The governor, Bella Ogilvie, was a small, plump woman. Beside her was a tall woman in police inspector’s uniform. She had high Slavic cheekbones, cold grey eyes, and a thin mouth.
“Where have you been, Anderson?” she snapped.
“Collecting reinforcements, ma’am,” said Jimmy. “You are…?”
“Fiona Herring. And no cracks about red herrings. I’ve heard them all. Who’s this?”
“Sergeant Hamish Macbeth, ma’am.”
“Heard of you. The pair of you get over to C Wing and search all the cells.”
“Where is Mr. Blair?” asked Jimmy.
“Mr. Blair is in hospital.”
“What happened?”
Her eyes lit up and she suppressed a laugh. “The detective inspector insulted a police dog called Fred. He told the dog it was a mangy, useless-looking cur and tried to kick it. Fred took offence and bit him in the arse. I have been called in from Inverness to take charge. Off with you.”
As Hamish followed Jimmy to C Wing, he reflected that when she had nearly laughed, Fiona had suddenly appeared a very attractive woman.
At the end of a long dreary afternoon, they took their finds back to the governor’s office: five knives, one replica gun, and a packet of Ecstasy tablets. The governor told them to take their contraband to the conference room.
Laid out on the long table was a depressing selection of drugs, phones, and weapons. The weapons consisted of knives, sharpened toothbrushes, shivs, and five guns.
“I have a list of the names and addresses of all the prison guards,” said Inspector Fiona Herring. “I will allocate names to each officer. I want their backgrounds checked thoroughly. What is it, Governor?”
Mrs. Ogilvie looked like a frightened rabbit. “The guards have gone on strike,” she wailed.
“Who is in charge of the union?”
“Blythe Cummings.”
“I want him here. Now!”
The governor hurried off.
When it came Hamish’s turn, Fiona said, “I think you may go back to your station, Sergeant. You have a large area to cover.”
Lovely woman, thought Hamish. The first person in authority to realise the extent of my beat. No rings. Wonder if there’s a man in her life.
When Hamish returned to his police station, he found Charlie loading up his old station wagon with his belongings. “You’d better come here every day and report for duty,” said Hamish. “I’ll miss your company in the evenings but not your big feet. You and Priscilla getting along all right?”
“She’s great. Just like a sister.”
Hamish pushed back his cap and scratched his red hair as he watched Charlie drive off. What man could survey the beauty that was Priscilla and look on her as a sister?
After Charlie had left, Hamish decided to drive to Braikie. His previous constable, Dick Fraser, had left to buy a bakery shop with a Polish woman called Anka. Anka was glamorous. Hamish had tried several times to get her out on a date but without success. Surely she and tubby Dick could not be romantically involved.
The shop had just closed for the night when he arrived. He noticed a shiny, brand-new BMW parked outside. If it was Dick’s, business must be very good indeed.
He rang the bell to the flat over the shop. Anka Bajorak answered the door. My world is beginning to be peopled by beautiful unavailable women, thought Hamish. But maybe Gloria is available. Anka walked ahead of him up the stairs, her auburn hair tied back in a ponytail and her long legs encased in tight jeans, giving one highland police sergeant a stab of lust.
Dick had slimmed down. But with his grey hair and small figure, he certainly did not look like the type of man to capture the affections of such as Anka. He was comfortably ensconced in an armchair by the peat fire.
“It’s yourself, Hamish,” cried Dick. “Like a dram?”
“Tea will be fine.”
“I’ll get it,” said Anka.
Hamish told Dick about the visit to the prison and then said, “There’s a newcomer in the neighbourhood.”
“That’ll be the wee nurse,” said Dick. “Talk o’ the place. Say she dresses like a nurse out o’ one o’ thae Carry On movies. They say she’s after the auld man’s money.”
“The things people say!” complained Hamish. “I’ve met her. She’s charming.”
“Oh aye? Got a date?”
“Next Sunday.”
“Well, she wouldn’t be going out wi’ you if she was after money,” said Dick.
Anka came back with a cup of tea for Hamish and two cakes. “How’s business?” asked Hamish.
“Booming,” said Anka. “We thought of opening another shop, but we decided to start a business on the Internet. It’s called BapsareUs. We send parcels of baps all over Britain.”
“I’m not surprised,” said Hamish. One of the usual Scottish laments was that it was almost impossible to get a decent bap, those large breakfast rolls. Anka’s baps were famous.
“We’ve had to build a new place to cope with all the baking and take on lots of staff,” said Anka. “Several of the big companies have tried to buy us over.”