice: Dr. Renfrew. “I have my position in the community to consider. Look, it’s been fun, but let’s just leave it now. People are beginning to talk.”
“I’ll tell your wife, you bastard. You can’t dump me just like that. You said you wanted to spend the rest of your life with me!”
“Men say a lot of things in the…er…heat of the moment that they don’t mean. Look, Fiona, darling, we can still be friends.”
Ouch, thought Hamish. He’s for it now.
There came a splashing sound, and then the top of Fiona’s head appeared above the partition. Must have thrown her drink over him, Hamish guessed.
“I’ll make you sorry. I’ll make you wish you’d never been born,” howled Fiona.
No one ever says anything original when they’re hurt, thought Hamish.
Then came the sound of rapidly retreating high heels.
He heard the doctor calling for the bill.
If she did kill her husband, thought Hamish, that man’s life will be in danger. Even if she didn’t, I think she’ll turn really vicious.
He concentrated on eating his meal, wondering what to do next. Would Inspector Cannon really expect him to go on following the professor, day in and day out?
Hamish finished his meal and returned to Lochdubh. Television vans were drawn up along the waterfront. He prayed some other big story would break and take them all away.
Jimmy Anderson had seen him arrive and hurried over to the police station to join him.
“So what’s the latest?” asked Hamish.
“Shona was struck down with a tyre iron. Dumped in the boat. Pushed out to sea.”