‘Something to drink?’ Bill asked, appearing at Anna’s table. He looked flustered and embarrassed, as if he’d rather she wasn’t here, which only tightened her resolve.

  ‘Lime and soda please, Bill,’ she said. ‘No ice.’ She sensed numerous eyes on her.

  ‘And have you managed to have a look at the menu, yet?’ he asked. ‘It’s not extensive. Small kitchen, you see.’

  ‘I’ll have a look now,’ Anna said pleasantly and picked up the card.

  ‘Right you are.’

  She watched his back as he retreated and saw Marcus Jones had appeared from somewhere. He stood at the bar, leaning on it, a whisky tumbler in hand, and stared shamelessly her way.

  Anna met his gaze.

  He took it as an invitation and came over, somewhat unsteady on his feet. He put a hand on the back of the empty chair opposite her. ‘May I?’ he asked, with fake deference.

  She smiled and shrugged. He almost fell into his seat.

  ‘Surveillance in plain sight?’ he asked, a slight slur on the sibilants. His eyes were shining, and she realised just how drunk he was.

  She shrugged. ‘Detectives need to eat too. There aren’t many options round here.’

  ‘You’re staying up the coast, aren’t you? At your own place… A cabin on the water, isn’t it? Very nice. Bought with an inheritance from your husband’s aunt, I believe…’

  She stared at him, as amazed at his temerity as at the fact he knew that.

  ‘How are you getting on with your story, Mr Jones?’ she asked in a hard tone.

  ‘Oh, I’m p-piecing things together the best I can,’ he said, and hiccupped. ‘All I can do in the ab-absence of hard and fast details.’ He gave her a big, drunken grin.

  Anna had had enough. ‘It was Ellen McIver you were waiting for yesterday, wasn’t it? Just over the road there?’

  He looked impressed. Amused too.

  ‘Why? Were you helping her?’

  ‘Might have been.’

  A wave of irritation washed over her. This was far from ideal. He was drunk and they were in public. But at the same time, he might be able to tell her something that could help.

  ‘How?’ she asked.

  ‘Now that would be telling.’

  ‘Help me,’ she said. ‘Were you going to publish a story for her, or—’ she tilted her head to mock him ‘—were you more of an assistant researcher?’

  That pricked his ego, as she’d meant it to. He squared his shoulders a little.

  ‘About a number of local deaths?’ she said, knowing it was a risk.

  His eyes narrowed and he smirked, telling her she was right.

  ‘What did she tell you?’ Anna pressed. She leaned in. ‘I need to know.’

  He took a gulp of whisky then contemplated the glass. ‘What if I told you… she believed there was a killer at work.’

  ‘A killer? Who?’

  ‘Oh, she was careful not to give me a name. She told me, “someone’s killed several times and got away with it. And that it’s the very last person you’d imagine.”’ He put his head playfully on one side.

  ‘When did she say this?’

  ‘Tuesday night. She said she wanted my help. She said a lot of things, as it happens.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘What if I told you I recorded our call…?’

  ‘I’d insist you hand over the recording immediately,’ she said sharply.

  His drunken eyes glinted.

  ‘Mr Jones, this isn’t a game,’ Anna said.

  His eyebrows went up. ‘Who said it was? To me, it’s work. An earner. A big earner if I can syndicate the story.’ He beamed.

  ‘Mr Jones⁠—’

  ‘She was bringing me something,’ he said. ‘Rang me just after two and told me where to meet her. I said I’d come to the house. She said no, she didn’t like men calling at the house.’ He shrugged. ‘I said I’d meet her in the village.’

  ‘What was she bringing you?’

  ‘“Proof”, she called it. Till then she hadn’t given me much at all, only insinuations, talk of murder. Yeah, she mentioned names, but I can’t do anything just with names. Bring me proof and we can talk properly, I said to her. But she never came.’

  ‘What names, Mr Jones?’ Anna demanded in her fiercest stage whisper.

  His lips curled into a smile. ‘Let me into her house and I’ll think about telling you.’

  ‘No chance,’ Anna said.

  ‘Then in that case we’re done,’ he said.

  ‘Mr Jones⁠—’

  He got up unsteadily, pushed his chair back hard so that it nearly toppled over, and swayed, nearly spilling the remains of the spirit in his glass. All eyes were on them.

  ‘Mr Jones—Marcus—sit down,’ she implored, half getting up herself.

  He didn’t appear to hear her but swivelled and caught hold of the wall to his right, then stumped away across the bar, making for a door to a briefly glimpsed staircase.

  The door swung shut after him and the chatter picked up again.

  Anna considered going after him, but now Morag was coming her way with her lime and soda. She put it down.

  ‘Was he bothering you?’

  ‘In a way,’ Anna said. ‘He’s very drunk.’

  ‘Been here since four, Bill says.’ She changed her tone and put on a smile. ‘Now, what will it be?’

  Anna took up the menu and scanned a short list of light bites.

  ‘Nachos with extra cheese, please,’ she said.

  ‘Right you are,’ Morag said. ‘Won’t take too long.’

