Hamish Macbeth - Death Of A Dustman Part 13

"No, but it occurred to me that what he might get out of me was hardly enough to enable him to start a new life somewhere else. And it almost seemed as if he had lost interest in what I could give him. I mean, maybe he'd found someone rich."

"I'd best ask around again," said Hamish. "Have you heard? Angus Ettrik has been murdered."

"The crofter?"

"Himself."

"That's terrible. What evil's come to Lochdubh?"

"Whatever it is," said Hamish grimly, "Fergus Macleod did something to bring it here."

He had just changed into his uniform when Clarry arrived, tired and unshaven. "Phew!" he said, sinking down into a chair in the kitchen. "That Blair had me going round all the outlying crofts. I'm knackered. I told Blair I'd nothing, and he said you were to get out there and go round everyone again."

Hamish looked gloomily out of the window. A steady drizzle was falling, what the st.u.r.dy locals called 'a nice, soft day.'

He put on his oilskin and said to Clarry, "Do me a favour and walk Lugs, or let him into the garden. I'll probably be away all day."

Hamish decided to drive up to Elspeth MacRae's croft. She was a widow and ran her croft single-handed. She had a nose for gossip and her land bordered Angus's.

Elspeth was returning home with her dogs just as he drove up. She was a tall, leathery woman with cropped grey hair. "Bad business, Hamish," she said, walking up to meet him as he got down from the Land Rover.

"Yes, that's why I'm here. Did you hear anything, notice anything? Anyone calling on Angus?"

She shook her head. "I didn't have much to do with him. We had that row over the peats."

Hamish nodded. Angus had been digging into Elspeth's peats, and she had complained about him to the Crofting Commission. "Mind you, Kirsty and I often had a word if he wasn't around. I had no quarrel with her. That fat policeman of yours, the one that's been chasing after Martha Macleod, was up here during the night asking questions."

"So there's nothing you can tell me?"

"There's someone might help you. I just remembered after your man had gone."

"And who's that?"

"Sean Fitz is back. He called here two days ago for a cup of tea. He might have called on Angus."

Hamish brightened. Sean Fitz was the last of the genuine Highland tramps, roving through the mountains and moors.

"I'd best drive around and look for him," he said. "Did he say where he was headed?"

"No, but he usually stays around the same area for a bit."

Hamish drove slowly around the network of one-track roads joining the outlying crofts, and then out on the main Lochdubh-Strathbane road. The rain had stopped and the clouds had rolled back from the mountains. The blazing heather on either side of the road glittered with raindrops. He rolled down the window and breathed in the scent of wild thyme, heather and pine. The magnificence of the glorious landscape reduced the nasty little doings of men to insignificance.

And then, as he crested a hill, he saw the shambling figure of the tramp on the road ahead of him. He drove up and stopped just in front of Sean and jumped down.

Sean was a bearded old man with young eyes in a wrinkled and tanned face. He was dressed in the layers of clothing he wore winter and summer.

Hamish hailed him. "I need some information, Sean."

"It wisnae me what took thon trout out o' the colonel's river," said Sean, backing away.

"I'm not after poachers," said Hamish. "Did you know Angus Ettrik had been murdered?"

"Him, too? My, the Highlands are becoming as violent as the cities. I wa.s.s up there the ither day. The wife gave me tea and a bit of money for chopping kindling."

"Did you see Angus?"

"No, he wa.s.s out somewheres."

"Did Kirsty say anything about them maybe getting some money from somewhere?"

"No, Hamish. Herself said as how the bank might be going to take the croft away. She only gave me a wee bit o' money for the work, but I felt right guilty at taking it."

"You see things. You hear things. You wander around. Let's take Fergus, for instance. Two days before he was found, he disappeared after getting a phone call. No one saw him. No one saw him meet anyone. You didn't see anything?"

Sean hesitated. "I am not interested in your poaching," said Hamish sharply. "I can see by your face that you saw or heard something."

"If you get me for this, Hamish Macbeth, I'll neffer trust you again."

"Go on, Sean. I'm getting desperate."

"I wa.s.s up at the river..."

"The Anstey?"

"Aye, I was on the colonel's estate...You will not be...?"

"No, I will not be. Go on, man."

"I heard the cracking of twigs a bit downstream, and I thought it might be the water bailiff. I was guddling for the trout."

Hamish nodded. He knew Sean meant that he hadn't a rod; he had been standing in the shallows of the stream, hoping to hook a trout out of the water with his bare hands.

"I moved out of the river and edged back up the bank. Through the trees I could see the pair of them."

"Who?"

"It wa.s.s the colonel and that dustman. The colonel, he wa.s.s red in the face. I couldnae hear what wa.s.s being said, chust the angry voices. I wa.s.s too far away."

