Death of a Dustman (18 page)

‘Where’s this leading, Priscilla?’

‘The bottle bank was full. It hadn’t been emptied.’

‘You mean, any stuff from the hotel might have been shoved in there?’

‘It’s a long shot.’ Priscilla sank back in her chair. ‘But the bottle bank weighs a ton. How could we ever get the stuff out?’

‘Tam Gillespie over at Braikie’s got a crane.’

‘The phone’s over there, Hamish. Let’s get started.’

‘Won’t Ionides smell a rat when he sees all the activity?’

‘Someone said he took off in his helicopter. With any luck, he won’t be back until morning at the earliest.’

‘Right!’ Hamish sat down at Priscilla’s desk and pulled the phone towards him. He phoned Tam Gillespie. ‘Tam, it’s Hamish here. It’s an emergency. I need you
to bring your crane down to Lochdubh to lift up the bottle bank. There’s evidence in there that might save some people in the village from a lot of trouble.’

A voice quacked at the other end. Hamish turned to Priscilla. ‘He says he can lift it up, but we’ll need something to open it at the bottom.’

‘A crowbar,’ said Priscilla calmly. Hamish turned back to the phone. ‘Chust bring the crane along, Tam. We’ll do the rest.’ He replaced the receiver and then said,
‘Now we need searchers.’

‘Let’s go for broke and get out the whole village,’ said Priscilla. ‘Move over. I’m going to phone Mrs Wellington.’

‘She’ll never go for anything illegal like this!’

‘She will if I ask her.’

Priscilla changed places with Hamish and dialled the number of the minister’s wife. ‘Mrs Wellington,’ began Priscilla. ‘We – that is, Hamish Macbeth and myself
– are having the bottle bank with the papers opened up. We need to collect any correspondence to the new hotel for evidence.’

Hamish heard Mrs Wellington’s booming voice asking questions. ‘If we don’t,’ said Priscilla when the voice at the other end of the line had finally fallen silent,
‘then some of our own could be under suspicion. I feel we all have a God-given duty to help the righteous.’ Priscilla winked at Hamish.

Then Hamish heard her say: ‘That’s very good of you. The fishermen? But they’re out at the fishing. Oh, I’ll tell Hamish.’

When she rang off, she said, ‘We’ll need to be quick. The fishermen haven’t gone out because there’s a storm forecast.’

‘Good, let me have the phone, and I’ll call Archie and get the men rounded up.’

After Hamish had given Archie instructions, he said, ‘I’d better get going.’

‘I’m coming with you. Wait till I find a sweater.’

When Priscilla and Hamish drove down into Lochdubh, figures were appearing at doors of cottages. Other figures were making their way along the waterfront towards the bottle
bank. It looked as if the whole village was on the move.

They gathered around the bottle bank. Hamish stood up on the seawall beside the bottle bank and said, ‘I am looking for any correspondence to do with the new hotel. I need your help to go
through everything and give me anything you can find.’

In the faces looking up at him in the starlight, he saw Mrs McClellan, Mrs Docherty and Josie Darling. He had a momentary pang of doubt. But then he steeled himself. It must be Ionides.

They waited in silence. Hamish began to fret. ‘Where is that crane?’ he asked Priscilla.

‘It’ll be here soon,’ said Priscilla in a comforting voice. ‘Remember, his top speed is probably ten miles an hour.’

Archie Maclean looked up at the starry sky. ‘I think that forecast got it wrong,’ he grumbled. ‘Not even a breath of wind.’

Still they waited. The crowd began to murmur and shift restlessly.

Then they could hear the drone of an engine coming over the hills and soon the small crane driven by Tam came into view, its long neck nodding like some prehistoric creature.

Tam jumped down and surveyed the bottle bank. ‘It’s a big beastie,’ he said. ‘You break my crane, Hamish, and you’ll have to pay for a new one.’

They all waited while Tam started to operate the crane. ‘You’ll need to reach up and fix the ring o’ the bank to the crane.’

Hamish leapt up on the harbour wall again and fixed the hook of the crane on to the ring on the top of the bottle bank. The bell-shaped bank swung up and over. Tam switched off his engine.
‘Now what?’ he called.

Hamish stood on tiptoe and studied the underside of the bank. ‘We need a crowbar.’

‘Here,’ said Priscilla, handing one up to him. ‘I put it in the car before we left.’

Hamish was always amazed at Priscilla’s efficiency. ‘I’ll need something to stand on,’ he called, almost as if he expected Priscilla to produce a ladder from her
handbag.

