Death of a Village (13 page)

He began to consider seriously for the first time that he might have put himself in danger. Whoever had gone to the lengths of bombing the major’s cottage might decide to attack him. He
returned and got into the Land Rover and with Lugs beside him drove to Braikie and bought two smoke alarms. When he returned to Stoyre, it was to find that McGarry had finished his work and left,
leaving the door open. Hamish prowled around, inspecting everything. He cautiously switched on the light but there was no sinister flash, no explosion.

He built up the fire, although the day was quite warm outside, to disperse the remaining chill. He affixed the smoke alarms, one downstairs on the living room ceiling and another at the top of
the stairs above the small landing.

There was a fire extinguisher in the kitchen. He placed it by the front door.

After an early dinner, he felt he should take the evening off and read. He had bought the bottle of whisky at the local store just in case Jimmy dropped over to pay him a visit. He poured
himself a glass, picked up a book, and began to read. Lugs stretched out in front of the fire with a contented sigh.

Earlier in the day, Elspeth went to Mrs Docherty’s cottage to see how the two local celebrities were getting along.

‘Very well, my dear,’ said Mrs Docherty ‘We did enjoy our bit of fame.’

‘It’s not over yet,’ said Elspeth. ‘You’ll have your day in court. What’s it like living with Mr Jefferson?’

‘At first I thought it might be a bit claustrophobic, but it’s worked out quite well. We have our separate rooms and he likes going off and pottering about the village.’

‘Aren’t you worried he might be tempted to return to his criminal activities?’

‘He’s a bit long in the tooth to want to face up to any more time in prison. I think he’ll be all right. Where’s Macbeth? There’s a note on the police station door
referring all calls to Cnothan.’

Elspeth hesitated. But there could be no harm in telling this elderly lady where Hamish was. ‘As long as you don’t tell anyone . . .’

‘No, I won’t.’

‘Well, do you remember that business at Stoyre where some major’s holiday cottage got blown up?’

‘Yes, of course. It was in all the papers.’

‘He’s gone there on holiday. Officially on holiday. Some cottage on the waterfront is where he is. But he wants to nose around and see if he can find anything out.’

After Elspeth had left, Mrs Docherty hailed Mr Jefferson, when he arrived, with ‘That policeman, Hamish, has gone to Stoyre on holiday.’

‘Really? The place where they blew up that cottage?’

‘That’s the one. He’s actually going to stay there to see if he can find anything out.’

‘He might have told us. I mean, didn’t we solve that nursing home business for him?’

‘We could always go over there this evening and see him.’

‘I’ll drive,’ said Mr Jefferson quickly. Mrs Docherty was famous for cruising along at around twenty miles an hour.

In the holiday cottage, the smoke alarm on the upstairs landing started to shrill. Lugs rose from the hearthrug and began to bark. His master lay asleep in the armchair. Lugs
seized one trouser leg and pulled. But Hamish did not awake. Lugs put back his head and began to howl.

‘It looks as if everyone left,’ said Mr Jefferson, parking on the waterfront. ‘The place is deserted.’

Mrs Docherty climbed stiffly out of the car. ‘I hear a dog howling,’ she said.

‘Over there,’ cried Mr Jefferson. ‘There’s smoke coming out of the top windows of that cottage.’

He ran towards the door of the cottage, with Mrs Docherty hurrying after him as best she could. He hammered on the door. He tried the handle. The door was locked. He took out his skeleton keys
and unlocked it. Lugs ran to meet him as the door opened, barking wildly. Mr Jefferson put a handkerchief over his face and ran up the stairs and into the bedroom. Flames were licking along the
skirting board. He nipped down the stairs again and threw the switch beside the meter, cutting off the electricity and plunging the cottage into darkness. Then he went back upstairs with the fire
extinguisher and aimed it at the flames until they were extinguished. The window was open a few inches. He opened it wide and let the acrid smoke billow out.

Coughing and wheezing, he went downstairs. In the glow of the firelight, he could see Mrs Docherty slapping Hamish’s face.

‘Is he dead?’ he asked.

‘No, just out cold. What caused the fire?’

‘Faulty wiring, I think. I’ve cut off the electricity. Let’s call the police.’

‘No, let’s try to get Hamish awake. If the police come back to Stoyre, it’ll set back his investigation. He might not like that. Is there anything we can use as an
emetic?’