"So what you saw was Colonel Halburton-Smythe and Fergus Macleod having a row?"

"Aye, I thought maybe Fergus had been poaching and the colonel had caught him at it."

"Thanks, Sean," said Hamish. He dug out his wallet and took out a ten-pound note. "Keep this to yourself. When was this?"

"I'm bad at dates and time, but I 'member it must have been around the time afore Fergus was found, for I 'member reading it in the papers."

"Anything else?"

"No. Fergus wisnae popular but you must know that yoursel'."

"Right, Sean. I'll look into it."

Hamish climbed into the Land Rover, his mind racing. After Fergus's death, the police had appealed for anyone with any information to come forward. The colonel must have heard it.

He drove to the Tommel Castle Hotel. He glanced in at the windows of the gift shop and saw Priscilla behind the counter. He parked the vehicle and walked into the gift shop.

"On your own?" he asked.

"As you can see," said Priscilla. She was wearing a loose, scarlet cashmere cardigan over a white silk blouse and tailored tweed skirt. The gold bell of her hair framed her calm features. Hamish had a sudden, irrational desire to shake her.

"Where's your friend?"

"Jerry? He's gone back to London."

Hamish glanced covertly at her hands. Ringless.

"Do you want coffee?" Priscilla indicated the coffee machine in the corner.

"No, I'm here on official business."

She raised a pair of perfect eyebrows.

"Do you get those shaped?" asked Hamish.

"What?"

Hamish flushed slightly. "Never mind. Is your father about?"

"He's over at the hotel. Why?"

"He was seen by the tramp, Sean, rowing with Fergus Macleod."

"But that would be about the hotel garbage. Remember I told you we had to get a private contractor to pick it up?"

"But that was after he had disappeared."

"Hamish, my father is not a murderer."

"But he was rowing with Fergus and never said a word about it."

"You know what he's like. Fergus was probably poaching. You all poach. Even you, Hamish."

"I'll just be having a word with him."

"That might be a good idea," said Priscilla coldly, "instead of talking to me. Unless you think I'm a suspect."

"No need to get snappy. I'm off."

"I'll come with you."

They walked across to the hotel after Priscilla had locked up the gift shop. "Things quiet?" asked Hamish.

"I'm afraid so. Twelve people from an engineering company had booked in for the fishing, and they cancelled at the last minute. Didn't give any reason. You won't find Daddy in the best of moods."

"I thought he'd given up bothering about the hotel. I thought he left it all to Mr. Johnston."

"Oh, he gets periods when he swoops down on everyone. Doesn't last long."

They walked into the reception. "Is the colonel about?" Priscilla asked the girl behind the reception desk.

"Colonel Halburton-Smythe's round at the back, talking to the gardener."

They walked through the hotel lounge and through the open French windows to the garden. It was not a flower lover's garden. A huge lawn dipped down to the river, and under the windows were beds with laurel bushes and forsythia and ornamental heather.

"I don't care how wet it's been," the colonel was shouting. "I want that lawn mowed now!"

"Daddy!" called Priscilla. The colonel swung round, his angry face relaxing at the sight of his daughter. Then he saw Hamish Macbeth behind her, and his scowl returned.

He walked up to them. "What is it?"

"Around the time Fergus Macleod disappeared, you were heard down by the river having a row with him."

The colonel goggled at Hamish, and then he half turned away and stared down the lawn. "Oh, that? I caught him poaching and sent him off with a flea in his ear."

Hamish looked at the set of the colonel's shoulders and noticed the way he would not turn directly round to face them, and was sure the colonel was lying.

"It was on the radio and in the newspapers that we were appealing for anyone who had seen or talked to Fergus around the time he went missing, and yet you did not come forward," said Hamish.

"I'd dealt with the man. I didn't want to get him into trouble over poaching."

Hamish reflected that the colonel reported every poacher he could catch to the police. "But Fergus was dead when we made that appeal."

"It had nothing to do with me!" shouted the colonel. "If you go on like this, I will report you for police hara.s.sment."

"And if you go on like this," said Hamish evenly, "then Detective Chief Inspector Blair will be along to see you."

"There's no need to make such a to-do about it," said the colonel, his manner becoming suddenly conciliatory. "Priscilla, why don't you take Hamish into the bar and get him a drink?"

"I don't need a drink. I'll check with Mrs. Macleod as to whether Fergus was in the habit of poaching, and if he wasn't, I'll be back."

Hamish walked off followed by Priscilla. She caught up with him and said soothingly, "Don't worry. Whatever it is, I'll get it out of him."

"Give me a ring right away. I'm sure it's really nothing, but I wish people wouldn't lie to us. They often do over small matters, and all it does is muddy the waters."