The Piper Read online

  “Hamish MacLeod. I live in the croft just o’er the hill from the loch.”

  The youngest of the three men, the constable, leaned forward for a quiet word with the rest. Hamish remembered him then. He’d been among those called in to search when the man from Carlisle had been reported missing.

  That search too had ended in tragedy.

  “Know this lad, do ye?” the constable asked.

  “He’d been hurt. In the gale. It was verra’ fierce in the night.”

  “Hurt? How?” The older man asked.

  “Well, ye can see for yoursel’s. His heid. I did what I could, but he wouldna’ stay.”

  “His name?”

  Hamish shook his head. “He didna’ tell me. I could see he was a piper.” He looked down at the body on the ground. In death the lad looked even younger than his years. And where were his pipes?

  “Did you, now. And how was that?”

  “He had his pipes wi’ him.” Looking around, he added, “He must ha’ dropped them as he weakened.” But he remembered how the lad had frantically searched for his pipes, there by the warmth from the iron stove. Would he have abandoned them to save himself? Hamish thought not.

  Someone had stalked him, then, waited for him to die, and taken them. Without them, who would know the lad was a piper?

  “What brought you oot here looking for him?” It was his turn to ask questions. “How did ye know he was in trouble?”

  After a moment the older man said, “We didn’t. The lad was supposed to meet us at the police station yesterday.” He lifted his chin in the direction of the village. “It was a set meeting. He never arrived. When the gale was over, we set out to find him.”

  “Arrived from where?” Hamish asked.

  “Inveraray.” Grudgingly.

  The Campbell stronghold. Hamish had no time for the Campbells. “Was he a Campbell, then? He’s no’ wearing the tartan. That’s a MacInnes.”

  The men watched him. “Bruce MacInnes,” the Inspector said finally. “That’s his name. He was coming to give information on a murder.”

  Surprised, Hamish said. “Was he indeed?”

  “On his way to Inveraray he was a witness to a crime. He spoke to the local man there, and Campbell sent him along to us.”

  Hamish pointed to the head wound, no longer bleeding into the rain-soaked hair. “How did he come by that?”

  “We’d like verra’ much to know oursel’s.” The older man turned to the constable. “Stay wi’ him, please, Chisholm. Mr. MacLeod, perhaps you’d like to take us back to your house, and tell us what you know about this man.”

  He stood his ground. “I’ve explained. He was caught in the gale. But he wouldna’ stay the night. He left before first light.” When the wind dropped at last? It was likely.

  “Aye?” The older man pointed to the scuffed heather at his feet. The third of the three had not spoken. “I’m thinking he was set upon just here. By person or persons unknown. That wound is still raw.”

  “That may well be,” Hamish said. “But it was no’ here. He had that wound when first I found him, down by the loch. If he was set upon, it was before that. But no’ verra’ much before. He was in a weakened state. I heard him calling during the gale.”

  But had he heard that? Had he heard instead the cries of a man being attacked?

  He remembered something else. “I didna’ find anything on him. No’ his name, nor where he had come from.”

  “Indeed?” the older man said again. “But he was carrying a medal. A gold one. He’d won first place in Inveraray. By all accounts, young as he was, he was a fine piper. I think, Mr. MacLeod, it would be best if ye took us to your house.” He turned to the third man. “Thank you, Abernethy. Will you go back to the village and ask them to send a stretcher party?”

  With a nod, Abernethy turned and started back the way he must have come.

  “I didna’ attack him, nor did I rob him,” Hamish said quietly. “And I have nothing to hide. But I’ll have your name before I open my door to ye.”

  “Inspector Bethune.”

  With a last glance at the young body lying crumpled in the cold wind, Hamish turned and without waiting to see if anyone was following, set out for his house.

  But the constable stayed to stand guard over the corpse. Bethune, at his heels, was winded by the time he and Hamish had walked up the path to the house door. A town man, Hamish thought, not used to long treks in the hills.

