Death of a Bore

by Beaton, M. C.

  ‘I don’t know what came over me. I’ve never cried before.’

  ‘Tell me what happened.’

  So Hamish told her the story, ending up by saying, ‘I thought I’d lost Elspeth.’

  ‘Maybe you should marry her, Hamish.’

  ‘She’s changed. She’s all citified. She’d never fit in here now.’

  ‘You won’t know until you ask her.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  Dr Brodie came in. ‘I put a splint on the beast. I’ll take it to the vet in the morning, and he’ll put it in plaster. Why didn’t you wake him?’

  ‘Because both you and Angela love cats,’ said Hamish.

  ‘And what are you going to do with this one when it’s recovered? A wild cat will never make a house pet. And it would probably kill Lugs.’

  ‘If the vet can mend it, I’ll take it up on the moors and get rid of it. Now I’m going home.’

  Wearily Hamish showered and put on his pyjamas. He climbed into bed, and Lugs climbed in after him and stretched out at his feet.

  He plunged down into vivid dreams of fire and smoke and murder.

  In the morning Hamish called headquarters and said he was taking the whole weekend off unless there was any major crime he had to cover. The snow was sparkling under a pale sun as he walked Lugs along the waterfront. He called on Angela and was told that Dr Brodie was at the vet’s with the cat. Hamish made his way there.

  The vet, Hugh Liddesdale, was not pleased to see him. ‘Brodie’s just left. A wild cat, Hamish! A Felis silvestris grampus!’

  ‘Can I see it?’

  ‘Come along.’ Hugh, a small fussy man who thought all cats were an indulgence and only favoured working animals like sheepdogs, led him through to a line of cages. The wild cat was sleeping.

  ‘I got it to take some food. It’s a splendid beast, I’ll grant you that.’

  ‘Are there any pure wild cats left in the Highlands?’

  ‘I think they’ve all been mongrelized over the centuries. But this one’s still a big creature.’

  The cat was larger than a household one, with a big proud head, tabby markings and a bushy tail with two black rings at the tip.

  ‘Do you think it’ll make it?’

  ‘The break was clean and recent.’

  ‘How did it get starved, then?’

  ‘Well, it’s a mystery for you to solve. The only thing I can think of is that someone caught this and kept it and ill-treated it. I wouldn’t advise you to keep it.’

  ‘No, I wouldn’t do that to Lugs. When it’s healed, I’ll let it loose on the moors.’

  ‘This is going to cost you, Hamish.’

  Hamish sighed, thinking of the dinner bill at the Tommel Castle Hotel.

  Hugh threw him a sympathetic look. ‘I tell you what. When you get my bill, just pay it off weekly.’

  ‘Thanks, Hugh.’

  ‘Of course, a nice wild salmon would defray the cost.’ Everyone in Lochdubh knew that Hamish occasionally poached salmon.

  ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

  Lugs sat silently at Hamish’s feet, staring curiously at the cat. Hamish was amazed that the dog neither bristled nor barked.

  ‘Aye, well, I’ll leave you to it,’ said the vet.

  Hamish went back to the police station but found he could not enjoy the peace and quiet. The thought of that computer up in the loft was haunting him. The telephone rang. He reluctantly answered it.

  It was Elspeth. ‘Hamish, I’m leaving this afternoon. We should talk.’

  ‘Come here in an hour’s time,’ said Hamish.

  He climbed up to the loft and collected the computer. ‘It’s a cold day, Lugs, but we’re going for a row in a boat.’ Lugs wagged his tail almost as if he knew what Hamish was saying. Lugs loved going out on the loch.

  Hamish put the computer in a plastic shopping bag and walked along to the pub with Lugs. He found Archie Maclean propping up the bar. The little fisherman was dressed in his usual tight clothes. His wife was a fanatical housekeeper and boiled all the clothes in a copper so that everything that Archie wore had shrunk.

  ‘Can I take your rowboat out, Archie?’

  ‘It’s a right cold day, Hamish. Won’t be much good for the fishing.’

  ‘I feel like getting a bit of exercise and there’s nothing like a good row.’

  ‘Help yourself. You know where it is.’

