by M C Beaton
At first Hamish wondered if he could bear to watch the programme, but he decided he’d better see how badly Dick was faring and be on standby with a bottle of whisky to comfort the man when he arrived back at the police station.
At first, things looked very bad for Dick. Up against him were four other contestants: a professor from Strathbane University, a schoolteacher, a retired doctor, and a lawyer. How such respectable middle-class people could volunteer to appear on a television quiz show, and all to gain a dishwasher, was beyond Hamish. The one with the fewest correct answers was eliminated at each round.
To Hamish’s amazement, Dick steadily answered question after question, until only he and the professor were left. They were running neck and neck until the quizmaster asked, “What kind of medieval weapon was a destrier?”
There was a long silence, and then the professor said, “A siege catapult.”
“That is the wrong answer. Dick?”
Dick screwed up his face. Hamish found he was sitting on the edge of his chair.
Then Dick’s face cleared and he said, “A warhorse.”
“Correct. Mr. Dick Fraser, you are our new winner and the prize is a state-of-the-art Furnham’s dishwasher.” The voice went on praising the dishwasher while Hamish sat, stunned. How could a man such as Dick, with this fund of general knowledge, have remained a mere copper?
He got his answer two hours later when a triumphant Dick arrived back at the police station.
“It’s like this,” said Dick, cradling a glass of whisky on his round stomach. “I’ve got what they aye call a photographic memory. I’ve only to read the thing once and I remember it forever. I watch lots and lots of game shows. They’re coming next week to fit the thing up.”
“Where will it go?” asked Hamish.
“We’ll need to take out that bottom cupboard. It’s full o’ junk anyway. They said they’d do all the fixing and plumbing.”
“Man, how come you stayed a mere copper?”
Dick gave him a crafty look. “You ken Strathbane well?”
“Aye.”
“Well, I wanted a quiet life. I didnae want to go to crack houses and brothels and what have you. So I just acted stupid. Okay, I’m lazy. But being real lazy is a talent. Sometimes,” said Dick seriously, “it takes an awful lot of work.”
And it takes an awful lot of work to get you to move in the mornings, thought Hamish, having to shake Dick awake as usual.
But Hamish, in his way, could be as lazy as Dick, so after a hearty breakfast they both sat in deck chairs in the garden under the profusion of red rambling roses tumbling over the front door. Villagers began to stop by the hedge, all praising Dick on his success. Hamish noticed that a couple of widowed ladies seemed to be looking at Dick with new eyes. Maybe they thought a winner of a dishwasher might make a good husband number two.
The sun shone down. They could hear the sound of Archie Maclean’s fishing boat setting out with another party of tourists. Because of the cut in the fishing quotas, Archie had turned his fishing boat into a “trips round the loch” vessel for tourists in the summertime.
Hamish hoped he would do well but often wished so many visitors had not discovered the normally quiet backwater of Lochdubh.
He was wondering what to make for lunch when the office phone rang. He went into the station to answer it. But because the front door of the police station was jammed shut with damp and never used, he had to make his way round to the kitchen door and in that way. By the time he reached the office, the call had switched over to the answering machine and to his dismay, he heard Mary’s near-hysterical voice. “Oh, it’s awful. The bridge collapsed. Come quickly.” He cut into the message. “It’s me, Hamish. What’s happened?”
“Oh, Hamish, a party of old-age pensioners from Inverness were on the rustic bridge when it collapsed.”
“Anyone dead?”
“No, but shock and some injuries. My husband and brothers were there and got everyone out of the water and phoned for ambulances.”
“Have you phoned Strathbane?”
“No, not after last time.”
“I’ll phone them and be right over,” said Hamish, “although they probably know. A 999 call would go to the switchboard at Strathbane.”
The cat and dog tried to get into the Land Rover but he shooed them away. “Go for a walk,” he said. “Not you, Dick,” he added as the chubby policeman appeared round the corner of the station. “There’s more trouble at the glen.”
