Parry, his face grim, walked ahead of Hamish and towards one of the chalets. He knocked at the door. "Mr. Jarret, we'll chust be having a wee word wi' ye."

The door opened and a pleasant-looking young man stood there. He had a mop of curly brown hair and brown eyes in a tanned face. Those blinked rapidly when he saw Hamish's uniform.

"Can we come in?" asked Hamish.

"Y-yes."

He backed away into the chalet living room. A word processor was on a table by the window, surrounded with piles of manuscript.

"Sit down," said Tommy nervously.

"I'll get straight to the point," said Hamish, sitting down and taking off his peaked cap and then twisting it round and round in his hands. "You were arrested for possession of drugs. The arresting detective was convinced you were pushing."

"I've been clean for six months. Honest," pleaded Tommy. "And I wasn't pushing. I went to a rehab in Strathbane. Ask anyone. In fact, I'm writing a book about my experience with drugs to warn other people what it's like."

"Why were you found in possession of ecstasy and cannabis when you were a heroin addict?" asked Hamish.

Tommy gave a rueful smile. "If you can't get your drug of choice, you'll go for anything." He rolled up his shirtsleeves. "Look, no track marks, and Mr. McSporran here will tell you he's never seen me other than sober."

"It iss not the drink I'm worried about," said Parry.

"It's therapy-speak," explained Hamish. "Sober means he hasn't taken any mood-altering chemical. Am I right, Tommy?"

"Yes, I never even drink booze now. Please give me a chance," said Tommy earnestly. "You know I haven't been any trouble, Mr. McSporran, and I pay my rent on time."

"Aye, that's right," said Parry reluctantly.

Hamish made up his mind. "I'd let him be for the moment, Parry. I believe what he says."

Outside in the sunlight, Parry said, "You seem mighty sure of yourself, Hamish."