Death of a Liar (14 page)

Scully had already made his phone call. He called Strathbane headquarters instead of dialling 999. The policeman who received it thought it important enough to phone Blair at home. Blair listened. He thought that if it were true, then he would be rid of Macbeth for once and for all. “Forget it, laddie,” he said. “Who called?”

“Anonymous caller.”

“There you are. Load of rubbish.”

“Who was that?” asked Blair's wife, Mary, when he had rung off.

“Just some nutcase,” said Blair, and with a happy smile on his face he went back to sleep.

In the streetlights of Lochdubh, from his vantage point on the bridge leading into the village, Dick could make out the hearse going through the village and out the other side.

“They're going to the cliffs,” said Dick. “Phone Jimmy again. I'll park at the end and we'll go up on foot.”

Hamish heard the lid of the coffin being unscrewed. When the lid was lifted, he sat up groggily. His head hurt from where he had been struck. The noise of the great Atlantic waves pounding the cliffs was loud in his ears. The coffin was loaded out onto the gurney.

“For the last time,” said Dubois, “where is my stuff?”

“I don't know,” said Hamish. “I really don't know. If I knew where your stuff was I'd shove it up your arse.”

Laurent said something in thickly accented French.

Dubois replied in English, “No, I don't think torture would do us any good. I am convinced he really doesn't know. Xavier, screw the lid down again and throw the coffin over.”

Scully, lying hidden in the heather, suddenly decided he couldn't bear it. He owed his life to Hamish Macbeth.

He stood up and shouted “Stop! I am making a citizen's arrest.”

A torch was shone in his face.

“Get him,” said Dubois. “Throw him over.”

“Run, Scully!” shouted Hamish.

But Scully was seized. “Hold him there,” said Dubois. “He can follow Macbeth.” He strolled to the edge of the cliff and looked down into the heaving water.

Now, even in the rehab where they talked about a Higher Power, Scully was an unbeliever. But there are no agnostics on the battlefield and Scully shouted, “Damn your black soul to hell! God will punish you!”

And then everything seemed to happen at once.

A giant wave rose above the cliff. Scully was to say later that it was as if great watery fingers had seized Dubois and dragged him screaming over the edge. Laurent fled across the moors. Xavier was howling because Hamish had stabbed him in the neck. A police helicopter sailed overhead, lighting up the scene.

Clutching his neck, Xavier started to run down the brae, but Anka and Dick saw him. Dick brought him down with a rugby tackle and Anka sat on him.

Hamish tried to struggle out of the coffin. Laurent was fleeing away from the direction of the village over the moors. But Hamish's struggles set the gurney in motion. As it hurtled down the hill, he clutched desperately at the sides as a pale dawn broke over the scene.

Jimmy, driving into Lochdubh at the head of a line of police cars, braked hard as Hamish Macbeth, sitting up in a coffin, sped past him, right over the harbour wall and into the loch.

Archie Maclean, the fisherman, who had been unable to go out because of the gale, was sitting on a bollard as Hamish shot past into the loch. He detached a life belt from the side of the harbour wall and sent it sailing in the direction where Hamish had gone under.

Police got out of their cars. Jimmy shouted to them to get up to the cliff. He waited anxiously. He had almost given up hope when Hamish's head rose above the choppy waters of the loch.

Hamish clutched the life belt and slowly made his way to the harbour steps, where he was helped up by Jimmy and Archie.

“Get him into the station,” ordered Jimmy, “and get Dr. Brodie to have a look at him. Can you speak, Hamish? What's happened?”

Hamish summoned up strength to lie. He could not say he had broken into the crematorium, so he said he had received an anonymous call that there were lights in the crematorium and had gone to investigate.

“The head man, Paul Dubois, is dead,” he said. “A wave washed him out to sea. The tattooed man has fled. Dick and Anka have got one of the gang, but the other one has escaped.”

“I'll get the rest from you later,” said Jimmy.

Judging that the police car would not get up to the top of the cliffs, Jimmy set off on foot.

Hamish was surrounded by villagers who had been roused from their beds by the commotion. Mr. Patel wrapped Hamish in a fleecy blanket, and he was led to the police station.

Dr. Brodie appeared and examined Hamish's head and then phoned for an ambulance. “It's off to hospital with you to get that head scanned.”

Hamish protested weakly that he was fine but Brodie said it was a hard blow and he might have bleeding from the brain.

Up on the cliffs, Xavier was being taken away to hospital. The cut on his neck had missed the main artery, but Jimmy wanted him fit and well for the interrogation to come.