  Hamish went down to the beach to where the boat was tied up at the foot of stone steps leading down from the harbour. He lifted Lugs in, settled himself, and picked up the oars.

  He rowed and rowed to the middle of the loch, feeling all the tension leaving his body. He would talk to Elspeth and see what they could work out.

  When he judged he was far enough out, he slipped the bag with the computer over the side and watched it spiral down into the icy waters of the sea loch.

  Then he glanced at his watch. He had better row back fast or he would miss Elspeth.

  He was just nearing the shore when he saw, to his horror, Heather Meikle standing outside the police station clutching a bottle. He rowed quickly round the far side of the harbour until he was out of sight.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Elspeth asked Heather.

  ‘I’m waiting for Hamish. We have a lot to talk about. Where is he?’

  ‘He may have been called to Strathbane.’

  ‘His Land Rover’s still here. I’ll wait.’

  ‘I have an appointment with him,’ said Elspeth.

  Heather glared. ‘Well, as his superior officer, I think my visit comes first.’

  Matthew drove up and honked the horn. ‘Are you coming, Elspeth? We’d better get on the road.’

  Elspeth gave a little shrug and joined Matthew in the car.

  ‘No sign of lover boy?’ asked Matthew.

  ‘Shut up and drive. You’ve got my case in the back, haven’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  They drove a little way in silence. Elspeth twisted her head and watched Lochdubh disappearing behind her.

  ‘You know, Matthew,’ she said, ‘I’ve been thinking of asking Sam for my old job back.’

  ‘God, you should have told me!’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Freda and I are going to be married, and I asked Sam for a job and he’s given me one.’

  ‘Matthew. He can’t take on both of us.’

  ‘Look at it this way: I’m getting married and you aren’t.’

  ‘No, I’m not,’ said Elspeth in a small sad voice.

  Hamish finally tied the rowboat up at other steps on the far side of the harbour. He carried Lugs up and made his way to the pub. Archie was sitting at a table in the corner, playing dominoes.

  ‘Archie, another favour,’ said Hamish. ‘Detective Chief Inspector Heather Meikle is outside the police station. She might be waiting in her car. Could you tell her I’ve gone off to Inverness clubbing with Freda? And your boat’s at the foot of the steps on the far side of the harbour. I didn’t want her to see me.’

  ‘All right, Hamish. Back in a tick.’

  Archie made his way to the police station. He went to a car that was parked in front of it and peered into the driver’s side. Heather Meikle had a bottle of whisky and a glass and was just helping herself to another drink. ‘What is it?’ she snapped. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Hamish Macbeth has gone off to Inverness to go clubbing with our schoolteacher.’

  ‘Rats!’

  Heather drained her glass in one long gulp. She screwed the top on to the bottle and put glass and bottle on the floor. Archie drew back as she drove off.

  Then he returned to report to Hamish.

  ‘I hope that’s the last I’ll see of her,’ said Hamish. He went to the police station, and although it was only late afternoon, he fell on the bed with his clothes on and plunged back down into sleep.

  Just before he had gone to sleep, he vowed to ring Elspeth on her mobile and explain what had happened.

  But he did not awake un
til six o’clock the following morning.

  Jimmy Anderson phoned him later in the morning. ‘Was our Heather over at Lochdubh to see you yesterday?’

  ‘Aye. But I kept out o’ sight.’

  ‘She had a crash.’

  ‘Oh, God. Where?’

  ‘On the Lochdubh-Strathbane road. She found the only tree by the road and crashed right into it. She was as drunk as a skunk.’

  ‘Is she seriously hurt?’

  ‘Not a scratch. But her alcohol intake was so great they pumped her out, and they’re keeping her in Strathbane Hospital for observation.’

  ‘I should maybe have seen her, but, man, I was frightened that that one would eat me alive. Is Paul Gibson fit to be interviewed?’

  ‘No. The psychiatrist says his mind’s gone. We’ve been ferreting into his background. Seems he once worked on a police series, and they had a man there showing the actors how to break in to a car. That must have been how he learned to hot-wire that van. What are you doing now?’

  ‘I’m still off duty, and I plan to eat and sleep.’

