"So you think it was murder, Officer?"

"Chust curious, that's all."

Sean resumed his weeding and Hamish reluctantly got into the Land Rover again, reluctant because he was beginning to think that he would get no further with finding out what had happened to Tommy.

He drove on to Parry's croft and found the crofter at home. "Felicity Maundy in her chalet?" asked Hamish.

"I don't think so. I think herself went out for a walk. Tea? Coffee?"

"Coffee would be fine."

Parry picked up a battered enamel jug from the stove and poured two cups. Both men sat down at the table.

Hamish told Parry about Mr. and Mrs. Jarret's request. "Do you really think there's anything mysterious about his death?" asked Parry.

"On a calm, still day like this, it all seems fantastic. But I won't be easy in my conscience until I've asked around a bit more. Now, this Felicity. She told me she was not that close to Tommy, they were just neighbours. But Miss Black, the woman who runs the village tea shop, she got the impression they were an item."

"I can tell you, they weren't that casual, but I thought, both being young people stuck up here in the wilds, that they were just friends, Hamish. Went for long walks together, things like that. He could have been in her chalet at night, or her in his, and I wouldn't know. I'm dead to the world after ten o'clock at night."

"So she lied, and what else has she been lying about? And then there's the book he was writing. His parents say he was half finished and yet all I could find was chapter one. Then there's the sleeping drug he had taken."

"I didnae hear about that!"

"Aye, they found traces of some sort of sleeping drug. So, far-fetched as it may seem, someone might have laced his coffee and then injected him with heroin."

"Okay, let's go for the far-fetched," said Parry. "In order to let someone into his chalet and, say, offer him coffee, it must have been someone he knew. Say someone he knew was a drug dealer and had mentioned in his book arrived on his doorstep, he'd have been frightened to death."

"So what about Felicity?"

"Why her? She's chust a bit of a lass." Parry's accent, like that of Hamish, grew more sibilant when he became excited or upset.

"I don't know," sighed Hamish. "I'm clutching at straws. Then there's this thing about him turning religious. Know anything about that, Parry?"

"We didn't talk much. No, I can't call to mind any sort of religious talk."

"I'll try to find out from Jimmy Anderson if some weird cult has started up in Strathbane. He won't need to know I'm still investigating. I'll make it sound like idle curiosity."

Parry glanced up at the window. "There iss herself coming back after her walk."

"Right," said Hamish, getting to his feet. "I'll have another wee word with her but I doubt I'll get very far."

He walked next door to Felicity's chalet. The door was open and she was reaching up to take a cup down from a shelf in the kitchen. She turned and saw Hamish in the doorway. The cup fell from her fingers and smashed on the stone floor.

"I'm sorry I startled you," said Hamish gently. He walked into the kitchen, saw a dustpan and brush by the rubbish bin and, crouching down, neatly swept up the broken shards and put them in the bin.

"What do you want?" demanded Felicity shrilly.

"Now, then." Hamish leaned against the kitchen counter. "This is on my beat and I dropped by to see how you were."

"I'm all right," said Felicity defensively. "If that's all, I have chores to do."

"There's chust one thing I must ask you again," said Hamish. "Why did you tell me you and Tommy were only neighbours when from all reports you were closer than that?"

She was wearing a long gown of shimmery silk material of many colours. It made her look more waiflike than ever.

"Well, we were friends, yes, that was all. I thought you meant, were we having an affair?"

"Och, no," said Hamish soothingly. "Don't you find it lonely here?"

"No, I enjoy the peace of the countryside."

"Do your parents support you?"

"I haven't seen my parents for a year. They're in Somerset."

"So what do you do for money?"

"I'm on the dole."

"I thought these days you had to get a job."

"I'm a poet. There are no jobs for poets."

"Neffer were, neffer will be," said Hamish comfortably. "Even Chaucer had a job."

"There are not many jobs to be had in Strathbane that are suitable. I report every fortnight to the dole office to tell them I am still looking for work. What's it to you?"

"Curious, that's all. Was Tommy religious?"

"Like me, he led a spiritual life."

"Whateffer that means. Did he go to church?"

"I really don't know," she said, half turning away.

"You mean he didn't say anything on Sunday like, Tm off to the kirk'?"

"We didn't live in each other's pockets. We respected each other's space. Now, if that is all…"

"Did he show you any of the book he was writing?"

She began to take carrots out of the vegetable basket and, turning on the cold tap, washed them.

"He said he would show it to me when he was finished."

"And how much had he written?"

"How should I know?" she suddenly shouted. "Am I under suspicion of anything?"

Hamish decided it was strategic to beat a hasty retreat before she threatened to report him to his superiors.

"I really chust called by to see that you were okay," he said.

"I am. So goodbye."

Hamish walked outside, looked around and wondered what to do next.

Then he decided to drive to Strathbane. He could take Jimmy Anderson out for a drink, if he wasn't out on some job. It was easy to get information out of Jimmy over a glass of whisky-provided Jimmy wasn't paying.

Hamish was in luck. Jimmy was not only at police headquarters but just finishing his shift. Soon they were seated in a nearby pub. Hamish had paid for two doubles.

"What brings you to Strathbane?"

"Day off. I thought I'd look at the shops. I've heard there's a good few open on the Sabbath."

"There are that, but mostly the supermarkets and a few clothes shops. Everything else is closed down, just like the old days."

"Someone was telling me something about some sort of religious cult that's started up in Strathbane."

"Oh, them. Call themselves the Church of the Rising Sun."

"Sounds a bit like a Rolling Stones record. What are they like?"

"Harmless bunch of freaks. Bearded men in sandals, dotty women. They'd got a shack of a place out on the north side."

"And what do they do?"

"Bit like the Quakers. They wait until the spirit moves them and then they get to their feet and talk."

"And who runs this place?"

"Chap called Barry Owen. English. No record. Sent a plainclothes along to one of their sessions. Said he was bored out of his mind. Why're you asking, Hamish?"

"Someone mentioned it. Just interested, that's all."

"Anything happening up your way?"

"Nothing much. That fuss about some monster sighted in Loch Drim."

"I told you. There's one daft report after another these days."

Hamish looked at Jimmy's empty glass. "Want another?"

"If you're paying."

Hamish fetched another couple of doubles.

"I hear poor Tommy Jarret took some sort of sleeping drug afore he injected himself."

"Where did you hear that?"

"The parents."

"That poor couple plagued us with conspiracy theories about drug barons bumping their son off."

"You must admit, the sleeping stuff looked funny."

"Not to me. You don't have experience of junkies. They'll take anything."

"So that's that."

Jimmy looked at him narrowly, his foxy face suddenly alert. "I should have known it wasnae just the pleasure of my company you wanted."

"What gave you that idea? Just struck me as odd."