‘Prosser’s papers have been checked. The geological survey was a forgery and put the gold over by Ben Nevis,’ said Hamish. ‘If the captain had stuck to the straight-and-narrow path and invested in Scotgold, he might have made something.’
They sat talking and then Hamish cried, ‘Look at the time! I’m late.’
Without changing out of his uniform, he hurried along to the Italian restaurant. The storm had passed, and the night was clear and starry.
‘I was about to leave,’ said Elspeth coldly. ‘You smell awful. In fact, you thought so little about this date, you couldn’t even get out of your uniform and take a bath.’
‘It’s like this,’ said Hamish. ‘I was over at Milly’s and she was getting her cesspool cleaned. Then Matthew called with a story and I forgot the time.’
‘You forgot the …?’ Elspeth grabbed her handbag and marched out of the restaurant.
Hamish tried to rush after her but fell headfirst over his cat and dog who were stationed outside. Thanks to the huge cat flap on the kitchen door, they could come and go as they pleased. Hamish cursed as he got to his feet in time to hear Elspeth driving off in her car.
He wearily returned to his police station, wishing he were not such an indulgent owner and could nail that cat flap shut. Instead, he took off his uniform and bagged it up. He put on clean clothes and drove to an all-night laundrette in Strathbane where they had a coin-operated dry-cleaning machine. As he sat and waited, he reflected it was amazing how a smell in the air could permeate his clothes like that.
‘Milly’s found that missing money,’ said Ailsa to her husband two days later.
‘Did she tell you?’
‘Not her. But smell that. She bought groceries with this twenty-pound note.’
Jock smelled it and wrinkled his nose. ‘It smells of perfume and …’
‘Shite!’ said Ailsa. ‘The way I see it, she must have had it buried in the garden and all the money got soaked. Look how wrinkled the note is, as if it’s been in the water.’
‘Are we going to tell anyone?’
‘Of course not. She buys all her stuff in our shop. I’ll take her money, smelly or not!’
The next day, Hamish felt he should call on Elspeth. He had stood her up so many times that her anger was understandable.
He was about to go to Strathbane and buy a bunch of roses when the post arrived and, with it, his bank statement. He had gone into the red. With the statement came a letter from the bank manager asking him to do something about the overdraft.
He went along to the offices of the Highland Times, seized a paper, and looked at the local events. There was the Highland Games at Braikie in a week’s time. It was a big event, sponsored by a building society and a bank. The prize for the hill running event was five thousand pounds.
Hamish drove to Braikie and entered his name. Then he returned to Lochdubh and changed into shorts and T-shirt and began to run up over the moors to the slopes of the mountains.
Elspeth went into Patel’s to buy some midge repellent. ‘Aye, they’re bad the day,’ said Mr Patel. ‘What’s our Hamish up to?’
‘I’m sure I don’t know,’ said Elspeth coldly, and the curiosity overcame her. ‘Why?’
Mr Patel grinned. ‘The greater red-legged Hamish has been seen running through the village like the wind and then up into the mountains. He must be in training for the hill race at Braikie.’
Elspeth felt low. These days she was a celebrity. The only person who did not want her company seemed to be Hamish Macbeth. Of course, he had turned up at the restaurant but in such a state! And to think how carefully she had dressed.
Luckily for Hamish, there was no crime during the week of arduous training that he put in.
He was expected to police the games so, on the great day, he put on his uniform, put his running gear in a bag, nailed the cat flap shut because he knew if he took his pets they would try to run with him as they had when he was training, and set out for the games.
It was a fine day with only wisps of cloud across the blue sky. He was alarmed at the number of people who stopped him and said they had put money on him. Willie the game-keeper was running a book and Hamish was tempted to arrest him for illegal gambling, frightened of all the money people would lose if he did not win, but he had never done such a thing before and decided to turn a blind eye.
At last, it was time for him to change and get to the starting line. As the pistol went off, he set off at an easy pace. Suddenly he did not care if he won or not. He was enjoying the beauty of the day and the exercise.
Up on the slopes of the moors, the Harris brothers rose from the heather and shouted, ‘Murderer! We’ll see you after the race.’
That night when he had pushed Prosser’s body up to the gully flashed into Hamish’s mind. If that evil pair had seen anything, then his career was over, not to mention his life in Lochdubh. Fuelled by a spurt of fury and anxious to get the race over and find out what they knew, he began to run like the wind.
