The background chatter suddenly stopped when the Scottish TV news signature tune came on.
‘She’s pretty, isn’t she?’ Cora whispered to Calum, when Kirstie Macroon appeared.
Calum grunted and beetled his brows to indicate that he wanted to listen. Cora sat back suitably rebuked.
And then Kirstie Macroon was reading out the headlines:
‘Another sporting star involved in nightclub brawl.’
‘Sudden death of respected insect expert on West Uist.’
The familiar inter-slot jingle sounded then:
‘First we shall go straight to West Uist where earlier today I talked to local news editor, Calum Steele.
The photograph of Calum with slicked-down hair, bow tie and braces flashed up. Almost immediately there were hoots and laughter from around the bar.
‘What have you done to your head, Calum? Stuck it in a vat of oil?’
‘What’s he wearing a ribbon around his neck for?’
‘Look, he’s wearing braces!’
Calum glared about him and waved his hands for silence as on the TV Kirstie asked him to give an account of the story. The audience quietened down and listened to the sombre tale.
‘And I believe that there is some question of police negligence, Calum?’ Kirstie asked pointedly.
‘It has been rumoured, I am afraid,’ came Calum’s voice. ‘The man was in police custody last night after being arrested for interrupting the TV show Flotsam & Jetsam.’
‘Do you think that there could have been negligence, Calum?’
There was the sound of breath being drawn in, as if Calum was thinking hard before he answered. ‘I would hate to think it. I know all of the local police on the island. The truth is that you have to keep an open mind. And then there was the question of the hammer.’
‘Ah yes,’ came Kirstie Macroon’s voice. ‘The hammer in question was a Highland hammer, for throwing that is?’
‘Aye, it was PC Ewan McPhee’s hammer. He is the champion hammer thrower of the Western Isles. His hammer was found in the blood-soaked pool just inches from Dr Dent’s head.’
Kirstie Macroon’s voice sounded pained. ‘It didn’t hit the poor man, did it?’
‘I am assured not,’ Calum replied.
‘But it still begs many questions.’
‘Indeed it does, Kirstie,’ Calum replied.
There was another inter-slot jingle then the shot turned to Kirstie Macroon in the studio.
‘And that was Calum Steele the West Uist Chronicle editor. We will be keeping in touch with Calum to keep you in touch with any developments on that story. And now for our next story we need to go over to Oban….’
The chatter in the bar started up again and Calum clapped his hands and turned to Cora. ‘Well, that went rather well, I think. Come on lassie, I’ll buy you a drink.’
But when he stood and turned towards the bar he was met by rows of frosty glowers and glares.
‘What’s the matter folks? Aren’t you going to congratulate me on another scoop? Who’ll have a drink with me?’
Mollie McFadden voiced the general mood of the bar. ‘I think you and your lassie will be better drinking somewhere else, Calum Steele. You will not find many folk here wanting to drink with you.’
‘No!’ chirped in one of the regulars. ‘Nor turn their back to you after the back-stabbing you just did on TV!’
SIX
Torquil clicked off the TV just as the Flotsam & Jetsam programme signature tune came on.
‘Calum has really done it this time,’ he said, taking a sip of his pre-dinner whisky. ‘You would think he would have some sense of loyalty, wouldn’t you, Uncle?’
Lachlan McKinnon had leaned forward to tug at the rubber bone that Crusoe had been gnawing away at by his feet.
‘Och, you know Calum, Torquil. He won’t have given it a moment’s thought. He’s so keen to sell stories he won’t have thought that he could be dropping his friends in the mire.’
‘It is Ewan and Morag that I am worried about. They are both sensitive in their own ways.’
‘I take it there is nothing to be worried about? He was safe to be discharged?’
‘I would back Morag’s opinion every time. And the Drummonds agreed with her.’
‘So what now? What is likely to happen?’
Torquil drained his glass and stood up. ‘Right now, I think it is time to eat. Tomorrow I will have to see how I can take the sting out of the story. Calum seems to have precipitated things by getting the TV involved. It will hit the nationals as well, I expect.’ He sighed. ‘And, ultimately, it is all my responsibility. They were my officers acting on my behalf. I have a feeling it could get rather heavy going.’
Lachlan rose too and grinned as Crusoe jumped up, his tail wagging furiously as he held the rubber bone in his jaws as if trying to tease him.
‘Aye, heavy is the head that wears the crown. It is the trouble with being in charge of anything.’ He smiled and patted Torquil’s shoulder. ‘But at least you have Lorna’s visit to look forward to soon.’
Torquil’s mobile went off.
‘Ah, I expect that is her,’ he said with a grin. ‘She said she would phone this evening.’
But, as he answered it, his face dropped and he grimaced at his uncle.
‘Good evening, Superintendent Lumsden,’ he said, in answer to the curt voice on the other end. ‘Yes, I saw it.’
‘And why was that the first I heard about it?’ Superintendent Lumsden snapped.
‘Because there was no immediate need for you to know, Superintendent.’
Torquil winced at the roar from the phone.
‘Of course you should have bloody well told me, McKinnon! What is the matter with you? Why do I always have to hear about your cock-ups on Scottish TV news programmes?’
‘If you will let me—’ Torquil began.
‘Ah, now you want to tell me something, do you? Well, I want to tell you something, McKinnon. I am not happy. Not happy at all. That reporter chap seems to be on the button, which is more than I can say for you. Negligence, that is what he was inferring, you realize that, don’t you?’
‘There has been no negligence, Superintendent. I said—’
Superintendent Lumsden roared again. ‘No negligence? Are you mad? A respected entomologist is found dead with a hammer by the side of his head. A hammer thrown by that buffoon of a constable of yours, and you say there is no negligence?’
‘That is what I said, Superintendent.’
‘And there was nothing negligent about letting him out of police custody just hours before he met his death?’
‘Categorically not, Superintendent Lumsden. I take full responsibility for my officers.’
‘That’s what I wanted to hear you say, McKinnon. It is all your responsibility and if there was no negligence then there was incompetence. And that particular buck stops on your desk. Do I make myself clear?’
‘As crystal, Superintendent.’
‘Your desk, McKinnon. And that means it is your neck that is on the block.’
‘Yes, sir, thank you for your support, sir.’
There was a momentary pause as if Torquil’s superior officer was searching for a response.
‘Well, that is all for now, McKinnon. I am glad that we had this little chat to clear the matter up. You know where we both stand. I want this story squashed as soon as possible otherwise you may be looking at a disciplinary.’
Torquil was about to reply, but the phone went dead in his hand.