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conceal his fury.
    Daviot then made a statement commending Hamish’s resourcefulness and bravery.
    Hamish was glad to finally escape back to the police station and to a welcome from his pets. He had just finished his report when Jimmy Anderson arrived. “Got any whisky?” he asked. “I’m fair droochit.”
    Hamish took down a bottle from the kitchen cupboard. “How was he killed? I assume he didnae just fall in.”
    “Stabbed in the back. Long, thin sharp instrument. Any idea where the murder might have taken place?”
    “A good place to look would be up at the falls. Say the lad met someone up there. There’s a wee bridge over the falls. Could have been stabbed and thrown over. I’ll get up there, but I should think the rain must have washed any evidence away.”
    Jimmy tossed back his whisky, shuddered, and said, “I’ll come with you.”
    “I’d better stay here,” said Dick, “in case there are any calls.”
    If Hamish had not been so keen to have someone to look after his beloved pets, he would have ordered the lazy policeman to join them.
    By the time Hamish and Jimmy had reached the top of the waterfall, the sky above was clearing rapidly. A late sun shone on rainbows in the spray of the roaring, cascading waterfall. They stood on the small rustic bridge which spanned the top of the waterfall and searched inch by inch.
    Nothing.
    The bridge seemed to have been scrubbed clean by the deluge. “What a waste of time,” grumbled Jimmy. “I could do with a drink. Are you sure there isn’t another place we should be looking at?”
    “I can’t hear you,” shouted Hamish above the roar of the water. “Let’s get back to the Land Rover.”
    Out of the sound of the water, Jimmy repeated his question. Hamish looked around the rain-sodden countryside where rainwater glittered and shone on the heather.
    “Just suppose,” he said, “that Fergus thought he knew something about the murderer and tried to blackmail him. The murderer would not want to meet him anywhere near Cnothan.”
    “Depends how long he’s been dead,” said Jimmy. “He could just have fallen in.”
    “After being missing all this time? I doubt it. Maybe we should get out again and look further upstream.”
    “Have you anything to drink in this vehicle of yours?” asked Jimmy.
    “I have a flask of brandy for the emergencies.”
    “Tell you what, laddie, pass it over and go and look yourself. That’s an order.”
    Hamish opened the glove compartment and handed over the flask. He was glad to be on his own and have time to think. He was feeling weary after his plunge into the loch.
    He trudged back up the stream. Then he cursed his memory. He had forgotten that a little way up the road from where he had parked was the car park for tourists to leave their vehicles and view the falls. Beside the car park was a recently disused gift shop. There had been some quarrel over the ownership of the shop. Colonel Halburton-Smythe had leased the shop. The lease had run out, and no one else had come forward to take the place of the previous tenants. Local vandals had smashed the windows, and the door was hanging on its hinges.
    He went inside. A few roaches left by pot smokers were lying on the dirty floor. But on a battered table was a half bottle of whisky with a couple of inches still in it and two glasses.
    He went outside and phoned Jimmy. “You’d better get SOCO up here. I should have remembered the place. I’m up at the old gift shop. You only have to come a few yards up the brae.”
    When Jimmy arrived and peered in the door, he said cynically, “I don’t think any murderer would have left proof like that. And surely tourists still park here.”
    “Not at night,” said Hamish. “Our murderer may have drugged Fergus and dragged the body to the falls. He was just a wee, thin chap. Put out a bulletin and find out if anyone was up near the falls and saw anything.”
    They waited a long time. The Scenes of Crimes Operatives did not