When he approached the finishing line, he was deaf to the cheering crowd. He realized he had won. He looked around for the Harris brothers, but they were nowhere in sight. He changed back into his uniform and began to patrol the games again, stopping here and there to accept congratulations.
At the end of the day, he stood on the platform with the other prizewinners and accepted his cheque and a small silver cup.
As he finally stepped down from the platform, Ian Harris and Pete Harris suddenly appeared in front of him.
‘You’ll chust cash that cheque on the Monday morning and gie us the cash,’ said Ian, baring broken and blackened teeth in a grin.
‘Come with me,’ said Hamish. He walked quickly outside the field to his Land Rover.
‘Now, why should I do that?’ he demanded.
‘We saw you, that nicht,’ said Ian, ‘up at Fraser’s Gully, pushing thon dead man ower the edge.’
‘Aye,’ said Pete, ‘there didnae seem much point in mentioning it afore because everyone knows you havenae any money.’
Hamish surveyed them, his hazel eyes hard as agate. ‘So that’s where you keep your still,’ he said.
They both looked at him in alarm.
‘I’ve been looking for it. You murmur one word o’ this and I’ll be up there with a sledgehammer and I’ll smash the damn thing to pieces and then I might take it to you. And who’s going to believe you? A couple wi’ crime records or a policeman?’
There came a low snake-like hiss. Sonsie and Lugs were standing there. Sonsie’s eyes were blazing yellow.
‘Get the cat away,’ shouted Ian. ‘It’s the devil!’
‘Are you going to be good?’ asked Hamish.
‘Oh, aye, aye, richt enough,’ said Ian.
‘Chust our wee joke,’ said his brother. ‘We didnae see anything.’
They hurried off. Hamish looked down at his pets. ‘How did you get out?’
‘I let them out.’ Elspeth appeared from the other side of Hamish’s Land Rover. ‘They were making a noise, Sonsie howling and Lugs barking like mad. I let myself into the police station. You’d nailed the cat flap shut. They told me you were at the games so I brought them. Now, what were those villains talking about?’
‘It’s a long story.’
‘And it’s dinnertime,’ said Elspeth. ‘You can buy me dinner and tell me about it.’
Stefan Loncar sat in a dismal cold room in Sofia in Bulgaria. He had been afraid that Prosser might have been waiting for him at the airport and so he had travelled overland, choosing Sofia as a good place to hide out. He had finally found some old British newspapers and learned of the death of Prosser and the arrest of the others. He was working as a dishwasher in a restaurant during the evenings. His pay was meagre and he could not afford any drugs apart from an occasional bit of cannabis. He sometimes wondered if he would not have been more comfortable in a British prison.
At dinner at the Italian restaurant, Hamish told her the whole story, knowing he cou
ld trust Elspeth.
When he had finished, Elspeth asked, with an odd look on her face, ‘Doesn’t that cat of yours ever frighten you?’
‘Sonsie? No. Gentle as anything.’
‘Do you believe people come back as animals?’
‘That’s highland superstition!’
‘I’ll tell you one thing, you nearly got married twice and I bet that damn animal from hell knew nothing was going to come of it. If you ever do fall in love, watch out, Hamish Macbeth!’
‘You’re talking havers.’
‘I know a jealous woman when I see one.’
‘For heffen’s sakes, lassie. It’s a cat!’
‘We’ll see,’ said Elspeth. ‘We’ll see.’
By the Same Author
The Hamish Macbeth series
Death of a Gossip
Death of a Cad
Death of an Outsider
Death of a Perfect Wife
Death of a Hussy
Death of a Snob
Death of a Prankster
Death of a Glutton
Death of a Travelling Man
Death of a Charming Man
Death of a Nag
Death of a Macho Man
Death of a Dentist
Death of a Scriptwriter
Death of an Addict
A Highland Christmas
Death of a Dustman
Death of a Celebrity
Death of a Village
Death of a Poison Pen
Death of a Bore
Death of a Dreamer
Death of a Maid
Death of a Gentle Lady
Death of a Witch
Death of a Valentine
Death of a Sweep
Copyright
Constable & Robinson Ltd
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162 Fulham Palace Road
London W6 9ER
www.constablerobinson.com
First published in the US by Grand Central Publishing, a division of Hachette Book Group, Inc., 2011
First published in the UK by Constable, an imprint of Constable & Robinson Ltd, 2011
Copyright © M. C. Beaton 2011
The right of M. C. Beaton to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
A copy of the British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library
ISBN : 978–1–84901–852–4
Death of a Sweep Page 19