"Well, I'm going to get my supper and I haven't forgiven you for that horoscope. So be on your way."

"What a prickly sort of man you are! I came to tell you about the speeding case."

"What about it?"

"What about inviting me in?"

Hamish hesitated. But that little worry at the back of his brain was still there.

"All right. Come in."

She followed him into the kitchen. Hamish took down the whisky bottle from the kitchen cupboard along with two glasses and set them on the table. "Will you be having a dram?"

"A small one, yes, but no water. Just straight."

He poured two measures and they sat down. "Now what is it?"

"Crystal's got some hotshot lawyer to trash you in court."

"What on earth can he do? The woman was speeding and I've got the record on speed camera."

"That's the problem. The speed camera."

"What about it?"

"You drove with one hand and held the speed camera out of the window with the other, stretching across the front seat and holding it?"

"Yes, so what?"

"You don't read as many newspapers as I do, Hamish. There have been cases of people arrested because they've taken one hand off the wheel to use a mobile phone. One woman was even charged for taking out her powder compact and dusting her nose while waiting at traffic lights. You see what he's going to say. You are going to be held up as a danger to the public, not her."

"But that's daft."

"Nonetheless, that's their case. And just to put the frights into the judiciary, Crystal has announced that she is going to do a programme on Scottish sheriff courts, and the sheriff at Strathbane is a rabbit of a man."

"Damn." Hamish took a drink of whisky. "Wait a minute. She's coming to interview me next Monday and I've been ordered to give her the interview. She shouldn't be seeing me if we're going to be in court."

"I gather she can get round that. You don't talk about the speeding case and neither does she. She's still insisting on the interview. And she's put off the 'Behind the Lace Curtains' show to do it."

"I'll have my own lawyer," said Hamish.

"A good lawyer might run rings around her, but you're police and you'll be represented by Boozy Burroughs."

"Oh."

"Oh, exactly. If he's even awake, it'll be a miracle. So I'm here to tell you, I'm prepared to go into court and say I saw her trying to bribe you."

"But you didn't."

"I've suddenly remembered I did."

"No, I cannae be having that. I can get witnesses among the locals to say they saw her speeding, but someone might come forward and say you didn't come up to us until the last minute."

"You might get a witness to say they saw her trying to bribe you."

Hamish ran his fingers through his thick red hair. "She took out her wallet and riffled through the notes and said something like I couldn't earn much money as a village policeman. But no one was close enough to hear that. She could simply say she was looking through her wallet for car papers."

Elspeth drained her glass of whisky and stood up. "Maybe she'll die."

"Maybe pigs will fly."

"Oh, someone will kill that one, sooner or later."

He looked sharply at her, but those odd eyes of hers were unreadable.

"She's a Scorpio, which is no surprise to me," said Elspeth, heading for the door.

"You surely don't believe that rubbish."

"Oh, I do. See you."

When she had gone, Hamish decided to phone Peter Daviot at home. Crystal would not mention the speeding case during the interview, but he knew she would try to make him look like an officious fool. And she would certainly try to get him to betray his dislike of her.

He did not mention anything about the speed camera to Daviot but outlined the dangers of an interview with Crystal before the court case. But Daviot would not be moved. "It's just a television interview," he said, "and if we refuse her, she'll think we've got something to hide."

When Hamish put down the phone, defeated, he marvelled again at the power of television. Had it been a newspaper interview, then he would not have been forced to go through with it, but everyone always went on as if television were some sort of government enforcement agency. People who would not speak to the press let television cameras and reporters into their homes.

He thought about Elspeth. It was good of her to offer to lie for him. On the other hand, that horoscope had been cruel. Lugs gave a short, sharp bark from the kitchen and then rattled his food bowl.

Hamish sighed and went through to the kitchen. "You've been fed already," he said crossly. Lugs gave a pathetic whimper as Hamish lifted a casserole out of the oven. "Oh, well," said Hamish weakly. "Just a little bit. What am I going to do about that wretched woman, Lugs?"

