by M C Beaton
"Is this an example of how you do your policing, Macbeth?"
He found himself becoming irritated with her, which in some part of his mind surprised him. He had been berated so many times by senior officers. Perhaps it was because of the very coldness and sexlessness of her manner.
"It iss in a way, ma'am. If a wee boy throws a ball and breaks a window, then the boy pays for new glass. If there's a boundary dispute and two crofters are threatening to go to the land court, I try to get them to sit down and talk and reach a compromise. If a woman had shoplifted something from Patel's, I haff a word with her. She usually doesn't do it again. If she does, and she is not poor and has a mental problem, kleptomania, I arrange with the doctor to have her sent to a psychiatrist. That way the state is saved a lot of expense, and some unfortunate people are saved from having a prison record. The benefit of being unambitious iss that I do not need notches on my belt. Also, tomorrow evening, while we are at Lachie's, I am supposed to be the big cheese and you are supposed to be my wife so I'll have to be in charge."
She sat there, looking at him assessingly, the anger dying out of her eyes. At last she said, "I should not be encouraging you to behave like a Wild West sheriff, but I suppose there is a mad Highland logic to your argument. Pour us both a nightcap and we will discuss tomorrow night."
"What'll you have?" Hamish walked over to a trolley with an array of bottles.
"A malt."
"Glenfiddich all right?"
"Fine."
"What d'you want with it? Water? Soda?"
"Just straight."
"I'll have the same." Hamish poured two generous measures and handed one to her and sat down again.
"So," she began, tucking her legs up under her and cradling her glass, "what do you envisage will happen tomorrow?"
"I think Bob and Angus will get a rocket for being so loose-mouthed. I hope for their sakes that they're still alive. They'll have been grilled about how they took a complete stranger into their confidence. But whatever happens, they'll have to see me, if only to silence me permanently if they think I am an impostor. In order to get out of paying fifty thousand pounds, I will say that provided the quality of the stuff is good, then it's going to be a lot more than that. We've got to get friendly with them, socialise with them. The main point is to find out where the shipment comes in and when it is due. And I don't think we should continue to live here. I think we should check into the Grand."
"Why?"
"This house belongs to some friend of Superintendent Daviot's. After they meet us, they'll check us out. A hotel is a more likely place for us to stay."
She picked up a mobile phone from the side table next to her. "I'll arrange that."
"Wait a bit," said Hamish, turning dark red with embarrassment. "There's something else."
She raised her eyebrows.
"After lunch yesterday, I found I hadn't enough money to pay the bill. So I ran away."
"Didn't you have any cards on you?"
"I'd left my bank cards at Lochdubh, and, och, if we're checking in there, it's just as well I didn't use them. I mean, we won't be using our own names."
"I don't know why everything you do seems to be a muddle. I'll get someone round to the hotel to pay for our lunch. Perhaps we should stay somewhere other than the Grand."
"It's a lousy hotel, but it's the main one in Strathbane and fits the image we're trying to create."
"Oh, very well. You can go to bed and leave me to sort this out."
Hamish went off to bed, reflecting that even in her nightwear, Olivia managed to look every bit a chief inspector.
As he lay awake, he could hear the faint sound of her voice going on for what seemed like a long time. His thoughts returned to the Church of the Rising Sun. Why had Tommy gone to such a place? It had only been a brief meeting Hamish had had with the young man, and yet he had not got the impression of someone stupid. The Owens were into loan sharking. Could it not follow that they were into drugs as well? He lay awake wrestling with the problem. He should have told Olivia that the police should have been instructed to search for drugs.
He got out of bed and put on his dressing gown. The murmur of Olivia's voice on the phone had ceased. He went into the living room but it was in darkness. He knocked at the door of Olivia's bedroom. No reply.
He pushed open the door and went in.
By the moonlight streaming through the window and across the bed, he could see that she had fallen fast asleep.
He put a gentle hand on her shoulder and shook her.
She sat up in bed and let out a stifled scream.
"It's me-Hamish."
"And just what the hell do you think you are doing in my bedroom, copper?" She switched on the bedside light. "You are in deep shit, man. Making a pass at a senior officer."
"I am not making the pass at you," howled Hamish.
She looked up at him, the anger dying out of her eyes. He suddenly looked funny, standing there, his bright red hair ruffled, and a look of outrage on his face.
"Then why did you wake me up?"
"I couldn't sleep. I was thinking about them at the church, the Owens." He told her about his theory that they might have been involved in drug dealing.
"I'll see to it," she said wearily. "But you'd better pray they don't find anything."
"Why?"
"Because if the Owens were into supplying drugs to their parishioners, then it follows that one of the congregation might be found at Lachie's and recognise you."
"Then let's hope I'm wrong," said Hamish.
"Go back to bed," she said. "I'll deal with it."
Hamish awoke in the morning with the beginnings of fear in his stomach. The fear was not that he would be exposed as a fraud and so put his life in danger. The fear was that he would not be able to carry it off and lose face with Olivia. He had to admit he found her attractive, very attractive. He was irked that she regarded him in a totally sexless light.