Dick told Jimmy how Scully had tried to save Hamish's life. “It was right weird,” said Dick. “One moment Scully was calling down the wrath of God on that Frenchman, and the next this enormous wave just rose up and snatched him off into the sea.”

Jimmy turned to Scully. “Did you phone the police?”

“I phoned the station in Strathbane and spoke to some policeman,” said Scully.

“I didn't hear anything about it until I heard that Anka here had phoned.”

“Well, I did,” said Scully.

“I want you to come back to headquarters and make your statement,” said Jimmy.

In hospital later that day, Hamish was relieved to find he would not need an operation. He was suffering from concussion. He had been miserably sick and then he fell into a nightmare-ridden sleep where he was back in the crematorium, his pencil torch flickering around Kenneth Wright's office. When he woke, he felt better and found Dick by his bedside.

Dick told him about remembering that Hamish had said the Wright brothers were afraid of something, and about how Elspeth had phoned with news from Priscilla that a man called Dubois had left her alone in a restaurant after she had said that Hamish knew where the goods were stashed.

“And do you know?” came Jimmy's voice from behind Dick.

“I don't know. I don't know why I said that,” said Hamish.

“Right, I am here to take your statement. Wait outside, Dick.”

Jimmy switched on a tape recorder and said, “Begin at the beginning.”

As Hamish talked, he began to worry about Kenneth and Robert Wright. If they had been involved in any way, then someone had threatened them. Why?

He stopped talking and gazed vacantly at Jimmy. He was back in his dream, back in Kenneth's office.

He sat up suddenly. “Switch that off, Jimmy, and get me out o' here. I think I do know where the stuff is.”

“Tell me!”

“No, I want to see for myself.”

Blair woke late that morning. It was his day off. He was turning over to go back to sleep when his wife, Mary, came into the room.

“It's all over the telly,” she said. “You should see it. Film o' Hamish Macbeth in a coffin landing in the loch.”

That enterprising shopkeeper, Mr. Patel, had filmed the whole thing on his mobile phone and sold the film to the networks.

Blair shot out of bed and padded through to the living room in time to see Scully on the television. “It was the hand of God,” Scully was saying as he stood on the steps of police headquarters. Blair listened appalled as Scully went on to tell how he had been told there were lights at the crematorium where he worked and how he had heard they planned to throw Hamish Macbeth off the cliffs. This was followed by grainy footage of Hamish in his coffin, hurtling down the hill and into the loch.

Blair began to sweat. Who was that policeman who had called him? He remembered it was that new recruit, Todd Judson. He'd better try to find him and promise him promotion, anything, to keep his mouth shut. If he was on the night shift, he'd be at home now. He phoned the duty officer and got Todd's home address.

But Todd had seen the television report while he was having his breakfast, and, determined to be part of it all, even in a small way, he made his way to police headquarters. Also, Blair had told him to forget it and he didn't want to find himself accused of not passing on vital information.

But most of the force were out in the search for Laurent. Todd wanted to share a little bit of the excitement, so when he saw Daviot striding in, he waylaid him and said, “Should I put in a report about my call to Mr. Blair?”

“What call?”

“I got an anonymous call last night that some villains at the crematorium had loaded Hamish Macbeth into a coffin and were going to throw him into the sea.”

“Good lad. But I am surprised Mr. Blair did not go to the cliffs himself.”

“He told me to forget it,” said Todd. “He said it was probably some nutter. Should I put in a report, sir?”

At that moment Blair came rushing in. He saw Todd with the superintendent and turned to flee. But Daviot shouted, “Blair! My office. Now!”

At the crematorium, Kenneth and Robert Wright were standing outside, complaining that a forensic team had refused them admittance.

“Are you sure about this?” Jimmy asked Hamish.

“I'd better be,” said Hamish.

Jimmy went in, followed by Hamish. As he made his way to Kenneth's office, Christine appeared and said, “You can't go in there. We haven't processed it yet.”

Hamish brushed past her. “This is important.”

He stood with his hands on his hips and surveyed the line of urns on the shelf behind Kenneth's desk.

He walked forward and took one down. The top of the urn had a waxed seal. Hamish took out a penknife and sliced the seal.

“I hope to God you're right!” said Jimmy.

Hamish carried the urn forward. “Look at this!”

“White powder. I'll be damned.” Jimmy stuck a finger in the powder and tasted it. “If I'm not mistaken, this is pure cocaine. I'll get the brothers in here.”

He returned with Kenneth and Robert. They looked at the opened urn.

