Chapter 4

 

    After nearly putting Sergeant Holmes into the ditch, Jimmy Thompson put his foot down in case they were followed. Moorland, lochs, hills and glens flowed by while he kept an apprehensive eye in his rear view mirror. When there was no immediate sign of pursuit, he eased his foot on the pedal and the hearse slowed considerably, though still not enough for Jock's liking.
   'We've not heard the last of this, I'm thinking,' he muttered darkly from the passenger seat.
   'The man shouldn't drive so fast,' retorted Jimmy. 'It bloody well serves him right.'
   'I wish you'd stop your swearing.'
   'Well, what does he expect driving like a lunatic? Doesn't he know these are single track roads?'
   'It's a good job we strap our coffins down securely in the back,' reflected Jock drily.
   'And what is that supposed to mean?'
   'What are we going to do if he pulls us over?'
   'I'll tell him I'm you.'
   'Do you think the man is stupid?'
   'What do you suggest?'
   'Perhaps you should slow down.'
   'We are always in too much of a hurry to be slowing down.'
   'And what are we going to do if he charges us?'
   'Charges us? With what?'
   'Speeding? Reckless driving? He can be quite temperamental at times, you know.'
   'Do you honestly think Bob would have the nerve to stop a hearse? Can you imagine what the papers would say about him? He would never live it down.'
   Jimmy slowed even more as they approached the outskirts of the town and Jock gratefully relaxed his grip on the door.

   On arrival at the hospital, they drove through the main gate and wended their way between the sprawling buildings to the mortuary. After reversing up to its double doors, Jimmy switched off the engine and stretched.
   'Come on then Jock,' he yawned, 'let's go in and have a little blether with young Charlie. It's been a while since we've seen him.'
   'Shall we pop in and visit Rory while we're here?' asked Jock, scratching his groin.
   'I wish you would stop scratching yourself like that.'
   'What shall we have for tea tonight?'
   'It is a bad habit.'
   'I fancy black pudding. We can finish off thon pancakes too.'
   'Och you and your black pudding!'
   Jock looked across at him.
   'Since when do you not like the black pudding?'
   'And what if someone sees you scratching your willie like a dog? What will they think?'
   'So I get an itch,' retorted Jock crossly. 'What am I supposed to do?'
   Jimmy eyed his brother solemnly for a few moments.
   'Have we any eggs in? I like my black pudding with fried eggs.'
   'I think so,' said Jock, reaching for his door handle.
   'No doubt Rory will be straight back to his boozing once he's out.'
   'Have we any baked beans left?'
   'And make sure you wash your hands before you go anywhere near the stove.'

   They pushed through the doors, walked by an unattended office, passed through another door into the mortuary and stopped abruptly. Stretched out in a chair, feet up on the slab, was Charlie, his long hair fingering the shoulders of his white coat. The only sign of life was a gentle snore.
   'What have we here?' muttered Jock, and moved towards the chair. 'Come on Charlie, wakey wakey!' He shook the slumbering man's shoulder insistently. 'Waken up man, for goodness sake.'
   'If he is dead Jock, and it seems the only logical conclusion, then he certainly picked the right place.'
   Charlie responded by opening one eye, which moved from one to the other while he tried unsuccessfully to figure out which twin was which.
   'And what have we here then?' he eventually muttered, dropping his feet from the slab. 'The body snatchers come to abscond with another one of my guests, no doubt.'
   'Aye,' said Jock. 'We are here for Colin Drummond.'
   'You'll not be selling his body parts on route, I hope.'
   The twins smiled but said nothing. They were well used to Charlie's macabre humour.
   'I must admit,' continued Charlie, getting to his feet with his hands buried in the pockets of his white coat, 'your visit is very welcome. The conversation here is not very lively.'
   'You could always give your audience a song or two,' suggested Jimmy, not without a kindly nuance in his voice. 'Or perhaps read them a bedtime story.'
   'But to get back to business,' interrupted Jock. 'You do have Colin in one of your guest rooms?'
   'Yes indeed,' said Charlie. 'My new assistant prepared him last night.'
   'New assistant?' asked Jimmy quickly.
