‘What’s the pharmacist’s name?’ Anna asked.

  ‘Tracy McManus,’ Carol said brightly, ‘at McManus’s Chemist. It’s right next door to Dr MacCorkindale’s surgery on the harbourfront.’

  Anna glanced at Jo, who was writing it down.

  ‘You’ve been very helpful,’ Anna said. She got up. ‘It was nice to meet you, Duncan,’ she said to the man in the chair.

  Duncan Baillie made a low mumbling sound.

  Carol smiled gratefully, tears welling again. ‘As for Duncan’s alibi,’ she said sadly, ‘he was here the whole day, weren’t you, my dear?’

  A groaning assent.

  ‘Thank you so much for coming to see us,’ Carol said at the door. ‘As I said when you arrived, it’s so nice to have visitors, even when it’s connected to something so… so horrible.’

  ‘What do you think?’ Anna asked Jo when they were in the car and making their way back downhill.

  ‘I think she’s a nice woman,’ Jo said. ‘She’s dealing with a difficult situation well. She’s sensible to keep working, I reckon.’

  ‘She didn’t like Ellen,’ Anna said. ‘She thought Ellen smashed her jam. That thing about Ellen following her in her car is very odd too.’

  ‘I’ll check in with the pharmacist about the deliveries she made yesterday afternoon – always good to be sure. It’ll be closed by now so I’ll go see Tracy in the morning.’

  Anna drove back to the village, and they made their weary way into the meeting room of the village hall again.

  Jo’s phone pinged and she took it out to check.

  ‘An email from Dr MacCorkindale’s secretary,’ she said. ‘He’s “indisposed” for the rest of the day, including this evening. She’s given me a mobile number and we’ve to call him in the morning. Oh, and my colleague Karen’s sent over a list of every death in the area that resulted in a fatal accident inquiry,’ she said. ‘It covers the past twenty-four months. There are four names… including one we didn’t expect. Didi MacCorkindale.’

  ‘The doctor’s wife? But I thought she died of cancer.’

  ‘Not according to this,’ Jo said. ‘It says she had a fall in the house. She broke her hip and died in hospital. I do remember something now. I think there was a suggestion their cleaner had left a mop at the top of the stairs.’

  ‘I’ve got Ellen’s code here.’ Anna said. ‘I could read out the names and dates. You could check if anything tallies.’

  Jo found the image of the code and studied it again:

  1/2 C. K.L.

  3/6 T. B.B.

  5/7 I. A.M.

  ‘First is Harry Crowley,’ Jo said, eyes on her phone. ‘Aged seventeen, from Dartmouth in Devon. Died on the 2nd of September last year, right at the end of a holiday he was on with his family. It happened in the sea loch just north of Druimdrishaig. Banged his head on a rock and drowned. Ruled an accident, despite one witness claiming to have seen a speedboat in the area.’

  ‘H.C.,’ Anna murmured, eyes on her screen. ‘2nd of September, second of the ninth…’ She shook her head.

  ‘Next there was Eva Morrison, age thirty-two, from Inverneil. Died out walking on the 11th of December, up on the hills in the middle of the peninsula. No phone, no one knew she’d gone up there. They found her four days later, dead from exposure. Ruled an accident.’

  ‘E.M.,’ Anna murmured dejectedly. ‘11th of the twelfth month. No…’

  ‘Next chronologically was Didi MacCorkindale, the doctor’s wife. She died on the 3rd of February, aged fifty-nine. Again, ruled an accident.’

  ‘Is Didi short for something?’

  ‘Could be Deirdre,’ Jo suggested.

  ‘Same initial so it makes no difference.’

  ‘Last on the list,’ Jo went on, her tone gloomier, ‘is Conor Fraser. Age twenty, died on the 4th of April this year.’

  ‘Nothing fits,’ Anna said. They sat in glum silence for nearly a minute, then she said, ‘Ellen told her niece that if she was found dead, to make sure her body was “tested for everything”. If she thought someone might kill her, then she expected her death wouldn’t seem suspicious. Is that because the deaths she was investigating hadn’t seemed suspicious, either? Not even accidental?’

  Jo didn’t reply.

