Death of a Policeman (4 page)

“But you're not a new writer.”

“I wrote it under another name. I'm a new detective writer.”

“Where is it being held?”

“At the Seven Steps restaurant.”

“Now, there's a coincidence. I was just interviewing the owner today. Haven't you got an evening gown?”

“It's an old thing. I must wear something special. Ah, here's something. Jessie's Bridal and Evening Wear. Inverness. I might try them.”

“When is it?”

“Next month. The thirtieth.”

“Angela, I need to borrow your black cat.”

“Why? Can't you dye Sonsie?”

“You've heard about these scientists?”

“The whole village has heard about them, Hamish. I'll bring Sooty over in the morning, but be kind to her and don't let Lugs frighten her.”

Sooty was delivered the next morning. She was a very large, fat lazy cat who ignored Lugs. Dick, with his newly dyed moustache and dyed hair, took Sonsie off to the Tommel Castle Hotel. Clarry, the cook, welcomed Dick and praised him on his new look. “Takes years off you,” he said. “Like something to eat?”

“I'm on a diet,” said Dick. “Well, maybe a wee bit o' toast.”

Lugs barked at Sooty and had to be shut up in the bedroom. The scientists arrived: a tall, thin, elderly man and a short, round bossy woman.

“Let's see it!” she demanded.

“For heffen's sakes,” said Hamish crossly. “This is also my home. You don't just barge in making demands without pausing to draw a breath. I want identification for a start.”

Grumbling, they produced driving licenses which Hamish examined with maddening slowness.

Then he said, “The cat's through here.”

He led them into the living room where Sooty was asleep in front of the fire.

The woman scientist glared at him. “That's not a wild cat!”

“I never said it was,” said Hamish.

“But we had a report that you were keeping a wild cat.”

“Aye, Sooty can be a handful if she's riled up.”

“Come along, Brenda,” said the man. “Another false lead.”

When they had left, Hamish followed them out and watched until their car had disappeared out of the village. He went back indoors and collected Sooty and returned her to Angela.

“You can't keep Sonsie hidden forever,” said Angela. “Have you thought of returning her to the wild?”

“There was no reason afore with the beast being happy wi' me.”

“Do you think I should wear a wig?”

“What!”

“For the awards.” Angela tugged fretfully at her wispy hair.

“Why don't you just go as yourself?” said Hamish. “Nothing up with you.”

“I'd like to shine, just once.”

“Get your hair done, then.”

“I'll think about it.”

Hamish returned to the police station, collected his dog, and drove up to the Tommel Castle Hotel. He was just getting down from the Land Rover when he saw a familiar blonde head in the gift shop and his heart gave a lurch.

He walked to the shop and opened the door. Priscilla Halburton-Smythe was arranging goods on the shelves. “Back again,” said Hamish.

She swung round, and her face lit up when she saw him. “I've got some holiday due to me and the woman who works here is off sick so I'm filling in. Are you working on that policeman's murder?”

“Trying to.”

“I'm closing up for lunch,” said Priscilla. “Why don't you join me and tell me all about it?”

“That'll be grand. I've just got to find Dick. He's hiding out in the hotel with Sonsie.”

“I heard about the scientists. How did you get on?”

Hamish told her as she locked up and they walked together into the hotel. The manager, Mr. Johnson, told Hamish that Dick was in the kitchen. “I'll meet you in the dining room,” said Priscilla.

In the kitchen, Hamish bent down and stroked Sonsie's soft fur. “I'm having lunch with Priscilla,” he told Dick. “You can join us if you like.”

“I'm on a diet,” said Dick.

“Since when?”

“Since today,” said Dick. “I'll take the beasts back to the station and phone you if Jimmy turns up.”

In the dining room, Priscilla listened as Hamish told her all about Cyril. When he had finished, she asked, “This Murdo Bentley? What did you make of him?”

“It's hard to know,” said Hamish. “It was an odd sort of house. There's building going on all around but his study was so quiet. Probably soundproofed or triple glazing. I would have expected a successful businessman like him to have a house in the country.”

