hotel,” she said stiffly.
“Does your driver need accommodation?” asked Charlie.
“I dismissed him,” she said curtly. “I will meet you at Lochdubh police station in the morning.”
Hamish paced restlessly up and down the police station, too worried to go to bed. At last he decided to phone Willie. He found his home number and rang it.
When Willie answered, Hamish said, “Why are you checking up on Inspector Herring? This is Sergeant Macbeth from Lochdubh.”
“I’m not,” screeched Willie. “I do a wee bit for the papers, see.”
“Havers! You were asking questions at the hotel. Who’s employing you?”
“I’m telling you. No one!” Willie was terrified that if he gave up Blair, then Blair would find a way to get him arrested. He suddenly saw a way out.
“Thae murders you’re on,” he said. “I think I ken who’s done them. I was thinking o’ telling the inspector but I got cold feet.”
“Tell me!”
“Come in the morning to the office,” said Willie, and hung up.
As soon as he was finished with Hamish, Willie made a call. He spoke rapidly, finishing with, “I don’t know if it’s you, or not, but I’ve got to give the police something. Get your passport ready.”
Charlie and Fiona arrived at the station to find a note on the table from Hamish. “Gone to see Willie. He says he’s got news of our murderer.”
“We’d better go as well,” said Charlie.
“No,” said Fiona sharply. “This station should be manned. You stay here.”
She strode out. Sonsie and Lugs stared at Charlie. “Must be serious,” said Charlie, “or he would ha’ taken you pair. It’s a grand day. Let’s go for a walk.”
As Hamish rounded into the grimy street where Willie had his office, he found his way blocked by police cars and fire engines.
He got out and made his way forward to where Detective Inspector Blair was talking to the fire chief.
Blair scowled at Hamish. “What are you doing here?”
“Willie Dunne told me he had information about the murderer. He told me to call this morning. What’s happened here?”
“Too early to tell,” said the fire chief.
“And Willie Dunne?”
“Burnt to a crisp.”
“Murder?”
“Too early to tell.”
“Wait a minute,” roared Blair. “This is my case.”
Hamish stared at him for a long moment. Surely if anyone wanted to destroy Fiona’s reputation, it would be Blair.
“A word with you, sir,” said Hamish, walking a little away. Blair followed him.
“Willie was employed by someone to spy on Miss Herring,” he said.
“Rubbish!” roared Blair, turning a muddy colour. “Get oot o’ here, ye great daft gowk.”
He watched uneasily as Hamish walked away. Thank heavens everything in that office, including Willie, had been burnt to cinders.
Hamish drove up onto the moors. He needed peace and quiet to think. If it had been Blair who had employed Willie, and feared he had been found out, would he go to the lengths of murdering the man? Willie may have phoned Blair during the night and told him that he, Hamish, was on his trail. But murder?
Willie had been just the sort of creature to blackmail some of his clients. What if he had warned the murderer?
Any evidence that might have been in the office was now lost.
His phone rang. It was Fiona. “I have just heard the news about the fire.”
“On my road back from it,” said Hamish.
“You should have phoned me immediately. Go back to your station and I’ll meet you there.”
Hamish drove to Lochdubh as fast as he could. It was one of those rare balmy days when a mild west wind blew in from the Gulf Stream. The mountains soared up to a pale-blue sky. He longed for the case to be over.
Fiona was waiting outside the police station. There was no sign of Charlie.
“Where’s Charlie?” asked Hamish.
“I have sent him to Kinlochbervie. I asked him to man this station but when I checked, he was out walking those ridiculous pets of yours. He might be
“Does your driver need accommodation?” asked Charlie.
“I dismissed him,” she said curtly. “I will meet you at Lochdubh police station in the morning.”
Hamish paced restlessly up and down the police station, too worried to go to bed. At last he decided to phone Willie. He found his home number and rang it.
When Willie answered, Hamish said, “Why are you checking up on Inspector Herring? This is Sergeant Macbeth from Lochdubh.”
“I’m not,” screeched Willie. “I do a wee bit for the papers, see.”
“Havers! You were asking questions at the hotel. Who’s employing you?”
“I’m telling you. No one!” Willie was terrified that if he gave up Blair, then Blair would find a way to get him arrested. He suddenly saw a way out.
“Thae murders you’re on,” he said. “I think I ken who’s done them. I was thinking o’ telling the inspector but I got cold feet.”
“Tell me!”
“Come in the morning to the office,” said Willie, and hung up.
As soon as he was finished with Hamish, Willie made a call. He spoke rapidly, finishing with, “I don’t know if it’s you, or not, but I’ve got to give the police something. Get your passport ready.”
Charlie and Fiona arrived at the station to find a note on the table from Hamish. “Gone to see Willie. He says he’s got news of our murderer.”
“We’d better go as well,” said Charlie.
“No,” said Fiona sharply. “This station should be manned. You stay here.”
She strode out. Sonsie and Lugs stared at Charlie. “Must be serious,” said Charlie, “or he would ha’ taken you pair. It’s a grand day. Let’s go for a walk.”
As Hamish rounded into the grimy street where Willie had his office, he found his way blocked by police cars and fire engines.
He got out and made his way forward to where Detective Inspector Blair was talking to the fire chief.
Blair scowled at Hamish. “What are you doing here?”
“Willie Dunne told me he had information about the murderer. He told me to call this morning. What’s happened here?”
“Too early to tell,” said the fire chief.
“And Willie Dunne?”
“Burnt to a crisp.”
“Murder?”
“Too early to tell.”
“Wait a minute,” roared Blair. “This is my case.”
Hamish stared at him for a long moment. Surely if anyone wanted to destroy Fiona’s reputation, it would be Blair.
“A word with you, sir,” said Hamish, walking a little away. Blair followed him.
“Willie was employed by someone to spy on Miss Herring,” he said.
“Rubbish!” roared Blair, turning a muddy colour. “Get oot o’ here, ye great daft gowk.”
He watched uneasily as Hamish walked away. Thank heavens everything in that office, including Willie, had been burnt to cinders.
Hamish drove up onto the moors. He needed peace and quiet to think. If it had been Blair who had employed Willie, and feared he had been found out, would he go to the lengths of murdering the man? Willie may have phoned Blair during the night and told him that he, Hamish, was on his trail. But murder?
Willie had been just the sort of creature to blackmail some of his clients. What if he had warned the murderer?
Any evidence that might have been in the office was now lost.
His phone rang. It was Fiona. “I have just heard the news about the fire.”
“On my road back from it,” said Hamish.
“You should have phoned me immediately. Go back to your station and I’ll meet you there.”
Hamish drove to Lochdubh as fast as he could. It was one of those rare balmy days when a mild west wind blew in from the Gulf Stream. The mountains soared up to a pale-blue sky. He longed for the case to be over.
Fiona was waiting outside the police station. There was no sign of Charlie.
“Where’s Charlie?” asked Hamish.
“I have sent him to Kinlochbervie. I asked him to man this station but when I checked, he was out walking those ridiculous pets of yours. He might be
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