Authors: M.C. Beaton
‘I’m from London. I read about those murders and saw film of this area on television. It looked so beautiful and I was in need of a holiday, so here I am. I’m staying at the
hotel.’
‘Mr Johnson, the manager, has plenty of tourist information.’
‘May I come in?’
‘Why?’ asked Hamish.
‘I’ve never been inside a country police station before.’
‘Just for a minute, then.’ Hamish stood aside to let her past.
She settled herself at the kitchen table. A waft of some subtle perfume emanated from her.
‘Would you like tea or coffee?’ asked Hamish reluctantly.
‘Coffee would be nice.’
‘Wait until I finish cleaning out the stove.’
She sat placidly, seeming perfectly at ease. The cat flap banged, and Lugs followed by Sonsie strolled into the kitchen.
‘Is that a . . .?’
‘Yes, it’s a wild cat,’ said Hamish, ‘but harmless.’
She opened her handbag and took out a camera. ‘Mind if I take a picture?’
‘Yes. They don’t like having their pictures taken.’
‘Oh, well, pity.’
Hamish finished cleaning the stove and plugged in an electric kettle. He rarely used it, preferring to keep a kettle boiling on the top of the stove, but he thought it would take too long and he
wanted rid of her. He did not want a beautiful woman to upset his placid existence.
‘My name is Tasman Kennedy,’ she said.
‘I’m Hamish Macbeth. Where does the Scottish name come from?’
‘My grandfather was Scottish. But I’ve never been in Scotland before. When I drove up, I could hardly believe the emptiness. It’s so crowded in the south. It’s hard to
believe there are places like this in the British Isles.’
‘What do you do for a living?’ asked Hamish, putting a mug of coffee in front of her. ‘Help yourself to milk and sugar.’
‘I’m a model. Photographic model mostly, although I go on the catwalk for the collections.’
‘Is it hard work?’
‘It is. And I know it’s a short life. I don’t use drugs like some of the others. Any money I get, I put into property. I may even buy something up here.’
‘I wouldn’t bother. It looks fine at the moment, but the summer is brief and the winters can be hard.’
‘But you like it.’
‘Yes, but I’m a highlander. It makes a difference.’
She took a sip of her coffee and wrinkled her nose.
‘It was on special offer at Patel’s,’ said Hamish defensively.
‘It’s nearly lunchtime,’ she said. ‘Why don’t I take you for lunch at the hotel?’
Hamish stared at her for a long moment, his eyes blank. Then he said, ‘That would be nice. I’m supposed to be on duty. I’ll need to put my uniform on in case someone from
headquarters sees me.’
During the meal, Hamish’s suspicions grew. He had wondered how long it would be before Freddie Ionedes from his prison cell would arrange something horrible for him. He
had certainly pulled out all the stops with this one. Tasman was amusing and charming. She told funny stories about her appearances on the catwalk.
Hamish played along, wondering all the while what was in store for him.
And although he smiled and chatted, he could feel himself getting angrier and angrier. No one this beautiful could be interested in such as Hamish Macbeth.
He had an idea. He was not going to go along with it. He was not going to be a sitting duck. What had they planned for him this time? Were they going to take him out to sea in a boat and throw
him over? Take him up to a peat bog and drop him in?
Towards the end of the meal, Hamish thanked her with every appearance of warmth and then said, ‘You didn’t get a proper look at the police station. Why not come back with me and
I’ll show you round.’
‘I’d like that. But not your coffee. Let’s have it here and then we’ll go.’
Tasman followed Hamish to the police station in her car. He courteously helped her out. The sun was sparkling on the loch. Seagulls sailed overhead. A beautiful schooner
cruised out to sea under full sail. No one is going to spoil this for me again, he vowed.
Hamish ushered her inside. ‘Now you’ve seen the kitchen. I actually have a cell. Would you like to see it?’
‘Yes. Do you lock many people up?’
‘Usually only one of the locals who’s drunk too much. I lock the man up and let him out in the morning when he’s slept it off. Here it is.’
She gave a charming laugh. ‘It looks quite cosy.’
Hamish put a hand in the small of her back and pushed her in. ‘Take a good look at it from the inside.’ She staggered forward into the cell, and he banged the door shut and locked
it.
She hammered on the door. ‘Let me out, you maniac!’
Hamish ignored her and went through to the computer. Time to check the police files before he phoned Strathbane.
