“I have checked with the custody sergeant,” said Fiona. “Last night you arrested this Mr. Tuck for being over the limit. He spent a night in the cells and was due in the sheriff’s court this morning. The charges were dropped. His impounded car was returned to him and he was sent on his way. Why did you drop the charges?”
“We’re overburdened with petty cases and the court is overworked,” said Blair sanctimoniously. “I made up my mind just to let him go.”
“Your Mr. Tuck got drunk and fell in the river. Charlie Carter rescued him and put him to bed. While he was passed out, his mobile rang. Charlie answered it and it was you, Blair, and under the impression you were speaking to Tuck, you ordered him to find out if I was having an affair with Carter. What have you to say before I drag your fat carcase to court?”
“Oh, Inspector Herring,” pleaded Daviot. “Think of the scandal. Blair, you are suspended from duty. Leave us.”
Charlie and Hamish waited and waited at the hotel until Fiona arrived in the late evening. “Blair has been suspended though he should have been sacked,” she said. “But I want this whole business buried as soon as possible. If Blair gets vindictive, he may hire a private detective. Now let’s see Mr. Tuck.”
Hamish was almost sorry for Peter as Fiona told him to pack up and leave for London or she would have him arrested on a number of charges. If he left immediately, no more would be said of the matter.
Babbling his thanks, Peter packed as quickly as possible, settled his bill, and roared off.
It was unfortunate that he stopped in a pub in Inverness to still his shaking nerves with several large drinks and even more unfortunate that he should buy a bottle of whisky for the car to refresh himself on his journey. It never really gets dark in the summer in the Highlands. Late in the evening, there is a sort of grey gloaming. It can trick the eyes, particularly the eyes of a very drunk man. South of Inverness, Peter was sure there was a woman in white standing in the middle of the road. He swerved violently and the Jaguar plunged off the road and rolled down and down, turning and turning and finally crashing into a great ice age boulder. Peter died in the crumpled wreck of his car.
“And that, in its way, is murder,” said Hamish Macbeth. “If Blair had booked him and kept his car impounded, this would never have happened. Did Fiona leave all right, Charlie? Why did she want to see you in private?”
“Wanted to give me a proper goodbye,” said Charlie, blushing to the roots of his hair. “But I couldnae. Herself was right angry. You haven’t looked at your post.”
“It’s all junk these days,” said Hamish, flipping through it. “Oh, what’s this?”
He opened a stiff square envelope. Inside was an embossed card. It was an invitation to Dick and Anka’s wedding.
Hamish handed it to Charlie and said bitterly, “I never will understand women. Wee Dick and gorgeous Anka! How did he do it?”
“Just being Dick,” said Charlie. “He’s sort of cosy.”
“I’m beginning to think there’ll never be a lassie for me,” said Hamish.
When Charlie had left, Hamish sat turning the invitation over and over in his long fingers. Then he thought that he had never really seen beyond Anka’s beauty.
He leaned down and patted Lugs and then Sally for comfort. “I’m done wi’ beauty,” he told them. “If a gorgeous female turns up on my doorstep, I’ll tell her to take a hike.”
He left the station and walked up to his favourite spot where the roaring Atlantic waves at the entrance to the loch pounded the cliffs. There was something mesmerising about the towering green-and-black waves, something about the noise and tumult which soothed his brain.
Back at the police station, he was just about to make a cup of coffee when there came a knock at the kitchen door. He opened it. Christine Dalray, the forensic scientist, stood there, her attractive face lit up in a smile. She was wearing a pretty, floaty summer dress, quite short, revealing her long, long legs to advantage.
“I’m back to sort out the mess in the lab at Strathbane,” she said. “Do you know that despite the cleaning there was one hair lodged under the seat in Helen Mackenzie’s car and the DNA was that of Harrison?”
“No, I didnae know that,” said Hamish. “What a waste of an investigation.”
“Never mind. I’m here to take you to dinner.”
Hamish hesitated only a moment. “Grand,” he said.
As he walked out of the station with her, Hamish noticed that Charlie had left an offering to the fairies.
“Do you believe in fairies?” he asked Christine.
“Not a bit of it. I’ve never even seen a ghost. Don’t believe in them, either.”
Little did Hamish Macbeth know that he was shortly to meet one as murder once more was due to return to his beat.