Death of a Policeman Read Free Page B

Sunday,” said Nessie.
    If I’m still alive and not dead with boredom, thought Cyril, making his escape.
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    â€œWhere are we off to?” asked Dick the next morning as he climbed into the Land Rover beside Hamish.
    â€œDo you know Sandybeach?”
    â€œNo, where’s that?”
    â€œTiny little place up north of Scourie. Grand place for a picnic. I’ll put the siren on and get Cyril chasing us.”
    â€œIt’s only seven in the morning,” said Dick. “Think he’ll be up yet?”
    â€œProbably not. But I’ve phoned Jimmy. Blair’s bound to ask if there’s been a report of a crime so I told him to say there was a burglary at Sandybeach.”
    â€œSo what do we do if the scunner catches up with us?”
    â€œHe won’t. It’s so quiet up there, you can hear a car coming for miles. We’ll take off for somewhere else.”
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    The sound of the siren woke Cyril. He tumbled out of bed and dashed to the window, opened it and hung out. He could just see the Land Rover racing out over the humpbacked bridge. He scrabbled into his clothes and phoned Blair, asking him to find out where Hamish had gone.
    He had gone a mile out of Lochdubh when Blair rang. “Burglary at a place called Sandybeach.”
    â€œWhere’s that?”
    â€œHow should I know? Look at a map.”
    Cyril programmed his sat-nav and set off in pursuit. He hurtled along the one-track roads, blind to the beauty all around him. Purple heather blazed on the flanks of the soaring mountains. Rowan trees shone with blood-red berries. Above, the sky was an arch of blue. At one point, he thought he heard the sound of another driver behind him and suddenly stopped, switched off his engine, rolled down the windows, and listened. But there was nothing to be heard but the mournful call of a curlew.
    Cyril crouched over the wheel and drove on.
    Sutherland, the southland of the Vikings, is the most underpopulated county in the British Isles. The west coast has the most dazzling scenery. But to Cyril, it was an odd foreign landscape, alien, far from the bustle and crowds of Strathbane.
    At long last, he saw a signpost pointing the way to Sandybeach.
    â€œThe end of the road,” said Cyril, not knowing that, for him, it was.

Chapter Two
    Good Lord, what is man! for as simple he looks,
    Do but try to develop his hooks and his crooks,
    With his depth and his shallows, his good and his evil,
    All in all he’s a problem must puzzle the devil.
    â€”Robert Burns
    â€œAren’t we going to Sandybeach?” asked Dick as Hamish drove past the turn.
    â€œWe’ll go a bit further on. I don’t want that man skulking around. There’s a nice beach a bit along here. Blair’s probably told him where we’re heading. Let him have a useless day.”
    The police Land Rover bumped down a heathery track and onto a curve of white sand sheltered by tall cliffs. Hamish let his pets out, and Dick got busy spreading out the picnic.
    Dick held up a chicken leg. “Try this. It’s real free-range.”
    â€œNot one of mine, I hope,” said Hamish, who preferred to let his hens die of old age.
    â€œNo. Chap ower at the forestry keeps grand birds.”
    They ate and drank contentedly, watching deep blue waves smash onto the beach. Seagulls screamed and dived overhead, creating a loud cacophony of sound.
    Hamish eventually tipped his hat over his eyes and fell asleep.
    After half an hour, he suddenly woke and sat up. “Pack up, Dick. We may as well head back. Cyril’s probably given up by now.”
    They drove up out of the bay. Hamish suddenly stopped and lowered the window. “I thought I heard something.” He could faintly hear a car horn in the distance. It seemed to be signalling SOS.
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    Earlier, Cyril had arrived at Sandybeach. He could only see the ruins of three buildings. How could anyone report a burglary when there was no