Creeping out of the heather came Sonsie and what looked like a great wild tom cat. They grabbed a sausage each and fled back into the heather.
“I think that’s that,” said Charlie. But Hamish would not be moved. Charlie got a sleeping bag out and made himself a bed in the heather, but Hamish sat all night long, his heart heavy.
When Charlie awoke in the morning, he found Hamish slumped against the side of the Land Rover, fast asleep. He gently shook him awake. “Come on home. It’s all over.”
“What about Lugs?” asked Hamish on the road back.
“We’ll see if the vet has any strays,” said Charlie. “Get him a wee puppy to look after. You get some more sleep and I’ll see to it.”
Hamish awoke later in the day. He and Lugs walked slowly along the waterfront. Charlie’s car screeched to a halt. He got out carrying a small white poodle in his arms.
“Meet Fifi,” he said proudly.
“That’s no dog for a man,” said Hamish. “Take it away.”
“Oh, Hamish. It belonged to old Mrs. Murchison what died last week and no one wants her wee pet. It’s got no home.”
Charlie put the poodle down. She pranced up to Lugs and nuzzled his ear.
Lugs licked her face.
“See?” said Charlie. “Isn’t she cute?”
“I’m not having any animal called Fifi.”
“Then call her something else.”
“Look, Charlie. Okay. So long as Lugs is happy. Could you settle them in and feed them? I’ve got to be somewhere.”
All day long, Hamish sat in Ardnamurchan where he had left Sonsie and called and whistled. Night fell and still he waited until he fell asleep.
In the morning, stiff, cold, and miserable, he drove the long way back. As he drove along the waterfront, he saw Charlie standing in the middle of the road, waving his arms.
“Just in time,” said Charlie. “Got a call. Andrew Harrison has been murdered!”
It became clear to Hamish and Charlie when they arrived at the hunting box that they were no longer to be privileged investigators. Fiona, Jimmy, Blair, and two detectives were waiting outside for the forensic team to finish their work and for the pathologist to give his report.
Fiona swung round when she saw them and said loudly and clearly for all to hear, “Your presence will not be necessary. Get back to your normal duties.”
Blair gave a fat grin. “Well, that’s that,” said Hamish as they both climbed back into the Land Rover. “Talk about hell having no fury.”
As they drove off, Daviot was arriving.
In the rearview mirror, Hamish saw Blair taking Daviot to one side.
Despite all the detective chief inspector’s frequent gaffes, Daviot felt comfortable with him. They were members of the same lodge. Blair always kowtowed to him and never made him feel like a fool.
“It looks as if Malky could not have been the murderer,” said Daviot.
“Isn’t that just what I was thinking,” said Blair eagerly. “And I know who’s to blame for that.”
“Who?”
“Our inspector. Didnae you think it weird, sir, that instead of investigating the murders with professional detectives, she should go out on her own and demand the presence of two local highland bobbies?”
“Yes, that does seem strange,” said Daviot. He had not liked Fiona’s high-handed attitude.
“I mean, sir, the police commissioner would be quite shocked if he heard. There were rumours around that she was sweet on Carter and her a married woman and to a judge, too.”
“Keep your eye on things here,” ordered Daviot. “I’m going back to police headquarters.”
Once back at his desk, Daviot sent a long e-mail to the police commissioner, putting the blame for pinning the murders on Malky fair and square on Fiona’s shoulders. He felt a warm glow of gratitude towards Blair, feeling that the detective had managed to exonerate him, Daviot, from blame.
In the police station, Hamish absentmindedly patted the little poodle and scratched Lugs’s ears. His dog looked up at him out of his odd blue eyes. “Sorry, old boy,” said Hamish, “but Sonsie isn’t coming back.”
“I’ll make us some tea,” said Charlie.
“Good idea.” Hamish stretched and yawned. “Then I think I’ll catch up on more sleep. I’m so tired I can’t think straight. Do me a favour, Charlie, and take Lugs and that other ridiculous animal out for a walk after we’ve had some tea.”
“You’ll have to give the wee poodle a name.”
“I’ll call it It for the moment.”
“What about Frenchie? Pretty wee thing.”
“If you want.”
They drank their tea in silence. Then Hamish said slowly, “Fiona is going to be in trouble over this.”
“Why?”
“Just a feeling. As we drove off, I saw Blair talking to Daviot. Daviot won’t want to take the blame for a botched case. What if it came out that she took us around with her, instead of proper detectives?”