Death of a Witch Read Online Free PDF Page B

wind.
    “Is there anyone from forensics still inside?” asked Hamish.
    “Aye, there’s a wee lassie from forensic.”
    “I’ll just be having a word with her.”
    The policeman barred his way. “Chief Detective Inspector Blair said nobody was to go in.”
    “Aye, but he meant the press or the villagers,” said Hamish. He sidestepped round the policeman and went in, realising suddenly that as he was visiting the scene of a crime, he should have been wearing his blue coveralls. He retreated to just inside the doorway and called out, “Anybody here?”
    A female voice called, “I’m out the back.”
    Hamish went out and walked around to the back of the cottage. He had a sudden vision of the type of female forensic investigator he had seen on American TV programmes—slim and tall with long hair and high cheekbones. So it came as something of a disappointment to see a small dumpy figure, covered in a white suit, white hood, and white boots. She was searching diligently in the heather.
    “Find anything?” asked Hamish. She stood up and pushed her hood back a little, revealing springy gold and red curls. Her cheeks were plump and rosy and she had large very blue eyes.
    “Who are you?” she asked.
    “Hamish Macbeth. I’m the local bobby. And you are . . . ?”
    “Lesley Seaton, forensics.”
    “I came up here,” said Hamish, “in the hope you might have found some reason for the cottage going up in flames. I found the body and then stood outside waiting for them from Strathbane to arrive. Then the cottage started to burn. What puzzles me is that I didnae sense anyone in the cottage.”
    “I think I’ve found the reason for that,” said Lesley. “I’ve found faint ash traces in the heather going a bit back. Some of the roots are scorched. It’s my belief that someone lit a fuse.”
    “Thank goodness for that,” said Hamish. “I thought I was slipping. Wait a bit. I didnae smell petrol or anything like that.”
    “I think—mind you, this is only a preliminary investigation—that the fuse ran into a plastic bucket of wastepaper placed under the wooden kitchen cupboards. I think the kitchen wall was soaked in some sort of cooking oil. I’ve only traces of things, mind you. Oil had been poured under the bed. The flames must have shot through the kitchen wall into the bedroom. There was a paraffin heater in the kitchen. That would add to the blaze, and then there was one in the bedroom as well.”
    “Any idea when she was killed?”
    “I’ll need to wait for a report from the procurator fiscal,” said Lesley. “It’ll be hard to tell with the body being so badly burnt. But evidently there were two days’ uncollected milk on the step, so maybe she was killed two days ago.”
    “What I cannae understand,” said Hamish, “is why then did the murderer wait so long to torch the place?”
    “Maybe the murderer is some amateur who, once having murdered the woman, panicked. People see so many forensic programmes these days that they think someone will hold up a bit of hair a day later and say, ‘Aha, that’s the DNA of Jock McHaggis,’ or whatever.” She sighed. “Little do they know.”
    “Where are the rest of your team?”
    Her face hardened. “They’re playing Braikie at rugby tonight so they’ve all gone off to get ready. I’ve got most of my samples so I think I’ll pack it in for tonight.” Her blue eyes twinkled. “Am I wrong in thinking that Mr. Blair is going to hate me when I produce evidence for this fuse? He’s chortling and rubbing his hands and telling everyone who’ll listen how Hamish Macbeth let a murderer get away from under his nose.”
    “No, you’re not wrong. I hope it was a long fuse.”
    “Not very long. With this springy heather, it’s hard to tell where it started but fortunately the back here is sheltered a bit from the wind. But farther away, the wind’s whipped off any traces and I can’t find anymore scorched heather roots.”
    “Let me go back and