But before he could get to the office, the Currie sisters walked in. ‘Where is she?’ asked Nessie eagerly.
‘Is she,’ echoed Jessie. ‘Is that her screaming, screaming?’
‘What are you talking about?’ demanded Hamish.
‘We’ve only seen her on the telly and in the magazines,’ said Jessie. ‘We’ve never seen a famous model close up.’
Colour flooded Hamish’s face. ‘Famous model?’ he echoed.
‘Yes, the whole village is that excited.’
Hamish all but pushed them out the door. ‘Come back later.’ He slammed the kitchen door on their startled faces and locked it. Then he went and unlocked the cell.
‘I should have known better than to spend time with the village idiot,’ raged Tasman.
‘Before you do that,’ pleaded Hamish, ‘let me tell you a story.’
‘What? About the little people, you inbred moron?’
‘Come into the kitchen and sit down,’ said Hamish soothingly. ‘I’m not mad. But I must tell you why I locked you up.’
‘I think you do owe me an explanation, but be quick about it!’
They sat at the kitchen table, and Hamish began. He told her all about the threats of Freddie Ionedes, and then he told her how Crystal had tried to lure him to his death.
When he finished, she looked half-angry, half-amused. ‘So you thought I was a hooker?’
The answer to that was ‘yes’, but Hamish was not going to make matters worse.
‘Look at it from point of view,’ he said. ‘A beautiful woman such as yourself appears from nowhere and invites me to lunch. It all seemed so strange. I thought it was
entrapment. I thought you were supposed to lure me somewhere where friends of Freddie could finish me off. I am so very sorry.’
She looked at him suspiciously. ‘Is all this true?’
‘Come into the office, and I’ll get my official statement about the attempt on my life up on the computer.’
She waited in the office until he found his statement, then he rose and said, ‘Sit down and read it. It’s all there.’
She read it very carefully, and then to his immeasurable relief, she smiled up at him. ‘You’re forgiven.’
‘Can I make it up to you? The Falls of Anstey are very beautiful. I could run you up there.’
‘All right. Where’s the bathroom? I need to repair my make-up.’
When they left the police station together, they were faced not only by the residents but by Matthew, the local reporter, all snapping pictures.
‘Get out of it!’ shouted Hamish, but Tasman put a hand on his arm. ‘Smile,’ she said, ‘I’m used to it.’
‘Can we take your car?’ asked Hamish. ‘I’m not really allowed to take civilians in the Land Rover unless I’m arresting them.’
As she drove off, he asked, ‘What’s it like to be so famous?’
‘I take it as part of my job,’ she said. ‘I’m used to it. I’m making the most of it while I’ve still got my looks.’
After inspecting the waterfall, they sat on a flat rock in the sun a little away from the noise of the tumbling water.
‘Why did you never marry?’ she asked. ‘You haven’t been married, have you?’
Hamish found himself telling her all about Elspeth.
‘But it seems to me,’ said Tasman, ‘that you had plenty of opportunities to ask her in the past. You shouldn’t get married just for the sake of getting
married.’
‘What about you?’ asked Hamish.
‘Maybe I will eventually if I meet someone. A lot of men like me as arm candy. I get to a lot of first nights and good restaurants.’ She put an arm round his shoulders.
‘Don’t worry, Hamish. There’s someone out there for both of us. Now, I’d better drop you back at the police station and then go to the hotel and pack.’
‘You’re leaving! Why?’
‘Because one of those photographs will appear in some newspaper. The local television stations will call on me, and then the nationals will chase me, hoping to catch me in an off
moment.’
Later that day, the photo editor on the
Daily Bugle
approached Elspeth. ‘Don’t you know that highland copper Hamish Macbeth?’
‘Yes. Why?’
He slid a photo in front of her. ‘Good shot, eh?’
The photo showed Hamish in uniform, sitting on a rock with Tasman. She had her arm round his shoulders and was smiling into his eyes. ‘We thought we’d caption it, “In the Arms
of the Law”.’
‘Very neat,’ said Elspeth with pretended indifference.
After he had gone, Elspeth felt miserable as all the memories of the fiasco of her wedding came flooding back. Luke had never come back to the newspaper. Nor had he written one word of apology.
And here was Hamish Macbeth consorting with one of the world’s most beautiful models. No one wanted her. She felt like crying.
