"You mean the police have still got it?"

"No, they said they had let us have all his effects."

"Did he go to church? And if so, which denomination?"

"We're Church of Scotland. But I don't know which church he was going to."

After the Jarrets had left, Hamish walked along to Dr. Brodie's cottage.

"Come in," said Angela with a smile of welcome. "Did you say something to the Currie sisters?"

"Something."

"Whatever it was, it seems to have worked. They're almost mild, for them."

"I came to see your husband."

"He's in the living room. Go through."

The doctor was sitting in front of a messy smouldering fire. "If you clean the ashpan out, it might burn better," said Hamish.

"Oh, it's you, Hamish. Well, if you feel like cleaning it out, do it yourself."

Hamish went back into the kitchen and collected the ash bucket. The doctor watched for a moment, amused, and then picked up the newspaper he had been reading. Hamish cleaned out the ash into the metal bucket and added several logs to the fire, which immediately sprang into life. He carried the bucket of smoking ashes out through the kitchen and placed them outside the kitchen door, then returned to the living room and sat down in an armchair opposite the doctor.

Dr. Brodie put down the newspaper and looked at Hamish over the tops of his spectacles.

"I'm sure you didn't call just to light the fire."

"No, I've a bit of a problem," said Hamish. "It's that business about young Tommy Jarret."

"Oh, sad business. Heroin overdose."

"Aye, there may be a bit more to it than that." Hamish told him about the visit from the Jarrets and their suspicions.

Dr. Brodie listened carefully. Then he said, "I see their point, but it's all a bit far-fetched for the Highlands of Scotland. It's natural in their grief that they should think up all sorts of conspiracy theories."