direction of Detective
Chief Inspector Blair.
Blair was furious because Alistair Taggart had asked for a lawyer as soon as he arrived at police headquarters and there was the usual long wait until one could be found.
Jimmy Anderson was handed Hamish’s report by one of the policewomen. He read it and began to laugh.
‘What’s so funny, Anderson?’ demanded a voice behind him.
Jimmy twisted round and saw Superintendent Daviot standing behind him.
Jimmy stood up. ‘I have just received this report from Hamish Macbeth, sir. It exonerates Alistair Taggart.’
‘And you think that’s funny? Give me the report.’
Daviot read it quickly and then snapped, ‘Get Mr Blair out of that interview room and give him this.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Blair was just getting into his bullying stride, ignoring the frequent interruptions of the lawyer, when Jimmy opened the door.
‘A word with you, sir.’
Blair suspended the tape recorder and marched out. ‘This had better be important.’
Jimmy handed him Hamish’s report.
Blair read it once and then read it again, his face growing darker with fury.
‘Mr Daviot has read it,’ said Jimmy.
‘Get over there and check out this salesman,’ shouted Blair. ‘I don’t trust Macbeth.’
‘I’d better take Mr Taggart with me,’ said Jimmy. ‘You’ll have to release him now.’
How Blair longed to say he was keeping Taggart locked up. But Daviot had seen the report, and Taggart had a lawyer who might sue him for wrongful arrest if he kept him any longer.
‘What’s the time?’ asked Alistair outside police headquarters.
‘It’s eight o’clock,’ said Jimmy.
‘Aye, well, just you drop me off at Strathbane Television.’
‘Why?’
‘Mind yer own business.’
In the living room of the Lochdubh police station, salesman Hugh Ryan was slumped on the sofa, fast asleep.
Hamish switched on the television to watch the nine o’clock news. The newscaster read out the international news and then said in a portentous voice, ‘Tonight we have a special
interview with Mr Alistair Taggart, who has just been released from police custody after being falsely accused of the murder of John Heppel. Jessma Gardener has this exclusive report.’
First there was a rehash of the murder, including film of the violent villagers of Lochdubh shouting at John. Then the camera moved to the studio, where Jessma was facing Alistair.
‘They’ve cleaned him up!’ exclaimed Hamish.
Alistair’s shaggy locks had been trimmed, and the costume department had kitted him out in a tweed jacket, corduroy trousers, and a roll-necked sweater.
‘Now, Mr Taggart,’ began Jessma, ‘you have had quite a gruelling ordeal. Tell us what happened.’
Alistair had a pleasant voice with a highland lilt. Hamish waited for him to rant and rave, but Alistair said in a calm voice, ‘I was working on my manuscript when Detective Chief
Inspector Blair arrived at my cottage. He accused me of murder. Police searched the house and said they had found incriminating evidence.’
‘And what was that evidence?’
‘A bag of mothballs.’
‘And that was all? I mean, a lot of houses have bags of mothballs.’
‘Blair said it was because I had been having a row with John Heppel on the night he died.’
‘And had you?’
‘Yes, I went to get my money back for that writing class. I told him he was a fraud. I had a terrible time at the hands of the police. I am a writer, and we writers are
sensitive.’
‘Dear God,’ muttered Hamish.
Someone handed Jessma a slip of paper. She read it and smiled. ‘We have just learned that the reason for your release is because your local constable, Hamish Macbeth, diligently discovered
evidence to clear you, which his superior officers had overlooked.’
‘Hamish Macbeth is a very clever man,’ said Alistair. ‘It was because of him that I started writing. He inspired me.’
Jimmy Anderson had stopped in a pub on the outskirts of Strathbane before going on to
Chief Inspector Blair.
Blair was furious because Alistair Taggart had asked for a lawyer as soon as he arrived at police headquarters and there was the usual long wait until one could be found.
Jimmy Anderson was handed Hamish’s report by one of the policewomen. He read it and began to laugh.
‘What’s so funny, Anderson?’ demanded a voice behind him.
Jimmy twisted round and saw Superintendent Daviot standing behind him.
Jimmy stood up. ‘I have just received this report from Hamish Macbeth, sir. It exonerates Alistair Taggart.’
‘And you think that’s funny? Give me the report.’
Daviot read it quickly and then snapped, ‘Get Mr Blair out of that interview room and give him this.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Blair was just getting into his bullying stride, ignoring the frequent interruptions of the lawyer, when Jimmy opened the door.
‘A word with you, sir.’
Blair suspended the tape recorder and marched out. ‘This had better be important.’
Jimmy handed him Hamish’s report.
Blair read it once and then read it again, his face growing darker with fury.
‘Mr Daviot has read it,’ said Jimmy.
‘Get over there and check out this salesman,’ shouted Blair. ‘I don’t trust Macbeth.’
‘I’d better take Mr Taggart with me,’ said Jimmy. ‘You’ll have to release him now.’
How Blair longed to say he was keeping Taggart locked up. But Daviot had seen the report, and Taggart had a lawyer who might sue him for wrongful arrest if he kept him any longer.
‘What’s the time?’ asked Alistair outside police headquarters.
‘It’s eight o’clock,’ said Jimmy.
‘Aye, well, just you drop me off at Strathbane Television.’
‘Why?’
‘Mind yer own business.’
In the living room of the Lochdubh police station, salesman Hugh Ryan was slumped on the sofa, fast asleep.
Hamish switched on the television to watch the nine o’clock news. The newscaster read out the international news and then said in a portentous voice, ‘Tonight we have a special
interview with Mr Alistair Taggart, who has just been released from police custody after being falsely accused of the murder of John Heppel. Jessma Gardener has this exclusive report.’
First there was a rehash of the murder, including film of the violent villagers of Lochdubh shouting at John. Then the camera moved to the studio, where Jessma was facing Alistair.
‘They’ve cleaned him up!’ exclaimed Hamish.
Alistair’s shaggy locks had been trimmed, and the costume department had kitted him out in a tweed jacket, corduroy trousers, and a roll-necked sweater.
‘Now, Mr Taggart,’ began Jessma, ‘you have had quite a gruelling ordeal. Tell us what happened.’
Alistair had a pleasant voice with a highland lilt. Hamish waited for him to rant and rave, but Alistair said in a calm voice, ‘I was working on my manuscript when Detective Chief
Inspector Blair arrived at my cottage. He accused me of murder. Police searched the house and said they had found incriminating evidence.’
‘And what was that evidence?’
‘A bag of mothballs.’
‘And that was all? I mean, a lot of houses have bags of mothballs.’
‘Blair said it was because I had been having a row with John Heppel on the night he died.’
‘And had you?’
‘Yes, I went to get my money back for that writing class. I told him he was a fraud. I had a terrible time at the hands of the police. I am a writer, and we writers are
sensitive.’
‘Dear God,’ muttered Hamish.
Someone handed Jessma a slip of paper. She read it and smiled. ‘We have just learned that the reason for your release is because your local constable, Hamish Macbeth, diligently discovered
evidence to clear you, which his superior officers had overlooked.’
‘Hamish Macbeth is a very clever man,’ said Alistair. ‘It was because of him that I started writing. He inspired me.’
Jimmy Anderson had stopped in a pub on the outskirts of Strathbane before going on to
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