“He made us do it,” cried Kenneth. “He said he'd kill us if we said anything. He said he'd kill my granddaughter as well.”

“Who?” demanded Hamish. “Was it Gaunt?”

Kenneth and Robert nodded their old heads in unison.

“But when you learned of his murder,” said Jimmy, “why didn't you come forward?”

“He said he was the head of an international gang,” said Robert. Tears began to run down the wrinkles on his face. “I thought the others would come for us. Is it all over now?”

“Are all these urns full of the drugs?” asked Hamish.

“Yes,” said Kenneth. “Will we go to jail?”

“No,” said Hamish. “It's all over now.”

Jimmy phoned Daviot with the news. “Brilliant work,” said Daviot. “I will inform the press.”

He turned to the cringing figure of Blair. “I will decide what to do with you later. Anderson and Macbeth have just found an enormous haul of cocaine.”

He swept from the room. Blair hurried after him.

Daviot knew the press were massed outside headquarters. He smoothed back his hair and went outside to make an announcement, unaware that Blair had followed him.

Flashes went off and cameras rolled as he told the media about the find of the cocaine.

“I am very proud of our officers,” said Daviot at the end of his speech. “But one of the men is still at large. We only know him by the name of Laurent. You have the identikit picture and I would be grateful if you could feature it again.”

A reporter called out, “Have you anything to add, Chief Inspector Blair?”

Daviot swung round. Blair gave him an oily smile.

“It was all down to the organising genius of Superintendent Daviot,” he said. “He is the hero of the day.”

And that was how Blair kept his job. Daviot had been about to give Hamish Macbeth the credit. But, he thought quickly, Macbeth was a maverick. It was in the interests of the police force that he should take all the credit.

If I were starring in a television detective drama, thought Hamish Macbeth sourly, the credits would be rolling and that would be that. But here I am, writing out reams and reams of reports. Begin at the beginning, Macbeth. What happened when you went to the crematorium? How did you guess where the cocaine was hidden? Please submit all reports in triplicate. And while he typed and typed at the police station computer, he felt sourly that he was being kept out of the loop. There was bad news. Xavier had got ahold of drugs in hospital and had committed suicide, so Hamish had to send report after report as to why he had stabbed the man.

There was a countrywide search for the tattooed man called Laurent. Hamish tried several times to phone Jimmy but was always told the detective was too busy to answer his calls. The sad fact was that Jimmy felt Hamish had received enough glory; he wanted to be the one who caught Laurent.

The press had given up trying to contact Hamish because Hamish had been ordered by Daviot to let headquarters handle all the media reports. Hamish was surprised that Superintendent Douglas had not phoned or called, not knowing that Douglas had been told that the police sergeant was recovering from the attack on him and was not to be disturbed. He was just sending off his final report when Priscilla walked into the police station.

“I am so sorry, Hamish,” she said. “You would never have been attacked if I hadn't told Dubois you knew where the drugs were.”

“You're forgiven,” said Hamish. “I was setting myself up as bait anyway. But the mad greed o' the man! All he had to do was wait until the end of the meal.”

“I don't think he was French at all,” said Priscilla.

“Why?”

“When he was staying at the hotel, we were talking to some of the guests and they asked him if he was from Quebec. He was usually polite but he snapped at them that he had never, ever been there.”

“We should ha' guessed that,” said Hamish ruefully. “Gaunt came from Canada, as did the Leighs. I think Dubois, if that's his real name, used small-time villains like the Leighs, or Southerns as their real name was, to get the drugs out with the help of Gaunt.”

“Never mind. I'm sure Interpol or the Canadian police are on to that. I'll take you for a soothing lunch. Does your head hurt?”

A patch of Hamish's red hair had been shaved and a plaster put on the wound.

“Not now. Let's go. I'm sick o' this computer.”

“Where are Sonsie and Lugs?”

“Still with Dick. I'm going to Braikie tomorrow to pick them up.”

They walked together along the waterfront. From the security of a rented car, Blair watched them go.

Earlier that morning, Daviot had been landed with a suggestion from Police Scotland to close down the station in Lochdubh. He knew he would have to refuse, for Hamish held that incriminating photo of his wife. During a previous case, his wife had been drugged and photographed in a very compromising situation. Hamish had recovered the photograph and negatives for Daviot but had kept one back. He had told his boss that if his police station was closed down, then he would send copies of that dreadful photograph to all the newspapers.

Actually, Hamish knew that when it came to the crunch, he would do no such thing.

But with that photograph in Hamish's possession, Daviot felt vulnerable. He sent for Blair.

