Death of a Liar by M. C. Beaton Page A

you told Blair?”
    â€œHe’ll mess it up. He’ll shoot his mouth off all over headquarters and we might have a policeman who’s in Cameron’s pay.”
    â€œCan’t get round it, Hamish. Try to report direct to Daviot. Cameron will be armed and we’ll need permission for armed police. I’ll get down there myself and we’ll go in about two in the morning. I’ll pick you up at headquarters.”
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    As Hamish entered headquarters, he asked a policeman if Blair was around and heard to his relief that the detective inspector was off sick. Probably a hangover, thought Hamish as he made his way up to Daviot’s office.
    â€œHe is not to be disturbed,” snapped Daviot’s secretary, Helen, who loathed Hamish.
    â€œThis is a national emergency,” said Hamish.
    He opened the door to Daviot’s office and walked in. The chief superintendent was slumbering in the chair behind his desk.
    Hamish went out again and shut the door. Then he banged on it loudly and walked in again.
    Daviot was now studying a sheaf of papers. He looked up. “What is the reason for this intrusion, Macbeth? I did ask not to be disturbed.”
    Hamish put his cap on the desk and sat down, and before Daviot, who expected inferiors to stand in his presence, could complain, he rapidly outlined what he had found out about the attempt on his life.
    Daviot began to look excited. “This is wonderful news, Hamish. Has Mr. Blair started organising things?”
    â€œWell, the poor man is off sick,” said Hamish. “Anderson is heading back down to arrange everything. We’re going in at two in the morning.”
    â€œGood, good. Really, this demands a celebration.” He pressed a buzzer on his desk and, when Helen came in, asked her to fetch tea and cakes.
    The Highlands is the place to be, thought Hamish amused. Any other police station, they’d be pouring out whisky, but up here, it’s tea and cakes.
    â€œSo that means,” said Daviot, “if your informant is correct, the attempt on your life has nothing to do with our murder cases?”
    â€œSeems that way, sir.”
    â€œAh, Helen, what have we here? Eccles cakes! How splendid. I am very partial to Eccles cakes, and Dundee cake, too! My Helen can’t be beaten.”
    â€œMaybe,” said Hamish as Helen deliberately slopped tea into his saucer. “But there’s a lassie up in Cromish that bakes baps like baps should be and usually never are.”
    â€œDo you hear that, Helen? You must get me some, Hamish.”
    Helen went out and slammed the door.
    â€œAnd how is Fraser getting on up there?” asked Daviot.
    How Hamish longed to put the boot in and ask that Dick be transferred to Strathbane. Daviot was so happy that he would allow it. But Dick had saved his life.
    â€œJust grand,” said Hamish. “Works very hard.” Cleaning, polishing, and dusting, he thought bitterly.
    â€œI would suggest, sir,” said Hamish as Daviot was about to pick up the phone, “that you arrange the armed squad but do not tell them where they are going or why until the very last minute.”
    â€œAnd why is that?”
    â€œBecause one of them might talk to a wife or girlfriend who might talk to her friends and before you know it, news of the raid will be all over Strathbane.”
    â€œJust what I was thinking,” said Daviot crossly. “You must not try to tell me how to do my job, Macbeth.”
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    Hamish returned to Lochdubh to get an hour’s sleep and savour having the place to himself.
    He arrived back at police headquarters an hour earlier than he had been instructed to report there. Jimmy had been told to head the raid. Hamish knew that Jimmy, who sometimes had a fit of what Hamish privately damned as the Blairs, might try to go without him.
    Sure enough, they were just setting out. He jumped back into his Land Rover and followed them. Policemen,