Free A Highland Christmas by M.C. Beaton

like tackling two,
possibly four, young men on his own. If I were in a film, he thought, I would render them all help- less with a few well-placed karate chops. But this wasn’t a film, yet he was reluctant to
phone for backup unless he had some proof.
    He silently crept up. The back of the truck was covered with a tarpaulin. He looked underneath it and in the fading light saw boxes and boxes of Christmas lights. On the other side of the truck,
he found a Christmas tree lying on its side.
    He quickly and quietly sprinted back to the Land Rover and phoned headquarters at Strath-bane. ‘I’ll go on into Lochinver,’ he said after he had given his report. ‘I
don’t want one of them looking out of the window and seeing a police vehicle.’
    He set off for Lochinver and parked by the waterfront and waited, cursing the long distances in the Highlands. He hoped the police contingent wouldn’t come racing along the Lochinver road
with lights flashing and sirens blaring.
    At last four police cars arrived and Hamish’s heart sank when Detective Chief Inspector Blair heaved his bulk out of the leading car.
    ‘I would have thought this would have been too small a case for you, sir,’ said Hamish.
    ‘I think these are the lads responsible for a chain o’ thefts across Sutherland,’ said Blair. ‘Just tell us where they are, laddie, and get back to yer sheep.’
    Hamish stood his ground. ‘It’s dark and you won’t find them without me.’
    ‘Oh, all right. Lead the way.’
    Hamish drove off and the police cars fell in behind him. Curtains twitched in cottage windows. He found himself hoping that none of them had a girlfriend in Lochinver. In these days of mobile
phones, villains could be communicated with just when you didn’t want them to be.
    He pulled up down the road and peered across the moorland. The trailer was still there. He hoped they were all inside. He got out and set off without waiting for Blair and the others. But he
knew they would be quickly behind him. Blair was not going to let Hamish Macbeth take any credit for this.
    When he reached the trailer, Blair’s truculent voice whispered in the darkness. ‘All right, Macbeth, knock on the door and then leave the rest tae us.’
    Hamish knocked on the door. ‘Who is it?’ called a voice from inside.
    ‘Police!’
    Then loud and clear he heard a dog give a warning bark. He knew that bark. It was his dead dog, Towser. He threw himself on the ground to the side of the door just as a shotgun blast shattered
the door and would have shattered one Highland policeman had he been standing in front of it.
    ‘You’re surrounded!’ he yelled, getting to his feet. ‘And we’re armed. Throw out that gun and come out with your hands in the air.’
    There was silence from the trailer. Hamish cursed. He had never thought for a moment that they would be armed.
    The door was kicked open and the men emerged, one by one, their hands on their heads. Blair took over and ordered them to lie on the ground, where they were handcuffed. The charges were
announced: theft and attempted murder of a police officer. The men were led off to a police car.
    ‘You’re a fool,’ Blair snapped at Hamish. ‘Putting our lives at risk by failing to tell us they were armed.’
    ‘I didn’t know and you didn’t know,’ protested Hamish. ‘And it was me that was nearly killed.’
    ‘But you knew that shot was coming. How?’
    Hamish grinned. ‘Highland intuition.’
    ‘Crap,’ muttered Blair.
    After they had gone, Hamish found his hands were trembling. He drove back into Lochinver and went into a hotel bar and ordered a double whisky. Then he ordered a pot of coffee. The germ of an
idea was forming in his brain. He waited for a couple of hours and then set out for the trailer again. A forensic team was just packing up.
    ‘That truck with all the lights in it shouldn’t be left there,’ said Hamish. ‘Someone might pinch them. Are the keys to the truck