  “What do you do for a living, Mr. MacLeod?” Bethune asked as he walked through the door and into the front room. His eyes were casting about, taking in the ancient spinning wheel in its corner, the hearth and the black stove, the furnishings, the doors to the other parts of the house. The damp clothes still lying on the floor where Hamish had dropped them.

  The room, Hamish thought, felt cold and damp as well. The fire had burned low. But he had no intention of replenishing it now.

  “I farm,” Hamish said, and turned to light the lamp. “It’s a good living. I have land o’er the brow of the hill. I take on help when I need it, and the rest of the time I manage on my own. One of the whisky distilleries buys my corn. They find it’s what they need. Something to do wi’ the amount of sugar. It was my grandfather who first planted that seed, no’ I. He learned of it from a man in Strathmeyer.”

  The Inspector was digging through the wet clothing on the floor. “There’s no blood here. I don’t see anything that looks like blood.”

  “That may be,” Hamish replied. “It was raining fit to drown a man.”

  “Did you wash up his wound?”

  “I did, with rags from the kitchen. I burned them, after. There wasna’ any point in trying to clean them.”

  Bethune went across to the stove and began poking around. But any rags had been consumed in the night.

  “Look,” Hamish said, “I didna’ harm the lad. I had no reason to.”

  “Do you mind if I search? For his pipes. The medal.”

  “I do mind,” Hamish said. “I’ve done no wrong here. But I have nothing to hide. The house is yours to search where ye please.”

  He sat down in his great-grandfather’s chair and left Bethune to it.

  Half an hour later, the Inspector returned to the front room, cast a longing glance into the kitchen. The stove remained cold, and no one had put on a kettle. Then he sat down across from Hamish without asking permission.

  “It’s this way,” he said, and reached into his pocket for a notebook. “We have two dead men on our hands. We didna’ know how the first died, but we were suspicious. He was fra’ Edinburgh, ye ken, and no’ the sort of man who might take it into his heid to spend a week in the middle of nowhere. We thought it more likely that he was meeting someone instead. Or hiding from them. Nevertheless, he took a wee croft on Loch Linnhe, and it came wi’ a wee boat. One morning he took it out, it developed a serious leak, and he couldna’ swim. According to the doctor, he drowned. The boat was found before the body washed up.”

  “But ye’re no’ satisfied.”

  “There was a large sum taken from the dead man’s account before he left Edinburgh. It wasna’ in the croft. It wasna’ on his person. And there was a bruise on the back of his head. The doctor suggested it had happened when the man tried to save himself as the boat was going down under him.”

  “The witness?”

  “He was sitting on the hillside, on his way to Inveraray, eating his lunch. He saw a boat tow anither boat out into the loch. A man scuttled the smaller vessel, and then he rowed down the loch and out of sight. We havena’ found where he put ashore.”

  “The piper—the lad—could he identify the man who was rowing?”

  “I think it’s possible he could.”

  “Which is what brought him from Inveraray. To tell you what he’d seen.”

  “That’s the sum of it.”

  “Did you no’ think of going to him? He was only a lad. It was a verra’ great responsibility you put on him.”

  “We
had no reason to believe he’d been spotted by the man in that boat.”

  “Aye, well, if he could see the man, it’s likely the man could see him and pretended no’ to notice him there on his hillside.”

  Bethune shook his head. “I think it’s more likely that when the rower reached the spot, our piper was gone, and he was forced to track him to Inveraray. But there was a great gathering for the piping, and no’ a very good time to kill again.” The Inspector cleared his throat. “Ye ken, we’re learning this after the fact.”

  “Cold comfort to the laddie with the pipes. His killer left him to be found, he didna’ hide the body. But he took the lad’s identification in the hope that that would delay the police. I’d like verra’ much to hear why you were so soon on the spot.”

  “As to hiding the body,” the Inspector told him shortly, “it’s possible that now the gale had passed, you’d decided you should see to it smartly.” He gestured to the pile of clothing by the door. “You were out in the gale. You admit to that.”

  “And I brought him here. Ye ken, he couldna’ ha’ been in his right mind when he left this house. But he knew he was expected, and he intended to keep his word, late or no’. Why did you set out to find him? You havena’ told me.”