‘I’ll get a ladder,’ shouted Archie. They waited until he came back with a metal step-ladder. Hamish climbed up. Callum didn’t have the necessary tools to release the
bottom of the bottle bank. The bank was to be cleared separately by men from Strathbane. He sweated and strained until Geordie Liddell, champion caber tosser, shouted, ‘Gie me a try,
Hamish.’

Hamish relinquished his place to Geordie.

Geordie climbed up the stepladder, which creaked under his great weight. He gave a gigantic thrust at the crowbar. There was a crack. The bottom of the bank opened and papers hurtled down to the
ground.

‘Don’t rush!’ shouted Mrs Wellington, coming forward. ‘We’ll put all this stuff into bundles, and then we’ll all start searching.’

‘A bottle of whisky to anyone who finds hotel correspondence,’ said Hamish.

They all crowded forward, paying no heed to Mrs Wellington, and began searching. ‘Can’t see a thing,’ someone said. People left for their cottages and returned carrying torches
and hurricane lamps. Some women carried a trestle table out from the church hall and other women started laying out cups and cutting sandwiches.

‘It’s getting like a party,’ mourned Hamish to Priscilla.

‘Just keep searching,’ said Priscilla.

Time passed. After an hour, Hamish looked up at the sky. Black clouds were beginning to stream across the stars, although there was still no wind at ground level.

The papers that had been searched were being laid aside, newspapers, letters, comics, but nothing from the hotel.

‘It was a good idea, Priscilla,’ groaned Hamish. ‘But there’s practically nothing left, and now I’m in bad trouble for having wrecked a bottle bank.’

‘That bottle bank swung out in an arc,’ said Priscilla. ‘Maybe some of the stuff went over the harbour wall.’

Hamish thrust his torch in his pocket and vaulted over the harbour wall and down on to the stony shore of the sea loch. He took out his torch and swung it in a wide arc.

Then he saw a large manila envelope lying near the water. He walked to it and picked it up. Holding his torch under his armpit, he opened the envelope. It was stuffed with letters and faxes,
headed IONIDES PLC. He sat down on the shingle and began to go through them.

Then he found one from Ionides’s London office. ‘Dear George,’ he read. ‘How’s the work on the hotel going? I mean, your rival. I know you’re mad about
fishing, but it’s an expensive gamble, and what if them up at the Tommel Castle carry on regardless, even after you’ve pinched their staff and poisoned their water? Besides,
you’ll be stuck with two hotels in the back of beyond. Then what about that other business? Are you sure the police aren’t sniffing around? To risk so much just for fishing! Anyway, let
me know if I can help. Your loving brother, Harry.’

He tucked it carefully into his pocket and read the others. There was a fax. ‘Dear Harry. Everything is OK. Don’t worry. The police here are morons and the one in this village is
subnormal. Come up, soon. Once I get the Tommel Castle, I can restock the river. Love, George.’

‘Gotcha!’ said Hamish.

He ran to the wall and heaved himself up over the top. ‘It’s all right, folks,’ he called. ‘I’ve got what I wanted.’

‘What did you find?’ asked Priscilla.

‘One incriminating letter. One incriminating fax. I’ll have Jimmy and the boys up here in the morning.’

People were yawning and drifting away.

‘What about all this paper?’ demanded Mrs Wellington.

‘We’ll see to it in the morning,’ said Hamish.

Tam released his crane from the bell bank and then backed off, shouting a warning. The great bell bank fell to the ground with a hollow clang and rolled on its side and then lay there, mouth
gaping.

‘I’ll be down in the morning,’ said Priscilla. ‘Don’t worry about running me home, Hamish. Mrs Wellington says if you want to phone, she’ll take me
back.’

Hamish nodded and then sprinted for the police station. He phoned Jimmy at home and rapidly described what he had found. ‘Grand!’ said Jimmy. ‘Got the bastard. I’ll be
along with the men in the morning, and I’ll hae a search warrant.’

‘I don’t think Ionides is back yet.’

‘Doesn’t matter. We’ll get that secretary of his to open up everything.’

‘What time will you be here?’

‘The earliest I can manage.’

‘I’m beat. I’ll set the alarm.’

Hamish stretched and yawned. There was a pile of fax paper lying by the machine. He could see it was headed STRATHBANE COUNCIL. That damn woman again. She could wait.

As Hamish slept with Lugs curled against his side and through the wall Clarry, unaware of the drama, slept as well, the wind of Sutherland rose outside. It hurtled down the
waterfront. Paper danced elaborate
entrechats
in the air. Paper stuck to fences and garden walls. Paper hung from lamp standards. And then, as if satisfied with the chaos it had caused, the
wind roared away to the east and a quiet dawn rose above Lochdubh.

