“We only did it for her own good,” said Mr. Fleming. “She never protested. She was a good girl. I won’t believe all those nasty stories that folk are circulating about her.”

“Annie did have drugs on her body,” said Hamish.

“Someone must have tricked her. We brought her up to fear the Lord and do the right thing.”

Hamish turned his attention to Mrs. Fleming. She was in her late fifties, and he judged she must have had a baby later in life than most mothers. Her face had the drained, exhausted look of someone who has been crying for days.

“Mrs. Fleming,” asked Hamish, “do you know of any particular friends she might have had?”

“No, she didn’t socialise much with the young people from the church. She seemed happier with our friends when we had them round for tea.” Hamish guessed that tea meant high tea, still served in the north in a lot of households instead of dinner.

“May I have the names of your friends?”

“Well, there’s the Baxters.”

“That would be your neighbours-Cora and Jamie Baxter?”

“That’s right. And also old Mrs. McGirty. Mr. and Mrs. Tallent, of course. We all got on very well and Annie appeared to enjoy their company.”

“The minister seemed to have been fond of Annie.”

“He was so good. He pointed out the dangers a young person in this day and age could be subjected to. He even gave Annie private religious instruction.”

“How often?”

“Sometimes twice a week in the evenings.”

“And did this go on until her death?”

“No. Mr. Tallent said he had to give up the instruction because of the weight of parish duties.”

Hamish made notes and asked several more questions. Then he asked, “Is Mr. Tallent at home?”

“I believe he is at the church,” said Mr. Fleming.

Hamish walked to the low stone church next door. He opened the door and went in. It was a small kirk with pine pews and a stone-flagged floor. It was very cold. He remembered hearing that this was one of the stricter churches. It did not have an organ but made do with a chanter, a man who struck a tuning fork against one of the pews to introduce the hymn singing. He saw the huddled figure of the minister in a front pew. He was seated with his head buried in his hands.

Hamish went up to him. Although Mr. Tallent must have heard the sound Hamish’s boots made on the stone floor, he did not move.

Hamish laid a hand on his shoulder and said quietly, “I need to be having another word with you, Minister. It’s about that private religious instruction you were giving Annie.”

Mr. Tallent raised his head. “I tried to protect Annie from this sinful world but she must have been corrupted by that creature Jake.”

“I think Annie was quite good at corrupting people herself. Did she come on to you?” asked Hamish.

“What a disgusting suggestion!” raged the minister.

Hamish sat down beside him in the pew. “Look here,” he said gently, “Annie was verra manipulative and she liked power. I think she made you fall in love with her. I think your conscience got the better o’ ye and you stopped the lessons.”

“She confessed to an admiration for me,” said Mr. Tallent after a long silence. “I was sinfully flattered. I became impatient with my wife. I nearly lost my faith. Yes, I stopped the classes and said I would only see her in the kirk. She shrugged. Then she laughed at me and called me a silly old goat.” Tears began to run unchecked down his cheeks. “I went a bit mad. I even thought of killing her. But I didn’t. Believe me, Sergeant, I wouldn’t know how to begin to make a letter bomb.

“Does any of this have to come out? It would devastate my wife and daughter. And the scandal!”

“Chust so long as I don’t find any proof linking you with the murder, I’ll keep quiet,” said Hamish, feeling embarrassed faced with the man’s grief and shame.

When he got out of the Land Rover in front of the police station, he found Willie Lamont waiting for him with the dog and cat at his heels. Willie had once been a policeman, working for Hamish, but he had fallen in love and married the beautiful daughter of the owner of the Italian restaurant and had gone happily into the catering trade.

“What’s up, Willie?” asked Hamish.

“Sonsie and Lugs were around the restaurant and I thought it was time to bring them hame.”

“You know where the key is, Willie. You shouldnae be standing here in the cold.”

“I don’t know where the key is. I tried the door but it’s locked. There’s someone inside moving about and that big cat flap is jammed shut.”

Hamish took out his own key and snapped open his baton. “Stand back, Willie,” he said quietly.

He quietly unlocked the door. Josie was standing over the stove, wearing a frilly apron over a short black dress and high heels.

“What in God’s name do you think you’re playing at, McSween?” roared Hamish. He swung round and looked down at the cat flap. It had been taped shut. “And why are my poor beasties out in the cold?”

“I-I th-thought it would be great to take you a meal and give the place a bit of a clean,” wailed Josie.

“Out!” shouted Hamish. “Get the hell oot o’ here and neffer, effer do anything like this again. Shoo! Get lost.”

Josie burst into tears. She seized her coat from a chair and ran out into the night.

“Wimmin,” said Hamish, taking out a clasp knife and beginning to slice the tape on the cat flap.

“Och, you was awfy hard,” said Willie. “The lassie meant well. Look how clean the place is.”

“It’s my home,” said Hamish. “Thanks for looking after my beasts, Willie.”

Willie left but Hamish was not to be left in peace for long. A wrathful Mrs. Wellington descended on him. “That poor girl is crying her eyes out, you brute. Instead of thanking her, all you did was shout at her.”

“She had no right to just invade my home-”

“It’s not a home. It’s a police station.”

“It iss my home. She shut my animals out in the cold.”

“What you need is a decent woman in your life. You will take Josie to that dance tomorrow and behave like a gentleman.”

Hamish refused to go to the manse with Mrs. Wellington and apologise. To Mrs. Wellington, Josie was the daughter she never had. She could not bear to see her so upset and so she lied and said that Hamish was really sorry and was looking forward to the dance.

When Josie went up to her room that night, she fished a bottle of whisky out from under her mattress and began to drink steadily. She had loved being in charge of the police station. She wanted to get married and never have to work as a policewoman again. As the whisky sank down the bottle, she came to a decision. She shook out tablets of Mandrax and, with the hilt of a knife, began to crush them into powder.

Hamish decided to take the Saturday off. He hoped as he went around his property, seeing to his sheep and hens, and making some repairs, that his mind might clear. He had too many suspects, all whirling around his brain.

After lunch, he walked along to visit his friend Angela Brodie, the doctor’s wife.

“Come in, Hamish,” said Angela. “It’s all round the village that your poor policewoman was just trying to give the place a bit of a cleanup and make you supper, and you shouted the place down.”

“Angela, she locked my animals out in the cold. I’m investigating the murder of Annie Fleming who seems to ha’ been one manipulative bitch and I don’t want to have to deal with another one.”

“Now, that’s too harsh. She seems like a nice girl.”

“Oh, well, maybe I did go a bit over the top. The truth is, I got a real fright. I’m always worried that Roger Burton, the hit man, might come back to finish the job. Could you be looking after Sonsie and Lugs while I’m at the dance?”

“Didn’t you stop to think I might be going to the dance myself?”