by M C Beaton
She hurried on down the hill.
“I brought a bit of a picnic,” said Hamish to Elspeth. “We may as well have something to eat and drink. Let’s sit on the harbour wall. It should be dry by now.”
He opened the Land Rover and lifted out a basket. “You’re very domesticated,” commented Elspeth. Hamish felt a stab of irritation and wondered why even the smallest thing Elspeth said to him sounded like criticism.
Hamish had brought fruit and sandwiches and a flask of coffee. “Now,” he said between bites of sandwich, “what have we got?”
“Bugger all,” said Elspeth, looking dreamily over the sea.
“Think!” commanded Hamish sharply. “Maybe the boys up the hill have found evidence of an IRA visit and so we can forget about the whole thing because whoever did it will probably be back in Ireland by now.”
“Okay, I’ll think,” said Elspeth. “At first they were afraid. Something threatened them. Then they lost that fear. Something reassured them. Let’s go off on a flight of fancy. The minister talked of Moses and the burning bush. He said they were the chosen people—not the Israelites, but the people of Stoyre. They’re very superstitious up here. I mean, it’s not often you get weather like this right on the coast. Battered by gales all year round, poor soil to scrape a living out of, meagre fishing what with the decline in stocks and all those bloody European Union regulations.”
“We should all go and live in Brussels,” said Hamish. “I bet they don’t give a damn about rules and regulations over there.”
“Quiet! You told me to think, so I’m thinking. Maybe someone in the village has been having visions.”
“Probably the DTs.”
“Someone sees something. Can’t have been the Virgin Mary. They would consider that too popish. Can’t be something old and Celtic like a kelpie. That wouldn’t prompt all these visits to the church. Some vision that at first frightened and then reassured. But something that told them not to talk about it.”
“Let’s take it away from the supernatural,” said Hamish. “More coffee?”
“Please.”
“Right. Say someone or some people wanted Stoyre kept sealed off. Why?”
“Nice little harbour for landing drugs.”
“True. But they would see real live men in a real live boat. I’ll have another talk to Sean Comyn and then I’ll try the Bain family again. There’s Jimmy.”
Hamish waved to Jimmy Anderson, who was heading down the harbour towards them. Jimmy came up mopping his red, sweating foxy face with a large handkerchief. “Didn’t know it was going to be this warm,” he complained when he came up to them. “Hullo, Elspeth. Got anything to drink, Hamish?”
“There’s a cup of coffee left in the flask.”
“Coffee! Yuk! There’s not a dram to be found in this place.”
“How’s it going?”
“Stone-faced locals without a word to say. Blair took over some of the interviewing and I thought he was going to have a stroke. Nobody saw anything. Nobody even got out of bed to see what the noise was.”
“Any news of any terrorist activity?”
“Nothing. You find out anything?”
“Only that something has prompted a religious fervour. The major usually brings up some friends for the fishing. Did he have anyone on the guest list that might excite the attentions of a terrorist?”
“No. And he only did some low-key work in Belfast ages ago. He’s retired. Actually he’s quite chipper about the whole thing. He planned to sell up and the insurance will bring him a lot more than he could have got from selling it.”
“Maybe he did it himself.”
Jimmy grinned. “That’s what Blair accused him of and they had to fly Daviot up to soothe the major down. This your day off?”
“Aye.”
“I might drop round to see you in Lochdubh on my road back. Got any whisky?”
“No,” said Hamish, “and you finished the brandy.”
“Patel’s open?”
“Not now. He only opens in the morning for the Sunday papers.”
“Damn! I’ll be off, then.”
“How long will the police be around?” asked Elspeth.
“A good few days yet, and if there’s any funny business going on in Stoyre, believe me, nothing’s going to happen until they give up and leave. Say it’s a local job—the major’s cottage, I mean. It could just be spite but I don’t think so. The man only came up in the summers. Now, the major was once in army intelligence. Perhaps someone didn’t want any sharp-eyed outsider around, someone who might notice things the locals wouldn’t.”