  Hamish phoned Elspeth on her mobile. It was switched off. He tried her flat in Glasgow and got an answering service. He did not want to leave a message. He would try her later.

  He took himself and Lugs along to the Italian restaurant, and he ate a large meal while the waiter, Willie Lamont, led Lugs off to the kitchen to spoil the dog with a large helping of osso bucco.

  When he returned to the police station, he checked his messages. There was one from Elspeth. ‘It was typical of you not to turn up,’ she said. ‘Face up to it. You don’t want to marry me. In fact, I don’t think you want to marry anyone.’

  Hamish felt guilty and ashamed because deep down he felt a little surge of relief.

  Epilogue

  When I observed he was a fine cat, saying, ‘why yes, Sir, but I have had cats whom I liked better than this’; and then as if perceiving Hodge to be out of countenance, adding, ‘but he is a very fine cat, a very fine cat indeed.’

  – Samuel Johnson

  A week after the arrest of Paul Gibson, the vet phoned Hamish. ‘Come and get your cat. It’s spooking the other animals.’

  ‘Is the plaster off?’

  ‘Of course not. But you’ll need to look after it yourself.’

  Hamish decided to take Lugs with him. If the dog saw him taking the cat home, he might not react so badly.

  ‘Can it walk?’ he asked Hugh.

  ‘Yes, it can limp around with the plaster on. But you’d better keep her indoors.’

  ‘It’s a she-cat?’

  ‘Yes. What are you going to call it?’

  ‘Nothing at all, since I’m going to let her free as soon as the plaster’s off. How long exactly?’

  ‘Bring her back in three weeks’ time.’

  ‘Three weeks!’

  The vet put on a pair of thick gloves before lifting the cat out of the cage. He handed her to Hamish.

  Hamish expected her to twist and fight, but she lay supine in his arms.

  ‘She’s still weak,’ said the vet. ‘But look out when she recovers her energy.’

  Hamish carried the cat back to the police station. Lugs plodded amiably beside him.

  ‘What’s up with you, Lugs?’ demanded Hamish. ‘I thought you’d be barking your head off.’

  At the police station he found two mackerel laid out on a plate on the table with a note from Angela: ‘For your cat.’ The news that Hugh had ordered him to take the cat home must have already gone round the village. Angela had obviously let herself in with the new spare key that Hamish had put in the gutter. Now the computer was gone, he didn’t see any reason to keep visitors locked out.

  Hamish put the cat on the floor. He put one of the fish on a plate and set it down beside her.

  The cat ate ravenously while Lugs calmly watched. ‘I don’t understand you,’ said Hamish to his dog. ‘Another animal eating, a cat at that, and you don’t bother! I just can’t make it out.’

  Hamish put Lugs on the leash and went along to Patel’s and bought cat litter and a litter tray. When he returned, there was no sign of the cat. He wondered whether she had slipped out after him.

  But when he went into his bedroom, the cat was lying asleep, stretched out with her head on the pillow.

  Hamish phoned Angela. ‘Thanks for the fish. I was wondering . . .’

  ‘No, Hamish. I love my cats, and that beast would eat them.’

  ‘It’s awfy quiet. Just like a house cat.’

  ‘It’s still recovering. No, Hamish. It’s all yours.’

  The snow had melted and a soft wind was blowing up the sea loch from the Atlantic when Hamish went to the vet and watched as the plaster was taken off.

  ‘She’ll limp a bit,’ said Hugh, ‘but she should soon get the full strength back in that leg. I’m surprised to see you and Lugs in one piece.’

  ‘I’m surprised, too, Hugh. She’s right quiet.’

  ‘Take my advice and get rid of the thing as soon as possible.’ The cat stared at Hamish.

  ‘She iss not a thing,’ protested Hamish. ‘She iss one fine animal.’

  ‘Don’t be daft and get any ideas of keeping her. She belongs in the wild.’

  Hamish carried the cat back to the police station despite Hugh’s protests that he ought to be carrying such a dangerous animal in a cat box. He let the cat out in the kitchen and said to Lugs, ‘It’s the grand day. We’ll just go for a stroll.’

  He opened the kitchen door. Lugs went out and the cat slid after him.