  The Inspector shifted uncomfortably, glancing across at Hamish and then away again.

  “There was anither murder. Anither piper, only this one was older. I think the rower realized his mistake too late. We got word from Inveraray concerning that death, and set out straightaway to look for our man. We had to hire a guide. That’s the other man you saw. Abernethy.”

  “I’ve killed no one. You’ve wasted your time searching my house. And ye’ve lost your chance to find the man you’re seeking. He couldna’ have got far.”

  The Inspector flushed. “We didna’ ken the lad had been seen, not until last night when word came from Inveraray about the ither piper.”

  “Perhaps he wasn’t seen. But heard. Perhaps when he’d finished his meal, he practiced for the competition. Standing there playing the pipes. The sound carries. The rower might have heard it and circled back. Which raises anither point. How did yon piper know there was murder done on the loch while he was watching? If he only saw the boat being scuttled?”

  “Inveraray was asking people if they’d come in by way of the loch. Looking for witnesses to a boating accident, ye ken. The lad told them what he saw.”

  Hamish shook his head. “It’s no’ verra’ well done. Three men dead, one of them the lad. And ye havena’ a clue to be going on with.”

  The Inspector rose. “Because we found nothing in your house, it doesna’ mean ye’re in the clear. Understand that.” He gestured to the empty landscape beyond the croft. “Who knows what’s out there in the heather, or up the mountain, or for that matter, weighted doon in the loch.”

  Hamish stayed where he was. “Ye can search, of course. I willna’ gie ye any trouble o’er it.” He paused, then went on. “Have ye ever shot grouse, Inspector?”

  “Grouse? No, I’m a city man mysel’. I have no interest in the shooting.”

  “It’s a verra’ popular sport. No’ to my liking, but it’s done. A cousin is a ghillie on one of the estates north of here. He talked aboot it. Ye feed the grouse all year to keep them happy where they were. No’ wandering the hills in search of food or straying to anither man’s property. Instead they’re fat and ready for the shoot when the visitors arrive. The deer as well.”

  “No’ very sporting,” the Inspector replied sourly.

  “No, but these great estates make guid money fra’ the shooting. My cousin was well tipped when the bags were large. What I’m thinking is, we might try a little feeding of the grouse, and then invite someone to come and shoot them.”

  The Inspector was heading for the door. “I’m no’ here to shoot grouse, nor am I here to feed them. You’re mad if ye think you can persuade me to any such enterprise.”

  “I’m no’ persuading you,” Hamish said, impatient with the man. “Ask your constable or yon guide. They’ll ken what I mean. What I’m offering is to set mysel’ up as the grouse, while you feed a few lies where it might matter, and then we’ll see who comes to shoot.”

  The Inspector stopped at the door. Turning, he said, “Ye’re verra’ sure that our murderer is still hanging about.”

  “If he tracked the lad, he kens verra’ well that I brought him in out of the gale. He kens verra’ well that you’ve come to this house and stayed a wee while. He could be wondering just how much I’ve been telling ye. And he’s wondering what the lad told me. There was no gold medal in his pockets, ye ken. But now the pipe bag has been taken. He’s greedy, yon murderer. Was he still searching for yon medal? Or leading the police astray?”

  “Even if the piper told you everything, it wouldna’ be admissible in court. You must know that. There were no witnesses to that conversation. You could as well ha’ made it up to save yoursel’.” Bethune’s hand was still on the latch.

  Hamish rose from his chair. “Aye. That’s true. But then the murderer doesna’ ken how much the lad was able to tell me. He could ha’ given me a description. More than that, he might ha’ seen the man again in Inveraray and learned his name. That might explain why he was in such haste to keep his appointment with the police, in spite o’ the weather. Ye ken, the murderer didna’ question the lad out there in the gale. He struck him down and left him to die, thinking there was an end to it. A piper goes all o’er Scotland, playing wherever there’s a competition. And the lad’s killer might ha’ feared he’d see him again one day, and point him out.”

  The Inspector stood there, debating with himself, his gaze on the tall Scot.