   'Is she female?' asked Jock, with equal alacrity.
   Charlie laughed.
   'I'd be so lucky. He's a young 'un, fresh from the college, but he works hard and I'm glad of the help.'
   'Would you do us a favour?' asked Jock.
   'It's not a date with a young man you'll be wanting is it?'
   Jock shuddered at the thought.
   'Would you be good enough to put Drummond into his coffin for us if we bring it inside?'
   'Of course,' said Charlie warmly, rubbing his hands together. 'The lad will be back from his break shortly and I shall be going for mine. He can finish the job while I'm gone. You know, it's good to see you two again, even if you do only want me for my bodies.'
   'Thank you,' smiled Jimmy. 'It's just that we're going to pop in and visit Rory while we're here.'
   'Aye, and we are rather short of time,' explained Jock.
   'He'll be ready for you when you get back. I trust Rory will appreciate that your visit is a social one and that you're not here to measure him.'
   'Enough of this cheek,' grinned Jock, heading for the door. 'Let's go and fetch in Colin's comfy new home.'
   In a short time, the twins returned bearing the coffin and carefully eased it onto the floor, taking care not to scratch the highly polished wood. Handing Charlie a screwdriver, they left the mortuary and headed for the wards.

   Rory was propped up in bed surrounded by plump pillows, looking the picture of total dejection. His sallow, wrinkled face and his red nose laced by a network of tiny purple veins contrasted sharply with the starched white bed linen. Old eyes set in black rings blinked at them uncomprehendingly as they gathered by his bedside.
   'Hello Rory,' greeted Jock.
   'How are you?' smiled Jimmy.
   Rory managed a wintry smile.
   'Unfortunately for you,' he croaked, his voice burnt by years of cheap whisky. 'I am on the mend and won't be needing your services just yet.'
   Both Jock and Jimmy chuckled but said nothing.
   'Please,' said Rory, motioning to chairs near his bed. 'It isn't often I have the visitors.' He looked shiftily about the ward and lowered his voice. 'Would you have a wee dram about you, just to ease an ailing heart?'
   'Now, now Rory,' replied Jock, trying to insert a note of censure into his tone as they pulled up chairs. 'It would be as much as our lives are worth to give you a livener.'
   'Which we don't have in any case,' added Jimmy.
   'You are not looking too well,' observed Jock, making himself comfortable on the hard seat. 'So you must indeed be on the road to recovery.'
   'How are you feeling?' asked Jimmy.
   'Oh poorly, proper poorly,' replied Rory, his woebegone face confirming his statement. 'I'm going through the tortures of hell itself, before my due time.'
   'Oh dear,' said the twins together.
   'I feel as if I am trapped in a prison,' moaned Rory, indicating to his body. 'If I had another ten years ahead of me I'd gladly trade in nine of them for a drink.'
   He looked expectantly from one to the other, his eyes imploring them.
   'I hope you've been behaving yourself,' said Jimmy quietly, changing the subject.
   'You know,' said Rory, pushing himself up with his arms and making himself more comfortable among his pillows. 'I've been thinking.'
   'Plenty of time for that in here,' nodded Jock.
   Rory looked at them for a few moments as he collected his hazy thoughts.
   'It's the petrol,' he said.
   'Petrol?' said Jock and Jimmy together, both of them leaning forward.
   'Yes,' croaked Rory seriously. 'Have you any idea how much it costs to produce the stuff?'
   Jimmy scratched his head.
   'Quite a lot, I'm sure.'
   'Aye, and the rest, but first they have to find the oil out in the ocean, and that costs a lot of money. Then when they've found the stuff, they have to build an oil platform with thon long legs that sit on the ocean floor.'
   'Yes,' agreed Jimmy, settling his hands awkwardly on his lap.
   'And how much do you think that all costs?'
   The twins nodded to acknowledge the point.
   'Then the oil is shipped around the world in tankers so big you need a motorbike to get from one end to the other. Thon big ships must cost some money.'
   Jock threw his brother a quizzical look but was met by a shrug.
   'And what about the refineries? Have you seen the size of them?'
   'Must cost a lot of money,' agreed Jimmy.
