Part 6 (1/2)

Hamish looked at Hector Gunn in silence. Was there any point in saying that a man who had the DTs with remarkable regularity was obviously not a social drinker? He decided it would be a waste of time.

”Well,” said Hamish, ”Let's put it another way. Who was the keenest to buy Sandy drinks?”

”I wasnae watching, and I've got mair to dae with ma time,” said Hector huffily. ”It was your job tae be doon here, seeing that none of them tried to drive when they had mair than enough. It was a noisy evening. Alistair Gunn, ma cousin, was in, and Dougie Macdonald. Something Mainwaring had said to Alistair was fair making him mad, although he wouldnae say what it was. He wanted a crowd of them to debag Mainwaring and throw him in the loch. They were all as fierce as lions and saying what they were going to do to Mainwaring when in he walks and they all fall silent and become sheepish and shuffle their feet and not a word is said to the man. John Sinclair and his wife, Mary, came in and Mainwaring joined them, although they didn't want him to. Then that reporter, Ian Gibb, him from Dornoch, he was in, noisy and drunk, and Mainwaring leaves the Sinclairs and says something to him, and Gibb tries to punch him but falls on the floor. Then thae two crofters, Alec Birrell and Davey Macdonald, start shouting at Mainwaring that he's stealing good croft land from the crofters and Mainwaring tells them to get stuffed. Then Harry Mackay puts his oar in and says Mainwaring bought those houses and left them empty out o' spite, and Mainwaring says Mackay couldn't get a f.u.c.k in a brothel, he was that weak. Mackay walks off in a temper. I had a lot of customers to serve but I was just about to go around the bar and stop the noise when Mainwaring left and everything quietened down after that and they were all laughing at Sandy, who was standing on his chair and trying to do an impersonation of Frank Sinatra. I asked him for his car keys but he said he didnae have his Land Rover with him.”

Hamish asked a few more questions and then went off into the blackness of late afternoon. He decided to go out to the Cnothan Game and Fish Company Cnothan Game and Fish Company to see if Jamie had heard any news of Sandy. He let Towser off the leash as soon as he was clear of the town traffic, and then he ambled along, whistling in a kind of dreary way. to see if Jamie had heard any news of Sandy. He let Towser off the leash as soon as he was clear of the town traffic, and then he ambled along, whistling in a kind of dreary way.

Towser plunged into the fields on either side of the road, looking for rabbits. Hamish kept calling him back, s.h.i.+ning his powerful torch across the fields. It was just when Towser had been gone some time and Hamish was wondering whether the dog had been caught in a rabbit trap, that he at last saw Towser loping back towards the road, his eyes gleaming in the long beam thrown by the torch.

”It's no use grinning at me like that,” grumbled Hamish, ”I've had enough. Back on the leash you go.”

And then Towser's absurd grin slipped and fell to the gra.s.s. Wondering, Hamish bent down and shone his torch on a set of false teeth. He took out a clean handkerchief and picked them up.

”Where did you get this, boy?” he whispered. ”Over there? Come on. Show me!”

Towser obediently trotted off, stopping and turning every few yards to make sure his master was following him. ”Fetch!” called Hamish when Towser finally stopped and pawed the ground. Towser scoured around, bringing back everything he could find, from rusty tin cans to old shoes. Hamish turned and looked back. There was a car going along the road, not far away. As he watched, the car window opened and something came hurtling out. He walked forward and looked. It was a crushed beer can.

He stood in the darkness, s.h.i.+vering in the wind, and thinking hard.

He shone his torch on the false teeth. They were stained with nicotine.

He wrapped them carefully in his handkerchief again and began to make his way back to the road. He put Towser back on the leash and headed on towards the Game and Fish Company.

As he reached the yard, Jamie cruised in in his white Mercedes with his wife. The floodlights in the yard were switched on and so Hamish was able to view Jamie's wife clearly. She was a tall, slim Highland beauty with ma.s.ses of jet-black hair, a creamy skin, and a luscious mouth. She was wearing a mink coat open over a white s.h.i.+rt blouse and jeans and black leather boots with very high stiletto heels.

Jamie introduced her, and then said, ”We'll be in the office, Helen, if you want me.”

His wife smiled vaguely and then swayed off in the direction of the house.

”Now, what can I do for you?” asked Jamie. ”Found Sandy?”

”No,” said Hamish. ”I was hoping you would have had some news.”

