Hamish came in with a smile on his face. “I’ve got the grand news,” he said. “That was Turnbull from Strathbane. He forgot to tell you last night that Blair is recovering. He’ll soon be back on the job.”
Anderson seemed to dwindle in size to his former thin shape. “Pillock!” he said. “Here, Hamish, hae you any whisky?”
“A good copper does not drink on duty,” said Hamish primly.
“Come on, Hamish, I’m off duty as from now.”
“Particularly,” went on Hamish, “a good copper who plans to put in a bad report about me.”
“Did I say that?” Anderson looked wounded. “There’ll be nothing but praise.”
“In that case,” said Hamish, “I seem to mind I have the bottle somewhere.”
∨ Death of a Travelling Man ∧
10
Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam,
Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like home.
—John Howard Payne
Anderson and MacNab had finally left, Cheryl’s body had been taken to Strathbane, and Hamish, supplied with black coffee by Priscilla, had typed up his report.
He came back into the living room and sat down with a sigh. “What a night! Now, tell me how on earth you managed to doctor that tape.”
“Easy. The minute I heard Cheryl was dead, I ran back to the castle with it. Someone had found it on the shore and I grabbed it and said I’d give it to you. I simply cut that bit out of the tape and then spliced it together again.”
“How did you know how to do that?”
“Oh, some friend showed me how some time ago. You’d better get to bed, Hamish.”
“Not yet. I’ve got to get that stuff up from under the packing case and I’ve got to erase the video. Are you awfully tired, or can you get the three women here?”
“Yes, but what about Willie?”
Willie was up and crashing dishes around in the kitchen to show his displeasure. He had learned of the solving of the murder from Priscilla as soon as he had got up and had come to the conclusion that Hamish had deliberately been keeping him out of the investigation.
Hamish went through to the kitchen. “Look, Willie,” he said, “most of the investigations took place in Strathbane, where I shouldn’t have been. I couldnae risk getting the both of us in trouble.”
Willie was polishing dishes in the sink with a little mop. He hunched his shoulders and did not reply.
“It’s no’ as if you’ve shown any real interest in police work,” said Hamish, exasperated.
“I would ha’ shown interest enough with any encouragement,” said Willie. “You wanted all the kludos for yourself.”
“If you mean kudos, I did not. Take a walk, Willie I really need to talk to Priscilla in private. Take the morning off.” His voice grew wheedling. “Mr Ferrari may not know the case is solved and he’d be right happy to hear about it.”
“I suppose it’s ma duty to tell him,” said Willie reluctantly, “seeing as how the auld man said you were trying to pin the murder on him because he’s a foreigner.”
“Havers. But run along and tell him and don’t come back until lunchtime.”
Willie removed his apron. “I’ll come back when I feel like it, sir.”
When he had gone, Hamish returned to Priscilla and said, “That’s got rid of him. Go and get the women here and I’ll get that bag up from under the packing case.”
Hamish went up to the field and looked about to make sure no one was watching before he took the rocks out of the packing case and shoved it aside. He took the metal box out of the bag and then replaced it with some of the rocks.
Mrs Wellington, Jessie Currie and Angela Brodie were sitting in the living room when he returned.
“Do the police know?” asked Mrs Wellington, her face a muddy colour. “Miss Halburton-Smythe would not tell us anything.”
“Only we know, us here in this room,” said Hamish. He opened the box. “All the money Sean got from you will not be here, for I’m sure he spent a lot of it, but I’ll leave it to you to divide up what’s here, and Angela, you’d best put those packets of morphine back in the surgery.”
The three women looked at him without moving.
“Oh, the video,” said Hamish. “Here it is.” He put a couple of fire-lighters on the fire, lit them and then threw the video on top of them.
Priscilla slid quietly out of the room.
Jessie, Angela and Mrs Wellington watched solemnly until the video disintegrated into a black molten mess.
“Now let’s get to the money,” said Mrs Wellington with a return of her usual bossy manner.
♦
Willie Lamont was met at the kitchen door by Lucia. She was carrying a sack of rubbish. “I’ll take that,” said Willie. “You should not be carrying heavy loads like that.”
He walked round to the back of the restaurant and heaved the sack into the large rubbish container.
“You will make some lady a good husband, Weellie,” teased Lucia.
He turned and looked at her. The wind of the night before had calmed down to a light breeze. Tendrils of hair were blowing about her pretty face. He heaved a great sigh.
“Hamish Macbeth has the right of it,” he said sadly. “I’m an auld woman, always fussing ower the housework. What woman would want a man like that?”
Lucia looked at him, wide-eyed. “Do you mean, if you were married, you would still be doing the housework?”
“Aye, that’s a fact, Lucia. I’d always be there, fussing and cleaning.”
Her eyes began to glow. She thought back on her young life in the village in Italy with her seven little brothers and sisters, a life of perpetual cleaning and drudgery. She raised her red hands and looked at them, turning them this way and that, and then she put them gently on Willie’s shoulders.
“You have never tried to kiss me, Weellie.”
He looked at her in surprise and then his eyes fell to that deliriously pouting mouth. He had dreamt of kissing Lucia, but always in some romantic setting, up on the heathery moors or out on a boat in the loch, but never had he imagined it as he was doing now, kissing her while the seagulls swooped and dived about the restaurant rubbish. He had never experienced anything like it. When he at last freed his mouth, he was trembling and tears were running down his cheeks.
“Don’t make fun o’ me,” he said hoarsely.
“I’ll never make fun of you,” said Lucia, kissing the end of his pointed nose. “Not even after we’re married.”
“Married! You’d marry me? Oh, my heavens!”
“But you’d better go and see Mr Ferrari and get his permission. Will we live in the police station?”
“Will we, hell!” cried Willie. “I’ve got a tidy bit put by and we’ll get a nice house all to ourselves.”
They went in to see Mr Ferrari, who listened to them impassively and then said, “Lucia, there are vegetables to prepare in the kitchen.”
Then he sat down at a restaurant table and waved a hand to indicate that Willie should sit opposite.
“Lucia is a good Catholic,” began Mr Ferrari.
“I’m a Roman Catholic myself,” said Willie.
“But I haven’t seen you at mass.”
“A lapsed Catholic, but I can take it up agin,” said Willie eagerly.
“And will you be able to support her on a policeman’s pay?”
“Aye, I can that. I’ve got a good bit in the bank.”
“How much?”
“About fifty thousand pounds.”
“What! How did you get that?”
“I won one o’ thae competitions in the newspapers.”
Mr Ferrari leaned back in his chair. “I hear the murder has been solved by Hamish.”
“Aye,” said Willie bitterly, “and he did his best tae keep me out of it. Wanted all the glory for hisself.”