Death of a Policeman (A Hamish Macbeth Mystery)
M. C. Beaton
morning to the Currie sisters. “What have you done to your hair?” asked Nessie. “Hair?” echoed her sister. “It grows in black from time to time,” said Dick defensively. “Nonsense. That’s one bad dye job,” said Nessie. “Bad dye job,” murmured Jessie. Dick let in the clutch and roared off, his face flaming. The dye was supposed to be temporary and wash out after several shampoos. Dick got as far as the Tommel Castle Hotel when he suddenly made a U-turn and raced back to the police station.
headscarves, and brogues. “Grand day,” said Hamish. “Have you seen the newcomer?” “We have that,” said Nessie. “Like a fillum star.” “Fillum star,” echoed the Greek chorus that was Jessie. “It’s refreshing to find a young man who kens so much about the Bible,” said Hamish. “He’s out with Archie, but when he gets back, you should invite him to tea. Right religious, he is.” “We’ll do that,” said Nessie. “It will be nice to talk to a clean young man instead o’ a lazy philanderer like yourself.”
as the conversation started, she found she was the only writer at the table apart from a surly young man in a polo-neck sweater who said he wrote children’s stories. The other three men turned out to be shopkeepers from Strathbane. Charles Davenport was a nervous young man. “This is not what I expected, Angela,” he said. “We’re not in a very prominent position. And we’re out of the range of the cameras.” “Oh, dear,” said Angela. “The whole village is going to be watching to see me on television
the house was deserted. He switched on the light in the kitchen. There was a single muddy tyre track leading to the kitchen door. He went into the living room and switched on the light there. A bookcase contained a series of romances by Martha Hibbert. There was a computer and printer on the table along with a pile of typed manuscript pages. He then went along to a small bedroom. The wardrobe door was open, as were some of the drawers on a chest of drawers, as if someone had packed hurriedly.
suited to each other. She rose to her feet. “I’m tired. I’ll call you tomorrow. Give me Beryl’s address and tell me how to get there.” When Hamish entered the police station kitchen, he found Hetty seated at the table with Dick, who flashed him a look of appeal. “We have urgent business, Dick,” said Hamish. “There’s no time for you to put on your uniform. Hetty, I’m afraid you’ll have to go.” Hetty stood up, then leaned forward and kissed Dick on the cheek. “Good night, lover boy,” she said.