Hamish and the seer sat down and Hamish in a colourless voice recounted Angus’s vision.
Blair laughed and laughed, slapping his knees in delight. “Daviot’s arrived from Strathbane. He’s along at the hotel now tae see how the investigation’s going on. Wait till he hears aboot this.”
Blair gleefully picked up the phone and started to dial. If ever the superintendent needed extra proof that Hamish Macbeth was a simpleton, this was it.
“You’ll never guess what I have tae tell you, sir,” said Blair. “Macbeth has brought the local seer, Angus Macdonald in. Someone left this local weirdo a bottle o’ whisky on his doorstep and he’s about to drink some of it when he sees his dead mither calling to him from the other side and decides it’s poisoned.” Blair laughed and laughed. The voice at the other end of the phone squawked and the laughter died on Blair’s lips. Mr Daviot was a Lowland Scot in love with the Highlands and everything Highland. Seers were Highland and therefore to be treated with respect. “Well, if you say so, sir,” mumbled Blair and put the phone down.
“I’ve to take this whisky tae Strathbane fur analysis,” he growled, “and you and Macdonald here are tae go along to the hotel and see the super. They’ll be naethin’ in that bottle but straight Scotch, and then you’ll look like the fools you are.”
Mr Daviot treated Angus with great courtesy, ushering him tenderly to an armchair and handing him a cup of coffee.
Angus told his story to an appreciative audience this time. “And I gather that Macbeth here went to see you to ask what Mrs Thomas had wanted to know,” said Mr Daviot. “Did you tell him?”
“I was about to,” said Angus, “when I got that fright. Och, she didn’t want to know anything. She offered me a fiver for thae wally dugs on my mantel, but I ken they’re worth a bit these days. I told her greed would be the end of her.”
“And why did you say that?” asked Mr Daviot sharply.
“I hae the second sight,” said the seer.
“You may just have had it today,” said Hamish. “But it’s my guess you’d heard about Trixie already and you were cross because she was trying to cheat you out of your china dogs. I’d better take you back, and look about and we’d better get forensic up to your cottage.”
“You gang along yourself,” whined the seer. “I’ve a mind tae stay here wi’ Mr Daviot. He has the sign of greatness in his face.”
That was enough for Mr Daviot so Hamish left with only Towser for company.
The wind had dried the ground and he was doubtful whether the forensic team would be able to find a footprint. The path to the back door was formed of paving stones and outside the back gate was springy heather moorland.
If someone had tried to poison Angus then that someone must have known Hamish was going to call on him. But according to Blair, the whole village knew of Hamish’s proposed visit. He strolled over the moorland at the back of the cottage and found himself looking down on Iain Gunn’s farm. He wondered whether either Blair or his detectives had interviewed Gunn. He had not told Blair about the bats, having felt it to be of not much importance. Now with the cloud shadows chasing each other across the moorland and with the soughing of the wind, Iain Gunn seemed like someone who ought to be taken seriously. All he would have had to do was to run up the hill to the back of the seer’s cottage and leave that whisky. Hamish suddenly remembered the look of hate on Iain’s face as he watched Trixie leaving. He would need to tell Blair and Blair would rightly point out that he had been withholding valuable information.
Iain Gunn was in his farmhouse kitchen, just removing his Wellington boots, when Hamish arrived. His son, a tall, gangling youth, was sitting at the kitchen table and Mrs Gunn was stirring something on a pot on the stove.
“It’s yourself, Hamish,” said Iain cheerfully. “Sit down.”
“I would like a wee word with you in private,” said Hamish.
Iain and his wife exchanged an odd look and then he said slowly, “Come ben.”
Hamish followed him through to the living-room. It was bleak and cold and had a little-used look despite the new, fitted carpet on the floor, the plastic flowers in vases, the noisily patterned nylon curtains at the window, and the three–piece suite of acid green uncut moquette.
There was a large television set in one corner but Hamish was sure the Gunn family hardly ever had time to look at it. They all worked hard.
“What’s the trouble?” asked Iain.
“Trixie Thomas’s death’s the trouble. I have to interview everyone who might have had a grudge against her. Now Angus Macdonald is swearing blind someone left a poisoned bottle of whisky outside his back door today.”
“Angus drinks so much it’s no wonder that whisky tastes like poison to him now,” said Iain. “And what could I have had to do with that silly bitch’s death?”
“With her out of the road, you could go ahead and bulldoze that ruin,” pointed out Hamish.
Iain gave a derisive laugh. “That damn fool bird society she started has no doubt written letters to every other bird society, telling them about the bats. I’ll have bird watchers trekking over my land and making a pest of themselves. Do you mind the days, Hamish, when bird watchers were nice kindly people you were glad to see? Oh, a lot of them are still fine, but there’s a new breed o’ militants. The men have got beards and wear camouflage jackets and those wee half-moon glasses and they’ve got bad teeth and the women have got their fat bums stuffed into jeans and wear anoraks covered with badges. I’d shoot the lot of them if I thought I could get away with it. No, I didn’t poison Mrs Thomas, Hamish.” He leaned forward. “Look, just think of all the hassle a man has to put up with from the government these days. Look how Scotland has changed with value added tax hit squads and petty little bureaucrats enjoying throwing their muscle around. There’s a lot more folk I had better reason to kill than Trixie Thomas. You’ll probably find her man bumped her off. It’s aye the husband.”
“Why?”
“Imagine living with a woman who irons creases in her jeans and wears white sneakers.”
“Aye, it’s enough to turn the strongest stomach,” said Hamish with a grin. Then his face grew serious. “Look, Iain, I didnae tell Blair about the bats and I’ll need tae tell him, so prepare yourself for a hassle.”
“Don’t worry. I had the income-tax inspector round last week. If I can put up with an income-tax inspector, I can put up with Blair.”
Hamish made his way back up past Angus’s cottage and met the seer coming up the hill.
“They are not interested in my story any mair,” said Angus peevishly. “They haff arrested the husband.”
“Paul Thomas? Why?”
“No’ him. Her first husband.”
“Her – ?”
“Aye, it turns out that lodger o’ theirs, John Parker, used tae be married to her.”
Hamish went straight to the hotel. John Parker was closeted with Blair and his two detectives in the hotel room allocated to the police. Hamish put his head round the door.
“Get lost,” snarled Blair.
Hamish walked away. He wondered where Daviot was. As the local policeman, he, Hamish Macbeth, should have been in on the interrogation.
He saw the hotel manager in the forecourt. “Where’s Mr Daviot?” asked Hamish.
“He’s gone back to Strathbane. There’s been a successful drug raid on one o’ the ships,” said Mr Johnson. “This murder’s become small beer.”
Hamish made his way to The Laurels. Paul Thomas was working in the garden.
“What’s all this about her first husband?” demanded Hamish.
Paul straightened up from his weeding slowly and passed an earthy hand over his forehead. “It was a surprise to me,” he said in a bewildered way. “Why didn’t Trixie tell me?”