Elspeth waited until he had cleared his plate and asked again. "How have you been getting on?"

Hamish sighed. "Interviewing a lot of people and getting nowhere."

"Tell me about it?"

"You'll keep it to yourself?"

"Haven't I always?"

"Here goes, then."

He told her about his interviews.

She leaned her elbows on the table. "I wonder..." she said.

"Wonder what?"

"Well, you say that Finlay Swithers is a wife beater and a drunk. But he enjoyed beating his wife. A man like that wouldn't want to kill her, unless..." She took a sip of wine.

"Unless what?" demanded Hamish impatiently.

"Unless he had her heavily insured."

TWELVE.

Above thy deep and dreamless sleep The silent stars go by.

-Philips Brooks Hamish stared at her. "There's a thought. If he had, it would be interesting to find out. I've got to see Mrs. Harrison tomorrow and then I've got to go to Bonar Bridge again."

"I'll phone round the insurance companies for you. Tomorrow's a quiet day," said Elspeth.

"That's good of you. I must say, Elspeth, you're a right brick the way you've kept everything I've told you out of print."

She laughed. "It's easy. We're a weekly family paper. People can get all the hard news from the nationals. What they want from us is the local stories-you know, school sports days, Highland Games, all with as many photographs as possible-and recipes and gossip. If I started to write what you'd told me, I would lose a good friend."

Her eyes were very large and silver in her gypsy face. He felt a tug at his heart immediately followed by a cold feeling of distaste. Where had involvements with women ever got him? Better to keep it light and friendly.

He returned to the subject of Swithers. "Even if he did insure his wife heavily, we still can't get him on it. Still, it would be nice to know. Because if he's still got her heavily insured, he might be daft enough to try again. But hadn't I better contact the insurance companies myself? They would tell a policeman but not you."

"I have useful friends."

"I'll leave you to it and if you don't get anywhere, I'll take over."

"Coffee?"

"No, I'd best be going. Thanks for a grand meal. What about me taking you out to the Italian restaurant tomorrow night?"

"Great. I'll see you there at eight."

Hamish stood up. "Come on, Lugs. Time to go home."

She followed him to the door and then put her hand on his arm and looked up into his face. He ducked his head in an embarrassed motion and said gruffly, "Aye, well, good night then," and clattered down the stairs with Lugs pattering after him.

The following morning he bearded Mrs. Harrison in her dingy shop. "Oh, you're back," she said sourly.

"What were you doing on Monday night, the day Felicity Pearson was killed?"

"I was at home at the croft. The boys were in Strathbane, as you know, at the bowling alley. I was watching the telly with my neighbour, Betty Murray. Go and ask her."

"I will," said Hamish. "Address?"

She gave it to him, her old eyes gleaming with mockery as if amused at his pursuit.

He left and checked with Betty Murray, who confirmed that Mrs. Harrison had been with her up until nearly midnight and added that Mrs. Harrison could not drive.

Hamish then drove across country to Bonar Bridge to see Jessie Gordon. But the house had a dead, empty look and no one answered the door. He was turning away when a woman next door called to him. "Are you looking for Jessie?"

"Aye."

"She's in hospital in Inverness. I found her lying in her garden and called the ambulance. I phoned the hospital. They said she might pull through. Bad case of alcohol poisoning."

"When was this?" asked Hamish.

"I found her last Sunday morning. She must have been lying there all night, they said. It's a wonder she's still alive."

Hamish thanked her and walked back to the Land Rover. Lugs gave a bark of welcome from the front seat. Hamish had decided to take him along for company.

When he got back to the police station, he sat at his desk and began to take notes. The Harrison boys' alibi was not foolproof. They could have left the bowling alley, gone to the docks, and shot Felicity. He would need to wait for a report from the lab on the guns.

The day dragged on. He made notes and then studied his reports on the computer. Perhaps there was something in there that might give him a clue.

By evening, he was glad to leave his work and get dressed and go to meet Elspeth. Instead of his best suit, he put on a shirt and cords and an old and comfortable Harris tweed sports jacket. Elspeth had made him feel overdressed the last time.

But when he entered the restaurant, he saw she was wearing the cherry red dress, black sheer tights, and high heels.

"You're looking very grand," he said. "What was the occasion?"

"This. I thought I'd dress up."

He wished she hadn't. The dress revealed her excellent figure.