Detective Jimmy Anderson was already on the scene with several policemen when Hamish arrived.
“Any idea what happened?” asked Hamish.
“Aye, the wooden supports of the bridge had been sawed nearly through. Someone calculated nicely that the weight o’ a busload of tourists would make the bridge collapse.”
“Someone seems hell-bent on scaring people away,” said Hamish. “But who would want to do such a thing?”
“The only person to have registered any disapproval was Mrs. Colchester,” said Dick, “but she seems to have come around to the idea. Folks do say she goes down there in the middle o’ the night tae commune wi’ the fairies.”
“Have you met Mrs. Colchester yet?” asked Hamish.
“No,” said Jimmy. “I’m just about to go there. Want to come?”
“Not particularly,” said Hamish. “She’s fair nasty. But I’d like to see those children again.”
Jimmy’s blue eyes sharpened in his foxy face. “What ages are the kids?”
“Charles is twelve, and Olivia, sixteen,” said Hamish. “They’re the old woman’s grandchildren.”
“I can’t see two young children doing such a thing,” said Jimmy.
“I think anyone with a chain saw could do it. That’s what I would like to search for. Any chance of getting a search warrant?”
“Not at this stage,” said Jimmy. “Let’s go up to the hunting box. Doesn’t the place have a name—like The Pines or Liberty Hall or something?”
“As far as I remember,” said Hamish, “it was called Lord Growther’s place and after his death, Granny Colchester’s place. What about the wardens?”
“There are two of them,” said Dick, betraying his usual encyclopaedic knowledge. “Colin Morrison and his brother Tom.”
“And what did this precious pair do before they got the job?”
“I think they were on the dole,” said Dick.
“Not like you not to have researched their backgrounds, Hamish,” commented Jimmy.
“I was waiting for the forensic result on the kingfisher,” said Hamish.
“Aye, well, it came through this morning. Rat poison in the fish. Let’s go. We’ll take Policewoman Annie Williams with us. She’s good with children.”
“No one, Jimmy, could be good with that pair. Where’s Mary?”
“At the hospital.”
“Was she hurt?” asked Hamish.
“No, just off to comfort her tourists and worry about paying out insurance claims, although she might get away wi’ paying out.”
“How’s that?”
“I don’t know about the ones who come in cars, but the ones on the bus tours have to sign a form that says more or less that anything that may happen to them in the glen is no responsibility of the trust.”
A cloud crossed Hamish’s brain and he frowned. Then he mentally shook himself. Why should Mary sabotage her pride and joy?
“Stop standing there wi’ your mouth open, looking glaikit,” said Jimmy. “Come on.” He turned to the policewoman. “Williams, when we get there, see if you can have a quiet word wi’ the children.”
“Right you are, sir.” Annie Williams was new to the force. She was small and plump with a riot of ginger hair under her cap and a dusting of freckles across her round pleasant face.
The door of the hunting box was opened to them by a tall man with thinning hair and a lugubrious face. He introduced himself as Ralph Palfour. He looked alarmed at the group facing him, made up of Jimmy, Ann
ie, Hamish, and Dick. “What’s up?” he asked.
Jimmy told him about the bridge and then said, “I am surprised someone hasn’t at least phoned you to tell you about it.”
“I’ve just got back with my wife and children,” said Ralph. “We went down to Strathbane to do some shopping. I haven’t had time to talk to my mother-in-law.”
“If we might come in and have a word,” said Jimmy.
He stood aside to let them past. “I think Mrs. Colchester is out on the terrace.”
A thin tired-looking woman was just descending the stairs as they entered the hall. Dusty, thought Hamish. She looks dusty. Her brown hair was sprinkled with grey, and there was no colour in her white face. She had the same flat grey eyes as her children.
“My wife,” said Ralph. “Fern, darling, the police are here because someone sabotaged the bridge in the glen and a lot of tourists got hurt. Does your mother know?”