“Maybe he has,” said Priscilla. “Or a flat at the restaurant. It's a big place. There's a restaurant, a brasserie, and suites that are used for wedding receptions and conventions. I tell you what, let's have dinner in the brasserie tonight.”

“All right,” said Hamish. “What time?”

“Pick me up at seven thirty and I'll book a table for eight.”

“It's that phone number that puzzles me. I told Jimmy it had been found on Archie Maclean's boat but I found it in one of Cyril's trainers. Now, why would he keep that number if Murdo was only just a man he had interviewed?”

“We'll get a feel of the place anyway,” said Priscilla.

Hamish returned to the police station followed by Dick, to be confronted by an angry Jimmy Anderson. “Where the hell have you been?” he demanded.

“I was finding out a bit more about Murdo Bentley,” said Hamish.

“Well, forget it,” snapped Jimmy. “The pair of you get back up to the location of Sandybeach. I want every man combing the whole area.”

Hamish and Dick set off in the Land Rover with Sonsie and Lugs in the back. Hamish did not want to leave his pets behind because there was a large flap on the police station door allowing them to come and go and he didn't want the cat to be seen wandering around the village to be spotted by any cruising scientist.

It has been said of Sutherland that you can experience five climates in one day. A blustery wind had sprung up, whipping up choppy waves on the Atlantic and singing in the heather.

Hamish turned off the road before they got to Sandybeach and started bumping over the moorland. “Where are we going?” asked Dick.

“I've a feeling that whoever murdered Cyril might have come over the back way on a motorbike. No one in the cottages on the road up said they saw anyone other than Cyril, the Hardys, and then us in the Land Rover.”

“They've asked around Lochdubh,” said Dick. “No one saw anyone watching the police station or Mrs. Mackenzie's.”

“Say someone was on a motorbike or a dune buggy,” said Hamish, “all they would have to do was park up on a rise on the moorland overlooking the village. That way they would see Cyril setting off.”

“Maybe,” said Dick. “But they would see us first and then Cyril following. Who would want to murder Cyril with the police around?”

“I don't know,” said Hamish, bringing the Land Rover to a stop. “But say someone had a vantage point where they could see us going past Sandybeach and Cyril turning down to the place.”

“You'd think we would have heard the shot,” said Cyril.

“Where we picnicked was sheltered by the cliffs around and the noise of the waves and the seagulls might have drowned the sound. Okay, let's get out and start searching. Up here is where you can see anyone arriving at the beach.”

“It's pretty impossible wi' all this heather,” grumbled Dick.

“Keep looking. There might be a damp patch somewhere.”

The breeze died down and the sun was warm. Sonsie and Lugs chased each other through the heather. Dick began to dream about Shona Macdonald. Did his dyed hair and moustache really make him look younger? Maybe if he lost a few stone in weight, he could lose years in appearance.

“Got something!” called Hamish, interrupting his dream.

Dick hurried to join him.

Where the heather had thinned out, there was a damp patch of ground with a tyre track across it. “Looks like a motorbike,” said Hamish, taking out his phone. He called Jimmy and told him to get someone over immediately to make a plaster cast of the track.

Once a cast of the track had been taken, searching policemen moved away from the beach area and spread out over the moors.

Dick's stomach gave out a grumbling noise. “I suppose you're hungry,” said Hamish. “We'll look around a bit more and then get something to eat. Did you bring anything?”

“No,” said Dick curtly.

Hamish studied him thoughtfully. Dyed hair and moustache and no food? What was going on?

“I didnae find Hetty attractive,” commented Hamish cautiously.

“Neither did I,” said Dick crossly.

“So what's wi' the dyed hair and not eating?”

“I just felt like it. Okay?”

“Well, let's search a bit more.”

Dick walked away, his head bowed, searching the ground. At last Hamish said, “If you don't want to eat, I do.” He phoned Jimmy and said they were taking a break.

