Death of a Chimney Sweep - M. C. Beaton [25]
“Nice soft day,” said Nessie.
“Soft day,” murmured her sister.
“Press been bothering you?” asked Hamish.
“They’ve mostly gone,” said Nessie.
“Gone,” echoed Jessie dolefully.
“Excepting that wee lassie, her that came up wi’ Elspeth,” said Nessie as Hamish tuned out the echo that was Jessie. “I think she tried to call on you but you were away. I saw her near the police station.”
Hamish returned to the station. Putting on a pair of latex gloves, he turned on the recorder, listened to the noise of his search, and erased it. Then he put the recorder on his desk, dialled Strathbane headquarters, and cut off the call before anyone could answer so that there would only be the sound on the tape recorder of the dialling beeps. He pretended to be speaking to Jimmy Anderson. “Jimmy, this is Hamish,” he said, his voice full of excitement. “I think I’ve got our man. He’s camping on the beach at Durness. I’m off up there for a recce. Don’t send the troops yet, I’ll phone you from there.”
He turned to his pets, who were studying him.
“Come along. I know ye don’t like the siren but we’re going to blast out o’ this village.”
On the waterfront, Betty swung round as Hamish’s Land Rover sped past with the siren going and the lights flashing. She made her way by a roundabout route to the police station. Once inside, she eased the tape recorder out from behind the files where Hamish had replaced it and switched it on. Her eyes grew wide with excitement. She went out quickly up to the back fields and called the soundman and the cameraman. “Big break on the story,” she said. “Pick me up in Lochdubh. I’ll be outside the shop on the waterfront.”
“We’ll tell Elspeth,” said George Lennox, the cameraman.
“Don’t do that,” said Betty quickly. “She’s too ill. May come to nothing.”
She went to Patel’s grocery store and waited impatiently outside until the large television Winnebago hove into view.
Hamish, hiding in a lay-by behind a strand of trees, watched the Winnebago rush by, heading north.
The television team stopped overnight at a small hotel and started out again at dawn. Betty’s heart rose as the weather changed. The wind rose from the west, driving away the rain and mist until the blue sky arched above. George Lennox was driving. He was rather surly in the way of some TV cameramen. Perhaps it was understandable as the presenter on any programme got all the glory, no matter how dangerous the situation. Phil Green was small and cheerful and kept exclaiming at the beauty of the landscape. Up and down the narrow roads they went until at long last they drove into Durness and down to where a curve of pure white sand faced a green-and-blue sea.
There was no sign of any police Land Rover. Betty climbed stiffly down. It was still and quiet apart from the ceaseless sound of the sea.
She had a sudden queasy feeling of unease. “This is grand,” said Phil. He had a thermos and a pack of sandwiches. He sat down on a flat rock and stared dreamily out to sea. “This is God’s country!”
“This is the bloody end o’ the world that God forgot,” said George, glaring at Betty. “Are you sure o’ this? There’s nobody camping on the beach.”
“We’ll just need to search around,” said Betty desperately.
“You go and search,” said Phil lazily. “Me, I’m staying right here until you find something.”
Betty scrambled up from the beach. There were ruined croft houses here and there. No people. The wind whistled amongst the ruins, and the sad cry of a curlew from the heather seemed to mock her.
Elspeth was feeling much stronger. She sat up in bed