Hamish Macbeth 19 (2003) - Death of a Village

by M C Beaton

  All the way to the vet, Hamish sat hunched up in the passenger seat. After his last dog, Towser, had died, he hadn’t wanted another. But fisherman Archie Maclean had found Lugs wandering up on the moors and had given him to Hamish as a Christmas present. Hamish had been captivated from the first by the dog with large ears and odd blue eyes.

  “Do you think he’ll be all right?” he asked Angela.

  “Can’t say until we hear what the vet’s found out about his condition,” she answered.

  “Here we are. Take it easy, Hamish. Don’t try to get out of the car until I’ve parked it.”

  Hamish walked into the waiting room. It was full of people, sitting with their animals. He headed for the surgery door. “Take your turn!” shouted an angry woman. Hamish and Angela walked straight in.

  “Don’t you ever knock?” asked Fred crossly as he stood over a cat, about to give it an injection. “Oh, sit over in the waiting room and I’ll call you.”

  “My dog?”

  “Your dog’s fine.”

  “Let the vet attend to my cat,” said a thin woman, hovering beside the table.

  They retreated to the waiting room. Angela held Hamish’s hand in a reassuring clasp. By evening, it was all over Lochdubh that Hamish had been holding hands with the doctor’s wife.

  The thin woman finally emerged with her cat. She glared at Hamish. “You could have harmed Tiddles with your interruption.”

  She was followed by the vet.

  “Come along, queue jumpers that you are,” said Fred. “He’s through here. That dog of yours must have a skull like iron. I X-rayed him. He took a sore dunt but no bones broken in his skull. Just a bad concussion.”

  There were various large pens holding sick animals. “Here we are,” said the vet. Lugs had a white plaster on the crown of his head. He was lying on his side with his eyes closed.

  “Lugs,” said Hamish softly.

  The dog opened one blue eye and feebly wagged his tail.

  “Can I take him home?”

  “No, you’ll leave him here until I phone you. Now run along. I have other animals to see to.”

  Back in Angela’s car, Hamish said, “I could sleep for a month but I’d better get back to Lochdubh and write up my full report.”

  “I tell you what, I’ll type for you. You dictate. You’re so tired your fingers will fall between the keys.”

  “Elspeth all right?”

  “I think she was coming round,” said Angela. “But she’ll be mad again when she hears the news. More drama and you didn’t even let her know.”

  “I hadnae time to let her know!”

  “Let’s hope she sees it that way. They phoned up to check I had driven you and I confirmed that, and then, you’ll be glad to know, my excellent husband got on to Daviot and told him you definitely needed peace and quiet and rest. So you’re still off work. Once we get the report off, you can sleep for days if you like.”

  The Land Rover was standing outside the police station. Hamish collected his things from it and he and Angela went inside. He dictated his report, which she neatly typed up on the computer and sent to Strathbane. All the time, the phone rang with requests from newspapers for an interview. “It won’t be Blair who leaked it this time,” said Hamish. “He’ll think I’ve had enough publicity. Have you heard how things are in Stoyre?”

  “There was a really moving piece about the villagers on Strathbane telly. Cheques are starting to pour in from well-wishers. They’ll need to set up a trust. Oh, and some lassie called Elsie Queen who sang a Gaelic song has been signed up by a London agent. Stoyre will never be the same again.”

  “Yes, it will,” said Hamish. “The world will move on and Stoyre will be forgotten. Isn’t it sad that we only get upset about nasty things happening to people and places if television decides we should?”

  “Did you have anything to do with that business in Stoyre? I’m sure they would never have thought to stage anything like that themselves. It was like a sort of Brigadoon setting. Whiff of Hollywood about it all.”

  “Oh, really? Sorry I missed that.”

  “So you didn’t have anything to do with it?”

  “Gosh, I’m tired. If you don’t mind, Angela, I’m off to bed.”

  But when Hamish finally stretched out on his bed, he found his mind was racing with worries about Lugs (would the dog really be all right?), Priscilla (was she really going through with getting married?), and Elspeth (would she ever speak to him again?).

