Read Death of an Outsider for Free Online Page A

fine,’ Hamish called after her. ‘I am driving.’
    There was no reply. She was gone a long time. At last she returned with a whisky decanter, a syphon of soda, and a cup of coffee and a plate of scones.
    She put the coffee in front of Hamish and then poured herself an enormous glass of whisky and soda and lit a cigarette. She poured the drink down her throat and let out a long sigh.
    There came the sound of a car approaching. Mrs Mainwaring moved like lightning. She stubbed out her cigarette and opened the window, letting the gale howl through the room. She seized the whisky decanter, the ashtray, and her glass and ran out.
    In what seemed like two seconds she was back, breathing heavily and smelling strongly of peppermint. She closed the window and sat down primly on the edge of a chair.
    Mainwaring came into the room. ‘So you’ve actually turned up,’ he said to Hamish. ‘Who did it?’
    ‘I don’t know,’ said Hamish mildly. ‘I was just interviewing your wife.’
    ‘You won’t get much sense out of Agatha,’ said Mainwaring. His small blue eyes turned on his wife. ‘What are you wearing that old tweed skirt and jumper for? Didn’t that dress I ordered from the mail order arrive yesterday?’
    ‘Yes, dear,’ said Mrs Mainwaring meekly. ‘I was saving it for best.’
    ‘And what is a better occasion than your husband’s company? Go and put it on.’
    Mrs Mainwaring’s colour was high as she left the room. A moment later there came the sound of a car starting up.
    ‘Gone off in a huff, as usual,’ said Main-waring. ‘Now, I assume you have already dusted the churchyard wall for fingerprints.’
    ‘No, I haven’t,’ said Hamish crossly. ‘I suggest the best thing to do is to phone Strathbane and ask them to send a team from Forensic. They won’t budge for me but they might do it for you. Not that there’ll be any fingerprints worth having from that wall, and since it was probably not done by hardened criminals, even if you got fingerprints, it wouldn’t do much good.’
    ‘What you are trying to say is that you’re damned lazy and don’t want to be bothered,’ said Mainwaring.
    Hamish got to his feet. ‘I will investigate the case for you as I would for anyone, but I would get further and faster without the hindrance of your insulting and spiteful remarks. You’ve got a nasty tongue. I want a quiet time here and I don’t want another murder investigation. So if you want my advice, stop putting people’s backs up or you’ll end up at the bottom of Loch Cnothan one of these days!’

Chapter Three
    How beastly the bourgeois is
especially the male of the species –
    – D. H. Lawrence
    Bewildered and unhappy, Hamish drove off. He had lost his temper two times that morning when he normally lost it only about two times a year. Far away, at the foot of the long, twisting road, he could see the houses of Cnothan. From this distance, the town had a temporary look, as if this ancient land of rock and thin earth was one day going to give a massive shrug and send all these petty humans and their squabbles to eternity. It was as if the land itself did not like incomers, or, as they were often jeeringly called in the Highlands, white settlers. An ancient hostility emanated from the fields, from the humped Neolithic ruins that dotted the landscape.
    Across the fields came the dreary om-pom of a diesel train’s klaxon, tugging at something in Hamish’s memory. The sound of a diesel train, he thought, was never so haunting as the whistle of the old steam trains, which could conjure up visions of bleak distances with one solitary wail.
    He slowed as he came to the Cnothan Game and Fish Company. There was something so cheerful and friendly and prosperous about the place that Hamish drove in and sauntered toward the office.
    A very small, gypsy-looking man came out to meet him. ‘Jamie Ross,’ he said, holding out his hand. ‘You’re just in time for coffee.’
    ‘I’m Hamish Macbeth.’
    ‘I