Death Of An Addict

by M C Beaton

  "And this is what I'm supposed to be working with," said Olivia to Pieter. "The village idiot abroad. I'd better phone Strathbane and abort the whole business. This man"-she jerked a contemptuous thumb at Hamish-"is going to get us all killed."

  Pieter repressed a smile. He had expected Hamish to tell some highly embroidered lie. The fact that Hamish had told nothing but the truth amused him. Also Pieter found Olivia's dictatorial manner irritating. Men must stick together against bullying women. Poor Olivia, had she been a man, Pieter would have backed her all the way.

  "I think that Strathbane would be furious with you for aborting an already expensive operation," said Pieter smoothly, "and as you are in charge of this case, it is you who would look bad, not Hamish here."

  Olivia felt suddenly weary. Oh, what it was to be a woman.' Hamish would emerge as a bit of a lad and she would emerge as a carping bitch.

  "I shall never forgive you for this," she snapped at Hamish. "But Pieter has a point. A lot of money has already been paid out on this. But from now on you will obey orders and do as you are told."

  "Yes, ma'am," said Hamish meekly.

  Pieter took his leave and said he would collect them later for the nightclub.

  "Don't you know a prostitute when you see one?" demanded Olivia. "What kind of copper are you?"

  Hamish had suffered enough. He rose to his feet.

  "If you will excuse me, ma'am, I will go to my room."

  He walked stiffly past her, his face flaming as red as his hair, and, ignoring her shout of "It's my room, too," he went into the bedroom and shut the door behind him.

  He threw himself down on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Prostitutes in Strathbane were raddled middle-aged women or pallid young girls with so many needle marks on their arms they looked like pincushions. And even that damns me as a fogy, thought Hamish. When did anyone last see a pincushion? How was he supposed to know that a fresh-looking young girl who was helping out in a souvenir shop was a prostitute? She had been warm and generous and loving. He had thought his dreams had come true. He remembered that just before he fell asleep, he had imagined her in the kitchen of the police station in Lochdubh, busy among the cooking pots, her canary singing in a cage by the window. He felt almost tearful with shame.

  Olivia was on the telephone to headquarters in Strathbane, using the mobile phone. Much as she would have liked to shop Hamish, to put in an official complaint, she was well aware that it would be the end of the operation. She would save the gem about Hamish and the prostitute for her final report. Mr. Daviot listened to her report about how they had laid the ground, that they were going to a nightclub tonight to set the scene. Then she said, "We were followed by two of Jimmy White's goons but they got arrested for harassing some woman in a shop. So I do not see any reason why we should stay here any longer than tonight, running up expensive hotel bills."

  "I will rely on your judgement," said Daviot, who had a slight crush on Olivia. "So we can expect you back tomorrow?"

  "Yes, I'll make the travel arrangements."

  She said goodbye and then collected her own and Hamish's airline tickets from her bag and phoned the airline and booked them both out on an early flight in the morning. Hamish Macbeth would be easier to control on home ground.

  * * *

  "Good morning, sir," said Chief Inspector Blair as he met Mr. Daviot in one of the long dreary lime-green corridors of police headquarters in Strathbane.

  "Ah, good morning. Mrs. Daviot thanks you very much for the flowers. Fancy you remembering her birthday."

  "Just a little something. Everything going well over there?"

  "Things seem to be running smoothly so far. I hope Macbeth realises at last that he has potential. He's too bright to be locked away in a Highland village."

  Blair nodded and walked on. He had a pounding headache, having drunk too much the night before. He seethed at the idea of Hamish Macbeth getting any glory at all. Would it be so terrible to drop a word in the wrong quarters? They wouldn't kill Hamish, just probably disappear back to Glasgow. It would not be as if he, Blair, would be thwarting the police and Customs and Excise from seizing a valuable cargo. The cargo was a scam.

  He would never be found out. All it would take was one little whisper.

  Hamish received the news of their impending departure calmly. He had lost all his resentment to Olivia. He was so ashamed of himself that he actually now welcomed her cold, brisk efficiency.

