He waved to Peter, the policeman, and went straight to Felicity's chalet. The minute she opened the door to him and saw him, she began to cry. But Hamish felt there was something wrong, something stagy, about that crying. "Just a few more questions," he said.

She turned away and he followed her inside. She sat down, sniffling dismally into a tissue.

"Now, Miss Maundy," said Hamish, removing his peaked cap and setting it on the table and taking off his wet oilskin, folding it and laying it on a bare bit of floor next to the fireplace, "you told me that you and Tommy were just neighbours, nothing more, but I've been hearing reports that you were very close indeed."

She took another tissue from the box and scrubbed her eyes and then stared at him defiantly. "What if we were?"

"Nothing, but why did you lie?"

"Because you pigs always think the worst of everyone," she spat out with sudden venom.

"Been in trouble with the police before?"

She stared at him mulishly.

He leaned forward. "Look, Miss Maundy, all I'm trying to do is find out if Tommy just took an overdose. If you were fond of him, surely you'll want to help me find out about it."

"I've been asked questions and questions," said Felicity, "and that detective told me it was a simple case of accidental death."

The door opened and Peter, the policeman, walked in. "A word wi' ye outside," he said to Hamish.

Hamish followed him outside. "I phoned Strathbane on my mobile to report in and said you was here asking questions. I've been told to tell you to go about your own duties. No point in having the two of us here."

Hamish was almost glad that his mind had been made up for him. Forget about Tommy. Go back to a lazy, contented life.

'Til just get my coat and hat," he said.

"I didn't mean to get you into trouble," said Peter.