“Damn waste o’ time,” growled Blair. “I can’t move without tripping over television cables. With Mrs. Mainwaring identifying these teeth and once the dentist in Edinburgh confirms it, the funeral will be held and that’ll be more mayhem in the press.”
“Have you considered it’s going to get out sooner or later?” said Hamish. “The lobsters, I mean.”
“It can’t get out,” said Blair. “If it gets out I’ll lose my job, and I’ll make sure you lose yours too. Shuddup. Here’s the news.”
He crouched forward, his fat hands clasped and his head bent in a ludicrous attitude of prayer.
The news started off with the headlines. A bomb had gone off in Number 10 Downing Street. Intended to kill the Prime Minister, it had not succeeded but had killed two members of the Cabinet, a policeman, two detectives, and a messenger. Hamish watched in a dazed way. The next headline was that the tail-end of the American hurricane Bertha had struck the Clyde estuary. Ships had gone down, people had been killed by flying slates, trees uprooted, and cars blown off bridges.
“Oh my God,” breathed Blair. “Saved by the bell. Was ever a man so lucky!”
Thoroughly sickened, Hamish walked out. The hotel was a buzz of activity with reporters packing up and photographers paying bills; the air was full of the sound of cars revving up in the car-park outside.
∨ Death of an Outsider ∧
7
While Titian was grinding rose madder
His model was posed on a ladder,
Her position to Titian
Suggested coition
So he dashed up the ladder and had her.
—Anonymous
Hamish was standing in the forecourt of the hotel, moodily watching the hectic departure of the press. Ian Gibb was running frantically from one to the other, crying, “You won’t forget? You’ll ask your editor?” Obviously he had been trying to wangle a job on some paper in the south.
“Macbeth!”
Hamish swung around and looked at Blair, who had followed him out, his eyes quite blank. Hamish was reflecting he had never before disliked the Detective Chief Inspector quite so much as he did at that moment.
“I want ye tae go doon tae Inverness the morrow,” said Blair, “and check out Jamie Ross’s alibi. The wedding was held at the Glen Abb Hotel on Ness Bank.”
“But the Inverness police have already checked it out,” said Hamish crossly. “There was a point at the wedding reception when no one can quite remember seeing him, but he didn’t have his car and he didn’t take the train or bus.”
“Look, jist do as you are told, laddie. He was missing for a bit. See if anyone in Inverness saw him. And don’t argue. And leave the Land Rover. You can take the morning train.”
Hamish opened his mouth to protest and then thought the better of it. He would be out of Cnothan and away from the town and its residents, and he might be able to think more clearly.
He nodded and turned away and walked up the village street.
Jimmy Anderson was waiting for him outside the police station. “Any more whisky?” he asked hopefully.
“Aye,” said Hamish. “But I would like ye to do something for me. Do it, and I’ll get you a bottle o’ the best malt.”
“Okay. What?”
“There’s a Xerox machine at the hotel. Run me off a copy of all the statements and bring them along with you.”
“That’ll take me ages,” grumbled Anderson.
“Come on,” said Hamish. “No statements, no whisky.”
“I’ll see,” said Anderson sulkily.
Hamish walked away, smiling. He knew Anderson would do almost anything for a free drink. He bought a bottle of whisky and went back to the police station.
Jenny was waiting for him outside. “Any chance of a cup of coffee?” she asked.
She was wearing a dress, a soft red, clinging wool one, which molded her figure. Her legs were not good, being much too plump and thick at the ankle. Hamish’s eye ran over her, looking for other physical imperfections to cool his rising lust, but the general effect Jenny presented was one of warmth and prettiness.
As Hamish made the coffee, he told her about going to Inverness in the morning.
“Why?” asked Jenny. “Surely that end has already been covered by the Inverness police.”
“I think Blair wants me out of the way,” said Hamish. “He’s anxious not to find the murderer.”
“Why on earth…?”
“Oh, he’s an odd man,” said Hamish, remembering in time that he must not tell anyone about the lobsters.
“Can I come with you?” asked Jenny.
“No.”
“‘No’ meaning I am a suspect?”
Hamish tried to think of a gracious lie and failed. “Yes,” he said.
“Do you think I did it?”
“I cannae say,” said Hamish miserably. “I don’t really know you.”
She stood on tiptoe and kissed the end of his nose. “I thought you knew me pretty well.”
Hamish blushed and backed away.
“Oh, I see,” said Jenny. “Not when you’re on duty.”
“It’s not that,” said Hamish. “It’s just I need to keep my mind clear.”
She edged her chair round the kitchen table until she was next to him. “So I do disturb you,” she said. “It wasn’t just a one–night stand.”
“Of course not,” said Hamish uneasily. “I am not in the habit of…I don’t…I…I…”
“Don’t what?” she giggled. “You’re blushing like a schoolgirl, Hamish.”
She stood up and went behind him and put her arms around his neck. He turned his head sharply around and pressed it into the softness of her breasts.
It was like being drunk, thought Hamish groggily an hour later.
They had been in the kitchen and next they were in his bedroom without their clothes on and he couldn’t even remember having removed one stitch.
“You’re a bad man, Hamish Macbeth,” he said aloud. Jenny let out a gentle snore. “A bad man,” repeated Hamish. “Are you going to ask her to marry you? You should ask her to marry you.”
The sharp ringing of the bell at the police-station end jerked him upright.
“Anderson!” cried Hamish, appalled. He shook Jenny awake. “Jenny! Get up. It’s that detective, Jimmy Anderson. He mustn’t find you here.”
“Macbeth!”
The police station had not been locked and Anderson had walked in.
Jenny was struggling into her clothes at the same time as Hamish. He jerked open the bedroom window. “Leave this way, Jenny,” he said urgently.
He picked her up and lifted her through the window. “I’ll look after Towser for you while you’re way,” whispered Jenny. “Bring him over tomorrow.”
“Right.”
“And give me a kiss.”
Hamish leaned through the window and kissed her.
“I’ve got the papers, Macbeth,” Anderson called. Jenny swung around in confusion. Not having found Hamish in the house, Anderson had decided to search the garden.
Jenny scampered off, not looking at the detective.
“She chust called around to say hallo,” said Hamish. “Go round to the police station.”
“Some hallo.” Anderson grinned. “Better fasten up your collar and cover that love bite.”
Hamish slammed the window shut.
When he got through to the police station, it was to find Anderson already seated at the desk with a sheaf of papers.
Hamish forgot his embarrassment, poured Anderson a drink, and then began to read the statements.
“Far be it from me to tell you how to do your job,” he murmured, “but you don’t seem to have been able to pin anyone down. Everyone in Cnothan seems to have been at The Clachan that Saturday night, but they can’t remember when they arrived, who was there, or when they left.”