“I don’t think those weather folk ever look out the damn window. Look, there’s a gritter up ahead on the Lairg road. That’ll make the going easier.”
“I remember where this Brae House is,” said Charlie. “When I was working down here, we had to evict a lot o’ druggies. The owner went bankrupt and it was claimed by the bank, but by that time it was such a ruin, no one wanted to buy the place.”
They moved forward through the white world in silence, until at last Charlie said, “There’s the place. Up on the left. And there’s smoke coming from one o’ the chimneys.”
They drove up the short drive and parked outside.
“Don’t knock,” ordered Hamish as they got out. “If the door’s open, just walk in.”
The door was unlocked. They walked into a square hall and were hit by a foul smell caused by bad drains, unwashed bodies, old food, and a fresh smell of pot.
Following the smell of hashish, Hamish opened a door on the left of the hall. Three miserable specimens of humanity were huddled round the fireplace. A young man who had been about to pass the roach in his fingers to a girl next to him threw it in the fire.
“You’re cops,” accused a young girl with so many piercings on her face that Hamish wondered if the metal was a good idea in such a freezing winter. Surely it added to the misery.
“We’re not here about drugs, nor are we here to evict you,” said Hamish. “Did any of you know Malky? Is Gemma Burns here?”
There was a silence. Then, “That’s me,” said the girl with the piercings. Another long silence. Snow pattered against a cracked window and wind howled in the chimney. Then a youth with a large black beard and a bald head said, “I kent Malky. He wasnae a murderer.”
“What makes you say that?” asked Charlie.
“Well, he’d steal a bit, maybe, for the drugs. But kill anyone? I cannae believe it.”
Charlie was about to ask for his name, but a warning look from Hamish, whose highland radar had immediately known what he was about to ask, stopped him. Hamish only wanted to hear about Malky and didn’t want this source of information to dry up.
“Did he have a girlfriend?” asked Hamish. “I mean, other than Gemma?”
“He said he had a posh lassie who gave him drugs, methadone and stuff. He said she was a right cracker and had a scam that would see him all right.”
“Did you ever see her?”
He shook his head.
“But what makes you think he couldn’t murder anyone?” pursued Hamish. “If Malky was into hard drugs, then his brain could have been twisted and fried.”
Gemma piped up. “Well, he couldn’t have murdered thon nurse.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Because from the night she disappeared until her body was found, Malky was here wi’ us, chilling out.”
Hamish stared at them, his brain whirling. If he took them in and got their statements, the fury of Daviot would know no bounds. Daviot had gloried in the “solution” to the murders. He, Hamish, would be suspended for going out on his own on Strathbane’s patch.
The inspector, he thought. Fiona Herring, he knew, would be intrigued. He was furious with her for having seduced Charlie, but he knew her to be a good officer.
Another girl said, “Will we have to leave here?”
“I’d like to suggest you all check into a clinic and get off drugs,” said Hamish. “I’ll keep quiet about it until I figure out what to do.”
When he and Charlie were outside, Hamish said, “If we take them in, they won’t be listened to. Daviot wants the case kept closed. I’ll be cursed for dragging in three filthy druggies who probably don’t know the day of the week. Charlie, I’m going to see the inspector when this blizzard blows over.”
“I never want to see that woman again,” howled Charlie.
“I’ll deal with her.”
Unlike the busier parts of Scotland, the roads of the Highlands were usually kept clear with gritters and snow ploughs. As they reached Lochdubh, the snow stopped and the clouds parted.
“You go to the hotel,” said Hamish. “I’ll let you know what happens.”
“You’ll want this,” said Charlie, handing him a small tape recorder. “I taped the whole thing.”
“Man, you’re a genius. Off you go.”
Hamish went into the police station and collected the dog and cat while he went up to check on his sheep. Returning to the police station, he began the job of getting snowballs out of their coats before feeding them.
Then he put on his uniform and set out for Inverness.
Christmas lights sparkled in the windows of shops when he drove into Inverness. The whole place looked like a Christmas card. He suddenly wished he had phoned first. What if Fiona were down in Edinburgh with her husband?
With a sinking heart, he learned that Fiona was off duty. He asked if his friend Mungo Davidson was on duty, found to his relief that he was, and asked to see him.
“Why do you want to contact Old Iron Knickers?” asked Mungo.