  Three bodies on his hands and no one in custody. Hamish could read the thought running through the man’s head.

  Making up his mind, Bethune said, “It’s a foolish notion, ye ken, but I canna’ go to the Fiscal in Edinburgh and tell him that I’ve naething to show him.”

  “Ye’re to tell no one what we’re about. No’ even yon constable,” Hamish warned. “Or it willna’ work.” He thought about something more. “Why was the man in the boat murdered?”

  “We don’t know,” the Inspector said. “Theft? Blackmail? A falling out? When we put a name to the killer, we’ll learn more. What’s worrying is how ready he’s been to kill again. To prevent any connection with yon dead man in the loch.”

  “It was personal, then?”

  “Verra’ likely, aye. You’ll want to be careful, MacLeod.”

  They walked outside, and the Inspector made a show of shaking Hamish’s hand, then handing him a card. When Hamish took it, Bethune walked away, leaving the younger Scot standing in his doorway.

  Hamish looked down at the card. Inspector Alistair Bethune. What, he wondered, had really brought this man all the way from Edinburgh to meet a piper from Inveraray? If he didn’t know the reason behind the murder, surely he knew something that was worrying him. And his failure to meet the piper in Inveraray must be haunting him now. An inquiry that might have been solved easily had suddenly got out of hand.

  He went inside and made himself porridge for breakfast. And then he set about his preparations.

  From a distance he could see that the stretcher party had arrived and Inspector Bethune had removed the piper’s body, for the constable standing guard over the corpse had gone. It was shortly after noon, and he’d given them all the time they needed before setting out. Some twenty minutes later he found the old shepherd who minded MacDonald sheep, and offered him a drink from the bottle of whisky he’d brought with him. Grateful for a little warmth from the cold, the old man listened to the questions Hamish put to him.

  “I didna’ see the lad,” he said. “But there was a man, middle-aged by his walk, o’er by the stream that runs doon to the loch. Ye ken the one, it flows strongest in a gale. This man had field glasses. I saw him put them to his eyes. I’m thinking he’s looking for deer, but now I wonder if it wasna’ the lad he wanted to find.”r />
  “And you couldna’ tell anything more about him?”

  “No’ in all that rain. I took him for a poacher, ye ken. And I took care he didna’ see me in his turn.”

  “Height? Clothing?”

  “He wore a dark cloak with sleeves and a cape o’er his shoulders. And he was a good bit shorter than you. Fra’ the way his cloak hung, I’d say he weighed a stone or two more.”

  Hamish was over six feet. He put the man on the hillside at five foot ten, and that was close to the height of the guide the police had used to take them to the loch, although he was wearing a heavy coat and a kilt, not a cloak. But by that time the sun had come out . . .

  He thanked the shepherd, gave him another dram of whisky to keep out the cold, and walked on. He dared not leave the bottle. The old man would be drunk by nightfall. And who could blame him?

  Mary MacDonald lived in a wee croft on the side of the mountain overlooking the loch. She was the widow of Ewen MacDonald, who had served King and Country in the Argyll and Sutherlands. Gray-haired and self-reliant, she had known Hamish’s grandmother for many years, and when he appeared at her door, windblown and red-faced with the cold, she hurried him inside and put on the kettle.

  “What brings ye out in this weather?” she asked, half scolding, half worried, as she settled him by the fire. “It’s no’ fit for man nor beast.”

  “I wasna’ the only one out in the gale last night,” he said, holding his hands out to the blazing fire. “Did ye hear anything?”

  “The howl of the wind,” she said tartly. “Enough to raise the hackles on the dog’s back.” She pointed to the elderly dog lying on the handmade rug, unperturbed by Hamish’s advent.

  “It would take more than wind to rouse that one,” Hamish said. “Are ye sure that’s all it was?”

  “He didna’ go to the door and whine,” she said. “But earlier, he did, come to think on it, and when I went to my window, I saw a man in the distance. I took him to be lost, for he had something in his hand, and the way he held it, I thought it might be a compass. He must ha’ known the house was here, but he didna’ come to my door to ask his way. Still, I put the kettle on.”