The next day, Hamish angrily confronted Matthew Campbell in the local newspaper office. ‘Was that you who followed me and took that photograph?’
‘It was, Hamish. Come on. It was very flattering. Think of all the men in Britain who would like to be in your shoes.’
‘She’s packed up and left because of it. I feel like punching you.’
‘Don’t. Did you ever hear what happened to Elspeth?’
‘No. What? Is she married?’
‘I was talking to someone at the
Bugle,
and he gave me the whole story.’
Hamish listened to the humiliation of Elspeth. ‘Poor lassie,’ he said. He thought of that sparkling ring locked in his safe. ‘Maybe I’ll phone her.’
But the days dragged on into high summer, and still he did not phone because he did not know quite what to say.
At the end of June, Hamish was on duty at the Highland Games in Braikie. The weather was fine, a rare treat for Braikie, because usually it poured with rain.
He wandered about, watching the events – the tossing the caber and swinging the hammer.
He bought himself an ice cream and was just considering strolling over to where the ferret racing was about to take place when he had an odd feeling of danger. He looked right and left. Fiona
Fleming was there, walking on the arm of a wealthy-looking businessman. Mrs Styles was selling jams and cakes at a church stall.
There was a police mobile unit set up to advise people on security. Sitting on the step was Pat Constable. She brightened when she saw him. ‘I was getting bored,’ she said. ‘No
one seems to want to know about security.’
‘Want to come and watch the ferret racing?’
‘I can’t leave here. We never had that dinner. What about this evening?’
‘There’s a good Italian restaurant in Lochdubh,’ said Hamish. ‘I’ll meet you there at eight. This event starts to close down at five o’clock. Have you seen
anyone suspicious around? I keep getting a bad feeling.’
‘You’re surely better at recognizing strangers than me. This is your beat.’
‘I’ll see you later.’
Hamish walked off, trying to shake off the strange feeling of foreboding. He stopped at a stall set up by a gun shop in Dingwall. He recognized the owner, John Morrison. ‘Looking for a
gun, Hamish?’
‘Maybe. I wass thinking of a deer rifle.’ Hamish looked uneasily over his shoulder.
‘What about this one?’ John put a deer rifle on the counter. ‘This is a beauty. It’s the Remington 700CDL. This is the newest, best-looking remodelling of the old standby
Model 700. It’s got a straight-comb American walnut stock with a satin finish, cut chequering, a right-hand cheekpiece, and a black fore-end tip and grip cap.’
‘Got any ammo?’ asked Hamish.
‘Of course.’
‘Load it up.’
‘Hamish, I just can’t let you walk off with a loaded deer rifle.’
‘Chust for a wee minute,’ said Hamish. ‘I’ll take it ower to that mobile unit. I want to show that policewoman.’
‘I suppose it’s all right, you being the law and all.’ John deftly loaded it. ‘You shouldn’t be carrying a loaded gun. Now, just over there and right
back.’
Hamish slung the gun over his shoulder, and then to John’s horror, he ran off, zigzagging through the crowds. On and on pounded Hamish, up into the hills to where there was a ring of
standing stones. He moved behind one of the stones and looked down the brae.
Three men came panting up through the heather. He saw the sun glinting off their weapons.
Borne on the wind came the tinny sounds of a carousel at the games.
Hamish raised the rifle to his shoulder and focussed. He took aim and fired. One man screamed, clutched his leg and fell down. Bullets cracked against the standing stones. Hamish fired again and
got another of the men in the arm. The third turned to flee. Hamish ran out from his hiding place and shouted, ‘Stop right there or you’re dead.’
The man stopped and dropped his gun. Hamish ran down to him and handcuffed him. He took out his phone and called for reinforcements. He cautioned the man he had handcuffed and then walked to
each of the fallen men and cautioned them as well.
Three police officers who had been working at the games along with Pat Constable soon came running up the brae to join Hamish. He told them shortly that there had been an attempt on his
life.
There was a long wait while ambulance men arrived with stretchers to take the two wounded men away. Then the one he had handcuffed was led off down to the road, where he was put into a police
car.
Hamish’s mobile rang. It was Jimmy Anderson. ‘I just heard the shout,’ he said. ‘What’s been going on?’
‘Three men came to kill me,’ said Hamish. ‘I think you’ll find they had something to do with Freddie Ionedes. I’ve got something to wrap up here. I’ll be over
to Strathbane as soon as I can.’