Chapter 3

 

    Another Hebridean day had just dawned in the rather uneventful life of Police Sergeant Bob Holmes. Not long out of bed, he eased his tall lanky frame into his armchair, determined to enjoy his day off. His pale skin, bushy black eyebrows and dark expression lent him an air of authority that was in keeping with his job. On the down side, it kept him at arms length socially and tended towards a lonely life, but all things considered, he was content.
   With a sigh, he crossed his long legs, picked up his newspaper and settled back to do his crossword. That was when he noticed the red knickers lying on the carpet in a corner of his living room over near the open window. He blinked a few times.
   'Heffins!' he exclaimed, chucking his paper over onto the couch.
   Taking care not to bump the light shade with his head, he walked over, picked up the knickers and squinted outside, shading his eyes from the bright sunshine. His detective mind was already suggesting that someone must have dropped them in through the open window while he'd been sleeping. Convinced it was a practical joke, he dropped the knickers onto the couch, picked up his crossword and settled himself back into his armchair. However, a few minutes later he stared across at the knickers and had the curiously disturbing feeling that his life was about to change.
   'Softly stretching sermon,' he murmured to himself, turning his attention once more to his crossword. His pen gently tapped the newspaper. 'Six letters . . . hmmm, second letter R.'
   He stared at the crossword for a while, but his mind was elsewhere and he couldn't think of the answer. His gaze sneaked over to the knickers once more.
   'This will neffer do,' he sighed in exasperation and put his crossword down.
   He had never been one for practical jokes. After a quick shave, he snatched his car keys from a small table beside his armchair, pushed himself to his feet, ducked as he stalked out of the living room so he wouldn't bang his head on the door lintel and headed for the front door. He needed some fresh air to clear his mind.
   Taking the single-track road south out of town, he put his foot down as if driving away from the knickers would somehow distance him from the problem of determining where they had come from. The bonnet of his blue Ford Kuga shimmered with heat haze in the hot sun. He wound down his window for some fresh air and found he could hear birds singing even over the road noise of the tyres. It had been a long time since he could remember such a beautiful day.

   He loved the Western Isles. He loved the rugged hills and wild glens, the rocky coastlines dotted with sandy bays. He even loved the heathery moors, despite their dark moods and the midges. A soft smile tugged at the edges of his craggy cheeks. This was home and there was nowhere else he wanted to be.
   Just at that moment, a black hearse came careering around a blind corner. Startled from his daydreams, he threw the steering wheel hard over and cursed as his front wheel bumped the grassy verge. The Thompson twins grinned cheesily at him as they sped past.
   'You buggers!' he shouted, waving his clenched fist out of the window as the hearse disappeared round another corner.
   With a shake of his head, Holmes pulled the car back onto the road. He was still muttering when he drove up the hill at the foot of John Brown's croft and spotted John and Dugal leaning over the dyke bordering the road.
   'Good afternoon John, good afternoon Dugal,' he greeted warmly through his open window as he pulled up outside the gate.
   'Good day to you too Bob,' smiled John. 'Come you in man, come you in. What brings you out here?'
   'Did you just pass the Thompsons?' asked Dugal playfully. 'They seemed to be in a bit of a hurry.'
   'As usual,' frowned Holmes. 'I'm going to pull them over one of these days about their driving.'
   Holmes opened the car door and began extricating his long legs from under the steering wheel with accustomed difficulty.
   'I've heard of the long arm of the law,' laughed Dugal, as Holmes got out of his car, 'but seeing its long legs too is rather hilarious.'
   'Haff you been drinking Dugal?' asked Holmes, raising a curious bushy eyebrow.
   'Well now, if it isn't you who is the detective right enough,' laughed Dugal, 'Dr Watson would be impressed.'
   Holmes grunted something unintelligible. He was often made fun of because of his name, but he had become used to it.
   'It would be pointless pulling over the Thompsons,' grinned John, pushing his cap back on his head, 'you wouldn't know which one it was you were talking to. Sherlock Holmes himself would be clueless, I'm sure.'
   'You two haff definitely been drinking!' said Bob, checking his watch. 'Isn't a bit early in the day?'
   'It's my birthday,' said John. 'Those bleggarty Thompsons have had a whisky for delivering my birthday present, and so has thon Mr Livingstone, whom you know very well. Won't you come away into the house and have one yourself?'
   'Well,' replied Holmes, brightening up. 'It has been quite a day, so it has, what with . . . um, unexpected packages and speeding hearses. I am not used to all this excitement. A wee dram would be very nice.'
   'Unexpected packages?' enquired Dugal, putting his hands in his pockets and bending at the knees a few times.
   'Was that a salmon?' asked John, pointing out over the sea where ripples could be seen widening on the calm water.
   Dugal put a hand to his eyes to shade them from the sun and stared out over the water.
   'If they're coming in this close to shore, they must be smelling rain,' remarked Bob, scanning the horizons for clouds.
   'It's a pity neither of us fishes,' said Dugal. 'We could do with a fish or two for the pot.'
   Holmes glanced sideways at the two of them but didn't take the bait.
   'Is that the tombstone I haff heard so much about?' he asked, glancing over at the side of the cottage.
   'What do you think of it?' asked John proudly.
   'The whole island is talking about it, you know.'
   'What is it they're saying?'
   'That you're either seriously ill or you're mad.'
   John laughed.
   'Is there any more word on Colin Drummond?' asked Dugal.
   Holmes adopted the philosophical air of a man who had seen too much in his time.
   'I'm of the mind it was a heart attack, but I don't know for sure.'
   'Hmmmm . . . and what about the unexpected package you mentioned?'
   Holmes avoided the inevitable by wandering over to the tombstone for a closer inspection.
   'And is it true John,' he asked, while examining the stone, 'that you've actually dug your own grave? My, my, is that when you were born?'
   'Won't you come away inside for a dram?' said John, taking his cap off and wiping his brow with his sleeve. 'It's some shade I'm needing.'
   Holmes turned from the tombstone.
   'What did the council say about it all?'
   Puzzlement narrowed John's eyes to a frown.
   'The council?'
   'Och John, haff you not told them?'
   'What on earth business is it of theirs?'
   'Come now Bob,' protested Dugal, adopting the stern stance of a teased child. 'What was in this unexpected package you received then?'
   'Dug your own grave indeed,' muttered Holmes, ducking his head as they stepped into the cool shade of the porch.

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