Part 4 (1/2)
”Oh, aye?” sneered Blair. ”And it's just a coincidence, is it, that you were heard saying you'd kill the man?”
”More than me said that,” said Clarry, defiant. ”Fergus had been beating that wife of his. It was enough to make the blood of any decent man boil.”
”Did she make an official complaint?”
”No, sir.”
”Then it was none of your business. For all you know, she might have deserved a beating. You Highlanders are all crazy,” said Blair, who was a Glaswegian.
”That remark is offensive,” said Clarry, suddenly calm. ”I'm going to report that remark to the Race Relations Board. Discrimination against Highlanders. Racial slurs. And while I'm at it, sir, I'll tell them that you think a woman deserves a beating.”
”You do that, and I'll have ye out o' the force.”
”And by the time I've finished with you, I'll have you out of the force.”
Blair stared at Clarry's now impa.s.sive face in baffled fury. He had no doubt the Race Relations Board would listen to this idiot's complaint. Recently, along with dealing with cases brought by Pakistanis, Indians, Africans and Jamaicans, they had been handling well-publicised cases from English residents in Scotland complaining about racial discrimination. And if that remark of his about Martha Macleod deserving a beating should come out...
”Look, laddie, maybe I was a bit hasty. You go and question some of the folk and find out if anyone saw anything.”
Clarry stalked off. Blair mopped his brow. He turned and caught the grin on Jimmy Anderson's face. ”You!” he howled. ”Get up to that Mrs. Macleod and question her.”
Jimmy Anderson stopped on his way to talk to Hamish and gleefully told Hamish about Clarry's confrontation with Blair. ”Good for old Clarry,” said Hamish, amazed. ”Where are you off to?”
”To interview the widow.”
”Let me know what you get, Jimmy.”
”Aye, well, get some whisky in. I don't think Blair will be hanging around much longer.”
”He hasn't met Mrs. Fleming yet, has he?”
”Who's she?”
”The environment woman from Strathbane who put Fergus in a stupid green uniform and put all these bins about the place. She'll be here any moment, if I'm not mistaken.”
”See you later.”
Jimmy walked off. Hamish took out his mobile phone and rang Callum McSween. ”Listen, Callum,” he said, ”have you heard the dustman's got himself murdered?”
”Aye, it was on the radio this morning.”
”Like the job?”
”I could do wi' the money, Hamish, and that's a fact.”
”I'll be sending a Mrs. Fleming from Strathbane Council along to see you. She's the one who'll be doing the hiring. I think the silly biddy wants to get herself in the newspapers by making Lochdubh an environment friendly place, so all you have to do is go along with it. Tell her what a great idea all those d.a.m.n bins are.”
”I won't have to wear that green uniform, will I?”
”I can't see them running to the expense of another horror. I'll make sure Fergus is buried in it.”
”Grand, Hamish.”
”I can't promise. Oh, here she comes.”
Hamish rang off and tucked the phone in his pocket just as Mrs. Fleming drove up.
”I heard the news,” she said, lowering the car window. ”This is dreadful.”
”That it is,” said Hamish seriously. ”And garbage all over the village. You'll need to get another man on it right away.”
”But who?”
”There's a crofter about a mile along the Braikie Road, Callum McSween, good worker, hot on the environment. He could start today.”
”I'll go directly.” Hamish gave her directions. Then she asked, ”Who is in charge of the case?”
”Detective Chief Inspector Blair. You'll find him at the police station. But I'd get to Callum first.”
Callum McSween was dressed in a crisp white s.h.i.+rt and flannels with knife-edged creases when Mrs. Fleming's car drove up. His wife, Mary, had quickly cleaned the living room and was in the kitchen making a pot of fresh coffee.
Callum answered the door to Mrs. Fleming. He was a very tall, well-built man with a craggy face permanently tanned with working outdoors.
”I am Mrs. Fleming from Strathbane Council,” she said. ”Do you mind if I come in? I heard you might be prepared to take on the job of environment officer for Lochdubh.”
Callum, affecting surprise, invited her in.
His smiling wife came into the croft house living room bearing a tray with a pot of coffee, cups and homemade shortbread.
”I first must ask you if you understand what I have been trying to do in Lochdubh,” began Mrs. Fleming when she had been served with coffee.
”I think you are out to make an example of Lochdubh,” said Callum. He leaned forward, his face serious. ”If it works, you can get it into the newspapers and on television as an example to other villages. And I can tell you, I am all for that. There's a real pleasure in seeing a clean place.”
Mrs. Fleming smiled at him. She mentally judged that he would look well on television. ”There would be the matter of a uniform, Mr. McSween.”
Callum repressed a shudder. ”As to that, missus, I haff been thinking that maybe white overalls would be fine. You must want to save a bit o' money. I mean, poor Fergus's outfit must have cost a mint. But the white overalls would look just grand.”
”I'll see to it. Ye-es, I can see white overalls.” In Mrs. Fleming's busy mind, the cameras rolled. She raised her hands and made a frame of them and studied Callum through it. ”When would you be able to start?”
”Right away.”
”Good. I will get that policeman in Lochdubh to give you the keys to the truck. As to salary...”
She named a figure which made Callum's eyes blink rapidly. He would never have dreamed a dustman could earn that much. He had an appointment with the bank manager on the following morning. The bank was trying to call in his loan, and he had been terrified of losing his croft house.
They amicably discussed the details. Then Mrs. Fleming took her leave. Mary McSween, who had heard the size of the salary, just restrained herself from dropping a curtsy as Mrs. Fleming majestically swept out.
Callum dialled 1-4-7-1 and then dialled 3 and got connected to Hamish's mobile phone. ”I've got the job, Hamish,” he shouted.