Part 8 (1/2)
Jock phoned Strathbane police and then sat down on a chair behind the counter. He fished out a bottle of whisky from under the counter and took a strong pull from it.
”What's this about him having no eyes?” asked Harry, shouldering his way up to the counter.
Recovering from his shock and beginning to enjoy the drama, Jock gave them a gruesome picture of the dead body.
”He knew about this,” said Sheila to Fiona.
”Who? What?” demanded Fiona sharply.
”Hamish Macbeth, the policeman. I went to ask his help to suggest some bar Jamie might be found drunk in. He got very serious about it all and said he would set out for where we were filming yesterday right away. He knew something was probably wrong.”
Fiona turned white and fainted and had it not been for the press of people about her would have fallen to the floor of the shop.
Up on the mountain, Hamish Macbeth peered at the dead body of Jamie. He hoped against hope that the man had died of alcohol poisoning. He eased down the springy heather which was pillowing the dead head and drew back with a little exclamation of dismay. The back of the head was crushed. He longed to turn the body over and inspect it thoroughly but knew he should not touch it.
He sat back on his heels and looked around. If Jamie had been struck down with some sort of blunt instrument, struck down from behind, why had he fallen on his back? Perhaps the killer had turned him over to make sure he was really dead.
The trouble with heather was that there would be no footprints. And who could have done it? Where had Angus Harris been the night before? Or Fiona? Or Patricia?
It was ironic it should be such a perfect day. Tourists travelled up as far as Sutherland to admire the scenery, but often the mountains were shrouded in mist and the villages drenched and grey in las.h.i.+ng rain. It was a day for holiday, for picnics, for lazing around, not for sitting on the top of the mountain with a dead man whose eyes had been pecked out by the crows.
Then he heard the distant wail of police sirens and the faraway clatter of a helicopter. The bane of his life, Detective Chief Inspector Blair of Strathbane, had been on holiday. With any luck he might still be away. But as a helicopter suddenly soared over the top of the mountain and began to descend onto the heathery plateau, Hamish saw Blair's fat and unlovely features peering down.
The helicopter landed, and Blair, with his sidekicks, Detectives Harry Macnab and Jimmy Anderson, scuttled forward from the helicopter under the slowly revolving blades. Behind them came the pathologist, Mr. Sinclair, tall, thin and sour, as if years of viewing dead bodies had curdled his nature.
”Whit's all this?” shouted Blair above the dying noise of the helicopter engine.
”The dead man is Jamie Gallagher, scriptwriter for a detective television series which is being shot here by Strathclyde Television,” said Hamish. He described finding the body.
”s.a.d.i.s.tic murder,” said Blair. ”Someone poked his eyes out.”
”Crows,” said Hamish. ”Crows got at the body.”
”So it might not be murder?”
”The back of his head is crushed.”
”Oh, aye, and how did you find that out and him lying on his back?”
”I did not touch the body. I pressed down the heather his head's lying on.”
Blair grunted. Another helicopter roared in to land and disgorged a forensic team.
A tent was being erected over the body. Blair, who had turned away, swung back. ”You'd best get back tae your village duties, Macbeth. There's enough o' us experts here.”
”There's a lot of suspects,” said Hamish sharply.
”Aye, well, list them when you're typing up your report. I'll send Jimmy Anderson along to see you later.”
Hamish went wearily off down the mountain just as another helicopter bearing Chief Superintendent Peter Daviot arrived on the scene. The cost of all these helicopters, thought Hamish. There would be cuts in everyone's expenses for the rest of the year.
Daviot strode up to Blair and listened to his account. ” Where's Macbeth?” he asked when Blair had finished.
”He's got duties tae attend to and we don't need him here.”
”Does he know of any suspects?”
”Aye, he did say something about that.”
”Good heavens, man, he probably has a d.a.m.n good idea who did it. I have often thought, Blair, that you let your jealousy of that village bobby get in the way of an investigation. I'll see Macbeth myself.”
Daviot strode back to his helicopter. Blair swore under his breath. He hoped Hamish Macbeth had nothing to say but a load of Highland rubbish.
Hamish reached the police station to find Daviot waiting for him.
”Let's go inside,” said Daviot, ”and let's hear what you know.”
Hamish led him into the police office, wiping dust from the desk with his sleeve.
”Now, let's begin at the beginning. Who wanted this man dead?”
So Hamish outlined what had happened, starting with his own recommendation of Drim.
”Why Drim?” interrupted the superintendent. ”It's a difficult place to get to and not the prettiest around.”
Hamish gave him a limpid look. ”When I heard it was a detective series, I thought they might want somewhere a bit stark.”
He then described Patricia Martyn-Broyd's distress at the savaging of her work, Fiona's sacking and Angus Harris's accusation that Jamie had stolen his friend's script. He finished by saying, ”Jamie Gallagher was a nasty sort of drunk. He seemed to go around annoying everyone.”
”Was anyone actually heard to threaten Jamie's life?”
”Well, the writer woman, for one,” said Hamish reluctantly.
”We'd better get her in. Type up your report. And try to work with Blair.”
”I try, I try”-Hamish sighed-”but he doesnae seem to want to work with me.”
”He's a good man and a hard worker.”
When he's not drunk, thought Hamish.
”I know he's a bit jealous of you. Heard from Miss Halburton-Smythe?”
Hamish flushed. He had once been engaged to Priscilla Halburton-Smythe, a fact which had put him in high favour with Daviot, particularly Mrs. Daviot, who was a dreadful sn.o.b.
”Priscilla's down in London,” said Hamish.
”Not helping her father run the Tommel Castle Hotel anymore?”
”There was no call for it, sir. The manager does an excellent job.”