Mrs Docherty searched the cupboards. ‘Nothing but salt. That would do but we’d best get him awake first. Get him on his feet.’

The elderly couple heaved and pushed, with only the result of sending Hamish toppling over on to the floor.

‘They may have poisoned him,’ panted Mr Jefferson. ‘I’ll bring the car round to the door. We’ll try to get him in the back and take him to Dr Brodie.’

‘He’s drugged, I’m sure, but his pulse is strong. Okay, get the car.’

Fortunately for them, Hamish regained brief consciousness, enough for them to get him out the door and into the car, where they thrust him into the backseat. Lugs jumped in after his master. Mr
Jefferson relocked the door and set off, driving at breakneck speed.

Dr Brodie opened the door and stared in bewilderment at the elderly couple who were both talking at once about fire and drugs and Hamish. At last he made out what they were
saying and went out to the car. Hamish blinked at him groggily.

‘Come on, lad,’ said the doctor, easing him out of the car. ‘Let’s get you inside.’

His wife, Angela, came out to help.

Hamish was laid down on the living room carpet. Dr Brodie shone a light in his eyes. ‘Yes, it’s a fair guess he’s been drugged. Better call Strathbane.’

‘I think you should ask Hamish first what he wants to do,’ said Mrs Docherty. ‘It’s an undercover operation,’ she added importantly.

‘Oh, very well. We’ll walk him up and down a bit. Angela, you take one side and I’ll take the other.’

Slowly Hamish recovered until he was able to sit and drink black coffee.

‘It was the whisky, I’m sure of it,’ he said. ‘I bought a bottle at the store. A man called McGarry called round to fix the electric meter. He may have doctored the
whisky and done something to the wiring. Did you bring that bottle of whisky with you?’

‘There was no whisky that I could see and no glass,’ said Mrs Docherty. ‘I looked in case you’d taken pills or something.’

‘Whatever is going on in Stoyre which prompted someone to try to kill a policeman must be pretty criminal,’ said Hamish. ‘Did you phone Strathbane?’

‘No, we were waiting to see what you wanted to do.’

‘I cannae keep quiet about it,’ said Hamish. ‘Let me phone Daviot.’

They waited while he phoned. They could hear Hamish telling his chief about what happened and then outraged squawks coming down the line.

Then Hamish interrupted with ‘This is serious, sir. I have an idea. May I come and discuss it with you?’

When he rang off, he said, ‘Can I borrow your car, Angela? I’m going to talk to Daviot.’

‘You’re still in no fit state to drive,’ said the doctor.

‘That’s all right,’ said Mr Jefferson happily. ‘We’ll drive him, won’t we, Annie?’

‘Of course we will.’

Angela smiled. ‘You’d best come with me to the bathroom and wash your face, Mr Jefferson. You’re all black with smoke.’

Despite feeling groggy, Hamish could only wonder at the energy of the old couple as Mr Jefferson with Mrs Docherty beside him and Lugs and Hamish in the backseat drove off at speed in the
direction of Strathbane. ‘Are we going to his home?’ asked Mr Jefferson, braking violently as a deer appeared in the middle of the road. ‘Good thing I didn’t hit
that,’ he said amiably as the deer leapt off into the night. ‘Could have written off the car.’

‘And us,’ said Hamish, who felt he had endured enough shocks. ‘No, he’s meeting me at police headquarters. How did you guess it was the wiring and know to switch off the
electricity?’

There was a silence. An owl flitted across in front of them and for a brief time there was only the sound of the engine. Then Mr Jefferson said reluctantly, ‘I may as well tell you, being
a reformed character, I once pulled that trick – not to try to kill anyone, mind, but to clear a house I was staying in so that I could lift a few trinkets during the confusion.’

‘I never thought I would be grateful to someone wi’ criminal experience,’ said Hamish. ‘You saved my life. How did you know I was at Stoyre?’

‘Your girlfriend told us,’ said Mrs Docherty.

‘She iss not my girlfriend,’ said Hamish testily, and leant back and closed his eyes.

‘I hope you have some definite facts to report,’ said Daviot. ‘It’s two in the morning.’

Hamish told him of the attempt on his life.

‘And you didn’t even phone? I’ll get the boys over there, fast!’

