"Hamish, this is Parry. It's yon fellow, Tommy Jarret. He's dead."
"Dead. How? Why?"
"They think it's an overdose. They found a syringe."
"I'll be right over."
Cursing, Hamish rapidly changed into his uniform. How could it all have happened so quickly? he thought. The lad had been all right. What had happened to his, Hamish Macbeth's, famous intuition? He could have sworn Tommy Jarret was not in danger of returning to his drug taking.
He drove off up the winding road leading out of Lochdubh towards Glenanstey, his heart heavy. Large black clouds were building up behind the mountains. They seemed like black omens, harbingers of trouble to come.
CHAPTER TWO
I will a round unvarnished'd tale deliver
Of my whole course of love; what drugs, what charms,
What conjuration, and what mighty magic,
For such proceedings I am charged withal.
– William Shakespeare
There is something particularly tragic about the death of a young person. Only that day, Tommy Jarret's life had seemed to stretch out in front of him. Now he was a crumpled piece of clay.
"You didn't touch anything?" Hamish asked Parry as they surveyed the body in silence.
"I checked his pulse. I had to make sure he was dead. Och, Hamish, he must have felt he was safe when you gave him that chance and so he decided to go back on the stuff."
Hamish pushed back his peaked cap and scratched his fiery hair in bewilderment. "But how did this happen so soon? How could it? Did he drive down to Strathbane?"
"I didn't see him go."
"What about visitors? Where were you yourself this afternoon, Parry?"
"Here, now. You are neffer thinking I did it!"
"Come on, Parry. I want to know if you were around the croft. You might have seen someone or something."
"I ran over to Dornoch to see about some spare parts for my car. I wass away the two hours."