But Lugs was eyeing the casserole with his bright blue eyes, his mind only on food.

On the following Monday, Hamish awoke with a heavy heart. Somehow he would get through the interview. He would be bland and smiling, no matter what skeletons from his past Crystal let out of the cupboard. His complimentary copy of the Highland Times rattled through his letter box. He made a cup of coffee and spread the paper out on the kitchen table. He turned to the horoscope to make sure Elspeth had no more nasty messages for him. He read that those born under the sign of Libra would find that a problem that had been haunting them had been forcibly removed. Death would solve all problems. He stared at it and then his eye travelled to Scorpio. Had the girl gone mad?

All the trouble and strife you have caused will come back to haunt you and violently, too. Don't leave home on Monday. Lock the doors and close the curtains and do not even answer the phone. If you go out, then something terrible will happen to you.

What on earth was Elspeth up to? Did she think that Crystal would read her horoscope and cancel the interview? He reached for the phone to ring her and then decided against it.

He went about his chores, fed his hens, checked on his sheep, repaired a broken section of fence, and then, after a light lunch, sponged and pressed his uniform and put it on.

At precisely two o'clock, there was a knock at the front door of the police station. He opened it. Four people stood there. They introduced themselves. A thin nervous woman, Felicity Pearson, researcher; a fat, smooth man, Harry Jury, cameraman; a thin bearded man, Tom Betts, director; and a cross little man, John Leslie, sound.

"Where's your boss?" asked Hamish.

"Should be here any minute," said Harry. "If you don't mind, we'll just start getting set up."

"Come in," said Hamish reluctantly. He led them into the police office.

"Right," said the director, Tom Betts. "You just sit behind your desk while we get the light right."

What an age of preparation it seemed to take! Hamish waited patiently while a microphone was fitted to his tunic, while bright lights shone in his face, while he had to speak several times until the sound was adjusted. Felicity sat crouched in a corner studying a sheaf of notes.

"Are those the questions?" asked Hamish. "Can you give me some idea of what I will be asked?"

"Fraid not," said Felicity. "Madam does not like anyone to be prepared. She likes the interview to be natural. Then we have to rush it back. It goes out tonight."

Hamish looked at the clock. "It's now three o'clock," he said. "When is Miss French going to arrive?"

They all looked puzzled. "Should be here by now," said Harry.

Felicity gave a nervous giggle. "She was upset by her horoscope."

"In the Highland Times?" asked Hamish sharply. "I thought she wouldn't read it."

"Oh, some girl from the paper interviewed her and then talked about horoscopes. Crystal is very keen on horoscopes. She sent me out this morning to buy a copy of the Highland Times."

Hamish sent up a prayer that the absent Crystal should turn out to be superstitious.

Tom took out a mobile phone and rang Strathbane Television. When he rang off, he said, "That's odd. They say she left in plenty of time. In fact she left at eight. Said she wanted to cruise around Lochdubh and get a feel of the place."

"Unhitch me from this microphone," ordered Hamish. "I'd better drive around and look for her. She may have met with an accident."

The sound man removed the microphone. Hamish was heading for the kitchen door when it was thrust open and Angela Brodie stood there, her face quite white.

"It's awful, Hamish. Come quickly. She's dead."

"Who's dead?"

"Crystal French."

THREE.

Lady, the stars are falling pale and small -G. K. Chesterton "Where is she?" cried Hamish.

"Up on the back road. I think it's suicide." Hamish started to run, his long legs going like pistons. He raced along to Patel's grocery store, up the lane at the side, up to the narrow, grassy road, little used.