When he went into the kitchen, she was reading the newspapers. "We'll be moving to the Grand after you cook us some breakfast," she said when she saw him. "That's our car outside. I think we should get into the part right away."
"Very well, darling."
"What did you call me?"
"Chust getting into the act of being your husband," said Hamish.
"Well, don't unless there is anyone else around. There's a suitcase of clothes arrived for you as well."
"I haff the verra good suit," said Hamish huffily.
"Probably too conservative for the part you're supposed to play."
"I'll have a look."
"Breakfast first, if you please. I'll have coffee and two poached eggs on toast."
I find you attractive but I could really learn to dislike you, thought Hamish.
After he had cooked and they had eaten breakfast, he looked out of the front window of the bungalow. A gleaming gold Mercedes was parked outside.
"Where did they get the car from?" he asked.
"Up from Glasgow. I don't know where they got it from. We'd best go and get changed and get out of here."
Hamish picked up the suitcase and went into his bedroom, slung it on the bed and opened it. There was an Armani suit, designer jeans, suede and leather jackets, silk underwear, shirts with the name of a famous Jermyn Street shirt maker and a box containing gold cuff links, gold Rolex and wraparound sunglasses. There was also a camel-hair coat.
There was a wallet containing credit cards in the name of Hamish George, a passport and driving license. It was odd, he thought, when one was at the very bottom of the police force rung, how one would never dream that they could get all this stuff ready so quickly.
He wished he could wear his own clothes. But when he was finally dressed in the biscuit-coloured Armani suit, shirt, silk tie, gold cuff links and gold watch, he realised what a good idea it was. He felt like an actor dressed for a part.
Carrying the coat over his arm, he went into the living room and sat down to wait for
Olivia. At last her bedroom door opened and she came out. Hamish blinked at the transformation.
There was now something subtly common and coarse about Olivia. Her hair was piled on top of her head in an elaborate arrangement of curls and loops. She was wearing a power-dressing suit, large shoulder pads, very short skirt and with the jacket worn over a white silk blouse decorated with many gold chains. She wore heavy eye makeup and had painted her mouth to look much fuller and pouting. Her stiletto heels had platform soles.
She pirouetted in front of him. "Well, do I look like a drug dealer's wife?"
"I don't know what one looks like," said Hamish, "but I should think she'd look like you."
"Right, let's get all our stuff into the car. I have good news for you. They have given us a couple of bodyguards."
"Why?"
"Because that will add to our image. It also gives us protection. They'll be waiting for us at the hotel."
Hamish found he was slightly irritated that they were not to be on their own. He was afraid that their "muscle" might turn out to be two plainclothes who positively shouted out that they were detectives.
Once their new belongings were loaded in-Olivia had said to leave their own stuff behind and someone would pick it up later-he drove the Mercedes towards the Grand Hotel.
He passed over one of his credit cards, startled at the price of the room, which seemed to him a horrendous amount. But then the Grand was a pretentious hotel.
It turned out that a suite had been booked for them. There was a sitting room with bar and television, a large bedroom with a double bed and en suite bathroom and then a small bedroom off it. Olivia indicated the small bedroom. "That's where you will be sleeping."
"Don't you think the hotel staff will find it odd that a powerful man like me doesn't sleep with his wife?" asked Hamish.
She looked at him with a frown. "Damn, I suppose you're right. Just keep to your own side of the bed."
"Yes, ma am."
"And you'd better get used to calling me Olivia."
The phone rang and Olivia jumped a little. So she had nerves after all. She answered it and said, "Come along."
She turned to Hamish. "That's our muscle. Let's have a look at them."
After a few moments, there was a knock at the door. Two huge men walked in. It was in that moment that Hamish realised that a lot of detectives, apart from the fresh-faced Sanders, actually looked like hoods. All you had to do was change the clothes. Both men were wearing conservative suits, but one had a black shirt and no tie and the other a scarlet shirt, also no tie. They had the stone-dead eyes of hardened criminals.
They sat down and surveyed each other. "You're not from Glasgow," said Olivia.
"No, Scotland Yard. Drug squad," said one with a face like a hatchet. "I am DC Brompton and this is DC King."
"I'll need your first names."
"Kevin and Barry."
"Right. Now I, as you have probably been briefed, am Chief Inspector Chater. You will from now on call me Mrs. George. This is PC Hamish Macbeth, who is posing as my husband, Hamish George. We'll now go over everything again."
As she outlined how Hamish had got them into all this, their new bodyguards listened stolidly. But occasionally one of them would flick a deadpan look in Hamish's direction and Hamish could sense each of them was silently damning him as some amateur Highland fool.
Olivia summed up. "So the meet is tonight at Lachie's at nine o'clock. We'll take it from there."
Hamish was becoming increasingly worried. A lot of money had already been laid out on this operation. What if, so his anxious thoughts ran, Angus and Bob were nothing more than drug takers and would introduce him to some friend at Lachie's posing as a drug baron so that they could pick up their fee?
Kevin spoke. "I don't like the idea of Hamish posing as an associate of Jimmy White. In the underworld of drugs, gossip travels fast. You don't want Jimmy saying he's never even heard of him. I would suggest, make Hamish the head of a new syndicate with ties to Turkey. If the money he's offering seems to be big enough, then they might take the bait."