Hamish drove to the hotel at Scourie. It was built by the second Duke of Sutherland as a coaching inn and stood on the site of an old fortified house. Hamish and Dick found a table in the dining room. Outside were the white sands of Scourie Bay and the gable-stepped houses of Scourie village. Dick's stomach gave a fierce rumble as he looked dismally out at the distant tops of Ben Stack, Foinaven, and Arkle.

“I might just have a roll and butter,” said Dick miserably.

“Look here,” said Hamish, “I've noticed the ladies like you chust the way you are.”

“What have ladies got to do with it?” demanded Dick.

“Everything, I would say,” said Hamish.

“Well, they haven't!”

“There's nothing folk hate more than a bad-tempered man,” said Hamish. “And without food, you're a menace. Here's the waiter. Order something, and cheer up!”

Dick gave in and ploughed his way through three hearty courses. They were just enjoying their coffee in the lounge when Hamish's phone rang. It was Jimmy. “Would you believe it?” he yelled. “Blair's back.”

“Nothing to be done to him for spying on me?” asked Hamish.

“Daviot said he was only doing his duty as a conscientious officer of the law.”

“Well, I'll be damned,” said Hamish.

“You will, too, if Blair has anything to do with it. He's up here, raging around like a mad bull and demanding to know where you are.”

“We're further ower towards Braikie,” said Hamish. “We'll come and join you. Found anything else?”

“Nothing, and the weather looks bad.”

“Be with you as fast as we can.”

Hamish looked out of the window. The sky had clouded over the vista of lochs and mountains that made up the empty quarter of Sutherland. He paid the bill and reluctantly left the hotel as the rain was beginning to fall.

By the time they reached the area around Sandybeach, it was to find it deserted. Hamish phoned Jimmy. “Blair said we couldn't do anything further because of the rain, but he says you're to stay up there and keep on looking.”

“Malicious scunner,” said Hamish after he had rung off and conveyed the latest news to Dick. “It's coming down in torrents now. Let's go back to Scourie and have some more coffee in case Blair checks at the station in Lochdubh.”

They returned to Lochdubh after they considered the road home to be safe from Blair skulking around.

As Hamish was preparing to go out that evening, Dick wondered whether he might just take a trip to Braikie. Perhaps, if he were lucky, he might see Shona walking down the street.
Oh, hullo
, he would say, ever so casual. In his imagination her face would light up.
What about a bit o' supper?
he'd suggest. Soon they would be seated at a candlelit table and…

“What are you smiling at?” asked Hamish.

“I was only thinking of a clever question for a quiz,” said Dick hurriedly. “I might write a book for pub quizzes.”

“Aren't there a lot of them?”

“But I've got the name. In fact, there doesn't seem to be any chance of me being allowed on a TV quiz show again. Strathbane Television said it spoilt the excitement for the viewers when everybody knew I was going to win.”

“I'm off, then,” said Hamish.

He was wearing his one good suit, and his red hair had been brushed until it shone like a flame in the kitchen light.

“Have fun,” said Dick.

He waited until he heard Hamish drive off and then changed out of his uniform into a blazer, flannels, white shirt, and silk tie. Dick was heading out the door when he realised that Sonsie and Lugs were following him. Dick cursed under his breath. If he left them behind, they could get out through the flap and would probably head for the Italian restaurant. Hamish would no doubt get to hear of it.

He gloomily let them into the back of his car. “I'm nothing more than an animal keeper,” he grumbled.

Dick had forgotten how empty Braikie could be in the evening. He drove slowly up the main street and then took to the side streets, always looking to left and right in the hope he might catch a glimpse of Shona.

At last he drove back to the main street and parked the car. The dog and cat shifted restlessly in the back. His conscience pricked him. How old was Shona? Late twenties. What sort of policeman was he? He hadn't looked for a wedding ring or even an engagement ring.

“Come on, beasties,” he said, letting the dog and cat out. “I'll get you some fish-and-chips.”

Fortified with a large packet of fish-and-chips and a bottle of Irn-Bru, Dick felt as if he had been restored to sanity. What on earth had he been thinking of? He had just turned fifty-one.