“I haven’t talked to her yet,” said Fern. “I believe she’s out on the terrace.”
Ralph led the way and they all followed. At first Hamish, with a jolt, thought the old woman was dead. She had that crumpled lifeless look of dead bodies that the spirit has left.
Her eyes were closed and her face had a muddy look. But as they approached, she opened her eyes and said wearily, “It’s too much. The maid told me.”
Jimmy introduced himself. “I would like to ask you a few questions.”
The children were playing with tennis rackets on the lawn. Jimmy jerked his head at Annie, who went down to join them.
“If you must,” said Mrs. Colchester.
“Do you happen to know if there is a power saw in the house?”
“You’d better ask those wardens. They look after the grounds as well. Lazy couple. Their idea of mowing the lawn is to let some shepherd use it for his sheep.”
“Where are the tools kept?” asked Hamish.
“In the old cellar. You can get to it down the steps along there. The door’s not locked.”
“Excuse us a minute,” said Jimmy. He said to Hamish and Dick, “We’d better suit up first.”
They walked to their vehicles to find their blue forensic suits. When they returned, Annie had found a third tennis racket and was batting the ball to the two children. They all seemed to be having a good time.
Jimmy opened the door of the cellar and they walked down the shallow steps, switching on the light as they went.
In the middle of what had been the old cellar was a workbench. Along the walls, various tools hung on hooks.
But in one corner, Hamish’s sharp eyes noticed a power saw of the kind operated by petrol. He called Jimmy over. They crouched down and examined it. “It’s certainly very clean,” said Jimmy. “You, Fraser, get back to my car and ask the driver for a big plastic bag. I keep some in the boot. We’d better bag this up and look for fingerprints, and if there aren’t any, well, it might seem, if it wasn’t the wardens, that someone in this house is the guilty party.”
When the saw was bagged up, they returned to Mrs. Colchester and asked her permission to take it.
“If you must,” she said wearily. “But it won’t do you any good.”
“Why is that?” asked Hamish sharply.
She muttered something that sounded like, “There’s no pleasing them.”
“What?” demanded Hamish sharply.
“Go away,” she said, leaning back and closing her eyes while her daughter held her hand.
“Mrs. Colchester,” said Hamish, “I believe you sometimes visit the wood at night. Did you go last night?”
“No,” she said, and repeated. “Go away.”
Jimmy called to Annie, who waved a cheery goodbye to the children and came to join them carrying her cap.
Outside, Jimmy turned to Hamish. “I’ve got officers questioning the locals and the injured at the hospital. I want you to see Mary Leinster and ask her for the personnel files on those wardens. I’ll send this saw back to Strathbane with Annie. Annie, did you get anything out of the children?”
“Not much. Only that their parents are short of cash and they’re worried about being sent to a comprehensive. But they’re just ordinary nice kids.” She put on the cap she had laid on the grass when she was batting balls to the children.
Outside, the sun struck down with that ferocity you get in the far north of Scotland where there is no pollution to diffuse the rays.
“Gosh, it’s hot,” said Annie. “I’ll just take off my jacket and cap for the drive back, if I may, sir.”
She tried to pull off her cap but it was firmly stuck to her head. “Let me look,” said Hamish, feeling under her cap and giving it a little tug. He stood back and grinned. “I think you’ll find that those ordinary little beasts have put superglue in your cap. When do you think it could have happened?”
“Charles knocked a ball into the shrubbery and I said I would go and get it,” said Annie. “I’m going back in there to tell the wee scunners exactly what I think of them.”
“Leave it for now,” said Jimmy. “The lab will get your hat off. I think nail varnish remover is the best thing. Okay, Hamish, let’s get to work.”
