Chapter 8

 

   From his vantage point parked up on the verge of an old Forestry Commission landrover track, Holmes had a clear view across a low valley to the rear of the Thompson's house. Although the roof of their workshop obscured most of their driveway, through his binoculars he could just make out the bonnet of their estate car jutting out from the side of the building. His gaze swept down once more across the moor. If the Thompsons didn't think he would spot the coffin in the back of their car, they must have thought him an idiot. He had no idea where it was they thought they were going with a coffin in their car on such a dark night, but he was determined to find out.
   His windscreen began to mist so he started the engine and turned on the heater. Fumbling around in the glove compartment, he dug out a Metallica CD and slipped it into the stereo. As the raw energy of the music rocked the car, he kept a close watch on the Thompson's house through his binoculars. He wasn't sure what it would do to his career prospects if his superiors ever learned of his love for Heavy Metal so he only ever listened to his music when he was alone.
   Three CDs later, stars were twinkling in the night sky and Holmes began to have second thoughts about the Thompsons. Perhaps he was overreacting. For all he knew, they probably had some perfectly plausible reason to be driving around with a coffin in their car. It was, after all, what they did for a living.
   Car headlights suddenly flicked on about a hundred yards down the road from the Thompson's house, lighting up the trees on either side of the road. Snatching up his binoculars, Holmes zoomed in on the workshop. Their car was gone.
   'My goodness!' he exclaimed. 'They drove away from the house without headlights. Now why would they do that unless they didn't want to be seen?'
   All sorts of macabre thoughts leapt into his head as he crunched the gears and lurched down the rutted track. When he trundled over the cattle grid onto the single track road at the bottom of the hill, he put his foot down.
   When he'd almost reached the crossroads in what he thought would be plenty of time to head them off, the Thompson's suddenly sped across the junction ahead of him, barely having slowed down to see if there was any traffic coming.
   'What kind of driving do you call that?' gasped Holmes in astonishment.
   So as not to alert them that they were being followed, he waited a few minutes, then switched off his headlights and set off in pursuit.

   If he hadn't known the road so well Holmes wouldn't even have considered driving in the dark without headlights. Corners jumped out at him with frightening suddenness, but no matter how fast he dared drive, the Thompsons headlights drew farther and farther ahead of him. After one particularly frightening moment when he almost lost control of the car on a tight bend, he decided he would rather not wind up in the ditch so far from home and slowed right down. With some reluctance, he also turned on his headlights again.
   The Thompsons were an enigma. Was it illicit whisky? What better place to leave whisky to mature than buried underground? And what better place to hide it than in a coffin? It made sense to him. Or were they at the salmon poaching perhaps, and using coffins to transport the fish? Whatever it was, they were up to something no good.
   'Now where did they get to?' he muttered to himself.
   By the time Holmes had skirted the salmon loch and driven quietly past John Brown's croft, he knew in his heart he'd lost them. He was in a foul mood when he eventually turned the car and headed back to town.

   When he arrived back at the Thompson's, he drove slowly by their house and noted that their car wasn't back yet. The sky was getting very dark and there was thunder in the air. More out of personal curiosity and hurt pride than police business, he reversed into a small layby further along the road and settled down to see what time Jock and Jimmy would eventually return home. Unfortunately, he nodded off, and it was the sudden rain that woke him. Somewhat startled, Holmes sat up and banged his head on the roof of his car.
   'My goodness!' he exclaimed. 'What rain!'
   He started the engine and turned on the wipers, but the rain was so torrential that all he could see were blurry glimpses of trees between scrapes of the blades. A tremendous flash of lightning lacerated the sky and a crack of thunder shook the car.
   'It's time I was going home,' he said to himself.
   His eyes narrowed as he splashed past the bottom of the Thompson's driveway. Their car was back and there was a light on in the kitchen window.
   'You rascals,' he muttered to himself, then turned his attention to peering through the blurry windscreen and making sure he kept the car on the road in the downpour.

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