The green BMW stood there, a bright splash of colour against the purple of the heather on the flanks of the hillsides. The engine was still running. A hose led from the exhaust and in the top of one window. He seized the door handle. Locked. He grabbed a rock and smashed the window on the passenger side, reached in and unlocked the door, climbed in, and leaning round Crystal's body, switched off the engine. Crystal French was slumped over the wheel. Taking out a handkerchief and holding it over his nose to protect himself from the fumes, Hamish felt Crystal's neck for a pulse. Nothing.

Dr. Brodie came along in his car. "Leave her to me, Hamish," he called. "Phone for an ambulance."

"I think it's too late for that." Hamish got out of the car. He retched and coughed and then reached back into the dashboard and picked up Crystal's mobile phone. He phoned for an ambulance and then called police headquarters. Dr. Brodie had Crystal's body out on the ground and was fixing an oxygen mask over her face. "I brought the oxygen tank the minute Angela told me," he said, "but man, it's no good, no good at all." He looked up and then shouted, "Show some decency, for God's sake."

Harry had arrived with Tom and Felicity and John, and Harry was busy filming the scene.

Harry reluctantly put down his camera. Hamish walked round to where Crystal was lying and knelt down by her body. Her once-beautiful face was a ghastly pink. He felt with his long fingers, probing her neck and then the back of her head. "There's a lump here," he said to Dr. Brodie.

Dr. Brodie crouched down beside him. "Where?"

"Feel there, just at the back."

"Aye, there's a bit of a lump. I may as well take the mask off. She's well and truly dead, Hamish."

A crowd was gathering. They stood silently, a little distance away. Hamish saw Elspeth among the onlookers. He would need to have a word with her.

He seemed to wait a very long time before he heard the ambulance coming.

The police arrived at the same time as the ambulance. Heading them was not Detective Chief Inspector Blair, who was on leave, but his replacement, a tall, thin man, Detective Chief Inspector Carson.

Hamish reported briefly how he had found the car with the engine still running.

"Thank goodness it seems a straightforward case of suicide," said Carson.

"As to that," said Hamish cautiously, "she's got a lump on the back of her head."

Carson had a long face, a long, thin nose and drooping eyelids over pale eyes. Those eyes raked Hamish up and down. "Are you a qualified medical examiner?"

"No, sir. But..."

"But nothing. You will say nothing about this until the experts have done their job. Go back to your station, type out your report, and then question the people in the village to see if there are any witnesses to her arrival, see if anyone saw anything."

Hamish saw Detective Jimmy Anderson eyeing him sympathetically. As Hamish walked past him, he whispered, "Get the whisky ready. I'll try to drop in later."

When he got back to the police station, the phone was ringing. He picked up the receiver. Daviot's voice came down the line, sharp and anxious. "What's happening?"

Hamish described how he had found Crystal. "It's a blessing in a way," said Daviot. "Nice, neat little suicide. Wraps it up. No fuss, no scandal."

"There is one thing, sir," said Hamish. "She's got a lump on the back of her head. Someone could have socked her and then faked the suicide."

"You must be mistaken. A lot of people have bumpy heads-naturally, I mean. These television people are often prone to depression. It's the life they lead. What does Carson say?"

"At the moment, he is of the opinion it's suicide, but to my mind that's wishful thinking."

"Carson is a good man and a highly experienced officer. Anyway, if it were murder, guess who would be the first suspect?"

"Who?"

"You," said Daviot nastily and slammed down the phone.

Now, I could look at it this way, thought Hamish, sitting down in front of his computer. I could go along with it and do a report and not mention that bump. If I mention it, they'll need to do something about it. They all want it to be suicide. She was investigating the methods of the Highland police, finishing with me. On the other hand, this is my parish and there's a murderer out there. I'm sure of it. Someone as vain and egocentric as Crystal French would never commit suicide, but on the other hand, a lot of people must have wanted her dead.

He began to type. He wrote about how he had found the car with the engine still running, and that from the colour of Crystal's face, she had died of carbon monoxide poisoning. But he had felt the back of her head and found that lump, and in his opinion, she could have been stunned and a suicide faked.