  Olivia had put on less makeup that evening. She was wearing a brief black evening dress with gold jewellery. Her hair was down on her shoulders, smooth and shining.

  "You look very well," said Hamish awkwardly as he helped her into her coat.

  She threw him a brief smile. "I thought I was beginning to look a bit too vulgar."

  Pieter called to collect them and they all set off for the nightclub.

  The nightclub was dark, with candles on the tables. "I don't know how anyone's even going to see us here," he murmured to Pieter.

  "The cabaret's about to begin," said Pieter. "We're near the front and the lights from the stage will show us clearly. We'll just need to hope your Glaswegians have been replaced."

  "There was that chap with them, the one I saw in Lachie's office, the one I call the Undertaker," said Hamish. "He'll still be around. If he's not here himself, he'll send someone else."

  Suddenly the stage was lit up and the compere dashed on. He spoke in rapid Dutch and then German and English. Lola was to be the first turn, a lady of renowned international beauty. The audience laughed and Hamish wondered what was so funny about that.

  Then Lola came on, a statuesque blonde with enormous breasts and high cheekbones. In a Marlene Dietrich voice, she started to sing "Falling in Love Again." Hamish realised with a little shock that Lola was a man. The wrists and ankles were always a giveaway.

  "That's a man," whispered Olivia to Hamish.

  "I know," he said crossly, thinking she really must consider him some sort of dumb hayseed, and then he remembered she had every reason to consider him an innocent abroad.

  After Lola had finished, the lights blazed out from the stage as she began to sing "I Will Survive."

  Hamish glanced covertly around. Just sitting down, a few tables behind him, was Anna, accompanied by a heavy-set businessman.

  Pieter followed his gaze. "That's your lady of today," he said.

  "How do you know?" asked Hamish, raising his voice to be heard above Lola's singing.

  Pieter leaned forward and told him about the street videos.

  "I feel a right fool," said Hamish. "Does she have a pimp?"

  "No, she's a bit of an enthusiastic amateur. But any day now, someone's going to take her over. She's only been busted once. She tried to pick up a businessman in a hotel and his wife phoned the police. That's the only reason she came to their notice. Cheer up, Hamish. It was an easy mistake to make."

  Olivia, who had overheard the conversation, studied Anna. Anna looked as fresh and wholesome as newly baked bread. She could easily have passed for her escort's daughter. She could all at once understand why Hamish had made such a mistake.

  Lola departed the stage in a flurry of ostrich feathers and sequins. She was replaced by a conjuror. The audience promptly ignored what was happening on the stage and the babble of voices rose.

  "Our American friends have just come in." Pieter waved. "And there's a thin man in a black suit leaning against a pillar at the back. Take a look, Hamish, and see if you recognise him."

  "Which pillar? Where?"

  "At the back, to the left of the exit."

  Hamish looked and then looked quickly away. "It's the Undertaker, Lachie's man. I wonder why he's so obvious. He must know I would recognise him."

  "They probably want you to know you're being checked up on. Good. Then on the road out, we'll stop at various tables."

  "Surely these drug people will be mighty suspicious of anyone muscling in on their territory."

  "Amsterdam is n
ot their home ground, not the ones you'll meet. They're here to see to shipments."

  The conjuror finished his act to a spattering of applause.

  "How long do we sit here for?" asked Olivia, ignoring the compère's patter. "I'm getting bored." "Just a little longer," said Pieter.

  "I'm hungry," complained Olivia. "I haven't had any dinner."

  "And I didn't have any lunch either," said Hamish.

  "No, you were eating the fair Anna," said Pieter, and laughed.

  "Cut that out, now," snapped Olivia. "Remember Hamish is supposed to be my husband. I don't like coarseness."

  "Then don't look at the stage," said Hamish.

  But Olivia looked. Two men and a woman were engaged in complicated sexual acts.

  "Aren't you enjoying it?" she asked Hamish.