The three of them discussed this idea as if Hamish wasn't there.
At last Hamish felt he ought to assert himself. "Why don't you just let me play it by ear?" he said.
"Are you good at that?" asked Barry doubtfully.
"Och, yes," said Hamish with a confidence he did not feel.
"I think that's all we can do now," said Olivia briskly. "Lachie's is quite close. We'll leave here at ten to nine."
After the bodyguards had left, Olivia dialled police headquarters on her mobile to ask if they had raided the Owens place yet and if anything had been found. She listened carefully and then rang off. "They're going through the Owens home and the church at the moment. We'll need to wait a bit."
Hamish took out one of his paperbacks and started to read. Olivia paced up and down.
"I don't know how you can be so calm!" she burst out.
"The way I see it," said Hamish, putting his book down, "is that if we can't do anything right now, we may as well find ways to pass the time."
"I suppose," she said restlessly.
"I tell you what," said Hamish. "We take that monster of a car out for a drive. It's a grand day. May as well show you the scenery."
Soon they were driving away from Strathbane. "I've never had a car like this afore," said Hamish. "Look at all these gadgets."
"Where are we going?"
"I thought I might show you Lochdubh."
"You'll be recognised."
"I've an idea." Hamish swung the car around. He drove back a little way into town and stopped outside a shop. He went in and emerged with a down-the-river hat, which after he had got in the car, he put on. Then he took the wraparound sunglasses out of his pocket and put them on as well. "No one in Lochdubh will recognise me like this," he said.
He drove off again. "When we get to Lochdubh I'd like to take you for a walk about the place but that would be too risky."
"The scenery's incredible," said Olivia. "So wild, so savage."
"Sometimes in winter it can be very bleak," said Hamish, "but the landscape is never the same. The changing light alters the perspective so that the mountains never look the same."
"So much purple heather," murmured Olivia.
"You'll have the heather on the mountains at Loch Lomond."
"But not like this! Miles and miles of purple flowers. And that yellow gorse. So much colour."
The big car cruised towards Lochdubh. "I must admit," said Hamish, "there are a lot of moments when I wish I had minded my own business. I wish right now I were going home, back to the police station."
Olivia looked at him curiously. "You really love it here, don't you?"
"Yes, I'm happy most of the time," said Hamish, "except when I land myself in things like this."
Detective Chief Inspector Blair called in early at police headquarters. Superintendent Peter Daviot espied him and summoned him to his office. "I thought you weren't due back until Monday," said Daviot.
"Oh, you know me," said Blair with a cheesy smile. "Can't keep me away from the office."
"We have a big secret operation going on here," said Daviot, and told him about Hamish Macbeth posing as a drug baron.
Blair listened intently. From Daviot's enthusiasm for what he privately thought was a daft scheme, he knew that any rubbishing of Hamish Macbeth would not go down well.
"And what would you like me to do, sir?" he asked when Daviot had finished.
"There's nothing you can do at the moment," said Daviot. "May as well enjoy the few days off you have left."
Blair went thoughtfully out of police headquarters. He walked to the nearest pub, head down like a charging bull. Once inside, he ordered a double whisky, downed it in one and ordered another. He was in a flaming temper. That Hamish Macbeth should be getting all this glory was almost beyond bearing.
After another double whisky, he began to dream about a scenario in which the dru
g dealers were tipped off that Hamish was an undercover cop. The silly Highland loon would end up floating face-downward in the docks. After yet another whisky, he began to wonder if he should, tip someone off. That way he would be rid of Hamish Macbeth-permanently.
"And this is Lochdubh," said Hamish proudly, stopping the car on the top of the hill.
"They should have signs in the Highlands with phonetic spelling under the place-names," said Olivia. "I mean do most people know it's pronounced Lochdoo? And what does it mean?"
"Black loch," said Hamish. "Well, what do you think of the place?"
The village of Lochdubh was situated in a gentle curve along the loch below two towering mountains. The lines of eighteenth-century whitewashed cottages with their flower-filled gardens and flapping washing on the lines basked in the sun. A light breeze rippled the surface of the loch. Across the loch lay an expanse of forestry and through the open car window Olivia could smell pine.
"It looks very pretty," she commented. "What's that big building down by the harbour? A private house?"
"It used to be a hotel," said Hamish. "It's still up for sale."
"I'm surprised there are no takers. It's a lovely site."
"I hope someone buys it soon," said Hamish. "It would be a pity if a grand building like that should fall into a ruin."
He drove on, over the humpbacked bridge which spanned the River Anstey.
"Could you envisage living in a place like this?" he asked.
Olivia laughed. "In my dreams. In reality, I would probably die of boredom. Don't you ever get bored?"
"Not in Lochdubh," said Hamish.
"So what do you do?"
"I have a bit of a croft-there, you can just see it behind the police station. I'll circle round by the harbour and then we'll get out of here just in case I am recognised."
Olivia was to remember that afternoon as the calm before the storm as they drove slowly along country roads, stopping for lunch at a small pub, then driving on again until Hamish said reluctantly, "Time to go back. The light is failing."