  He picked up an American detective story and began to read from where he had left off. The American detective had been beaten up with an iron bar, had gone two nights without sleep, and was still soldiering on. Makes me feel like a wimp, thought Hamish. The book slid from his hand onto the floor, his eyes closed, and he was asleep at last.

  Hamish slept right through until the next morning and found to his irritation that the press were outside the police station again.

  He phoned Strathbane and asked for permission to speak to them because he knew they would not go away until he did so, and he was anxious to get on with his normally quiet life.

  The word came back from Daviot that as he was supposed to be ill, Detective Chief Inspector Blair would be over to have a word with them.

  Blair eventually arrived. He looked in high good humour. Hamish opened the kitchen door a crack and listened.

  “You lads want a statement,” said Blair, “so I suggest we all go to the pub and I’ll give you one.”

  “What about Macbeth?” shouted one.

  “You won’t get him. He’s off on vacation. Come along.”

  Hamish waited until they had gone, then phoned Archie Maclean. “Blair’s taken the press along to the pub to make a statement. Could you do me a favour and get along there and see what he’s saying?”

  “I’ll do that,” said Archie. “But you owe me a dram.”

  Hamish waited patiently that morning until he heard a knock at the kitchen door. He opened it and Archie slid in.

  “I haff neffer heard such a load o’ twaddle,” said Archie. “I doubt if thae press’ll be bothering you for a long time.”

  “What did Blair say?” asked Hamish, lifting down the whisky bottle and setting a glass in front of Archie. “Help yourself.”

  “The big man started off by telling them you still had the exhaustion but would be back at work in a couple of weeks. Then he began to tell them what a great detective he was, getting drunker and louder by the minute. One by one they left and by the time they had all gone he wass bragging away to an empty space. Then he got in his car and drove off.”

  “He drove?”

  “Aye, but he won’t get very far.”

  “Why?”

  “I phoned Strathbane and said there was a fat man drunk as a skunk that had just left the pub and taken the Strathbane road, driving a W-reg Volvo. You look fine tae me. Are you suffering from the exhaustion?”

  “Not really. Just want a holiday.”

  “Are you going away?”

  “I might. My dog got injured.”

  “Lugs! What’s been happening? There wass a bit in the papers, they say, but I havenae seen them yet.”

  Hamish told Archie about his adventures. “So,” he finished, “I’d better enjoy my bit of rest because I’ll be spending a lot of time in court giving evidence.”

  “Do you know it’s all around Lochdubh that you and Angela Brodie were seen holding hands?”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” said Hamish crossly.

  “The Currie sisters tackled her with it and she telt them herself had been in love wi’ you for years.”

  “I’d better see Angela and put a stop to it. She never did realise what a lot of damage a misplaced sense of humour can do in a village.”

  Angela, confronted by him half an hour later, looked guilty. “You know how it is, Hamish. They are so gossipy and righteous, I couldn’t resist it.”

  “The trouble is, Angela, if I go around denying it, folks will rea
lly begin to think there’s something in it.”

  “Maybe you should be seen around with Elspeth.”

  “I tried to phone her but she hung up on me.”

  “Have a word with her. She’s a pretty, clever girl. You couldn’t do better than that.”

  “I’ve had enough of women.”

  “Then stop chasing after the unavailable ones.”

  “I’ll have a chat with her anyway.”

  “Coffee?”

  Hamish eyed the cats strolling across Angela’s kitchen table. “I’ll maybe drop by and have some later.”

  He walked along to the newspaper offices. The air was clear and sharp. The loch lay glassy and still as if not even a breath of wind had ever disturbed it. The sound of chain saws echoed across the loch where the forestry workers were clearing the debris of fallen trees. Peat smoke rose from cottage chimneys, straight up into the air. A pale blue sky stretched overhead and the sun was a hazy yellow, as if it were losing its strength before the Highland winter had even arrived.

  He was told Elspeth was out reporting but expected back soon. He turned up the lane past the Currie sisters’ cottage and round to where the Bains lived.