Blair came in, looking like a whipped dog.

“I want you to do me a favour,” said Daviot. “You owe me. Remember, I still have the power to fire you.”

“Anything I can do, I will do,” said Blair. “Anything for you, sir.”

“Macbeth has an incriminating photo of my wife.” He quickly told Blair how Hamish had come by it and how he could not close down the police station until he got that photo back.

“Leave it wi' me, sir,” said Blair. “I know where he keeps the key to the station. I'll watch when he goes out and I'll get it for ye.”

So Blair waited until he saw Priscilla and Hamish going into the restaurant and drove to the police station. As he was well known in Lochdubh, he knew none of the villagers would think his visit odd.

He searched in the gutter above the kitchen door and grunted with satisfaction when his fingers found the key. Before opening the door, Blair listened hard. By asking around, he had found out that Hamish's pets were still with Dick.

He let himself in and got to work in the office, jerking open drawers in Hamish's desk and spilling the contents onto the floor. A bottom drawer was locked.

He went out to a shed where he knew Hamish kept his tools and returned with a chisel. He broke the lock, upended the drawer, and began to rifle through the contents of bankbooks, birth certificate, family photographs, and a small box containing an engagement ring. Then he saw that a manila envelope was pasted onto the bottom of the drawer. He ripped it open and let out a low whistle. The photograph of Mrs. Daviot at last.

He seized it and fled the police station.

Archie Maclean, the fisherman, had been on his road to the station with two fish for Hamish when he saw Blair's flight. Alarmed, he hurried to the station and found the door open. He went in, calling, “Hamish!”

Then he saw the office door was open and the mess of papers on the floor. He hurried out and went into Patel's shop. “Anyone seen Hamish?” he shouted.

“I saw him go past with Miss Priscilla,” said Patel.

The restaurant, thought Archie.

He ran along the waterfront and erupted into the restaurant.

“Blair's broken into your station and there are papers all over the floor.”

“Wait here,” said Hamish to Priscilla.

“No, I'm coming with you.” The three of them ran along the waterfront to the station.

The first thing Hamish saw in his office was that upturned drawer with an empty manila envelope stuck to the bottom.

“He's got the photo,” said Hamish.

Later that afternoon, Daviot looked uneasily at Blair. “You are sure you've got it?”

“Yes, it's safe and sound wi' me. I could be doing wi' a wee dram.”

Daviot gave him an outraged look which Blair returned with a fat smile. He's going to blackmail me until the ends of time, thought Daviot, and there's nothing I can do about it.

At the same time, Mary, Blair's wife, was lifting up the mattress on their bed. She had crept to the door of the bedroom earlier on when her husband had returned and had wondered why he was being so furtive.

She picked up the photograph and scowled at it. Mary did not have very good eyesight, but she did not even bother to put on her glasses. All she knew was that it was a pornographic photograph. Her husband's drunkenness was enough but she wasn't going to have him leering over porn.

Mary took the photograph through to the fireplace, threw it in, struck a match, and watched it burn.

The phone rang. “Hullo, Hamish,” said Mary, who felt she owed the police sergeant a lot. For hadn't Hamish cleverly got her off the streets and into marriage with Blair? Other women might find Blair a horrible man, but Mary loved her home and respectable position and knew how to handle her husband.

“Your husband stole an important piece of evidence, a photo, from my station,” said Hamish.

“You mean thon dirty photo? I didn't know it was evidence,” said Mary. “I burnt the thing.”

Hamish began to laugh. “You're a grand girl, Mary. Did you know who was in the photo?

“No, some tart getting shagged.”

“Forget about it,” said Hamish.

Archie had gone. But Priscilla had heard the story. “Why didn't he send it straight to Daviot?” she asked. “Why did you think to phone his wife?”

“Because,” said Hamish, “a man like Blair would immediately think of the power that photo gave him over the boss. Poor Mr. Daviot. I'll ring up and put him out of his misery.”

“You and I are like brithers,” Blair was saying expansively when the phone rang. Daviot's secretary, Helen, said, “It's that man Macbeth on the phone. I told him you weren't available but he said it was urgent.”

“Put him on,” ordered Daviot.

“I will be as brief as possible, sir,” said Hamish. “You sent Blair to break into my police station and steal that photograph. He hid it under the mattress at his home, where his wife found it. She did not recognise the subject. She thought it was porn and so she burnt it. You sent Blair. He did not wear gloves. I can charge him. Knowing that scunner, he will immediately start blabbing that he did it on your orders. You should recognise real loyalty and stop trying to close my station down.”

