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“Did he say anything at all that might be significant? Or did he look excited in any way?”
She dabbed at her eyes with an already sodden handkerchief. “He didn’t say anything. He was reading a fillum magazine. Then we watched a bit o’ telly and he said he was tired and wanted an early night.”
“Did he have a mobile phone?”
“Yes, but he didn’t use it much. Poor lost soul. He didn’t seem to have that much friends. When we was with the church, he knew some young people, but he gave up the church.”
“May we see his room?”
“It’s up the stairs, first left.”
As Hamish and Josie went up the stairs, the neighbours who had been watching through the front window crowded in again.
The room was unexpectedly neat for a young man’s. It was quite small. There was a narrow bed, neatly made up, with a bedside table and reading lamp. A desk by the window with a hard upright chair in front of it held a pile of comics and film magazines. There was no computer or posters or pictures on the walls, which were covered in an oatmeal patterned wallpaper. A tall, thin wardrobe fronted by a long glass mirror stood against one wall, and a chest of drawers against another.
Hamish put on gloves and so did Josie. “You search the bedside table,” he said, “and I’ll have a look in the wardrobe.”
There were few clothes hanging up: one dark blue suit and black coat, three long-sleeved shirts, a puffa jacket, and a tweed jacket. Underneath the clothes was a pair of black shoes and three pairs of sneakers. He searched in all the pockets but did not find anything. He even ran his gloved fingers along the insides of all the footwear in case anything had been hidden there.
“I’ve got his bank book and phone bill,” said Josie.
Hamish took them from her. Mark had had a post office savings account with fifty pounds in it. The phone bill only listed five numbers. One was to his home; Hamish’s sharp eyes had taken a note of the phone number on the receiver dial when he had been downstairs. The other four were to a Strathbane number. Hamish thought they would probably turn out to be made to the wildlife park. He took out his mobile, dialled directory enquiries, asked for William Freemont’s phone number, and gave the address of the wildlife park. The operator gave him the number. It was the same number as the four on the phone bill.
“Bag them up,” he said to Josie. “That’s the old phone bill. We’ll need to get Strathbane to check with the phone company and find out if he phoned anyone last night. I’ll just look in the chest of drawers.”
The top drawer contained underwear, the second socks, and the third T-shirts. In the bottom drawer, there was a small photo album and a selection of soft porn magazines. Hamish flipped open the photo album. It contained pictures of A
“Bag that as well,” said Hamish, handing her the album. “I’m just going to move this chest of drawers in case something’s fallen down the back.”
There was no carpet on the floor, only a sort of spongy linoleum. He heaved the chest of drawers away from the wall. “What’s this?” he exclaimed. He stretched down and brought up a chemistry set. He sat down on the bed and carefully opened it. Most of the chemicals had been used.
“That’s it!” said Josie, leaning over him. “He was the bomber!”
“I think this is too basic to make such a sophisticated bomb,” said Hamish. “It’s probably just an old Christmas present.”
“But there are no other toys or presents in the room,” said Josie. “I mean, you’d think he would have old schoolbooks, or stuffed toys, or model airplanes, or something like that.”
“We’ll bag it up and take it. Let’s see Mrs. Lussie again. It means getting rid of the neighbours.”
Once more, Mrs. Lussie’s sympathisers were told to wait outside. “We found a chemistry set in Mark’s room,” said Hamish. “When did he get that?”
“That was a while ago. A gentleman friend of mine gave it to him. He played with it for a bit and then forgot about it.”
“We’re taking it and some other things,” said Hamish. “Mark didn’t seem to keep anything much in his room. I thought we would find old toys or something like that.”
“It was the church. They were collecting toys for the poor. Mark was told it was his Christian duty to bring everything in.”
Hamish scribbled out a receipt and handed it to her. “Mrs. Lussie, if you can think of anything at all, please call me at the station in Lochdubh.”
“When can I bury my son?”
“I’ll tell the procurator fiscal to get in touch with you. They’ll be calling soon anyway. I’m afraid they will want you to identify the body. Is there no relative who could do the identification instead? Where is your husband?”
“I don’t know. He ran off after Mark was born.”
“Name?”
“Sam Lussie.”
“What did he do for a living?”
“Nothing much,” she said bleakly. “He was on the dole.”
“Is there anyone who could identify the body other than yourself?”
“I’ll do it,” she said tearfully. “I want a last look at my son.”
Outside, Hamish phoned Jimmy. He said he was sending Police Sergeant Southern to collect Mrs. Lussie and take her to the procurator fiscal’s office. Hamish told him about finding the chemistry set but added that it looked like too amateur a kit to have made the bomb. Jimmy said he was still up at the war memorial and if Hamish brought the chemistry set up to him, he would take it over to the forensic lab in Lochdubh. They would start by checking with the phone company as well.
The wind was screaming around the war memorial when they arrived. Above them, the black bronze statue of a Boer War soldier stared out across Braikie to the heaving sea.
“Can’t find a thing what with this heather all about,” complained Jimmy. “Oh, here comes our lord and master. Afternoon, sir, has Roger said anything yet?”
“Not a thing,” said Blair, lumbering up to them, the cold wind raising red patches on his groggy face. “What have ye got?”
“Macbeth’s just found a chemistry set in Mark Lussie’s room,” said Jimmy.
Blair visibly brightened. “That’s it. Case closed.”
“Not really, sir. The chemistry set looks like a kid’s one. And we’ve still got to find out who murdered Mark.”
“You,” said Blair in a sudden fury, glaring at Hamish, “take your wee sidekick and get down there to thae houses and see if anyone saw anything.”
Hamish repressed a sigh. As he looked down the hill, he could see police officers going door to door, but he said meekly, “Yes, sir.”
He walked down the hill to where his Land Rover was parked. “Get in,” he said to Josie.
“Aren’t we going to…?”
“No. Waste of time. That ground’s being covered. We’re going back to Lochdubh. I’ve got to think.”
Once back at the police station, Josie followed him quietly in, not wanting him to be too aware of her presence and send her away.
Hamish went straight to the police office. Josie was glad the dog and cat were nowhere around. They came and went by a large cat flap on the kitchen door. Hamish sat down at his desk, and Josie pulled a chair up next to him.
“What I want to do,” said Hamish, taking a notebook out of his desk, “is to make a list of all the suspects, and then we start somehow to check up and see if there is anything in any of their backgrounds to show they had the knowledge to make a bomb.”
“Shall I make some coffee, sir?” asked Josie.
“Yes, that would be grand.”
Josie went happily off to the kitchen where she was soon lost in a rosy dream of being Hamish’s wife.
When she came back with two mugs of coffee and a plate of biscuits, Hamish was checking down a list he had made.
“I can’t leave out Jake Cullen,” he said. “I know he’s dead but he might have murdered her before that. Maybe A