Chapter Three
Up the airy mountain,
Down the rushy glen,
We daren’t go a-hunting,
For fear of little men
—William Allingham
At Braikie General Hospital, Hamish was told that Mary had returned to the town hall. Policemen seemed to be everywhere in the hospital to interview the people injured in the collapse of the bridge. Daviot was evidently pulling out all the stops to repair the public relations disaster caused by the death of the kingfisher.
He went out and joined Dick who was seated in the Land Rover, reading a copy of The Sun newspaper. As Hamish climbed into the driver’s seat, Dick held out the paper folded back to page three where there was a photo of a girl with simply enormous breasts wearing a smile and a G-string. “Would ye look at that!” said Dick.
“Oh, put it away,” snapped Hamish. “Do you never think what an awful time that lassie must have running for a bus? And think what it costs for those silicone implants.”
“If I may say so, sir,” said Dick cautiously, “you’d be married if you had a bit mair lust in you and a bit less romance.”
“Chust shut up,” said Hamish furiously. He was not about to discuss his sex life, or rather the lack of it, with Dick. Besides, Dick should have known that one-night stands might work in a city, but in the countryside, no matter how free and easy the girl might seem, her mother would soon be round demanding her daughter be made an honest woman.
Mary was in her office and seemed to have recovered her composure. But she looked taken aback when Hamish requested the personnel files on the wardens, Colin and Tom Morrison.
“Is that really necessary?” she asked.
“Come now, Mary,” said Hamish gently, “you don’t want to force me to get a warrant from the sheriff.”
She turned pink. “I don’t have files,” she said. “They were both made redundant when that building firm over in Invergordon went bust and they came in looking for work. I needed a couple of wardens and so I hired them.”
“No references?”
“I phoned the boss of the building firm and he told me they had been hard workers. That was all I needed. You surely don’t think they would try to sabotage that bridge and maybe lose their employment if the glen had to be closed down?”
“We have to investigate everything,” said Hamish. “Apart from Mrs. Colchester, was there anyone in the town who didn’t want the glen made a tourist attraction?”
“Not one,” said Mary. “They’re all delighted with the success because the tourists stop in Braikie and spend money in the shops.”
“Where are the wardens now?”
“Colin phoned me. They’re both at the glen. They’re waiting for the police investigation to be over so that they can repair the bridge.” She was wearing a blue silky blouse, the co
lour as blue as her eyes. She leaned forward earnestly and the blouse dipped at the front, revealing part of two firm white breasts. No silicone there, thought Hamish, feeling breathless. “Will you be attending the funeral?” she asked.
“What funeral!” exclaimed Hamish. “I didn’t think any of the injuries was even serious.”
“We are holding a funeral for the kingfisher and his family. Mr. Daviot said we could hold it in a week’s time.”
“Good publicity stunt,” commented Dick placidly. Hamish glared at him. Then he turned back to face Mary.
“It’s not my idea,” said Mary. “A lot of people loved those birds and need closure.”
“We’ll try to be there,” said Hamish, although he was cursing Dick for putting such a nasty idea into his head.
Outside the town hall, two small boys were standing by the Land Rover. They looked like brothers, having a strong family resemblance with their shocks of fair hair and pale blue eyes.
The one Hamish judged to be the elder said, “If we tell you something, will you promise not tae tell our mither?”
“It really depends what it is,” said Hamish, thoughts of child abuse running through his brain. “I mean, if it’s something criminal…”
“No, it’s just that we was up at the glen the nicht afore last and we saw the fairies.”
Hamish’s face cleared. “And you don’t want your mother to know you sneaked out at night?”
The smaller boy rubbed his nose. “They scared us, them fairies.”
“What are your names?”
“I’m Callum Macgregor,” said the elder, “and this here’s ma brither, Rory.”
“Well, Callum, what did the fairies look like?”
“Didnae actually see them. But they was sparkly lights and then a deep voice told us to leave. You won’t tell mither?”
Hamish hesitated. Then he said, “Give me your address and I’ll do what I can.”
He took out his notebook and wrote down the address. The boys scampered off.