  Mr. Bain answered the door. He looked shamefaced when he saw Hamish and said, “You must think me a right fool. Come in.”

  Hamish followed him into the living room. “Is that why you left Stoyre?” he asked.

  “Aye. Sit down and take the weight of your feet. I was right scared. I didn’t want to have a part of it. They all believed, you see, that they would get the Holy Grail, drink from it, and live forever.”

  “Didn’t you believe it yourself?”

  “I thought it was meddling in things best left alone but I was taken in by it all. I thought it best to clear out of Stoyre to where life was normal. But it had frightened me enough to be terrified to speak of it. I’m glad you found out it was a trick or there would be some children like my wee girl having nightmares for the rest of their lives. Can I get you something? Coffee, tea, drink?”

  “No, I’m fine. I’ll be on my way.”

  Harry Bain looked at him awkwardly. “I hope it works out for you.”

  “Oh, the case is finished and I’m on holiday. All over now.”

  “I didn’t mean that.”

  “What did you mean?”

  “It’s just it must be hard on you being in love with a married woman.”

  “I AM NOT IN LOVE WITH ANGELA!” howled Hamish.

  “Oh, the poor woman. She’s in love with you and you don’t want to know.”

  “Use your wits, man. She was teasing the Currie sisters. Angela was with me at the vet’s. I was sore upset because I thought Lugs wasn’t going to make it, and being the warm-hearted person she is, she held my hand.”

  “Is that a fact? You’ll disappoint a lot of people,” said Harry.

  “Why?”

  “My wife was just saying how they were all enjoying a good gossip.”

  Hamish groaned. “Visions o’ God, Holy Grail, shipwreck, murder and mayhem, and all you lot can find to talk about is a mythical affair.”

  “I suppose. You know how it is. Anyway, turns out I missed out by leaving Stoyre. The money’s pouring into the village after that television programme. Still, it’s better in Lochdubh. There’s more life here.”

  Hamish left him and then walked to Mr. Jefferson’s cottage. He knocked on the door and Mr. Jefferson answered it. “Oh, it’s you,” he said. “I read all about you in the papers. You might have let me in on the action.”

  “If you mean the latest fright, how was I to guess some murderous German would still be roaming around? How are you doing? Still going south? Back to the city?”

  “I keep putting it off. There’s more things happen in this village than I could have guessed. Archie Maclean took me out fishing one night. Dr. Brodie took me over to Strathbane for a round of golf, and various ladies of the village have been inviting me for meals. I’m beginning to enjoy myself. Sometimes I think of Annie and feel guilty.”

  “Annie Docherty is the one person who would have loved the idea of you enjoying yourself in Lochdubh,” said Hamish.

  “True. There’s a lot goes on in the village. What’s this about you having an affair with the doctor’s wife?”

  After he had put Mr. Jefferson straight on the matter of Angela, Hamish headed back to the newspaper office. This time Elspeth was sitting at her computer, a pencil stuck in her hair.

  “Oh, it’s you,” she said curtly. “Any more stories you want to keep from me?”

  “Elspeth, I’m right sorry. But look at it this way. I’d been up all night in the hurricane and then they all arrived from Strathbane. There wasn’t time. Did you get my flowers?”

  “Yes, and your soppy message.”

  Hamish’s hazel eyes sharpened. “What message? I simply apologised.”

  “And sent me all your love.”

  “That was Jimmy Anderson. He must have decided to spice up the message.”

  “So you couldn’t even send them yourself.”

  “Elspeth, this is ridiculous. What on earth are we quarrelling about?”

  She stared down at her computer for a long moment. Then she raised her eyes. “Okay, buy me dinner.”

  “When?”

  “Eight o’clock tonight.”

  “I’ll be there. The Italian’s?”

  “That’ll do.”

  That evening, Hamish phoned the vet and was told that he could pick up his dog on the following day. “The thing I don’t understand, Fred,” said Hamish, “is why Lugs did not bark. That German said he lured him with a piece of cheese. But Lugs has a sixth sense for danger.”