“Thank you, Hamish,” said Daviot meekly. Blair slowly put down his glass. When Daviot said Hamish instead of Macbeth, it meant he was pleased with him.

“You silly drunken fool,” said Daviot evenly. “You didn't wear gloves and now Macbeth has your fingerprints and evidence from the locals that you are guilty of burglary.”

Blair grinned. “You'd better get him to hush it up. It isnae my arse that's on the line.”

“Stand up when you are addressing me!” roared Daviot. “Your wife found where you had hidden it, and thinking it was porn she burnt it.”

Blair turned a muddy colour.

“So get out of here and never, ever try to blackmail me again.”

“I wasnae…”

“Get out!”

When Blair had gone, Daviot phoned Hamish. “Send me a bill for any damage,” he said. “Is there anything else I can do?”

“Just be extra nice to Mary Blair. She puts up with a lot. Did Mr. Blair try to blackmail you, sir?”

“Not in so many words, but the implication was there.”

“Don't worry, sir,” said Hamish. “I should ha' never kept thon photo.”

“As I live and breathe,” said Daviot, “you will keep your station.”

After he had run off, Daviot called Helen in and, to her dismay, began to dictate a long letter explaining why the Lochdubh station must be kept open.

When Hamish had finished the call, Priscilla looked at him doubtfully. “I've got a nasty feeling that you're as bad as Blair, hanging on to that photograph.”

“Sutherland needs a man like me on the beat,” said Hamish stubbornly. He was suddenly weary of the oh-so-beautiful, oh-so-untouchable Priscilla. “Come here and give me a kiss,” he said.

“Don't be silly,” said Priscilla. “I have got to go.”

Blair erupted into his home and began yelling and shouting at his wife. Mary stared at him when she heard the photo had been that of Mrs. Daviot. “Okay, she was drugged and framed,” shouted Blair, “but I could ha' got anything out o' Daviot I wanted. I'm going to gie you the thrashing you deserve.” He raised his fists and advanced on her.

Mary kicked him in the balls. Blair fell to the floor, groaning and writhing. His wife put on her coat and went out to do some shopping. Sometimes, she thought ruefully, husbands like hers were really hard work.

The days slid past with no sighting of the elusive Laurent. Hamish began to think that he had maybe bribed someone up the coast to take him off in a boat.

He missed Elspeth. He wanted to discuss the case with her and see if that odd intuition of hers could come up with anything. He was just reaching for the phone to call her when he heard a familiar voice calling, “Hamish!”

He went through to the kitchen and there was Elspeth, smiling at him.

“I was chust about to phone you,” said Hamish, the strengthening of his accent showing how excited he was at seeing her. “What brings you?”

“Another crime documentary,” said Elspeth. “The last one sold well in America. I feel like a fraud. A team of researchers does most of the work and I just stand there in front of the camera with my arms folded, looking stern. I've been to Strathbane and done all the interviews. I'm afraid I haven't got permission to interview you.”

“Doesn't matter,” said Hamish. “Have you any free time? I'd like to pick your brains.”

“Yes. What do you want to do?”

“It's a grand day. Let's go for a drive. I'll take Sonsie and Lugs. They need the exercise. I think Dick fed them too many cakes and buns.”

Elspeth noticed how the animals had come to accept her. It's almost as if they realise I am no threat, she thought. They all climbed into the Land Rover.

“I thought you weren't supposed to take private passengers,” said Elspeth.

“Nobody's bothering about me,” said Hamish. “Where shall we go?”

“Anywhere,” said Elspeth happily.

“I know,” said Hamish. “We'll go up to Cromish.” He told her about the fox-loving Samantha. “I just want to make sure she's all right. I feel sorry for her.”

When they got to Cromish, Hamish thought that Samantha had perhaps left and was surprised to find her at home: not only at home, but changed in appearance for the better. She had put on weight and her cheeks were rosy.

And she was wearing a sparkling diamond ring on her engagement finger.

“Who's the lucky man?” asked Hamish.

“I'm going to be married to Dr. Williams,” said Samantha.

“How did that happen?” asked Hamish when they were seated in Samantha's kitchen.

“When I got out of hospital,” said Samantha, “I was a neurotic mess and went to him for anti-depressants. He said all I had to do was to accept country life, eat more, and get exercise. He sort of took me over.” She laughed happily.

“And what about the fox?” asked Elspeth.

“I haven't seen him. Harold, that's Dr. Williams, took me all round the crofts and got the crofters to tell me horrible stories about foxes.”