Death of a Liar (16 page)

Laurent knew nothing about the diamond rings, one found in Liz's shed and the other at the schoolhouse. Hamish could only guess it was some way of them identifying each other.

“I'll have you for assault,” said Laurent, and then he began to cry.

“Did you see me assault him?” Hamish asked Jimmy.

“Not me,” said Jimmy. “Let's leave this wee bastard to cool for a bit.”

Reports in triplicate. Reports piled on reports. Long interviews with every customer who had been in the restaurant when Laurent was arrested, along with interviews with all the staff. Then all those had to be typed out by Hamish and sent to Strathbane.

He was called up before several committees of hard-eyed men headed by Chief Superintendent Douglas to explain his odd behaviour in deciding to go to Golspie on his own. One waspish little man whose rank Hamish did not know was vehement in claiming that Hamish was a publicity seeker who had made sure a television team would be there at the restaurant.

At the end of it all, he felt he had saved his police station by a whisker and all thanks to Daviot, who had stuck to his word that the Lochdubh police station would be safe. But there was one last question. Why was there no report about those diamond rings: no report about searching jewellers throughout Scotland to see who had commissioned the rings?

Hamish said patiently that he had assumed that the special force or Strathbane would have covered that. Jimmy Anderson was sent for.

He said he had sent out a description of the rings to every jeweller in the United Kingdom but had not met with any success, so he supposed the rings had been made by some crooked jeweller somewhere or other. “It's all in my report,” he said impatiently.

“There is no such report on the files,” retorted Douglas.

“I gave my report to Chief Detective Inspector Blair,” said Jimmy.

Blair was summoned. He furiously denied that he had received such a report. “I still have it on my computer along with a report of the date I gave it to you,” said Jimmy. “I'll get it now.”

“Leave us and take Macbeth with you,” said Douglas. “No, Mr. Blair, you stay.”

“Blair's toast,” said Jimmy cheerfully as he and Hamish walked down the stairs together. “Say hullo to your new boss. Me!”

“Don't bet on it,” said Hamish gloomily. “Daviot will be doing his best to hang on to his creature.”

And that was exactly what Daviot was doing. Wanting to avoid promotion and so be transferred to Strathbane, Hamish had let Blair take the credit for a number of crimes that he himself had solved. So Daviot was reading out a list of Blair's “successes” while Blair sat with his eyes lowered, the very picture of modesty.

Apart from learning that Laurent really was his first name and his second name was Dejeux, and apart from the fact that Laurent was to stand trial in Edinburgh, Hamish heard no more about the case. The paperwork was finished and there were new and exciting news stories to take the press away.

It was as if it all suddenly went quiet. Christine Dalray phoned to invite Hamish to dinner but he put her off because a good part of him hankered after Anka. The scar on his forehead where he had been struck by that tin of tomatoes had healed up, and his fiery hair had grown back in over the old wound.

He was just thinking about going to Braikie to see if he could persuade the elusive Anka to go on a date with him when the phone rang. It was Dr. Williams. “Can you get up here?” he pleaded. “She's gone mad!”

“What happened?”

“I tried to shoot that fox.”

“Oh, my,” said Hamish. “I'll be there right away.”

As he drove north, his thoughts turned to Elspeth. He knew she would have been firmly instructed to keep clear of him by Strathbane. He knew he was forbidden from making any statements to the media, but he thought she might as least have called to see how he was.

It was a grey, misty day. No colour in the landscape. He drove on until Cromish came into view through the mist like a sort of Brigadoon.

A little huddle of curious villagers was standing outside Samantha's cottage. Screams and cries were coming from inside. The door was open. Hamish walked in.

Samantha was sitting at the kitchen table. Dr. Williams was backed against the kitchen dresser, looking helpless. Broken crockery lay scattered over the floor. Between sobs, Samantha threw back her head and let out an eldritch scream.

Hamish gave her a firm slap on the face. She stared at him in shock. He handed her a clean handkerchief and said, “Behave yourself!”

He turned to Dr. Williams. “What exactly happened?”

