Death of a Policeman Read Free Page A

over in Lochdubh.”
    â€œKeep clear of the police station. Hamish Macbeth is useless.”
    â€œI’d like to hear more,” said Cyril. “I enjoy a bit of gossip with a pretty girl. When do you get off?”
    â€œWe close up in ten minutes.”
    â€œLet’s go for a drink.”
    â€œYes, I would love that,” said Hetty.
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    Hetty had no intention of telling this gorgeous man her real reason for disliking Hamish. She had once invited Hamish to a party at her flat after having met him on one of his investigations. Hamish was not interested. But she had drunk too much and had thrown herself at him, calling him her darling. Hamish had gently pushed her away and gone home. Her friends teased her about it until she began to think Hamish had wronged her. She told them so many times that Hamish had led her on that she began to believe it.
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    Cyril was often seen in Hetty’s company in the following days. Then to Hetty’s dismay, he said he would be too busy to see her. Hetty began to feel guilty. She was sure Cyril was spying on Hamish and wondered if he was a villain. She had made up a lot of malicious stories about Hamish’s laziness. If anything happened to Hamish, the investigation would lead back to her.
    She at last phoned Hamish and said someone called Jamie Mackay had been asking a lot of questions about him.
    â€œDon’t worry,” said Hamish. “I know all about him,” correctly guessing that Jamie was Cyril.
    â€œWhat will you do?” asked Hetty.
    â€œTake my shotgun and blow the bugger’s head off,” said Hamish and rang off.
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    â€œLet’s give Cyril something to do tomorrow,” Hamish said to Dick. “We’ll race off tomorrow up north and give the lad something to chase. The beasties are getting fat. They need some exercise.”
    Hamish’s “beasties” consisted of a wild cat called Sonsie and a dog called Lugs. “I’ll get a picnic ready,” said Dick.
    Hamish felt a stab of irritation. He wished Dick would not be so—well— domesticated . He felt Dick had taken the place of a possible wife, and Hamish often dreamt of marriage. His love affair with television presenter Elspeth Grant had recently fallen through. He had once been engaged to Priscilla Halburton-Smythe, daughter of the retired colonel who owned the Tommel Castle Hotel, but it just hadn’t worked out.
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    At that moment, Cyril was ensconced in the Currie sisters’ parlour, balancing a cup of tea on one knee. He had hoped the sisters would give him some gossip about Hamish, but they seemed hell-bent on quizzing him about the King James version of the Bible.
    â€œBeautiful words,” said Nessie. “‘I am the voice of one, crying in the wilderness.’”
    â€œI couldn’t agree more,” said Cyril, ignoring Jessie’s echo. He thought, if I don’t get out of this damn place soon I’ll go mad. “You were saying something about the local policeman.”
    â€œNo, I wasn’t,” said Nessie.
    â€œBit of a layabout, is he?”
    â€œWe do not gossip in this village,” said Nessie righteously. “Pass me the Bible, Jessie, and we’ll hear this nice young man read to us.”
    It was a large Victorian Bible, illustrated with steel engravings. Feeling trapped, Cyril began to read, and, as he read, he began to experience a strange feeling of doom. His mobile phone suddenly rang and he grabbed it out of his pocket. It was Blair, asking if there was any progress.
    â€œCan’t talk now, Mother,” said Cyril. “I’ll call you later.” He rang off.
    â€œYou shouldn’t cut your mother off like that,” chided Nessie.
    â€œHow right you are.” Cyril stood up and put the Bible and his cup on the table. “I’ll get back to my digs and call her from there.”
    â€œWe’ll see you in the kirk on