"So how did you get on?" he asked, sitting down opposite her.

"Got it first time."

"Good girl. What?"

"The Strong Insurance Company in Inverness. A friend of mine told me that Finlay Swithers insured his wife's life for one hundred thousand pounds."

Hamish's eyes gleamed. "He did, did he? I'd better report it, and warn his wife."

"Sorry, he fell behind on the payments right after she left him, so the policy was cancelled."

"Well, it's another dead end like all the dead ends I keep running into."

They ordered their food, each having the same, veal scallops with marsala sauce. "I suppose it's wicked to eat veal," said Elspeth.

"Not here. It's actually pork fillet beaten thin. Not thinking of becoming a vegetarian, are you?"

"Sometimes. It's all right in the city when you buy the meat at the supermarket in packages, but around here, you see it on the hoof."

"Usually it's the other way round. It's the townies who get sentimental about animals and go on about the darling foxes. Anyway, it's been a dreary day. I keep going over and over my reports. I keep hoping there's something concrete there but all I get are a lot of perhaps and maybes."

Hamish's mobile phone rang. "I thought I'd switched this thing off," he said, pulling it out of his pocket.

It was Carson. "Just to let you know that Mrs. McClellan's body is being released tomorrow. Mr. McClellan has been told. Let me know when the funeral is to be held."

"Will do."

"How have you been getting on?"

"A lot of dead ends. I've gone round them all again. Only one thing. Finlay Swithers insured his wife for one hundred thousand pounds, but stopped paying after she left, so the policy was cancelled."

"I wish we could get that man on something. What's that music in the background?"

"I'm in the local Italian restaurant."

"Food good?"

"Excellent."

"I wish I could join you."

"I'm with Elspeth Grant. We could wait for you, sir."

"If you don't mind."

"Not at all."

"I'm on my way," said Carson cheerfully.

"That's the boss," said Hamish to Elspeth. "I'll tell Willie to hold our food. We could have a starter while we're waiting."

"As you've already invited him," said Elspeth coldly, "I can hardly object."

"Elspeth, he's my boss and he's lonely, I think."

"Tough."

Hamish went off to the kitchen. Willie followed him back, carrying menus.

"Choose a starter, Elspeth," begged Hamish, "and stop sitting there making me feel guilty."

She suddenly smiled at him. "You're not very romantic, are you?"

"No, he's not," said Willie. "Waste of space, if you ask me."

"No one asked you," snapped Hamish. "For heaven's sake, order something, Elspeth, so we can send him on his way."

They both ordered Parma ham and melon.

Mrs. Wellington then came up to their table. "When is Mrs. McClellan's body being released?"

"I've just learned it's tomorrow."

"Good. The sooner that poor woman has a Christian burial the better." She pulled up a chair and sat down and pulled a capacious notebook out of her bag.

"We thought that instead of sandwiches and canapes, we would have a buffet lunch after the funeral. Roast chicken. Potatoes. Salad. Green peas. Trifle as dessert. Now what will your contribution be?"

"I'm doing the eulogy," said Hamish.

"But everyone is to help with the catering. Do you think we should have wine?"

"Definitely not," said Hamish. "Whisky is what will be expected."

"I'll put you down for a couple of bottles. Miss Grant?"

"I'll give you a couple of roast chickens," said Elspeth.

"Good girl. I'll make a note of that. Angela Brodie is doing a giant trifle."

"Is that wise?" asked Hamish. "Angela's cooking is not of the best."

"You can't make a mistake with trifle," said Mrs. Wellington.

They were then joined by the Currie sisters, and discussions of the arrangements went on right up until Carson arrived. So much for buying a new lipstick and French perfume and putting my best dress on, thought Elspeth gloomily, as Carson sat down when the others had left and immediately plunged into discussing the two murder cases with Hamish. To Elspeth's relief, Carson only had one glass of wine and said he had to keep a clear head to drive back to Strathbane. Maybe Hamish would ask her back to the police station for a nightcap.

But when they all stood outside the restaurant, Carson thanked Hamish for the meal and drove off.

"That was a waste of time," said Elspeth crossly. "You both went over and over everything and got nowhere."

"Well, that's policing," said Hamish vaguely. "Good night and thanks for finding out about that insurance policy for me." He waved his hand and strolled off down the waterfront.