  Anna sighed. ‘It was an idea, that was all.’ She fell silent again, thinking, envisaging that attic room, the window, the binoculars, and the view out of the window over a section of Back Lane…

  ‘My first thought when I saw the code was that it might refer to people, but it might be something else. Do we know when the various acts of mischief took place?’

  Jo went into her notebook and found a page.

  ‘Johnny Clark’s tyres were let down at Slipway Cottage in November. We don’t have an exact date. Carol Baillie’s jam jars were destroyed on Christmas Eve, the 24th of the twelfth…’

  Anna looked at the code again. ‘It’s no good,’ she said. ‘But it must mean something. Was Ellen behind the mischief, or was it someone else?’

  Jo shrugged. ‘Plenty of her neighbours thought so.’

  ‘But we’re back to the same roadblock,’ Anna said. ‘Ellen policed her neighbours. She was authoritarian. She monitored them and told them off and reported them to the powers that be. Someone so “pure” wouldn’t lower herself to vandalism and poisoning pets.’

  Jo jumped as her phone began to ring. ‘It’s Sam Stewart,’ she said, and answered on speakerphone. ‘Hi, Sam. It’s Jo. I’m with DI Vaughan. You’re on speakerphone.’

  ‘Just had a lovely hour with Mrs Moncrieff in Lochgilphead,’ Sam said.

  ‘And?’ Anna said impatiently.

  ‘And it turns out – though it took us a while to get there – she does have a connection to Baldrishaig.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Her brother was the late Angus McCrae, father of Morag McCrae, who married Bill Robertson.’

  ‘Mrs Moncrieff is Morag’s aunt?’ Anna asked, more puzzled than surprised. ‘So why was Ellen phoning her?’

  ‘She can’t explain it,’ Sam said. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘When did Morag’s father die?’

  ‘Last year.’

  ‘I think I knew that,’ Anna said, trying to recall her and Jo’s conversation in the pub with Bill Robertson. ‘He died and left them money, and they used that to do the place up.’

  ‘I could go back and try to do more digging, if you like,’ Sam said.

  ‘Thanks, Sam,’ Anna said. ‘Let me think about it. I might want to see her myself.’

  ‘There’s something else I’ve found out in the last ten minutes,’ the constable went on.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I heard it from the wife’s cousin, Sarah-Louise. She works at the library in Tarbert. She heard about Ellen on the grapevine and called me to say Ellen was in the library a lot lately. Borrowing true crime books, plus asking for old copies of the phone book. Last week she asked Sarah-Louise to show her how to use the internet because she had “research to do”.’

  ‘That’s interesting,’ Jo said.

  ‘Sarah-Louise says Ellen was in there for hours, making notes, chucking them away, but only in the bin for shredding.’

  ‘Tell us the contents haven’t been shredded yet,’ Anna said.

  ‘They haven’t,’ Sam said. ‘She’s going to look first thing in the morning.’

  ‘That’s great, Sam,’ Jo said. ‘We need to talk to her about books Ellen had borrowed as well. We’ll go see her ourselves. What time does the place open?’

  ‘Nine on a Saturday,’ he said. ‘She said she’d do it tonight but she’s away to a wedding in Oban.’

  ‘Thanks, Sam,’ Anna said.

  He rang off.

  ‘So Ellen rang Morag’s aunt in Lochgilphead. Why?’

  Jo shook her head.

  Just then there was a knock at the connecting door.

  Morag answered Anna’s call to come in.

  ‘A spare key for the village hall and one for this room specifically,’ Morag said and beamed.

  ‘Thanks,’ Anna said. ‘Morag, sit down for a minute, would you?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ She smiled again, nervously.

  ‘Your aunt is Virginia Moncrieff,’ Anna said.

  Morag’s eyes widened. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Why? Is she all right?’

  ‘Yes, she’s fine. Ellen tried to call her, that’s all. Mrs Moncrieff’s number was the last one she’d dialled.’

  ‘Ellen phoned Aunt Ginny?’ Morag frowned. ‘How on earth would Ellen know her? I can’t begin to imagine!’

  ‘Has your aunt been down here much?’

  ‘No! Never, to my certain knowledge. I don’t understand it, I really don’t. Have you talked to her? Surely she could tell you what it was about.’

