Death of Yesterday by M. C. Beaton Page B

place,” said Hamish. “This must be one of the places where the staff nip out to have cigarettes. We’ll go back in and see if there’s any of them in the canteen.”
    In the canteen, he tried to pull Dick back from heading for the service counter but Dick said, “We need to eat and get something for the beasties.”
    Hamish released him and then started to go round the tables where staff were having coffee. Not one admitted to having seen anything.
    Dick came back with two coffees, buns, and pies for Sonsie and Lugs. Hamish gulped down his coffee and said, “You go and feed Sonsie and Lugs and then meet me round at that door. The ones in the canteen were probably not smokers. I’m going to wait there and see if anyone comes out.”
    Hamish waited patiently outside. After half an hour, a hospital porter came out and lit a cigarette. “Were you out here yesterday?” asked Hamish.
    “Aye, but I wasnae murdering anyone.”
    “Did you see anyone at all?”
    “Cars down on the road. I was on my own. Oh, I mind, there was a hoody on a bike just going round that corner on the left.”
    “What did he look like?”
    “I only got a glimpse. You ken what these hoodies are like. They aye look the same.”
    “What colour of hoody?”
    “Grey.”
    “Small, fat, thin?”
    “Medium built, average size. It was one o’ thae wee collapsible bikes folks carry around in their cars. Hood right ower his head.”
    “What time was this?”
    “Be about dinnertime.”
    Correctly understanding that by dinnertime, he meant midday, Hamish asked, “That was about the time the murder was committed. Didn’t you think to tell the police?”
    “Didnae think.”
    “Did you see any other members of the staff when you were out here smoking?”
    “Naw. On my lonesome.”
    Hamish took down his name and address and said they would be in touch with him.
    Dick arrived, brushing crumbs from his regulation shirt. Hamish told him what he had found out. “I’d better phone Jimmy,” he said. “We’ve got to find out if anyone in Cnothan owns such a cycle.”
    Jimmy listened in silence, and then, as if realising he might be missing out by keeping Hamish out of the investigation, said, “Get over here. I’ll let you look through the statements. You might see something I’ve missed.”
    Once in Cnothan, Hamish sent Dick back to Lochdubh with his pets. The village was now swarming with press, and he didn’t want any photographer snapping a picture of his wild cat and starting up arguments about the legality of having such an animal as a pet.
    He found Jimmy outside the factory. “I could do with a drink,” said Jimmy. “Let’s go along to the Loaming. I’ll go over the statements with you.”
    When they entered the pub, Hamish recognised Maisie Moffat, sitting at a table with some of the staff. When they saw Hamish and Jimmy, they finished their drinks and hurried out.
    Jimmy ordered a double whisky for himself and an orange juice for Hamish and then settled down at the table recently vacated by the factory staff.
    He put a laptop on the table and switched it on. He tossed back his drink. “Help yourself, Hamish. I need another. It was worse than interviewing the mafia. Talk about omerta!”
    Hamish began to read. He had given up smoking some time ago but he suddenly longed for a cigarette. Then he found himself yearning for the cool company of Priscilla Halburton-Smythe who had acted as his Watson on so many cases. He sighed and began to concentrate.
    Hannah’s brother had been sedated and could not be interviewed. Pete Eskdale had been out of the factory the previous morning. He said he had gone down to Strathbane to interview a secretary as Gilchrist was complaining that the new one was no good. The applicant, a Miss Henrietta Noble, confirmed that he had called and had said he would let her know. But it left a time lag where he could have gone to the hospital. Warrants had been issued to search the premises of all suspects to look