“Any word of Bella Comyn?”
“Nothing yet. I’d like that one caught before she messes up someone else’s life.”
Once back at the police station after having dropped Elspeth off, Hamish fed his hens, some of whom were quite elderly as he never had the heart to kill any of them for the pot, walked Lugs, and settled down to watch television. He felt he’d done enough on his day off. Sean and the Bains could wait until the morning.
He had just untied and kicked off his heavy regulation boots, which he wore even when not wearing his uniform, when he heard the phone ringing in the office. He was just wondering whether to answer it or not when the answering machine clicked on and he heard the loud voice of Mrs. Wellington, “Clarry phoned from the hotel. He’s been trying to get you. One of the maids says she saw Bella Comyn in Bonar Bridge today.”
Hamish rang the minister’s wife and asked her, “Where was she seen?”
“In that grocery shop just by the bridge.”
Hamish thanked her, retied his boots, and with a sigh set off on the long road to Bonar Bridge with Lugs beside him in the passenger seat.
“Now, Lugs,” said Hamish, “I wonder just what is going on in Stoyre.” The dog turned his odd blue eyes reluctantly from the passing countryside and gave a slight sniff. “Exactly,” agreed Hamish. “I don’t know either. And I don’t like it. I’ve got some holidays owing. I’ve a good mind to go and stay there for a few days and see what I can find out. I could stay at that place Sean rented. Would you like Stoyre?”
Lugs sighed again.
“Me neither,” said Hamish, “but something weird’s going on there.”
Master and dog then drove in companionable silence to Bonar Bridge.
The sun had gone behind a bank of clouds when Hamish finally drove into Bonar Bridge.
The place looked deserted. He parked outside the grocery shop and went in. There were no customers. A woman behind the counter asked, “Can I help you? It’s Mr. Macbeth, isn’t it?”
“Aye,” said Hamish, stepping forward and removing his peaked cap. “Have we met?”
“Up at the Highland Games at Braikie two years ago. My boy got stuck up a tree and you got him down.”
“I remember. It’s Mrs. Turner, isn’t it?”
“That’s right. What can I do for you?”
“I’m looking for a Bella Comyn, small, blonde, pretty. I heard she was in here today.”
“Oh, her! What’s she wanted for?”
“Oh, just part of a general enquiry. Do you know where she lives?”
“Up in one of the Swedish houses on the council estate, number twenty-four Sutherland Lane.”
“She living on her own?”
“No, she’s Jamie Stuart’s girlfriend. They’re going to get married.”
“Are they really? Who is this Jamie Stuart?”
“He’s a motor mechanic. He works at a garage in Alness.”
“Thanks. I’ll go and see them.”
Swedish houses are wooden two-storey houses built by the government right after World War II. Hamish cruised around the estate until he found Sutherland Lane. Number 24 seemed to be in good repair. The garden was neat and tidy. The window frames had recently been painted, as had the front door.
He rang the bell. A thin young man opened the door. “What’s up?” he asked anxiously.
“I’m here to see Bel
la.”
The young man stood back. “Come in. I hope it’s not bad news.” He led the way into a living room. Bella was sitting embroidering a tablecloth, the picture of pretty domesticity. When she saw Hamish, a look of pure hate flashed in her eyes, but then she smiled and said, “Why, Hamish. How nice to see you. Tea?”
Hamish sat down and surveyed her. “We’ve been looking for you, Bella.”
“What’s this all about?” demanded Jamie.
“It’s about that dog I killed,” said Bella. “I told you about that. I hit it on the head to defend myself, and now the RSPCA’s looking for me.”
Hamish swung round and said to Jamie, “I hear you’re getting married. Do you know she is already married?”
“We’re getting married just as soon as her divorce comes through,” said Jamie.
Hamish looked at Bella. “Have you applied for a divorce?”
“She hasn’t had the courage to face that beast yet. The way he treated her!” exclaimed Jamie.
