Death of a Gentle Lady

was flashing empty. Hamish stared at it, puzzled. He had filled the tank just before arriving in Inverness. He got out with his torch, searched under the vehicle, and then shone the torch back along the road. There was no sign of any petrol leakage.
    He opened up the petrol cap and put a dipstick in. The stick came out dry. He took a four-gallon tank of petrol out of the back of the Land Rover and poured it into the tank.
    Still puzzled, he drove on. At the police station, he lifted his pets down from the vehicle, took the key down from the gutter, opened the kitchen door, and switched on the light.
    ‘I don’t think you pair need anything more to eat tonight,’ said Hamish. ‘Off to bed.’
    He decided to have a cup of coffee. Coffee never stopped him from sleeping.
    Hamish was about to open the fridge door when he glanced down at the floor. Soot from the stove had covered a little bit of the floor in a fine black layer, and in the middle was the faint imprint of a shoe.
    He stared at it for a long moment. He guessed the wearer would take size seven shoes. That was the size of the shoe-prints on the back stairs of the castle. Size seven, British, was size nine, American – and what was that in centimetres? Did anyone in Britain know their shoe size in centimetres?
    Hamish carefully lifted the lid of the stove. He had left, as usual, sticks and kindling and firelighter. What he usually did was just toss a match in and replace the lid.
    He bent down and sniffed. There was a smell of diesel. He backed off and whistled to his pets. ‘Going for a walk,’ he said, ‘and fast.’
    He hurried along to the Italian restaurant, where Willie was wiping the tables for the night. Hamish rapped on the door. ‘We’re closed,’ said Willie.
    ‘It’s urgent,’ said Hamish. ‘I need to phone headquarters. There’s a bomb in the police station.’
    ‘Come in,’ said Willie. ‘Michty me!’
    Hamish took out his mobile phone. ‘Willie, start evacuating the houses around the police station. Do it quick.’
    Willie ran off. Hamish got a sleepy Jimmy on his mobile number.
    ‘Jimmy, get the bomb squad. I think some-one’s put a fertilizer bomb in the stove in my kitchen. I’m in the Italian restaurant. Willie Lamont’s gone to evacuate the houses nearby. I’m off to help him.’
    ‘Be with you fast,’ said Jimmy and rang off.

    The night was frosty so Willie ushered several families into the restaurant. Mrs Wellington, who had been telephoned for help, had taken the rest of those considered to be in the danger area up to the manse.
    Hamish fretted and waited, only relaxing when he heard the sound of the sirens coming over the hills towards Lochdubh.
    He walked along to the police station to meet Jimmy, who was standing there with an army bomb disposal unit.
    ‘Tell the sergeant here about it,’ said Jimmy.
    Hamish described the footprint on the sooty floor and the smell of diesel.
    ‘Any wires?’ asked the sergeant.
    ‘No. I looked.’
    Two of his men went inside the police station. Hamish turned to Jimmy. ‘It was the same size as the footprint we saw in the castle.’
    ‘Damn and blast it!’ said Jimmy. ‘If this murderer thinks you know something, doesn’t he think it odd you’d keep it to yourself?’
    ‘He may think Irena told me something that I haven’t yet figured out,’ said Hamish.
    The men came out, carrying something in a plastic forensic bag.
    ‘Here it is,’ said one. ‘A fertilizer bomb. Nice little homemade thing. All you need is newspaper, chemical fertilizer, cotton, diesel, and you’ve got your bomb. Someone put the fertilizer wrapped in newspaper at the bottom of your stove, then put cotton soaked with diesel on the top. If you’d lit your stove, it would have blown apart five hundred square metres – which would have dealt with you and your police station.’
    ‘Hamish,’ said Jimmy, ‘maybe we’re being sidetracked by the whole Gentle family. You don’t think there might be some Russian connection?’
    ‘No, I don’t. They would have caught up with her before this.’
    ‘Maybe not. Who’d think of looking for her in the north of Scotland?’
    ‘We should be looking for someone fairly tall and slim with size seven feet,’ said Hamish. ‘Might be a good idea to check Kylie Gentle’s alibi.’
    People were returning to their houses. The forensic team arrived and went into the kitchen.
    ‘I’m going to go up to the hotel and see if I can mooch a room,’ said