The colonel felt that Hamish Macbeth was cutting him out from the investigation. He hurried to the bar and shouted for a whisky and soda.
When he got back to Harrison’s room, the door stood open but there was no sign of the old man. The colonel hurried to the office. “Do you know where Percy is?” he demanded.
“He is locked in his room, waiting to be taken off to Strathbane,” said Hamish.
“What! Why?”
“He has confessed to the murder of Helen Mackenzie and given me a statement from Helen Mackenzie where she states she was responsible for the other murders.”
“But I unlocked the door for him,” wailed the colonel.
Hamish and Charlie rushed out of the office. To their demands, the night porter said that Mr. Harrison in his wheelchair had gone out of the hotel.
Percy Harrison bowled along the road towards Lochdubh in his wheelchair. It was a balmy night with a small moon riding high overhead. He reached the humpbacked bridge and stopped.
The river was in full spate because of all the melting snow coming down from the mountains. The water roared and sparkled in the moonlight. He heaved himself out of his wheelchair, wincing as the pain from his back shot down through his legs. Gasping, he clung to the parapet. Far behind him, he heard the wail of sirens.
He leaned over the parapet and gazed hypnotically down at the racing foaming water.
As Hamish and Charlie rushed down to the bridge, Harrison gave his crippled body one monumental heave and plunged down into the river.
He suddenly decided he did not want to die. There was no death penalty. He struggled and fought as the strong current sent him tumbling down into the loch and pulled his body under.
Hamish ran down to the shore and stripped down to his underwear, wading into the loch. He began to swim towards where he had seen Harrison disappear. He dived and dived again, searching in the blackness until his fingers grabbed hold of cloth. He hauled the body of Harrison to the surface and dragged it ashore and set about trying to pump the water out of the man’s lungs.
But there was no sign of life. Harrison’s eyes revealed no life at all, only the reflection of the stars above, causing a sort of false intelligence.
Hamish Macbeth was in disgrace. He began to feel like the murderer himself as the accusations from Daviot and Jimmy went on and on. Hamish could only be thankful that no one had been able to find Blair.
First Hamish was questioned at the hotel and then taken off to Strathbane with Charlie, where they were interrogated separately. Why was it, demanded Daviot, that two police officers locked up a confessed murderer and did not put a guard at the door?
On and on it went, all night long, until Jimmy took pity on Hamish. “Look, sir,” he said to Daviot, “the media are going to give you a lot of kudos for solving the case. There isn’t going to be a court case so it’s best to leave Macbeth out of it. Just say the case is solved and that you have a taped and written confession and don’t say how you came by them.”
Daviot brightened. “Do you agree to that, Macbeth?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, well, now. I may have been a bit hard on you.” He turned to a police officer posted by the door. “I think we could do with some coffee here and some Tunnock’s tea cakes.”
When the coffee and cakes arrived, Daviot continued. “So. Why on earth did you think of Harrison?”
“Grief for a dead son,” said Hamish. “I was sure Helen was the murderer and if Harrison thought she had murdered his son, he might take revenge.” Hamish decided not to tell the superintendent about being overheard accusing Helen of the murders.
“I am sure we would have forensic evidence eventually,” said Daviot, who had such faith in DNA and forensics that he had quite forgotten that police were supposed to use their brains and intuition.
Hamish and Charlie eventually returned to Lochdubh, agreeing to meet at the station at four in the afternoon when Daviot was to hold a press conference. Charlie went to the hotel and to his apartment, where he found an angry colonel waiting for him. The colonel’s dreams of being Poirot had been shattered and he blamed Hamish for keeping him out of the investigation.
“I don’t blame you, Charlie,” said the colonel. “You have to follow orders. But that lazy long drip of nothing deliberately kept all the investigation to himself.”
Charlie opened his mouth to say that Hamish was a police officer and the colonel had no standing whatsoever, but diplomatically remained silent to let, as he thought, the wee man get it out of his system.
Hamish was chased along the waterfront by the press, who had gathered at the bridge when he drove up. He dived into the station and ignored the batterings on the door.
He awoke later and shaved and dressed again. The press had given up, no doubt having gone to Strathbane for the press conference. Charlie arrived and they went into the living room and settled down to watch the conference on television.