Hamish stood up. “You’ll be hearing from the RSPCA, Bella. Jamie, a word with you outside.”
Jamie walked outside into the garden and then turned and faced Hamish. “Why the hell are you persecuting the poor girl?”
“I am here to warn you, laddie,” said Hamish. “Listen to me, and listen to me carefully. Bella is a husband beater. If you don’t believe me, you should go talk to her husband ower in Lochdubh. She’s a dangerous woman and has a police record for assault.”
Jamie looked at him arrogantly. “She told me everything, about how that Sean twisted everything to make it look as if she was the guilty one. I love her, and nothing you can say will make me change my mind.”
“She is one o’ the best liars I’ve ever come across,” said Hamish. “Have you any money?”
“What?”
“Are you comfortably off?”
Jamie looked at him, puzzled. “I’m a canny man and I’ve a bit put by. My mother died last year and left me a good bit.”
“Then hang on to it or that one will clean you out. And do me a favour. Don’t make a will.”
“I’ve a good mind to report you for slander!”
“Go ahead,” said Hamish wearily. He fished in his tunic pocket. “Here’s my card. If you need any help, call me.”
Jamie ripped up the card and threw the pieces on the ground, then turned on his heel and marched back into the house.
Hamish climbed back into the Land Rover and looked at Lugs. “I’ve done my best,” he said. “What else can I do?”
Back at the station, he sent a report to the Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. He felt he was wasting his time. Once they had heard Bella’s fictitious story about the savage dog, they would decide they had not enough to take her to court. Sean could protest for all his worth that the animal had been gentle. He hadn’t been there when the dog was killed. Bella could argue that the dog had turned vicious because of the absence of its master. And the police had dropped the case.
The kitchen door opened and he heard Jimmy Anderson’s voice shouting, “Anyone home?”
Hamish went out to join him. Jimmy was holding a full bottle of whisky.
“Where did you get that on the Sabbath?” asked Hamish.
“The Tommel Castle Hotel. I told the manager to put it on your bill.”
“I don’t have a bill at the hotel!”
“Well, you do now. Pour us a dram.”
“After all the whisky of mine you’ve drunk, you might at least pay for some.”
Jimmy gave his foxy grin. “If it weren’t for me, you wouldnae have any inside information about anything.”
Hamish lifted down two glasses from the kitchen cupboard and set them on the table. Both men sat down. Jimmy poured a large measure for himself and a small one for Hamish.
“How can cops go around arresting people for driving over the limit,” complained Hamish, “when a detective stinks o’ booze?”
“Stop grumbling, drink up, and listen. It wasnae a sophisticated bomb. It was a fertiliser bomb.”
“But the IRA use those.”
“Aye, but it does point to the locals. The blast was caused just as much by the major’s Calor gas tanks exploding as from the bomb. You know the major, don’t you?”
“Only ever had a few words with him. Pleasant enough man,” Hamish commented.
“All the cops and me can get out of the locals is that it was caused by the wrath of God. They say the major and his summer guests were in the way of having wild parties, full of loose harlots and drugs.”
“My my. Loose harlots! Is that exactly what they said?”
“Of course. You don’t think I would put it that way. In vain did we point out that the major’s friends, all upstanding middle-aged and elderly citizens, were nothing like that; they all just look stubborn and refuse to say anything else.”
“I can’t understand this religious mania. I went to one of Mackenzie’s sermons and there’s nothing violent or rabble-rousing in them.”
“Maybe he toned it down because you were in the congregation.”
“I don’t think so. I’ve got leave owing me. I might go up and live there for a week. If I was actually amongst them, one of them might crack and tell me something.”
“You going to clear it with Blair?”
“Not on your life. So what other news?”
“Nothing more except it’s got the major out of Sutherland. He’ll collect the insurance and he says he’ll get somewhere down in Perthshire where folks are civilised. He thinks it’s this anti-English mania.”