“We were sleeping at my place last night. The mist hadn't come down and you know it never really gets that dark this time o' year. I woke up and she was standing by the window. I asked what was up. She said, ‘Oh, it's Foxy. Come and look.' I went and got my shotgun and went out into the garden. It was a great dog fox. I took aim but she jerked my arm up. Then she went into hysterics and fled the house in her nightie. She let me in this morning, screaming I was a murderer, throwing plates at me along with her engagement ring.”

“Go and get your bag and give her a sedative. Hurry!”

Hamish sat down next to Samantha and put an arm round her shoulder. “I thought you had come to your senses about foxes,” he said.

She gulped and gave a choked sob. “I'd heard about the seer in Lochdubh.”

“Aye. Angus Macdonald. Go on.”

“It was weird. I told him about how silly I had been about that fox. I really wanted my fortune told. He closed his eyes and he said in a faraway voice that Foxy was actually the soul of someone who had come back and should be treated with respect. I did not tell Harold but I decided to protect that fox with my life if necessary.”

What the hell was Angus playing at? Hamish was determined to see him as soon as possible.

“I cannot live amongst such savagery,” said Samantha. “I am going back to Edinburgh.”

“Good idea,” said Hamish, thinking that Dr. Williams was well out of it.

When the doctor returned, Hamish coaxed Samantha into swallowing a sedative and together they got her into bed.

They retreated to the kitchen. “Man, the woman's unbalanced,” said Hamish. “And you a doctor.”

Dr. Williams shrugged. “The sex was good. But I can't have anything to do with her after this.”

“The trouble was caused when the seer in Lochdubh told her that fox was the soul of someone who had come back. I'm going to see him and find out what he was up to. Let's get out of here.”

When they walked out to where the villagers were waiting, to Hamish's alarm Dr. Williams told them what the seer had said and that it had turned Samantha's mind.

Hamish pulled the doctor away and when they were clear of the crowd, he whispered fiercely, “You've got Mr. Foxy for life. Not one o' that superstitious lot are going to touch the beast now.”

Once in Lochdubh, Hamish went straight to see Angus Macdonald. “No, I havenae brought ye a present, you auld fraud,” roared Hamish.

“Come in and calm down,” said Angus. “I see a fox in your eyes.”

“And I feel like blacking yours,” said Hamish. “What possessed you to tell Samantha Trent that the fox was the soul of someone who had come back?”

“Well, I ken it's like this. I have this niece in Lochinver, Bella Macdonald, my late brother's daughter. She's a widow. She met Dr. Williams at a concert in Lochinver and really fancied him. They went out for a bit and all was looking hopeful when he got snared by the fox lady. Now, with her out o' the road, my Bella stands a good chance.”

“I'm going to tell Williams what you did,” said Hamish.

“So you would want to see a grand man like Dr. Williams shackled to a nutcase?”

“No, but you nearly caused Samantha Trent to have a heart attack. You're a wicked, interfering old scunner!”

“Great, isn't it? Now push off, Hamish.”

Hamish wrestled with his conscience and finally phoned Dr. Williams. “How is she?” he asked.

“Woke up a bit ago. But she's packing up. She's determined to get back to Edinburgh. Why did that seer tell her such a load of rubbish?”

“Because he thinks you'd be better off with his niece, Bella Macdonald.”

“I remember her. Nice lady, but she's got a bit of a moustache.”

“She can shave, dammit!” said Hamish, suddenly fed up with the whole business.

That night, the old dog fox roused himself to go hunting. He was tired and hungry. His family had been trapped and killed long ago. He sniffed the air. He slunk down to the nearest garden, where he could smell roast chicken. To his amazement, a whole roast chicken was on a plate near the hedge. He gobbled it up. Now there was the scent of beef in the air. In the next garden, he found a slice of steak.

And so it went on. Each superstitious villager was convinced the old fox held the soul of a lost loved one.

When he was found dead six months' later, the villagers gave the old fox a Christian burial, even having a coffin constructed, which had to be quite large for a fox as the animal was very fat indeed.

Hamish, finding his life was tranquil once more—and because it was Sunday and he knew the bakery would be closed—went to Braikie to pay a call on Dick and Anka.