  “I think I can answer that. I was busy today and had only time to grab a bite to eat in the surgery. I took out some crackers and a piece of Stilton I had in the surgery fridge and the most terrible howling and barking came from the pens next door. I went through with the cracker and Stilton in my hand and there’s Lugs, going frantic. I opened the pen and offered him the cracker and Stilton and he fair gulped it down and nearly took my fingers with it. Did you ever find out where Lugs came from?”

  “No, just that he was lost up on the moors.”

  “Maybe his previous owner had rich tastes. Your dog’ll be looking for the port to go with it next.”

  Hamish laughed and promised to be over the next morning.

  He took out his one good suit and brushed it carefully, his one good shirt, and one good silk tie. He hadn’t a decent pair of shoes so he wore his regulation boots. His feet would be under the table anyway.

  Elspeth in a cherry-red wool dress and black mohair stole made her way along the waterfront to the restaurant. She was looking forward to the evening. She was glad their quarrel was over.

  She was so absorbed in happy thoughts that she did not notice the approach of the Currie sisters until they bobbed up in front of her, the lights on the waterfront shining on their thick glasses.

  “And where are we off to tonight?” asked Nessie.

  “I’m joining Hamish for dinner.”

  “A young lassie like you could do better for herself than hang around with that adulterer, adulterer,” said Jessie.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Elspeth, trying to walk round them, but Nessie clutched her arm.

  “Did no one tell you? It’s all over the village.”

  “No, folks wouldn’t tell you, “ said Nessie. “You’d be the last to know.”

  “Last to know,” prompted Jessie.

  “Know what? Look, it’s getting late…”

  “Hamish Macbeth is having an affair with Angela Brodie.”

  “And who told you that?” demanded Elspeth scornfully.

  “Why, Angela herself. Did she not tell us, bold as brass, that she had been in love with him for ages?”

  “I’ve got to go,” said Elspeth, tugging her arm free. She walked towards the restaurant and then stopped. Hamish seemed to confide in Angela a lot.
She remembered days when she would see them standing together on the waterfront, talking, their heads together.

  All her resentment at Hamish came flooding back.

  She turned on her heel and went home.

  “Are ye no’ going to order?” asked Willie Lamont.

  “Not yet,” said Hamish. “I’m waiting for Elspeth. She’s late. I’ll give her a ring.”

  He waited until Willie had retreated, then he took out his mobile phone and dialled her home number.

  “Yes?” came Elspeth’s voice on the phone.

  “Where are you?” asked Hamish. “I mean aren’t you coming?”

  “No, and I don’t suppose you’ll be lonely for long. Why don’t you ask Angela Brodie, or have you finally had some decent consideration for her husband?”

  Hamish did not often lose his temper but he lost it now. “For God’s sake, you silly cow…”

  “What did you call me?”

  “I’m sorry, Elspeth. It’s just that—”

  She slammed down the phone. He tried ringing several times again but got the engaged signal.

  He waved Willie over. “She’s not coming. I’ll just have a bowl of spaghetti and a glass of your house wine.”

  “Right, Hamish. You know, Hamish, I’m always here for you.”

  Hamish looked at him in surprise. “Thanks, Willie.”

  “I mean, a man in trouble could always do with someone to speak to.”

  Hamish’s eyes narrowed.

  “Out with it, Willie.”

  “I know the kirk says that adulteration is a bad thing, but…”

  “The word is adultery!” shouted Hamish.

  There was a silence in the restaurant as the other diners stared at him.

  “Forget my order,” said Hamish Macbeth, and slammed out of the restaurant door.

  The following day, he collected Lugs and drove back towards Lochdubh with the dog beside him on the passenger seat.

  “Now, what’ll we do with our vacation, old friend?” said Hamish. “I feel like going down to Inverness and picking up some pretty girl.”

  Lugs let out a low growl.

  “Oh, you got that one all right,” said Hamish. “But you couldn’t even sniff out a murder, you were that keen on Stilton.”