   Rory seemed thoughtful for a while, then continued, 'we pay well over four pounds a gallon for the petrol!' he suddenly exclaimed, staring hard at them.
   'Och, it's scandalous.'
   'You think that's scandalous? What about the beer?'
   'Eh?'
   'It costs bugger all to make and it costs over twenty five pounds a gallon.'
   Jock and Jimmy looked at each other in wonder.
   'I never thought of it like that,' said Jock.
   'Petrol is actually a lot cheaper to produce as well,' continued Rory. 'Most of the cost is duty and tax. It is a racket, I'm thinking, they groom us for the pubs as kids so they can steal all our money.'
   'You'd better settle yourself down,' soothed Jimmy with a kindly smile, 'if it's better you want to be getting.'
   Rory sank back into his pillows and sighed.
   'My imprisonment here is all a bit foggy,' he said sadly. 'I have a vague recollection of being bundled into a wee room when I arrived. It was then, I think, that they tried to stick a big needle into my bottom.'
   'Did they now?' chorused the twins.
   'Yes, but I could see no good reason for it, so their first attempt was thwarted. I think it was two male nurses trying to spear me, the dirty buggers. They must have been successful because the next thing I remember I was all alone in this bed. And I was thirsty, proper thirsty.'
   'Is that so?' muttered Jock incredulously. 'A needle in your bottom you say?'
   'I got out of bed and tried the door,' said Rory, looking around to make sure no nurses were listening. 'It was locked, but I managed to prise the window open.'
   'You didn't!'
   'Not a stitch of clothing, mind you, so I yanked a sheet off the bed, wrapped myself in it and climbed out of the window. It was cold I can tell you, but I needed a drink. I wandered around in the dark for a bit, and eventually spotted a light in the distance. Would you believe it? I landed up back here at the main door of the hospital.'
   'The nurses must have been relieved to get you back safe and sound though,' said Jock with some concern.
   'Nurses?' snorted Rory. 'There was not one to be seen. However, I was so cold by this time, I wanted back in my bed. So I made my way along the corridor looking for my room.'
   He shook his head as he relived his adventure.
   'Still in your sheet?' asked Jimmy.
   'I think I'd lost the sheet crawling under a hedge. Anyway, but wouldn't you know it, I stumbled into a female ward by mistake.'
   'Never!'
   'Yes, and one of the silly women screamed. They all jumped out of their beds and ran from the ward.'
   'Oh man!' said Jock in a hushed voice.
   'Well, I thought there was something the matter so I ran after them. Anyway, when things quietened down I was dragged back to my bed where the needle was forced back into my bottom. I've been here ever since. I'm not wanting that needle again.'
   The twins looked at each other and burst out laughing.
   'It's not funny,' scolded Rory, throwing them a reproving look. 'Besides,' he added with a determined glint in his eyes, 'I am going to exorcise the spirits and start climbing up from the bottom of the cliff.'
   'Cliff?' giggled Jimmy, having difficulty controlling his mirth.
   'The cliff you fall over when you start pouring the drink down your throat. It is a long way down you know.'
   'You're going to stop drinking?'
   'They are getting no more of my money, the thieving bastards. But first I feel the need for just one more large whisky. To say goodbye to it, you understand.' Suddenly, his expression changed and he eyed them a little sadly. 'I suppose it's down to collect poor Colin you are?'
   'Aye,' sighed Jock, 'his passing was unexpected.'
   'We're not looking forward to facing his wife either,' said Jimmy, looking up at the clock on the wall. 'And on that note, we had better be on our way.'
   'I expect that when we finish this evening,' said Jock, 'we'll call in at the pub for a pint. So we'll leave that last drink for you behind the bar.'
   'I thank you very much,' nodded Rory gratefully. 'Mind how you go now and thanks for looking in.'

   When they arrived back at the mortuary, they found the coffin all secured. Of Charlie and his new assistant, there was no sign.
   'Come on,' said Jock, checking his watch. 'Let's go, we're falling behind schedule. It is late we are going to be.'
   Grabbing an end each, they eased the heavy coffin off the floor and headed for the door.
