Death of a Liar by M. C. Beaton

the van in her travelling clothes and Anka stood at the edge of the scene.
    Was ever a woman put on this earth to scramble up a man’s brains like Anka? thought Hamish. A kitchen goddess who can bake baps and who has the face of an angel.
    He turned away to brief Dick but had to wait while Dick unloaded the vast amount of things he thought he might need from the back of the Land Rover.
    Â Â 
    The weather had changed again as he crested the hill leading down into Strathbane. A greasy drizzle was smearing the windscreen, and low clouds lay over the grimy town.
    Hamish had changed into civilian clothes and a disguise. He had posted on a fake moustache and pulled a woollen hat over his flaming hair. He parked the Land Rover outside police headquarters and then set off on foot.
    The Wee Man was a squalid pub. He pushed open the door and went into the dark interior, which was punctuated with blue lights from the electronic cigarettes of the customers. Hamish had given up smoking but often craved a cigarette. He wondered if these fake cigarettes were any good. He ordered a tonic water and then looked around but could not see Scully.
    Hamish chose a table in the corner where he could see the entrance. Time dragged on. He was about to give up when the door opened and Scully came in. Although Scully was only twenty years old, his previous drug taking had aged him and given him a wasted look. He was very thin with large hands and feet.
    â€œGet me a drink,” said Scully, sitting down and pulling a black woollen cap off his head. “Double whisky.”
    Hamish got it for him, sat down, and said, “Out with it.”
    Scully took a gulp of his drink. Hamish had found him half-dead of drugs a year ago on one of his rare visits to Strathbane. He had rushed him to hospital, and after he was detoxed had taken him back to Lochdubh and locked him in the cell until he was sure the young man was completely clear. He had then put Scully into rehab.
    Scully took a gulp of his drink. “You know the Cameron gang?”
    â€œAye,” said Hamish.
    â€œWell, it was you that led to Cameron being arrested and banged up. But he got out on parole and disappeared. In the gang there’s a newcomer, Wayne Forest. Cameron fancies himself a big-time gang boss like in the movies and so he tells this Wayne he has to make his bones.”
    â€œYou mean Wayne has to kill someone?”
    â€œAye. For sure. And he’s told that someone is you. Cameron sees you’re in Cromish from the telly. He pinches a speedboat and gets Wayne a high-powered rifle.”
    â€œWhere did you hear this?” demanded Hamish sharply. “You’re not back on the stuff, are you?”
    â€œNot me. But that lot never could keep their mouths shut.”
    â€œBut no speedboat was reported missing.”
    â€œThat’s ’cos it was Fergus Fitz’s speedboat.”
    â€œHis rival drug dealer.”
    â€œRight.”
    â€œWhere’s Cameron holed up?”
    â€œYou know Bevan Mansions?”
    â€œThe tower block down at the docks?”
    â€œThat’s the one. Top floor. Number one hundred and fifty-eight.”
    â€œAre you going to need witness protection, Scully?”
    â€œYou know how it is. You go into the witness protection and the police aye house you in the equivalent to what you’re living in. You live in a slum, so they put you in another slum. I’d best clear off.”
    â€œThanks, Scully. I’ll see if I can get you some sort of award.”
    â€œDon’t,” said Scully. “Cameron’s got feelers everywhere and I bet that includes the police.”
    â€œOkay,” said Hamish. “But keep off the booze or I’ll have to put you back into rehab.”
    â€œBooze isnae drugs.”
    â€œSame difference,” said Hamish.
    Â Â 
    By rights, Hamish should have reported to Blair. But instead he called Jimmy.
    The first thing Jimmy said was, “Have