Dick gave him an enthusiastic welcome. Because he had lost weight with all the work in the bakery he did not look at all like the old Dick, but Anka was breathtakingly beautiful as usual.

When Dick had gone through to the kitchen to fetch coffee and cakes, Hamish asked Anka if she would have dinner with him one evening.

“I don't think so,” said Anka. “Apart from Sunday, I do not have any free time. Maybe later, when we hire more staff.”

Hamish brightened. She hadn't said no. But when Dick came back with a laden tray, Anka said, “Hamish has said he will take us out for dinner one evening.”

“That's great,” said Dick. “We'll let you know.”

We, thought Hamish sulkily on the road home. His pets were in the passenger seat beside him. Sonsie put a large paw on Hamish's knee.

“Aye, you're a grand cat,” said Hamish, “but no substitute for a nice lassie.”

His thoughts turned to Christine Dalray. Hugo Bryan had promised Hamish a free meal for himself and a friend anytime he cared to come over to the restaurant.

At the station, Hamish phoned Christine, but she said she was busy.

He went out to the waterfront, followed by his animals. Archie Maclean came to join him. “Do you understand women, Archie?” asked Hamish.

Archie jerked his hand towards his cottage, from which came the sounds of ferocious cleaning. “Me? Havenae a clue,” he said.

Hamish looked down at Archie's tight tweed suit. “I thought your missus had stopped boiling your clothes and making you wear tight stuff.”

“Herself boils everything,” said Archie. “Do you need a bit o' sex?”

“Don't we all?”

“I'll gie ye the address o' this wumman over at Lairg. She's no' expensive.”

“Archie! I'm amazed. A prostitute.”

“Och, no. Just a nice widow woman who earns a bit on the side. I'd better get indoors. Here's Angela.”

Angela Brodie came up to join Hamish. “Does life seem dull after all that excitement?”

“How's your man?”

“He's away at a medical conference in Edinburgh.”

“Tell you what,” said Hamish. “I've been offered a free meal at thon restaurant in Golspie. Care to come with me tonight?”

“Oh, I'd like that.”

“I'll pick you up at seven o'clock this evening.”

And at seven that evening, Nessie Currie twitched the net curtains on her front window which overlooked the waterfront and let out an exclamation of surprise. She was joined by her sister, Jessie.

Hamish Macbeth in his best suit was getting into Amanda Brodie's car. Nessie, as usual, thought the worst. “The doctor's away. Macbeth is at it again with his philandering ways.”

She was so upset, she ignored her sister's usual chorus of her last words.

“He must be stopped,” she said firmly. “He'll be taking her somewhere for dinner and plying her wi' wine.”

With a research diligence worthy of Hamish Macbeth, Nessie sat down by the phone and began to contact every restaurant she could think of, at last finding the right one.

Grimly, the sisters put on their coats and hats and set out for Golspie.

Christine and her partner for the evening had a table at the restaurant window. Her partner was a small, clever man called Phil Murchison from the DNA lab in Glasgow. He was in his forties with the disadvantages of a large nose and a gleaming bald head. But he was amusing and witty.

Christine saw Hamish Macbeth arriving outside and gave an exclamation. “What is it?” asked Phil.

“It's that police sergeant, Hamish Macbeth. He's standing out there with a clothes brush, brushing some woman down.”

Angela was wearing a black trouser suit. Hamish had pointed out it was covered in cat hairs from Angela's many cats. Angela had found a clothes brush in the backseat and had told him to get rid of the hairs before they went into the restaurant.

“You'll do now,” said Hamish. “Come along. I'm hungry.”

The first person Hamish saw when he entered the restaurant was Christine. He nodded to her and would have walked past but Phil jumped to his feet and cried, “Hamish Macbeth! I've heard so much about you.”

Hamish introduced Angela, and Christine introduced Phil. No competition there, thought Christine, surveying Angela's wispy hair and vague face.

The owner came hurrying up. “Do you all want to sit together?” he asked.

“No,” began Hamish, but Phil said, “Would you mind, Hamish? I want to hear all about your adventures.”

“All right,” said Hamish, wondering how he could possibly have forgotten that Christine was so attractive.