   'Is it me Jimmy?' complained Jock, kicking the double doors open with his foot. 'Or is this coffin heavier than I'd supposed it would be?'
   'I'm thinking poor old Colin must have put on some weight towards the end,' puffed Jimmy, struggling to keep his end up as they made their way to the hearse.

   Not wanting to risk another dashing encounter with the police, Jock took a turn driving. He needn't have worried, heavy traffic was heading out of town and the only things getting anywhere in a hurry were seagulls winging their way to the harbour to greet a fishing boat chugging in from the sea. Beside him, his brother began to fidget.
   'Will you just look at the time,' sighed Jimmy with exasperation.
   'Aye, we're going to be late.'
   'We are going to have to buy one of those fancy new mobile phones, as I've been saying for some time now.'
   'I'm thinking you could be right Jimmy. It would be nice to phone Mrs Drummond, just to let her know that we are on the way. Would the calls be eligible for the tax relief?'
   'I'm thinking our customers are more important than our phone bills.'
   Jock tried to peer round the traffic.
   'Where is everyone going?'
   'Have you heard any more from thon young lady?' asked Jimmy.
   'Lady?'
   'The one you met last week. The pretty one with the long dark hair and the ample breasts, as you put it.'
   'Ah, Mary, yes, I was thinking of giving her a call.'
   'Do you suppose she would go out with you?'
   'And why wouldn't she?'
   'Well, I'm thinking most young ladies would only be seen dead with us.'
   'I told her I am a businessman.'
   'Did you now? And what happens when she finds out the truth?'
   'That is the truth!' glowered Jock.
   Jimmy fell silent and looked out over the rippled waters of a loch at the distant moors.
   'Have we enough pancakes left for the dinner tonight?' asked Jock eventually.
   'Did you mention anything about me to Mary?'
   'No, I did not.'
   'Oh? Why not?'
   Jock didn't answer him and checked his watch impatiently.

   Half an hour later they finally arrived at the Drummond croft. Jock turned in off the single-track road and carefully eased the hearse up the rutted track to the side of the old house. They got out and took a moment to compose themselves, assuming their professional manner before knocking on the weather-beaten door. It seemed like a long time before the door finally creaked open.
   'It's yourselves,' said Mrs Drummond sadly, peering at them with red eyes.
   She was dressed all in black and had a black shawl draped over her head.
   'Good afternoon, Mrs Drummond,' greeted Jock gently. 'We both hope that you are bearing up under your sore trial. Now where shall we place poor Colin?'
   She pointed through the kitchen to the living room and then buried her face in her shawl. Struggling under the weight, the twins manhandled the heavy coffin from the hearse and eased it through the narrow doorway into the kitchen.
   'Is there anything we can do for you at this time, Mrs Drummond?' grunted Jimmy, as they were led through to the living room.
   'Yes, there is,' she replied bravely, dabbing at her eyes with a corner of her shawl. 'Would you be good enough to remove the coffin lid so that I can spend some time alone with Colin before he is buried?'
   The brothers put the coffin down on the living room carpet and set about their grim, but accustomed task. When they lifted the lid, they looked into the coffin and the colour drained from their faces. Mrs Drummond approached nervously, wringing her hands. Her face registered doubt, then bewilderment.
   'Mrs Drummond!' exclaimed Jock in great distress.
   'Who is that?' whispered Mrs Drummond in shock.
   The brothers shook their heads dumbly.
   'Never in all my years—' started Jimmy.
   'What have you done?' hissed Mrs Drummond. 'Where is my Colin?'
   The brothers dropped their eyes and stared into the coffin at the stranger's face.
   'Who is he?' asked Jock quietly.
   'I'm sure I've never set eyes on him before,' replied Jimmy.
   'Get him out of my house you monsters!' screamed Mrs Drummond, putting her hands to her face. 'Go and get my Colin this minute!'
   Jock got slowly to his feet, an unhealthy pallor to his face.
   'May I please use your telephone?'
   Mrs Drummond stared at him with total incredulity.
   'My telephone?'
   He hung his head, unable to hold her eye.
