Death of an Outsider by M.C. Beaton Read Free Book Online Page A

breakneck speed down the main street with the police siren blaring. A mile to the east, dimly visible through the snow, rose the steep sides of Clachan Mohr. He hurtled round the hairpin bends towards it, tyres screeching through the snow, until he parked the Land Rover in its shadows. There was a thin rabbit track of a path winding upwards. He set off, wishing he had worn his climbing boots, for the grass was slippery with snow and he kept sliding back. He was agile and athletic, but it took him nearly half an hour to reach the top. The snow thinned again, and there, at the very edge of the cliff, lay the body of a man, his red pullover clearly distinguishable against the blinding white of the snow. Someone’s got Mainwaring, thought Hamish, his mind working out times. How on earth could someone have had time to murder the man on the top of Clachan Mohr when Hamish had seen him only a short time ago?
    And then he stiffened when he was still a few yards from the body. All at once, he knew he was being watched. He felt it. Then he thought … the body is just now getting covered with snow and yet that phone call was almost an hour ago .
    He stood still, listening with his sixth sense, feeling for where those watchers might be. He sniffed the air like a dog. There was a faint tang of human sweat and stale tobacco. He saw a patch of gorse bushes to his left and suddenly dived towards it. Alistair Gunn and Dougie Macdonald rose sheepishly to their feet. ‘I’ll deal with you in a minute,’ snapped Hamish. He ran to the body. It was, as he had already suspected, a dummy made out of old clothes stuffed with newspapers.
    He came back and looked coldly at the two shuffling and grinning ghillies. ‘Jist our joke,’ said Alistair Gunn.
    He had a broad leering grin on his turnip face. Hamish took out his handcuffs and handcuffed the two men together.
    ‘Start walking,’ he snapped.
    ‘Cannae ye take a joke?’ whined Dougie.
    ‘Shut up!’ said Hamish.
    The ghillies led the way down, not, to Hamish’s high irritation, by the difficult path he had scaled, but by a broad, easy, winding path down the back. He shoved both men into the police Land Rover and drove off, staring angrily through the windscreen. On the edge of Loch Cnothan was a small jetty. Hamish removed the handcuffs from the two men after he had stopped by the jetty. ‘Now walk to the end,’ he said, ‘and keep your backs to me. I don’t want to see your stupid faces when I talk to ye.’
    ‘Whit’ll happen to us?’ moaned Dougie to Alistair.
    ‘Naethin,’ said Alistair with a shrug. ‘The man’s a poofter. Cannae ye smell him?’
    This was said in a low voice, but Hamish heard it. It was all he needed. He waited until they were standing facing the water and then he kicked out with all his might, straight at Alistair’s broad backside. Alistair went flying into the icy water. ‘Dinnae touch me,’ screeched Dougie, turning around. ‘It wasnae me. It wass him!’ Hamish contemptuously pushed him in the chest and he went flying as well.
    Hamish stood with his hands on his hips until he was sure both were able to make it to the shore. Then he climbed in to the Land Rover and drove back to the police station. The snow was turning to rain and his wheels skidded on great piles of slush.
    When he reached the station, he changed out of his uniform and put on trousers and a flannel checked shirt. He pulled on his spare navy-blue police sweater over it, and then went over to Jenny’s cottage and knocked on the door. There was no reply.
    ‘Damn and blast!’ yelled Hamish.
    The door suddenly opened and Jenny Lovelace stood there, her hair dripping wet and with a large bath towel wrapped round her. ‘I was in the bath,’ she said. ‘What’s the matter? You look desperate.’
    Hamish shuffled his boots and a slow blush crept up his thin cheeks. His long lashes dropped quickly to veil his eyes.
    ‘Come in then,’ said Jenny when he did not speak. ‘I’ll