Death of a Policeman Read Free

Archie would find a way to get rid of it.
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    Archie let his mate, Ally Harris, take wheel while he pointed out various landmarks to the two tourists, a husband and wife, and Cyril. Cyril was standing at the side of the boat, his camera slung round his neck.
    Moving behind him, Archie took out a sharp knife and sliced almost through the strap at the back of Cyril’s neck.
    He said, “If youse will look ower the side, that’s where the kelpie is supposed tae live.”
    â€œWhat’s a kelpie?” asked the female.
    â€œIt’s a creature that appears as a sea horse and sometimes changes into a beautiful wumman,” said Archie. “It goes after wee bairns. It gets them to stroke it and it’s adhesive and when they stick to it, it drags them down into the loch and eats them. It’s supposed to live right down there. Lean right ower and you’ll maybe see it.”
    Cyril and the tourists leaned over. “There is something down there,” said Cyril excitedly. A black shape could be seen moving in the murky depths. His camera was swinging from his neck by the strap. Just as he was reaching for it, the strap broke and his camera dropped down into the water.
    A seal surfaced and stared up at them as Cyril let out a wail of dismay.
    â€œYou should ha’ got yourself wan o’ thae wee yins you can carry in your pocket,” said Archie. “I hivnae seen wan like that in years. If you go to Patel’s shop, you can buy wan o’ thae cheap throwaway ones.”
    â€œIt was a friend’s camera,” said Cyril. He cursed Blair, who had given him an old Rolleiflex camera out of storage at headquarters, saying it was better than any newfangled one. He did have a Canon pocket one inside his jacket. At least he would be more comfortable using that.
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    Archie telephoned Hamish to say that Cyril’s camera was now somewhere at the bottom of the loch, and Hamish heaved a sigh of relief.
    Before, when he had been under threat, he had manufactured a crime wave with the help of the locals. But Hamish was feeling lazy, enjoying the rare good weather of the autumn.
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    Cyril had read up on Hamish’s successful cases and knew that several had taken place in the town of Braikie. The following day, he decided to visit the town, hoping the residents there might have less favourable ideas about Hamish than the villagers. He had gone to the village stores and after leaning on the counter, talking about the weather, he asked the owner, Mr. Patel, what he thought of the local policeman. Mr. Patel had smiled and launched on a paean of praise about Hamish.
    Cyril had then gone to the Italian restaurant for dinner and quizzed the waiter, Willie Lamont. His heart sank when it turned out that Hamish was godfather to Willie’s child. Was no one going to criticise the man?
    But in Braikie, his hopes sank lower. The people he talked to did not know Hamish personally but knew his reputation for solving murders and seemed to be proud to have such a policeman looking after them.
    He was passing the library when he noticed they had a sign outside saying there were books for sale. Cyril decided to buy some light reading and walked into the Victorian gloom of the building.
    Hetty Dunstable, the librarian, saw a handsome man looking around and teetered forward on her high heels. “Can I help you?”
    Cyril saw a small, thin woman in her early forties wearing a near-transparent white blouse over a tight skirt. She had a small, pinched face and bulging brown eyes. Cyril thought sourly that she looked like a rabbit with myxomatosis. But he gave his most charming smile and said, “I saw that you had books for sale.”
    â€œYes, they’re over here,” said Hetty, leading the way to a wooden bench. “These are the ones that are too damaged to remain on the shelves. Are you new to the area?”
    â€œJust on holiday,” said Cyril. “I’m