  "I'm not a voyeur," said Hamish, averting his eyes from the stage. Pieter ordered more drinks after the cavorting threesome had been replaced by semi-naked showgirls. Hamish sipped his drink cautiously. He was beginning to feel the effects of champagne on an empty stomach.

  "I think we should leave now," said Olivia, much to Hamish's relief.

  They all rose. As Hamish passed Anna's table, she looked up at him and gave him a glad smile.

  Hamish cut her dead. He was supposed to be with his wife. Also she had left him with a bill for fifty pounds, which he would somehow have to explain away on his expenses. Anna's face fell. Hamish felt like a heel. But didn't the silly girl know what an awful sort of existence she was on the threshold of?

  Pieter stopped by the Americans' table. Then he introduced them to a party of Turks and then some Spaniards before leading them towards the exit. There was no sign of the Undertaker.

  "Do you know," said Pieter outside, "how the Spaniards are shipping cannabis into Britain?"

  "No," said Olivia.

  "They put the cannabis resin into onions. So when Customs and Excise see a truckload of onions, they simply look for the man with the dart."

  "The dart?" asked Hamish, his eyes roaming up and down the cobbled street.

  "A man carrying an ordinary dart, you know, darts? Like in English pubs? Well, he simply stabs this dart into the sacks of onions until he finds the hard onions and he knows he's got the right sack."

  Olivia shivered. "Let's eat."

  "I'll take you back to your hotel. Probably safer for you to eat in your room. I have business."

  He flagged down a cab and gave the driver instructions. Hamish looked wistfully out at the night lights of Amsterdam. "I wish we didn't have to eat in the hotel."

  "We'd best do as we're told," said Olivia. "What a cold night it's turned out to be."

  Hamish noticed that her attitude to him had thawed.

  Once in the room, they ordered steaks to be sent up. Olivia switched on the television set and they ate and watched the news. Then watched an American sitcom and drank coffee and there was a friendly atmosphere between them when they both went to bed. Hamish smiled in the darkness. Soon it would all be over. Soon he would be back at his police station.

  Rain was drumming down on the car park at Inverness Airport when they arrived. They got into the Mercedes and Hamish set off on the drive back to Strathbane. "So do we just wait out the rest of the week?" he asked.

  "I think we should try to speed things up," said Olivia. "We'll go and see Lachie tomorrow and tell him to tell Jimmy that the consignment is on its way."

  For some reason, Hamish suddenly found his thoughts turning in the direction of Chief Inspector Blair. He wondered if Blair had got wind of what he was up to. He knew Blair hated him.

  "I'll be glad when this is over," said Olivia suddenly.

  "Why?"

  "I don't know. I've got a bad feeling about it. Things have been running a bit too easily, apart from your gaffe in Amsterdam."

  "I'm sorry about that," said Hamish ruefully. "I thought I had landed lucky at last. I could even see us married. I would never have believed I could be so naive. If you see any of the prostitutes in Strathbane, well, they've practically got labels round their necks screaming prostitute. I meet the girl of my dreams and then she says, 'Leave the money on the table as you go out.' "

  "Pieter did say she was a happy amateur, but she won't be happy for long."

  "She told me she was a student."

  "Student of what?" commented Olivia dryly. "A lot of these silly girls just drift into it. It can start with a simple date with an older man. He gets the wrong end of the stick and pays up. Girl is mortified, then she giggles about it a bit with her friends, and the money comes in handy. Who knows? Maybe Anna was a student, and recently, too. It seems a harmless way of making a bit of money on the side. Some pimp starts to sit up and take notice. He acts as the John, introduces her to dope, gets her hooked and then puts her on the street."

  "Perhaps she'll just stop."

  "I doubt it. Are you so lonely, Hamish, that you should want to marry some girl you had just met?"

  "I suppose I'm a romantic."

  "You're in the wrong job. A lot of the men down in Glasgow consider me cold and harsh, but I have found that any sign of softness is taken as a come-on."

  "I'm glad I'm not a woman," said Hamish, negotiating a hairpin bend.

  There was a companionable silence and then he said, "I wasn't making a pass at you in the bed at the Grand. I really wasn't."