   'How could you do such a thing?' she asked, struggling to grasp the enormity of what had happened.
   'Mrs Drumm—'
   'Don't Mrs Drummond me, you . . . you . . .'
   'Please,' pleaded Jock, almost in tears.
   She indicated to the telephone on the nearby window ledge. Jock shook his head to clear his thoughts as he lifted the receiver and dialled.
   'Is that the hospital?' he asked, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. 'It is? Oh good. This is Jock Thompson. Could you put me through to the mortuary please, it is very important . . . what do you mean you call it the end of the line?' He immediately turned very cold and put his hand over the mouthpiece. Before Mrs Drummond could say anything, he was put through. 'Hello . . . hello . . . Charlie?'
   The poor woman could stand it no longer and disappeared into her kitchen, her eyes brimming.
   'Charlie, you no good bastard,' hissed Jock under his breath. 'What? . . . never you mind my language!'
   Jimmy stood awkwardly, his hands fidgeting in his trouser pockets.
   'You've only given us the wrong body,' moaned Jock into the phone. 'No, I'm not joking . . . he is not only your God . . . okay, but be quick.'
   'What's happening?' whispered Jimmy.
   'Cremated!' spluttered Jock, and then slapped his hand over his mouth.
   Jimmy started to feel a bit wobbly.
   'Charlie you young fool!' groaned Jock through his fingers.
   Mrs Drummond suddenly marched into the living room, wiped her eyes with her shawl, crossed to her hallway and reached for her coat.
   'I'm coming with you,' she said.
   'Mrs Drummond, please—' started Jock, putting the phone down and looking at her aghast.
   'Don't you Mrs Drummond me, you . . . you . . . monsters!'
   'But—'
   'Get him out of here!' she snapped, pointing to the coffin.
   'But—'
   'And hurry up about it!'
   Jock and Jimmy quickly screwed the lid back on the coffin and hoisted it from the carpet. Mrs Drummond led them outside, slammed her door behind them and then stood tapping her foot impatiently as the coffin was slid into the rear of the hearse.

   When Mrs Drummond bristled into the mortuary followed by the two cowering undertakers burdened down with the coffin, Charlie's legs shook so badly he collapsed into his chair. Mrs Drummond fixed her eyes on his pasty face and put her hands on her hips. Jock and Jimmy slipped the coffin onto the slab and sidled off to one side of the mortuary.
   'Well, Charlie?' she demanded.
   'Ach Mrs Drummond, what can I say?' He struggled back to his feet, took his hands from the pockets of his white coat and brushed his long hair behind his ears. 'It was the new lad—'
   'New lad?'
   'He didn't know your Colin,' he explained timidly, a shaky finger pointing at the rows of drawers. 'And being unfamiliar with the place, he mixed up two labels. The man in your coffin is also called Drummond. He was a visitor from Glasgow.'
   'So where is my Colin?'
   'Ach, Mrs Drummond,' exclaimed Charlie, bursting into tears. 'He was cremated this morning and his ashes scattered over Loch Lochan.'
   Mrs Drummond turned as white as Charlie's coat.
   Jock ran over to support her.
   'Don't touch me!' she croaked, brushing him off.
   Jimmy shifted his weight and grimaced as his leather shoes creaked in the deafening silence that followed.
   Mrs Drummond seemed to spend a long time staring at Charlie. Then she glanced around the mortuary and settled her gaze on the coffin sitting on the slab.
   'Where is the boy?' she asked at length.
   'He is just a lad,' said Charlie dabbing his eyes, his face the same colour as his corpses. 'He is no long from the college. I left him alone as I had something important to attend to in another part of the hospital.'
   'Loch Lochan?' mused Mrs Drummond, a far away look dawning in her eyes. 'Thon good salmon loch out near John Brown's croft?'
   Charlie nodded dumbly.
   There then followed a silence so long and so intense, Jock began to imagine he could hear bodies whispering to each other in their drawers. When Mrs Drummond eventually spoke again, her voice had become more controlled.
   'It is a good job for you all,' she hissed through gritted teeth, 'that I am an understanding woman.'
   Jock caught the change in her tone and raised his eyebrows.
