He waited patiently. At last the door opened a crack and an eye looked out at him.

"Police, Mr. Fitzpatrick," said Hamish. "A wee word with you, please."

The door opened wide. Sean Fitzpatrick was stooped and old but his eyes were bright and intelligent in his tanned and seamed face.

"What is it about?" he asked cautiously. He had a light pleasant Irish accent. Probably west coast, thought Hamish.

"It's about one of Parry McSporran's tenants. He's been found dead of a drug overdose."

"And what has that to do with me?"

"Can I come in?"

"All right," said Sean reluctantly. "Just for a minute."

Hamish tucked his cap under his arm, ducked his head under the low doorway and followed Sean inside, curious to see how this recluse lived.

Well, the answer is all here, thought Hamish, looking round the living room. Crammed bookshelves took up three walls, and beside the fireplace on the fourth was a CD player and neat stacks of CDs.

"Are these your company?" he asked, waving a hand to the bookshelves.

"Sure," said Sean, settling into a battered armchair and indicating its twin opposite. "But you didn't come here to talk about books."

"Two cars going in the direction of Glenanstey were sighted this afternoon. Did you maybe happen to notice them?"

"At what time?"

Hamish thought hard. Felicity had arrived back at what time? Six o'clock. And he had seen her down at Patel's just before that. "Say about five," he said.

"I was in here listening to music," said Sean. "Didn't hear a thing. You know when I saw you, I thought for a moment you'd come about the monster."

"Monster? The Loch Ness Monster?"

"No, there's a lot of fuss over at Loch Drim. Two of the women saw a monster. They phoned the police in Strathbane, but whoever they spoke to told them to go and have a cup of black coffee."

"Why didn't they phone me?" asked Hamish crossly. "Drim is on my beat."