  ‘No, you don’t,’ said Hamish. ‘Get back in.’ He bent down to lift the cat but she moved away from him. He looked at her curiously, then he began to walk away with Lugs at his heels. The cat followed behind Lugs, and the odd procession made its way along the waterfront.

  Mrs Wellington hailed him. ‘You shouldn’t be letting that animal on the loose.’

  Hamish stopped. Lugs sat down and waited and the cat sat beside him.

  ‘Doesn’t look dangerous to me,’ said Hamish. ‘Leave the beast alone.’

  But he knew the day was approaching when he would need to turn the cat loose.

  In late spring Hamish put the cat in the Land Rover in the back and lifted Lugs on to the passenger seat and drove up high on the moors.

  The air was full of the smell of growing things, and there was a tang of salt in the air.

  He stopped the Land Rover and lifted Lugs down, then got the cat out of the back and set her down in the heather.

  ‘Go now,’ said Hamish. ‘You’re free!’

  The cat sat and stared at him.

  With a little sigh Hamish lifted Lugs back in and got into the Land Rover himself and drove off, glancing in the rear-view mirror until the cat was no longer in sight.

  ‘It’s you and me again,’ he said to Lugs inside the police station, trying not to admit to himself that he missed the cat already. He had thought Lugs would have put up some sort of protest because the dog and cat had become inseparable.

  He went off on his rounds for the rest of the day, resisting the temptation to go back where he had left the cat to see if she was all right.

  When he returned, he cooked dinner for himself and Lugs and went into the office to do some paperwork.

  Lugs gave one sharp peremptory bark. Hamish went into the kitchen. The dog was staring at the kitchen door and wagging his tail.

  Hamish opened the door. The cat trudged wearily in. She went straight to the bedroom and leapt up on the bed and fell asleep.

  ‘Well, I’ll be damned,’ said Hamish Macbeth.

  By autumn that year Alistair Taggart’s short novel, Home of the Eagles, was published. The first half of the book was in Gaelic and the second half was the English translation. It was nominated for the Booker Prize. It sold very well in the south, where people displayed it on their coffee tables and didn’t read it. Angela was still working on her novel.

  Freda and Matthew were married by Mr Wellington. Elspeth arr
ived for the ceremony. Hamish felt a desperate need to talk to her, accompanied by a desperate need to keep out of her way.

  He had just made up his mind late on into the reception to take her aside and talk to her when he found out she had left for Glasgow. He knew he had holidays owing. He could always go down to Glasgow and see her.

  But as winter began to clamp its icy fingers round the Highlands again, as the purple heather faded to dull brown, Hamish was still in Lochdubh with his odd cat, now called Sonsie, christened by Archie Maclean, who said the cat’s broad face brought to mind Burns’s ‘To a Haggis’: ‘Fair fa’ your honest sonsie face.’

  One clear cold evening he went out on to the waterfront. Life had become blissfully quiet. He felt there was really nothing to stop him going to Glasgow except his pets. Many would be happy to look after Lugs, but none wanted the cat.

  Then he saw Priscilla Halburton-Smythe, his ex-fiancée, walking towards him. At first he thought he was imagining things, but she came up to him and they both leaned on the sea wall and looked out on the black waters of the loch.

  ‘You’ve been having a lot of adventures since I was last here,’ said Priscilla.

  ‘It’s lovely and quiet now.’ The moon shone down on the diamond engagement ring on Priscilla’s finger. There was no wedding ring.

  ‘Not married yet?’ said Hamish.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Me neither.’

  They both leaned together on the sea wall in silence. There seemed to be so much to say on the one hand, and on the other, no need to say anything at all.

  If you enjoyed Death of a Bore, read on for the first chapter of the next book in the Hamish Macbeth series . . .

  Chapter One

  So, if I dream I have you, I have you,

  For, all our joys are but fantastical.

  – John Donne

  It had been a particularly savage winter in the county of Sutherland at the very north of Scotland. Great blizzards had roared in off the Atlantic, burying roads and cottages in deep snowdrifts. Patel’s, the local grocery shop in the village of Lochdubh, sold out of nearly everything, and at one point it was necessary for rescue helicopters to drop supplies to the beleaguered inhabitants.