  "I believe you, but I'll get us a room with twin beds this time so there will be no… awkwardness."

  "You were saying you had a bad feeling about this job," said Hamish. "You know something? I cannae help worrying that too many people at headquarters know about it."

  "Only the top brass, surely."

  It's the top brass I'm worried about, thought Hamish.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Our fears do make us traitors.

  – William Shakespeare

  The following day, Hamish and Olivia held a secret meeting with Chief Superintendent Daviot and Kevin and Barry on the moors high above Strathbane.

  "We have decided on a further cunning plan," began Daviot. Hamish suppressed a groan. "We have a yacht registered to you, Hamish, the Marie~Claire, a ketch. She will only be carrying one kilo of heroin. This, you will say, is to prove the quality of the stuff and to make sure the landing place is safe. We will let that deal go through. Then you will promise the rest of the shipment. They will be lulled into a false sense of security. On the second delivery, that is when we will pounce."

  "I don't like the delay," said Hamish. "I'm always frightened that the longer we wait, the more chance there is of word leaking out that the whole thing is a scam."

  "Chief Inspector Chater?" asked Daviot.

  "It sounds all right to me," said Olivia. "With so few people knowing about it, I can't see anything going wrong. We're going to Lachie's tonight. When will we say the first shipment is due to arrive?"

  "Say two days' time. That should speed things up enough for you, Macbeth." Not "Hamish" this time. The super was obviously disappointed in what he saw as Hamish's sad lack of enthusiasm.

  "Very well, sir," said Olivia. "We will do what we can."

  "Let's hope the weathers all right," said Hamish. "Who will be skippering the ketch?"

  "A police officer from Inverness. And the crew are policemen as well."

  "Will they be armed?" asked Hamish.

  Daviot looked at him impatiently. "There will be no need for that. Jimmy White will not be expecting them to be around."

  "On the contrary, sir. I would think that any drug baron would expect a crew bringing in heroin to be armed."

  "I don't believe in guns," said Daviot severely. "Guile is the answer. Just do your part, Macbeth, and leave the rest to Chief Inspector Chater."

  "Won't it look odd my wife going along as well?" asked Hamish.

  "You'll think of something," said Daviot crossly. Why couldn't Macbeth show some enthusiasm! "You can hardly leave the senior officer on the case behind."

  What was that American phrase?
thought Hamish. Amateur night in Dixie, this was it.

  "And what do we do when we know the landing place?" asked Hamish.

  "Olivia will contact us. The first shipment, we will have men observing. The second shipment, we'll seize them."

  "Very good, sir," said Hamish in a hollow voice.

  "Well, I'll be on my way." Daviot cast a stagy look around the moors. "Coast's clear."

  Hamish watched his retreating figure. "Now I know why so many top policemen are Freemasons," he said. "They like playing games."

  "Show respect," snapped Olivia.

  "I don't like it at all," said Hamish wearily.

  Olivia suppressed a qualm of unease. She had, she remembered, considered the whole business at the beginning quite mad. "We've got our orders," she said briskly. "We'll go to Lachie's tonight."

  They entered Lachie's that evening, flanked by Kevin and Barry. "I see Bob over there," said Hamish. "I wonder why he didn't demand payment for the introduction."

  "He did," said Olivia. "Kevin paid him out of the kitty when you were in with Jimmy White."

  They asked at the bar for Lachie, and after a short wait, the Undertaker appeared.

  "Enjoy your stay in Amsterdam?" asked Hamish.

  The Undertaker gave a thin smile. "We always check up. Lachie's waiting."

  Lachie rose to meet them when they walked into the office.

  "Great to see you, Hamish, my man. I think we should have a wee talk in private. Your lady and friends can wait at the bar."

  "My wife is my business partner," said Hamish. "She stays."

  Hamish slung his coat from his shoulders and sat down after pulling out a chair for Olivia. "I think the time has come when we prove our good faith to each other. My boat will land a kilo of heroin. You name the place, you check the quality. If all goes well, we'll land the rest of the stuff at a second meet."