‘Wait a wee minute, sir. If you do that, the locals will obstruct you as before. There’s no evidence of that drugged whisky. They’ll all gang up together and swear I was drunk.
I’m sure that electrician knew his job, just as I’m sure no money has been spent on that cottage in keeping it in order in years. The wiring will appear to have been faulty, and if an
electrician checks through the house, I’m sure he’ll find some of the wiring really is faulty.’

‘So what do you suggest?’

‘I suggest you get an undercover squad of workmen to go over to Stoyre and check everything and help me clean up. I want the locks repaired and a burglar alarm put in. Don’t tell the
estate agent anything about it at the moment. I’ll return there tomorrow with the workmen and go on as if nothing happened. That will scare whoever’s trying to get me. I think
they’ll lie low for a bit. Whatever is going on there, it must be something big, something that involves the whole village. There are lots of handy inlets and bays north of Stoyre and the
only way to them is along a dirt road leading north from the village. I’d like to take a look in case anyone’s landing anything illegal.’

Daviot studied Hamish, wishing, not for the first time, that the man were more like a regular policeman. Every time he looked at Hamish Macbeth, with his long, lanky figure, pleasant face and
flaming red hair, he saw a maverick. But Strathbane police had hit the headlines with the solving of the insurance fraud and the hospital business, and both investigations had been successful
because of Hamish.

‘All right,’ he said reluctantly. ‘You’ve got the rest of the week. If you don’t come up with anything, it’ll be a waste of money. Are you recovered from the
drugs?’

‘Pretty much.’

‘How did you get here?’

‘That elderly couple, Docherty and Jefferson, who saved my life, gave me a lift.’

‘Keep them out of this one. Promise?’

‘I’ll do that,’ said Hamish.

They discussed arrangements and then Hamish went up to the canteen, where he found Mr Jefferson feeding Lugs sugar buns.

‘You’ll ruin his teeth,’ howled Hamish. He looked at the bowl on the floor. ‘And you’ve been giving him coffee.’

‘The poor wee dog needed a treat,’ said Mrs Docherty. ‘So, are they sending men over there?’

Hamish hesitated. Detective Harry MacNab was at the next table and obviously straining his ears to hear what they were saying.

‘Let’s go,’ he said.

On the drive back he was pestered with questions until he said wearily, ‘All right. I’ll tell you. But you’ve got to keep away from Stoyre.’ He
described his plan.

‘We could help you,’ said Mr Jefferson.

‘No, you’ve done enough. You are not to go near Stoyre. Do I have your promise?’

They both gave him a reluctant ‘yes’.

‘Did they ever find out what was in those pills they gave us at the nursing home?’ asked Mrs Docherty, changing the subject.

‘Betterdorm. Sleeping pills.’

‘What’s Betterdorm?’ asked Mrs Docherty.

‘Betterdorm is a brand name. The drug is a central nervous system depressant similar to barbiturates. The effect on the body is a reduction in the heart and breathing rate and blood
pressure. Small doses create a feeling of euphoria. Larger doses can bring about depression, irrational behaviour, poor reflexes and slurred speech. It’s a grand way of making old folks seem
senile.’

‘Maybe that’s what’s behind all this in Stoyre,’ said Mr Jefferson. ‘Maybe someone’s landing drugs and all this religious business is a cover-up.’

‘Forget Stoyre,’ snapped Hamish. ‘Chust drop me off and don’t go near the place again.’

The next day, Hamish looked out of the window of the house on the waterfront. Behind him, workmen were cleaning off the smoke damage and checking the wiring. One was putting in
a burglar alarm and a locksmith was changing the locks. What did they make of it all?

‘They’ were the villagers. They stood in groups a little way away from the front of the house, watching and whispering. Through the open window, the hissing and murmuring of their
voices reached Hamish’s ears, sounding like the waves on the beach.

He felt a superstitious shudder run through his body. It was like being trapped in some science fiction film where the aliens had taken over the population.

And then a small noisy sports car roared along the waterfront and jerked to a stop outside the house. Elspeth climbed out. She was wearing a scarlet ankle-length cardigan over a white shirt
blouse and brief shorts. Hamish felt ridiculously pleased to see her. It was as if her very arrival had broken some sort of spell. The villagers began to move off.

‘Come in,’ said Hamish. ‘What brings you?’

‘I came to see what you were up to,’ said Elspeth. ‘Why all these workmen?’