  ‘We have,’ Anna said. ‘She didn’t take the call. She says she’s never heard of Ellen McIver, let alone spoken to her.’

  ‘Well, I can’t explain it.’

  ‘She’s your father’s sister, is that right?’

  ‘Yes. His older sister. She’s eighty-something. Dad was a few years younger than her. He died last summer.’ Her eyes moved off into a corner of the room. ‘Dad wouldn’t have known Ellen either, surely…’

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ Anna said, and smiled. ‘Are you serving meals next door yet?’

  ‘We are indeed,’ Morag said, brightening and getting up. ‘You’d be welcome to come over. Want me to hold a table for you?’

  ‘For me, please,’ Anna said. ‘Jo, what about you?’

  ‘I’ll go home,’ Jo said. ‘But thanks.’

  ‘I’ll be round in a bit, in that case,’ Anna said to Morag. ‘I just need to phone home first.’

  ‘Righty-ho,’ Morag said and got up to go. ‘I’ll ask Bill to keep you a table.’ She looked hesitantly at Anna. ‘That journalist chap.’ She bit her lip. ‘The one from Oban who was here earlier? Bill said he’s been hanging around again. He’s booked a room for the night. He was in the bar when I came over.’ She nodded through the wall in the direction of the pub then gave Anna a confidential smile. ‘Just so you know.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Anna said, and considered whether a talk with the man might be profitable.

  ‘And… Oh,’ Morag began awkwardly. ‘I think there’s something else you should know.’ She began to flush, her cheeks turning rosy. Anna waited. ‘He was here yesterday. In the afternoon.’

  ‘Marcus Jones?’

  ‘That’s right. Harriet saw him. She mentioned it to Bill. She was nervous of saying anything to you, given you already think she’s lied to you.’

  ‘Tell us what she said, Morag.’

  ‘It was as she was leaving the shop,’ Morag said. ‘She saw him parked just out there, at the top of the lane. It couldn’t have been much after three. Three-fifteen, say. Just sitting there, Harriet says. Like he was waiting for someone. She didn’t know who he was then, but she saw him again today, spoke to Bill, and put two and two together.’

  ‘Thank you, Morag,’ Anna said.

  When she was gone, Anna said to Jo, ‘He was waiting for Ellen, wasn’t he?’

  ‘I’d say so,’ Jo said. She looked at her phone which had just buzzed. ‘That’s confirmation just in about the Camerons being at Tom MacGibbon’s hardware place,’ she said, eyes on her screen. ‘Till receipt for 3.27 p.m., plus CCTV from two cameras – one showing Glen in the store and Tess sitting in the truck outside. They drove into the car park at 3.19 and out again at 3.33.’

  ‘So that’s that,’ Anna said. She looked at the clock on the wall. ‘You head off, Jo. There’s not a lot more we can do today. It’ll be tomorrow before we get the post-mortem and forensics reports. Hopefully by then we’ll have some leads from the public in response to our appeals. Did you add Ellen’s name to the appeal, by the way?’

  Jo nodded. ‘Plus a note that family have been informed.’ She got up. ‘I’ll see you in the morning, boss. Seven a.m. here?’

  ‘Hell no,’ Anna said. ‘It’s the weekend! Let’s go mad. Seven-thirty. Bright eyed and bushy-tailed.’

  Nick called as Anna was about to lock up the meeting room. She slipped back inside to talk to him.

  ‘Mum doxxed a pensioner,’ he said, and so bluntly Anna nearly laughed.

  ‘She did what?’

  ‘She doxxed a pensioner,’ he repeated. ‘I spoke to Robyn, and she phoned the police. They told her what it was about. Mum’s alleged to have published someone’s address and contact details online to make them a target for a pile on – or worse.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s called “doxxing”,’ he half-shouted, irritated, ‘it’s⁠—’

  ‘I know what it is. I just… I just can’t believe it!’