“Could be. By the way, I found the horrible Bella Comyn. She’s living over in Bonar Bridge with a new victim. She’s going to divorce Sean and marry this one.” Hamish told Jimmy more about his visit.
“We’ll soon be searching the peatbogs for that one,” said Jimmy. “I’ll be off.” He stood up, screwed the top back on the whisky bottle, and made to put it in his pocket. “Don’t you dare,” said Hamish wrathfully. “I paid for that hooch, so here it stays. And buy your own usquebae next time!”
The following day Hamish decided to try the Bain family once more. This time he saw what must surely be Harry Bain, digging at a flower bed in the front garden.
“Mr. Bain?”
“Aye. What’s up?”
He was a small man with rounded shoulders and long arms. His thick hair was black and curly and sat on top of his head like a wig. His eyes were light grey and narrow in his weather-beaten face.
“You’ve heard about the major’s cottage being blown up?”
“Aye, that was a bad business.”
“What’s going on in Stoyre? What’s all this religious business?”
He turned away and picked up the spade which he had thrust into the earth when he had seen Hamish. “I don’t know nothing about that,” said Harry. “We aye kept ourselves to ourselves.”
“So why did you move here?”
“Stoyre’s a bit remote.”
“Lochdubh is hardly the bright lights o’ the city.”
“The school’s better here. The lassie wasnae learning quick enough.”
“You must have noticed something,” said Hamish impatiently. “You’re hiding something.”
“There’s nothing to hide,” he snapped. “Haven’t you any criminals to catch?”
“Yes, I have. For a start, there are the criminals who blew up the major’s cottage.”
“I cannae help you there. Now, can I get on wi’ my work?”
Defeated, Hamish walked off. He returned to the police station and collected his dog and drove off to Strathbane. He called at police headquarters to arrange for a week’s leave and met Superintendent Daviot on the stairs. “What brings you here?” asked Daviot.
“I’m owed a few days off, sir,” said Hamish.
“At such a time? Still, I suppose with everyone from the antiterrorist squad to Blair going over what happened at Stoyre, you won’t be needed. Get Sergeant Macgregor at Cnot
han to cover your beat.”
“Yes, sir.”
“When will you be leaving?”
Hamish thought quickly. He should give things a couple of weeks to settle down. If he went to Stoyre right away, Blair would still be there and Blair would interfere with any investigation. “In two weeks’ time, sir.”
“Where are you going?”
“I might visit my cousin in Dornoch,” said Hamish, his hazel eyes taking on that limpid look they always got when he was lying.
“Have a nice time. How is Miss Halburton-Smythe?”
But Hamish did not want to discuss the once love of his life who was now set to marry someone else.
“Fine.” He touched his cap and moved up the stairs.
His business at police headquarters having been settled, Hamish went to the estate agent and rented the same cottage that Sean had stayed in. They gave him the keys, saying that no one else would want to rent anywhere in Stoyre at the moment.
On his return to Lochdubh, Hamish called on Sean Comyn to tell the crofter about his meeting with Bella. “I hope she does ask me for a divorce,” said Sean. “But I’m not paying her a penny.”
“I don’t think you’ll have to,” said Hamish. “She wouldn’t want her criminal record exposed in court. Why the deer fences?” He pointed to where a new section of deer fence stood at the beginning of a field.
“There’s no money in the sheep at all,” mourned Sean. “I’m going to try the deer.”
“Good luck to you.” Hamish turned away.
“If you hear anything more about Bella, let me know,” called Sean.
“Will do.”
When Hamish arrived at the police station, it was to find Elspeth waiting for him. “Is this a friendly visit?” he asked. “Or are you after news?”
“I just heard from Mrs. Wellington that Bella had been sighted over at Bonar Bridge.”
“Come in and have a cup of tea and I’ll tell you about it.”
Elspeth listened carefully while Hamish made a pot of tea. When they were sitting at the kitchen table, she said, “I somehow can’t see Bella just asking for a divorce without getting something out of it.”