Death of a Gentle Lady

man.’
    She was carrying a manila envelope which she opened, pulling out a glossy photograph just as Jimmy entered the room.
    Daviot outlined what had happened and said to Jimmy, ‘See if you recognize the man.’
    Jimmy looked at the photograph. It showed a group of people outside Patel’s grocery store. He pointed to a man in the middle of the group. ‘That’s Tommy Shields, drug pusher and addict. I’ll find him.’
    Billy began to rapidly pack up his cameras as Elspeth rose to go. ‘Elspeth,’ said Jimmy, ‘come down to the detectives’ room and I’ll take a statement from you.’
    No photographs, thought Daviot, disappointed. The new suit would have looked grand.

    Blair looked up as Jimmy came hurrying in. ‘Do you know someone called Tommy Shields?’
    Feeling as if he had just gone down in a very fast elevator, Blair said, ‘No, what’s he done?’
    ‘Never mind,’ muttered Jimmy, switching on the computer.
    ‘I am your senior officer,’ raged Blair.
    ‘Aye, sir, but you’re not supposed to be here. Find a chair, Elspeth, and I’ll take your statement. On second thoughts, I’ll take it later. I’d like to find this Tommy Shields first.’
    Blair lumbered to his feet and headed rapidly out of police headquarters. He had to get to Tommy before they did.
    He got in his car and raced down to the tower block by the docks. The lift was broken and he had to hurry up the filthy stairs, stopping on each landing to catch his breath. At last he reached Tommy’s door and hammered on it.
    There was no reply. Frantic with fear, he took a small cosh out of his pocket, smashed one of the glass panes on the door, and, reaching inside, turned the handle.
    There was a foul smell of booze and a sweetish smell of decay. He went into the bedroom. Tommy was sprawled across a dirty bed with a needle stuck in his arm. Blair felt for a pulse and found none.
    ‘There is a God,’ muttered Detective Chief Inspector Blair, and he fled from the flat, taking the stairs two at a time. He gained the sanctuary of his car and drove off – just in time. Two police cars swept past him going towards the tower blocks.
    He had worn thick gloves the whole time, except when he had felt for that pulse. Could they get a fingerprint off a dead body? They surely wouldn’t be looking for one. Of course, the fact that the flat looked broken into would start them thinking about murder, but the only fingerprints they would find on that syringe would be Tommy’s.
    Well, that pillock Macbeth would be safe now. He wouldn’t hang around Grianach waiting to be murdered.

    But that was just what Hamish Macbeth proposed doing. He told an angry Jimmy Anderson that it was their only hope of catching the murderer.
    ‘I’ll see if I can get Daviot to agree to it,’ said Jimmy finally, ‘but we haven’t got any spare men to go all the way up there on the off-chance. We found the informant.’
    He told Hamish about Tommy Shields.
    ‘That iss verra interesting,’ said Hamish, the sibilance of his accent showing he was upset. ‘If you’ve got any spare time, see if Blair ever arrested the man.’
    ‘Do you mean to say Blair was behind this?’
    ‘Wouldn’t surprise me. I’m not saying he murdered the man, but if he got there before you and found him dead, he must ha’ been verra relieved.’
    ‘Hamish, even if I found out Blair was behind it, I doubt if Daviot would believe me. I went up to tell him about Tommy when I got back and there was a big bunch of flowers on his desk. Daviot said, “Aren’t they lovely? So nice of Mr Blair to remember my wife’s birthday.” Look, I’ll give you a day or two longer and then you’d better get out of there. Go somewhere else.’
    ‘I’ll go back to Lochdubh. I’m not going to run away any more.’

    Hamish spent a pleasant day wandering around the village and chatting to the locals. When he settled down for the evening in front of the fire, he wondered if the murderer would come for him. If I were the murderer, thought Hamish, I wouldn’t drive down that road into the village. Everyone would see the car. So what would I do? I’d park a bit away at the top of the road and wait till it was after midnight. The weather’s on the turn, and there’s no moon tonight. I’d come quietly down into the village. But how would I know which cottage?
    He lay back on the sofa and stared up at the nicotine-stained ceiling. He should really report this place to the Scottish Tourist Board, he