Death of a Witch Read Free

had managed to talk to her just before she opened up in the morning. Ellie, a scrawny woman who jangled with cheap jewellery, drew herself up and said, “I shall throw myself on the guns!” Her eyes were half closed. Hamish repressed a sigh. He guessed Ellie was already seeing herself on the front page of some newspaper.
    “You’ll do nothing of the sort,” snapped Hamish. “You’ll lie down behind your counter as soon as they come in. Now, Willie and Clarry here will be in the post office, looking at cards or something. They’ve got their shotguns and if anyone asks, they’ll say they are going out hunting rabbits up on the braes.”
    The day dragged on. Hamish, hidden in the back shop, yawned and fidgeted. Willie and Clarry, tired of reading the rhymes of the greeting cards to each other, yawned as well with boredom.
    Just when Hamish was beginning to fear that the robbers planned to attack somewhere else, the door of the post office was thrown open. He heard the customers scream and a man’s voice say, “Hand over the money or you’ll get shot.”
    Hamish darted out of the back shop, holding his own shotgun. He trod on the prone figure of Ellie, who screamed.
    Willie was holding his shotgun against the neck of the one armed man who had dropped his gun to the floor, and Clarry was covering the other two. Hamish leapt over the counter and, taking out three sets of handcuffs, arrested and cautioned the robbers.
    Blair was furious when he got the news. “Whit was that loon daein’ playing the lone sheriff?” he said to Chief Superintendent Peter Daviot.
    “Now, now,” said Daviot. “Hamish has got these men and I am not going to quibble about the way he did it.”
    Jimmy Anderson waylaid Hamish as he was on his way out of headquarters after typing up a full report.
    “So was Alice the informant?” he asked.
    “No, nothing to do with it. Chust a lucky guess on my part.”
    “She’s not in today.”
    “Och, the lassie had a bad fall. I called her doctor and he told her to take a couple of weeks off.”
    “Aye, right,” said Jimmy cynically.
    “Come over to Lochdubh one evening,” said Hamish. “Don’t forget, I’ve a bottle for you.”
    Hamish was just sitting down wearily to an evening meal of Scotch pie and peas when someone knocked at the door.
    “Come in,” he shouted. “The door’s open.”
    Alice walked in. “I heard about it on the evening news,” she said. “Did they say anything about me?”
    “No, I’d have heard. They’re not going to confess to beating someone up for information. They’ll all be sent away for a long time. You can get drunk and run someone over in your car and get a suspended sentence, but if you steal money then the full weight of the courts comes down on your head. Sit down. I hope you’ve eaten, because this is all I’ve got.”
    “Yes, I did have something earlier. So I can move back home?”
    “Certainly. None of that lot will be getting out on bail.”
    She sat down with a sigh. “I’m going to hand in my resignation.”
    “Why?”
    “I’m just not cut out for the force. It’s not really because of the beating. I don’t have much courage. I’m going back to university to get a degree and then maybe I’ll teach.”
    “If that’s what you want to do . . .”
    “But we can see each other sometimes?”
    “Maybe. I do haff the girlfriend, you know.”
    “Oh, well, I’d better be on my way.”
    Hamish saw her out, finished his meal, undressed, showered, and went to bed, stretching out with a groan of relief. There were two thumps and the cat and dog got into bed with him.
    A gale was howling outside, wailing round the building like a banshee. Before he plunged into sleep, Hamish found he was experiencing a stab of superstitious dread. Must be that pie, was his last waking thought.
    The morning was glittering with yellow sunlight. Wisps of high cloud raced across a washed-out blue sky, and the waters of the loch were churned up into angry