Jamie led the way into the office. ”That's a funny-looking police dog,” he said, looking at Towser.

”Aye,” said Hamish, not wanting to explain that Towser was a pet and not a trained bloodhound. He often felt half-ashamed of his affection for the animal.

”It's a funny business this,” said Jamie. ”The skeleton, I mean. It can't be Sandy or Mainwaring. No acid, they say. Maybe the flesh was boiled off.”

”The bones were too hard,” said Hamish vaguely. ”Let me see that lobster shed again, Jamie. I'd like to see if I can find any clue as to who left the whisky there. I was called out to the Angler's Rest on Sat.u.r.day evening and it turned out to be a hoax. It's all connected. I tried to tell Blair, but he wouldnae listen.”

”That man never listens to anyone,” said Jamie. ”Come on, and I'll show you the shed again.”

Hamish looked down into the centre lobster tank. It was empty and the water was still. ”Be getting another load in soon,” said Jamie, ”but the weather's terrible bad.”

Taking out his torch, Hamish switched it on and began to search in the dark corners.

”Look here, Hamish,” said Jamie crossly. ”I didn't like Mainwaring, but if you think I b.u.mped him off and fed him to the lobsters-”

He broke off. Hamish straightened up and turned and looked at Jamie, his hazel eyes blank.

”Aye, chust so,” he said. And then he continued searching again.

Jamie waited and fidgeted and then burst out with, ”I've got more to do than stand here on a cold night watching you playing yourself, Hamish. I'm going to join the wife. Shut the shed door after you when you're finished.”

Hamish grunted. He was down on his hands and knees on the floor, the top of his peaked cap just visible over the concrete edge of the tank.

Jamie snorted with disgust and went off. Hamish crawled around the tank, examining the edges and the floor, inch by inch. Towser kept leaping on him, thinking it was some sort of game, and Hamish kept having to push the dog away.

On the far side of the tank, away from the door, there was a thin crack in the concrete side. In the crack was a limp, damp strand of red wool. Hamish fished in his pockets until he found a pair of tweezers. He carefully extracted the strand of wool and held it up to the light. Then he sat down suddenly on the floor with his back to the tank, his mind racing.

He thought about the skeleton, about the newness of it, about the scratches and scores on the bone. He carefully tucked the strand away in a clean envelope. He got to his feet, noticing as he did so in a detached kind of way that his knees were trembling.

He made his way out and over to Jamie's house, a long, low bungalow that made up the south side of the square yard, the three sheds with the office alongside one of the sheds making up the other three sides.

He rang the bell. The strains of 'Loch Lomond' chimed out into the night. Jamie answered the door. ”Just away, are you, Hamish?”

Hamish shook his head sadly. ”No, I have to talk to ye.”

”Well, come in, but leave that dog in the kitchen. The wife won't thank you for muddy paws on her carpets.”

He led the way through the kitchen and into the living-room. Kitchen or back doors are always used in the Highlands. The front door is used only for carrying out the coffin at funerals and for New Year's Eve parties.

The sitting-room was brilliantly lit by a chandelier on the low ceiling. It had been made for a much bigger room with a much higher ceiling, and Hamish ducked his head under it as he went to sit down on the edge of a white leather sofa. Helen Ross smiled at him vaguely and went back to turning the pages of a copy of Vogue. The carpet was white too, Hamish noticed. Despite his distress, he found himself wondering how old Helen Ross was. With a grown-up son, she was in her late thirties at the least, but she seemed peculiarly ageless.

”Now, what's the trouble, man?” said Jamie, sitting down on a white leather armchair opposite Hamish.

”Where are all those lobsters that you had at the weekend?” asked Hamish.

Jamie looked surprised. ”Let me see...the lads had just packed the trucks and were ready to drive off when I came back on Sunday night. I got the last train, five o'clock from Inverness, which got in about eight-thirty.”

”Didn't you take the car?”

”No, I don't like to drive all that way in winter. I left it at Cnothan station.”

”And the lobsters will be sold by now?”

”Sold, cooked, and eaten. They were in the market in Billingsgate first thing this morning.”

”But there'll be some in the shops?” asked Hamish with a note of desperation in his voice.

”I doubt it. Restaurants, big hotels, even the House of Commons. Maybe Harrods will have some, of course.”

Hamish put his head in his hands and groaned.

Jamie looked at him in silence and then he said slowly, ”Are you trying to say that that skeleton was because of my lobsters?”

”It looks like that, Jamie.”