He thumped the desk. “I will not believe it. Annie Fleming was a saint.” His eyes suddenly filled with tears. “Just get out,” he said.
Hamish and Josie got to their feet and made their way out. They had almost reached the garden gate when a voice from behind a laurel bush whispered, “Psst!”
“Come out,” ordered Hamish.
“Father will see me. Walk down the road a bit to the left and I’ll catch up with you.”
Hamish and Josie walked along to the end of the road. It ended at a scraggy field of gorse and tussocky grass, bordered by a dry-stone wall.
They were about to turn back again when Hamish saw a slight figure hurrying down the field, slipping and sliding on the frozen snow. A young woman came up to them, looking nervously to left and right. “I’m Martha Tallent.” Martha had obviously come round some back way.
“The minister’s daughter?”
“Aye.”
She had a large nose which dominated her thin face. Her sandy hair was scraped back from her forehead. She was wearing a dark anorak over black corduroy trousers.
“So, Martha, what do you want to tell us?”
“I was listening at the door and I heard what Father said. It’s not true. Annie was a right bitch. She hated the church. She told me. I thought we were friends. There’s this boy who goes to our church and one day he asked me out. I was that excited. We were only going to have a drink in Braikie. I told Annie. She was the only one I told. She told my father and he came raging into that pub and dragged me out in front of everyone. We were only having soft drinks! That boy never turned up in church again. And someone told me he had been seen in a pub in Braikie with Annie. I’m sure she did it to spite me. But Father found out as well. I don’t know who told him. In fact, Father blamed me and claimed I had been introducing his precious Annie to corrupting influences.”
“What’s his name?”
“Mark Lussie.”
“And where does he live?”
“Down in the council estate. Culloden Way, number twelve.”
“How old are you, Martha?”
“Nineteen. The same as Mark. Oh, if you see him, could you say how sorry I am?”
“Yes, I will. The Flemings are staying with you? What are they like?”
“They’re grief-stricken. They and Mother and Father sit around of an evening talking about how good and beautiful Annie was. I’ve nearly finished my computer course at Braikie College and the minute I get my diploma, I’m going off to Glasgow to look for a job.”
Hamish glanced along the road. He saw that a car had arrived; Jimmy Anderson was getting out of it, followed by a policewoman. Jimmy saw Hamish’s Land Rover and looked down the road until he spotted him and began to walk towards him. Martha let out a squeak of alarm and scampered back off over the field.
“Who was that you were talking to?” asked Jimmy.
“The minister’s daughter. But don’t let on.”
“Find out anything?”
“Nothing much except Mr. Tallent thinks Annie was a saint and furthermore, I think he had a crush on her. The daughter had a date in a pub and Annie told the minister and the minister descended on the pub like the wrath of God.”
“We’ve now got at least a couple of witnesses to testify that Annie was a regular visitor to the disco,” said Jimmy. “Mr. Tallent’s just about to see his idol topple off her pedestal.”
“What’s happening about the shooting?”
“Blair’s in charge of that.”
“Jimmy, I think a leak came from headquarters somehow.”
“We’re checking. I’d best be off to see the minister. I’ve a feeling it’s going to be nasty. You try your luck with that latest boyfriend.”
Blair was sitting at a corner table in The Clarty Duck with Barry Fitzcameron.
“I swear I had nothing to do with the shooting o’ Jake,” said Barry. “I’m surprised an old friend like you could think such a thing.”
“I phoned you and you said you’d take care o’ it,” said Blair. “I didnae mean kill him.”
Barry raised his hands. “Would I do a thing like that? The silly fool was into drugs. Probably he didn’t pay for the last lot.”
Blair looked nervously around the bar and inched forward. “If it ever gets out that I tipped you off about the raid, I’m finished.”
Barry looked the epitome of the successful businessman from his well-tailored suit to his barbered silver hair. “Nobody can find out. I didn’t tell anyone, you didn’t tell anyone, so what’s your problem?”
“Let’s jist say it’s that lang dreep o’ nothing, Hamish Macbeth.”
“Oh, the lion tamer. What’s he got to do with anything? Strathbane isn’t his beat and you’re in charge.”
“He’s sneaky. He poaches on ma territory.”
“I’m telling you. Don’t worry about it. Have another drink on me. Got to run.”
Blair watched him go. Surely he had not arranged to have Jake killed. And yet he’d said he would fix it. What if he had Hamish Macbeth killed? A slow smile crossed Blair’s fat features.
Hamish suggested they have something to eat. Josie’s mind flew immediately to a corner table in a shaded restaurant. The balloon of her imagination was pricked when Hamish parked outside a fish-and-chip shop and asked her what she wanted. Josie stared moodily out of the Land Rover window at the large menu on a board: fish and chips, haggis and chips, deep-fried pizza slice and chips, deep-fried Mars bar and chips, chicken and chips, black pudding and chips, and sausage and chips.
“Fish and chips,” said Josie.
Hamish returned with fish and chips for himself and Josie, fish for Sonsie, and sausage and chips for Lugs. He put the animals’ food in their bowls at the back and then climbed in the front and gave a greasy package to Josie. He had also bought a bottle of Irn Bru, that famous Scottish fizzy drink which once had the slogan, “Made from Girders.” It was an amazing success in Russia where it was advertised as a hangover cure. Hamish produced two paper cups and poured Josie a drink of it.
“I’ll get spots…sir,” said Josie gloomily.
“These are the best fish and chips for miles around,” said Hamish. “Eat up and then we’ll go and see this Mark Lussie.”
When they had finished, Hamish collected up all the papers, put them in a bin outside the shop, and got into the Land Rover after wiping his greasy hands on his trousers. If only he’d let me cook for him, thought Josie. I’d show him what good food really tastes like.
Hamish whistled “The Road to the Isles” as he drove to the council estate. The day was clear and sparkling and for once, the dreaded gales of Sutherland had decided to leave the county alone.