Death of an Outsider by M.C. Beaton

town. All of it. The television crews with cables twisting like black snakes, the reporters, the feature writers, the photographers, the forensic team, squads of policemen to search for clues, and the fat, pompous figure of Chief Detective Inspector Blair among the lot.
    Blair was determined to solve this case all on his own, without his thunder being stolen by that lanky village idiot, Hamish Macbeth, and so he told Hamish to ‘run along’ and keep the gentlemen of the press in order.
    Hamish derived much better amusement from the spectacle of the press trying to winkle a comment out of the taciturn locals. It was Diarmuid Sinclair of all people who broke the ice. Driven out of Cnothan in the search for a friendlier interviewee, Grampian Television had come across Diarmuid in his fields. Since he had started to talk to Hamish Macbeth, there was no stopping Diarmuid. He talked and talked. He told fantastic Highland stories of witchcraft in Cnothan. He even said he believed there was a coven of witches in the town.
    Diarmuid burst upon the six o’clock news and caused emerald-green jealousy in Cnothan. By evening the press were almost besieged by locals dying to be interviewed.
    Hamish felt restless. Blair and his sidekicks, detectives Jimmy Anderson and Harry Mac-Nab, were cluttering up the police station, and one of the forensic team had commandeered the Land Rover. Hamish put Towser on the leash and ambled down to The Clachan. He felt if he could find the whereabouts of Sandy Carmichael, he might find the whereabouts of William Mainwaring and the identity of the skeleton. Mrs Mainwaring had tearfully confirmed her husband had false teeth, but it was hard to think of the means by which Main-waring could have been reduced to bare bones so quickly.
    It was pitch-black although it was only four in the afternoon, and the endless screaming wind of Sutherland was tearing at his clothes. The bar was closed but he could see a light inside and hammered on the door. After a wait of a few minutes, it was opened by Hector Gunn. ‘Mair questions,’ he groaned when he saw Hamish. ‘If it isnae the press, it’s the polis. Come in.’ Hamish went into the bar, which smelled of stale beer and strong disinfectant, with Towser at his heels.
    ‘I want to know what happened when Sandy Carmichael was in here on Saturday evening,’ said Hamish.
    ‘Nothing happened. He drank himself stupid, that’s all.’
    ‘The man is a known alcoholic. Didn’t you think buying him drinks was a form o’ murder?’ said Hamish.
    ‘Och, I wouldnae say he was an alcoholic. Jist owerfond o’ his dram.’
    Hamish looked at Hector Gunn in silence. Was there any point in saying that a man who had the DTs with remarkable regularity was obviously not a social drinker? He decided it would be a waste of time.
    ‘Well,’ said Hamish, ‘Let’s put it another way. Who was the keenest to buy Sandy drinks?’
    ‘I wasnae watching, and I’ve got mair to dae with ma time,’ said Hector huffily. ‘It was your job tae be doon here, seeing that none of them tried to drive when they had mair than enough. It was a noisy evening. Alistair Gunn, ma cousin, was in, and Dougie Macdonald. Something Mainwaring had said to Alistair was fair making him mad, although he wouldnae say what it was. He wanted a crowd of them to debag Mainwaring and throw him in the loch. They were all as fierce as lions and saying what they were going to do to Mainwaring when in he walks and they all fall silent and become sheepish and shuffle their feet and not a word is said to the man. John Sinclair and his wife, Mary, came in and Mainwaring joined them, although they didn’t want him to. Then that reporter, Ian Gibb, him from Dornoch, he was in, noisy and drunk, and Mainwaring leaves the Sinclairs and says something to him, and Gibb tries to punch him but falls on the floor. Then thae two crofters, Alec Birrell and Davey Macdonald, start shouting at Mainwaring that he’s stealing good