Mrs Freda Fleming sat at her dressing table in the morning, anxiously surveying her makeup. It was certainly very heavy, but she would look all right on camera. She had tried
to contact Hamish Macbeth the day before but had failed to get him. She had then phoned Callum, who had reported that the village looked clean and neat. Anyway, she had faxed Macbeth exact
instructions of what was to be expected. She hoped he had found a photogenic child to present the bouquet. It was a pity the London papers had shown no interest, but Grampian television had said
they would cover the Greening of Lochdubh. The local papers were coming, and some of the Glasgow newspapers were sending their local men.

She had memorized her speech over and over again. She had been worried about the weather, but it was a beautiful morning.

Hamish was awakened by a ferocious knocking at the door. He opened it and found an excited Jimmy Anderson on the step. ‘Come on, Hamish, and see the fun. That secretary,
Miss Stathos, is yelling and shouting in Greek.’

‘Be with you in a minute.’

Hamish washed and dressed. He went out of the station and then blinked at the mess of paper all over Lochdubh. Well, they could all clear it up later.

Tom Stein groaned as his alarm clock went off. He covered the Highlands for the
Glasgow Morning News.
He had a sour mouth and a blinding hangover, and he remembered he
was supposed to get over to Lochdubh and cover some dreary cleanup campaign thought up by that poisonous Fleming woman. He shaved and dressed and then drank two Alka Seltzers, wincing at the noise
as the tablets fizzed in the water. In this modern age, he thought bitterly, Alka Seltzer should by now have invented a silent tablet.

He was a middle-aged man with a thin face marred by lines of disappointment. As an elderly actor will take part in yet another crowd scene and dream of glory, so Tom dreamed of having a scoop,
having his name on the front of the London papers. But he suffered disappointment after disappointment. Hadn’t he sent the first reports of the murder in Lochdubh? But the
Glasgow Morning
News
had sent up their own man, and anything he had written had been incorporated into the staff man’s story. Tom was a freelancer. He sometimes got a few items in the other papers, but
only the
Glasgow Morning News
paid him a retainer.

He drank a cup of black coffee and shuddered. He certainly wasn’t going to hit the headlines with this one. There was a knock at the door of his little bungalow, situated in what had once
been a respectable suburb of Strathbane but which was going rapidly downhill.

It was his photographer, an equally tired and perpetually disappointed man called Paul Anstruther.

‘You ready to go?’ asked Paul.

‘May as well, but if they publish one line, I’ll shoot myself in surprise.’

‘Nothing,’ said Jimmy in disgust. ‘But thanks to you, Hamish, we can charge him with intent to ruin the Tommel Castle. But, man, we cannae charge him with
murder.’

A crowd had gathered to watch the police activity. Jimmy had actually arrived at six in the morning. It was now eight and Lochdubh was coming alive.

Josie Darling noticed Geordie Liddell standing at the edge of the crowd in full Highland regalia. She went up to him. ‘You off to the Games?’

‘Yes,’ said Geordie. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Don’t know. Will you be tossing the caber?’

‘Aye, and throwing the hammer.’

‘Is the hammer very heavy?’

‘Weighs a ton,’ said Geordie. ‘I’ve got it in the Jeep. I’ll show you.’

He went to his Jeep and returned swinging the long, heavy, metal hammer. ‘Try lifting it, Josie.’

‘I can’t.’ She giggled. ‘My, but you’re strong!’

Geordie grinned and flexed his muscles under his green velvet jacket. Then he heard Hamish shouting, ‘I hear a helicopter.’ The crowd fell silent.

‘It’s so damn early in the morning,’ groaned Tom Stein as he and his photographer got into a minibus marked PRESS.

‘Are we the only ones?’ asked Paul Anstruther.

‘Looks like it,’ said Tom wearily. ‘That biddy Fleming is trying to plead with them to wait for more, but it’s just you and me.’

The cavalcade moved off. In the front limousine, Mrs Freda Fleming was doggedly trying to look on the bright side. ‘I know that at the moment we only have the representatives from the
Glasgow Morning News,’
she said to the small figure of the provost, who was sitting next to her. ‘But mark my words, the others will be making their own way there.’

The provost, Mr Jamie Ferguson, shifted uneasily. ‘It’s an awful lot of money we’ve been putting out on this. The Labour Party is cracking down on wasteful councils.
They’ll have something to say about this.’