and said quickly, ‘You’d better get back round all the suspects again and find out where they were.’
Hamish took one last look at the blazing house before he turned away. Old Mrs Samson could not possibly be alive in that inferno, and whatever papers she had received from the solicitor would
have gone up in flames with her.
Hamish decided to begin at the beginning and go back and see Mrs Barret-Wilkinson. He was driving through Braikie’s main street when at first he thought he saw a ghost.
The elderly figure of Mrs Samson was looking in the window of the bakery. He screeched to a halt. Lugs let out a sharp bark of protest. Hamish jumped down from the Land Rover.
‘Mrs Samson,’ he cried. ‘Do you know your house is on fire?’
‘What!’
‘It’s in flames. I’d better take you back there. The firemen think you’re still inside.’
She put her hand to her chest, and he supported her, frightened she would faint. Then he helped her up into the Land Rover. She huddled in the passenger seat, muttering, ‘Oh, my
house.’
‘Was it insured?’ asked Hamish.
‘Aye.’ A little colour began to return to her cheeks. ‘I’ll maybe be able to get myself a nice wee bungalow, everything on the one floor.’
Hamish drove up to the burning villa. Elspeth saw him arrive and whipped out a camera and began to take photographs as Hamish helped the old lady out of the Land Rover.
Blair came hurrying up. ‘Who’s this? I told you to get out there and interview folks.’
‘This is Mrs Samson,’ said Hamish. ‘She was fortunately out shopping when the fire started.’ Hamish turned to the old lady. ‘Mrs Samson, the solicitor gave you a
packet of papers left you by Mrs Gillespie. Do you by any chance have them with you?’
She shook her head. ‘I never even opened the packet. Mrs Gillespie told that solicitor it was just old mementoes – photos and letters. I thought I’d give them to her
stepdaughter, Heather.’
‘And did you?’
‘I hadn’t the time. I left them on the table in the hall.’
Hamish looked gloomily at the blazing house.
‘You!’ snapped Blair. ‘Stop standing there gawking like a loon. Get to work. We’ll look after Mrs Samson.’
Behind Blair’s back, Jimmy mimed drinking motions which Hamish interpreted to mean that he would be over at Lochdubh at the end of the day.
Most of the time, Hamish was used to the winds of Sutherland. But as he got out of the Land Rover in front of Mrs Barret-Wilkinson’s house, he felt the increasing
strength of a gale and sighed. Calm days were a brief respite from the yelling and screech of the Sutherland winds, and this one was already beginning to howl like a banshee.
He clutched at his cap as he rang the bell. He waited. No reply.
He retreated and drove down to Mrs Beattie’s shop. ‘Have you seen Mrs Barret-Wilkinson this morning?’ he asked.
‘No, it’s been right quiet. Awful that, about Mrs Samson’s house.’
‘How did you hear? Do you know Mrs Samson?’
‘Never heard of her, but my niece in Braikie called me a minute ago. Burnt to a crisp, the old lady was,’ added Mrs Beattie with gloomy relish.
‘She’s fine. She was out when the fire started,’ said Hamish.
‘There’s a mercy. I see you looking at the sausage rolls. I just made them this morning.’
‘I’ll take six,’ said Hamish.
Outside, he let the dog and cat out for a run and then fed them two sausage rolls each. He put them back in the Land Rover, climbed in himself, and settled down to have a lunch of sausage rolls
and coffee. He had filled up a thermos flask before he left that morning. Rain smeared the windscreen. Outside, the waves were rising – sea loch waves – angrily racing in rapidly one
after the other, while out in the Atlantic, the gigantic ones pounded the cliffs.
He drove back to Mrs Barret-Wilkinson’s house and waited. He was just about to give up when she arrived in a four-wheel-drive vehicle. She looked startled to see
Hamish took one last look at the blazing house before he turned away. Old Mrs Samson could not possibly be alive in that inferno, and whatever papers she had received from the solicitor would
have gone up in flames with her.
Hamish decided to begin at the beginning and go back and see Mrs Barret-Wilkinson. He was driving through Braikie’s main street when at first he thought he saw a ghost.
The elderly figure of Mrs Samson was looking in the window of the bakery. He screeched to a halt. Lugs let out a sharp bark of protest. Hamish jumped down from the Land Rover.
‘Mrs Samson,’ he cried. ‘Do you know your house is on fire?’
‘What!’
‘It’s in flames. I’d better take you back there. The firemen think you’re still inside.’
She put her hand to her chest, and he supported her, frightened she would faint. Then he helped her up into the Land Rover. She huddled in the passenger seat, muttering, ‘Oh, my
house.’
‘Was it insured?’ asked Hamish.
‘Aye.’ A little colour began to return to her cheeks. ‘I’ll maybe be able to get myself a nice wee bungalow, everything on the one floor.’
Hamish drove up to the burning villa. Elspeth saw him arrive and whipped out a camera and began to take photographs as Hamish helped the old lady out of the Land Rover.
Blair came hurrying up. ‘Who’s this? I told you to get out there and interview folks.’
‘This is Mrs Samson,’ said Hamish. ‘She was fortunately out shopping when the fire started.’ Hamish turned to the old lady. ‘Mrs Samson, the solicitor gave you a
packet of papers left you by Mrs Gillespie. Do you by any chance have them with you?’
She shook her head. ‘I never even opened the packet. Mrs Gillespie told that solicitor it was just old mementoes – photos and letters. I thought I’d give them to her
stepdaughter, Heather.’
‘And did you?’
‘I hadn’t the time. I left them on the table in the hall.’
Hamish looked gloomily at the blazing house.
‘You!’ snapped Blair. ‘Stop standing there gawking like a loon. Get to work. We’ll look after Mrs Samson.’
Behind Blair’s back, Jimmy mimed drinking motions which Hamish interpreted to mean that he would be over at Lochdubh at the end of the day.
Most of the time, Hamish was used to the winds of Sutherland. But as he got out of the Land Rover in front of Mrs Barret-Wilkinson’s house, he felt the increasing
strength of a gale and sighed. Calm days were a brief respite from the yelling and screech of the Sutherland winds, and this one was already beginning to howl like a banshee.
He clutched at his cap as he rang the bell. He waited. No reply.
He retreated and drove down to Mrs Beattie’s shop. ‘Have you seen Mrs Barret-Wilkinson this morning?’ he asked.
‘No, it’s been right quiet. Awful that, about Mrs Samson’s house.’
‘How did you hear? Do you know Mrs Samson?’
‘Never heard of her, but my niece in Braikie called me a minute ago. Burnt to a crisp, the old lady was,’ added Mrs Beattie with gloomy relish.
‘She’s fine. She was out when the fire started,’ said Hamish.
‘There’s a mercy. I see you looking at the sausage rolls. I just made them this morning.’
‘I’ll take six,’ said Hamish.
Outside, he let the dog and cat out for a run and then fed them two sausage rolls each. He put them back in the Land Rover, climbed in himself, and settled down to have a lunch of sausage rolls
and coffee. He had filled up a thermos flask before he left that morning. Rain smeared the windscreen. Outside, the waves were rising – sea loch waves – angrily racing in rapidly one
after the other, while out in the Atlantic, the gigantic ones pounded the cliffs.
He drove back to Mrs Barret-Wilkinson’s house and waited. He was just about to give up when she arrived in a four-wheel-drive vehicle. She looked startled to see
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