   'Colin enjoyed his fishing,' she continued, 'so I suppose he would have been happy to be laid to rest in Loch Lochan among the salmon.'
   'Aye,' agreed Jock quickly. 'Colin enjoyed his fishing right enough.'
   'And at least I know where to go to be alone with him.'
   'Aye, you do,' said Jimmy softly, prompted by a nudge from his brother.
   'But what about the other family?'
   Charlie looked at her blankly.
   She jabbed her finger at the coffin on the slab.
   'Och, they don't know yet, Mrs Drummond.'
   She thought for a few more minutes before finally making up her mind.
   'Well,' she said, 'this is all very macabre. However, I'm sure the newspapers and the televisions would love to know about this and the last thing I want right now is reporters knocking at my door and taking pictures of me. Do I make myself very clear?'
   Charlie looked down at his feet, not hearing a word she was saying.
   'Very clear,' said Jock, taking a step forward.
   She spun round, staring daggers at him.
   'Aye, but can I trust you?'
   'Yes, Mrs Drummond,' he replied, bowing slightly from his waist. 'That you can.'
   Mrs Drummond slowly raised a finger and pointed at the coffin.
   'I am sure if that gentleman were alive,' she continued, not taking her eyes from Jock's. 'That he would also want to spare his family from the public shame of all this. I do not want to see myself on the television or in the papers, do you understand?'
   'Yes, Mrs Drummond,' said Jock, 'I understand clearly.
   'Then I trust you will take care of this little matter and that we will hear no more about it?'
   'Yes, Mrs Drummond,' soothed Jock. 'You can rest assured. And we shall visit Loch Lochan to pay our last respects to Colin.'
   Mrs Drummond walked over to the coffin and her lips moved silently as she whispered a few apologetic words to the dead man. Then she burst into tears.
   'I will just have to tell everyone that Colin has been cremated in a private ceremony,' she sobbed. 'That it was his last wish.'
   'Can I drive you home?' offered Jimmy, walking quickly over to put a hand around her shoulder.
   'No, you can not!' she sobbed, pushing him away roughly. 'I've had quite enough of you for one day, thank you, I'll get a taxi.'
   With that, she fled from the mortuary.
   It was a long time before anyone spoke.
   'Well,' muttered Jock. 'What a mess.'
   'So, who is he then?' asked Jimmy.
   'A tourist,' replied Charlie. 'He was on a fishing holiday and collapsed while walking the moor. Just before he died, he asked his wife to scatter his ashes over his favourite loch.'
   'You seem very confident you can sort this whole thing out,' said Jimmy suspiciously, turning to face his brother. 'Just what was it you had in mind?'
   Jock breathed in deeply and squared his shoulders.
   'Well,' he said, taking great care with his words. 'As I see it, the hospital records are all in order.' He jerked a thumb at the coffin. 'And I agree with Mrs Drummond and see no point in upsetting that man's wife and family any more than they already are.'
   Charlie began to get some colour back in his face.
   'What do you mean?' he blurted.
   'Mrs Drummond wants an end to the matter quickly, as do we all, am I right? If word of this were to get on the news, we would be out of business, I'm thinking, and you Charlie would be out of a job and possibly even face prison time.'
   'Okay,' said Jimmy, staring hard at him. 'Out with it.'
   Jock measured his words carefully.
   'The lad who mixed up the labels doesn't need to know about any of this either, it's just us. So if we were to quietly dispose of the coffin and bury it somewhere where it would never be found, we wouldn't be breaking any laws, to my knowledge.'
   'Dispose?' croaked Charlie.
   Jimmy went weak at the knees and walked over to the slab for support. He'd already guessed what it was his brother was scheming.
   'You mean . . .'
   'Aye,' said Jock in a whisper. 'We must bury the body somewhere discreet and I think I know just the place.'
   'I'm going home!' spluttered a trembling Charlie, taking off his white coat and slipping on an old tweed jacket. 'Take that . . . that coffin out of here and be about your business. I do not want to hear another word!'
   The mortuary door clattered and he was gone.
   'Well,' sighed Jimmy. 'This is a right mess, and no mistake.'

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