  ‘You think I can?’ He sounded ragged with anger. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to shout. Like I said, the police told Robyn the details. It’s a woman who was in one of mum’s mad online groups. A few of them realised they lived near each other and started meeting up, talking their conspiracy shit and even going along to protest at events. Only this one woman, Margaret somebody, objected when Mum began saying the victims of that attack in Southampton last year were faking it – that they were paid actors or something. Turns out Margaret’s cousin’s son was injured in the attack. She and Mum had a set-to, then Margaret left the group. She put something online about Mum – saying she was nuts, basically – and Mum found it. So Mum put Margaret’s home address and phone number on one of her forums and said Margaret was being paid by George Soros – all the usual crap. Someone went and smashed Margaret’s front window and screamed at her through her letterbox.’

  ‘My God, Nick…’

  ‘It happened at the start of last week. Mum got a call from the police at home and did a runner to ours. That’s why she came – to lie low. Except the police aren’t going to give up.’

  ‘So what does Robyn suggest?’

  ‘Well, she got the police officers to agree that Mum can “volunteer” to be interviewed – at Helen Street. That way they won’t have to come to the house again. My job is to persuade Mum to go along with it – assuming she comes back here or I manage to reach her by phone. Of course, they might still charge her. The alternative is going on the run! Can you imagine?’

  ‘Will Robyn attend the interview?’

  ‘If she can make the timings work. She’s brilliant, by the way. Cool and forensic and understanding. Thanks for suggesting her.’ He let out a long, exhausted sigh. ‘How are you? How’s the investigation?’

  ‘Interesting.’ And sinister, she wanted to add but didn’t. ‘You won’t be coming down here tonight then,’ she said glumly.

  ‘Doesn’t look like it. And those first-class train tickets weren’t exactly cheap. I might try and get a refund. Do you think you can?’

  ‘No idea. Worth a try. It’ll give you something to do.’

  ‘When do you think you might be back?’ He sounded very young when he asked it and her heart broke a bit.

  ‘I don’t know. It might be a few days. Everything depends. Sorry.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re not that sorry…’ He gave a dark chuckle.

  ‘I’m going to get something to eat, then I’ll drive up to the cabin. I reckon I’ll be there by nine, nine-thirty at the latest. Maybe talk to you later, okay?’

  18

  It was only just gone seven, but the Baldrishaig Inn was filling up.

  ‘Morag’s kept a table for me,’ she said to Bill Robertson when he spotted her at the door.

  ‘She has,’ he said, a little awkwardly, then grabbed a menu from a pile and led her to a small table in one of the pub’s two bay windows, almost as if he assumed she’d want to keep an eye on the comings and goings outside.

  Seated, she made a pantomime of arranging her jacket and bag and studying her phone for a minute, then she peered round wearing a polite but neutral smile.

  She had a view of the whole pub from here but there was no sign of Marcus Jones.

  Glen Cameron was at the bar, a half-drunk pint in one hand, his phone in another. Behind the bar, Ivy Robertson was polishing wine glasses and sliding them one by one onto a rack over her head. Occasionally she glanced with miserable longing across the pub to where Leo Maxwell was working the fruit machine, his back to Ivy as he jabbed at the buttons to make reels spin and lights flash. Very occasionally, Ivy peered at Anna, then away when their eyes met. One time she blushed. Leo’s mum Harriet sat at a table, talking intensely to Rosie Blake, who frowned hard as she listened. Tess Cameron emerged from the back of the pub – from the loos, Anna assumed – and joined her husband at the bar. She said something to him, but he didn’t look up from his phone. Tess went into her handbag for a tissue and wiped her nose, then looked about the pub. She spotted Anna and her eyes widened in surprise and possible fear. She whispered to her husband again. Glen deigned to lift his eyes from his phone and peered round at Anna. Anna nodded a silent greeting. Glen nodded unsmilingly back.

  The main door swung open and Morag came in. ‘Evening, all,’ she called and beamed about.

  A few ‘evenings’ were muttered in reply. Morag lifted a hatch and went behind the bar, where she fell into conversation with her daughter.

  Scott McKellar, the blond-bearded boatman, came in next, followed by a malevolent-looking Vonnie in a tight top that showed her tattooed midriff. He turned to her, then spotted Anna and stopped and stared at her. Anna returned his gaze without expression. Bill Robertson approached the pair. McKellar said something that made Bill frown and look Anna’s way, then the joiner turned and made for the door, Vonnie slouching after him.