  19

  Just before nine, having made the journey without being tailgated this time, Anna turned off into the lane to the cabin. She felt dazed by tiredness and let the car bump soothingly along through the woods. The wind was still high, and leaves fell and danced in the air, like a presage of autumn.

  It felt less daunting to arrive at the cabin when it was light. The place didn’t feel so isolated, the woods not so oppressively close. Before going into the cabin, she went down the side and passed through the fenced-in garden, then opened the gate and walked down the grassy slope to the little beach. From here, twin arms of rock extended a hundred metres or so into the sea, creating a long, narrow natural harbour. At high tide, the water was shallow for the first ten metres or so, then the sandy bottom fell sharply away. This was where she’d swum this morning. Where she liked to swim most mornings when she and Nick were here, making plunging strokes through the chilly water to the point where the sheltered water became the sea. At that point the temperature dropped and the depths darkened. Beyond it, the currents were unknowable and therefore dangerous. She always turned back just there, returning to the beach then making several more lengths before emerging from the water, refreshed and sometimes even euphoric.

  Now she crouched at the water’s edge and dipped a hand in, swirling her fingers so that the sand made the cold water opaque. She looked out towards the opening between the rocky arms and out across the miles of sea to where Jura lay brooding under the cloudy evening sky… and shivered.

  She rose and returned through the garden to the cabin, unlocked the door and went inside.

  Tea made, she settled on the settee to read her emails. There was a note from Dr Frances White, saying she hoped to get a forensic report to Anna mid-morning, and that the post-mortem had been scheduled for the morning too. She could expect that report later in the day.

  Jo had emailed too, saying her partner Ali had reminded her there’d been two other accidents involving hit-and-run drivers in recent years in the local area, one of which had resulted in a death. Along with her brother’s accident in which his friend had died, that made three. She’d find out details in the morning, she said.

  She paused to consider this news. Jo’s brother Jamie had been run off the road by a small, dark car, according to his testimony. Ellen had supposedly been driven off the road earlier this week – it was the reason her own car was in the garage. And Anna had been tailgated part of the way home her first night here. It wasn’t much of a pattern, but it could be the start of one…

  In addition, Jo’s email went on, Ali had reminded her that Scott McKellar’s company had been investigated by the Health and Safety Executive over an incident in which one of his RIBs had nearly collided with a woman out swimming with her young daughter, resulting in a big fright for the woman and her teenager and a number of Scott’s passengers ending up in the water too. He’d received a formal caution. She’d included a link to the online case report. Anna opened it and read it over. The incident had happened a year ago, and the HSE had recorded its findings in April this year.

  Anna closed her computer and reached for her notebook. For the next twenty minutes she read through her notes, circling, underlining and drawing connecting arrows between words. Next, she made fresh notes, this time in the form of questions for herself, some big that needed deep thought, others small that could be answered with research. None of them she hoped to answer tonight.

  What was the ‘concrete evidence’ Ellen told Lola she hoped to ‘lay her hands on’? Was it the same as the ‘proof’ she promised Marcus Jones? Did she find it? Was it made of, or did it contain, glass?

  Where was it? In the outhouse of Slipway Cottage?

  Did Ellen have more than one library book? If so, what happened to the others? (Were they returned to the library? What else has she borrowed lately?)

  Why was Ellen calling people in Glasgow? Who are these people? (NB: urgent to get phone records – must chase.)

  Was Ellen really behind the mischief? If so, why did she do it? Is that why she was killed?

  Alternatively, did she know who the mischief-maker was and is that why she was killed?

  What does the code in Ellen’s birdwatching notebook mean? Dates? Initials? What dates? Whose initials?

  Whose deaths did Ellen believe were murders?

  Murder by whom? To what end? To whose benefit?

  Next morning, she’d have a bigger team, including Sam Stewart and a second constable at her disposal. She planned to have them visit locals and ask – and record answers to – a number of questions. She drafted the questions now:

  Where were you between 2 p.m. and 4 p.m. on Thursday 17th July?

  Did you see Ellen McIver at all on that day?

  Who do you think might have done this?

  Do you have any other information that might help us find Ellen McIver’s killer?

  Have you ever driven a tractor? Did you drive the tractor at the village fair on 10th July 2021?

  Do you know of any unexplained deaths locally?

  Did Ellen McIver ever talk to you about unexplained deaths?

  Did Ellen McIver ever tell you she suspected someone of being a murderer?

  Have you experienced any pranks or mischievous acts lately?

  For those locals who were present in the tearoom on Tuesday afternoon, when Ellen had made her pronouncement, she added further questions:

  Supplementary questions for: Morag Robertson, Tess Cameron, Scott McKellar, his girlfriend Vonnie Brown, Harriet Maxwell and Rosie Blake:

  Can you confirm you were in the village tearoom at lunchtime on Tuesday 15th July?

  Can you recall who else was there?

  Do you recall Ellen McIver making an announcement about a number of deaths and knowing who was responsible?

  Can you tell us her words as you remember them?

  Do you believe she was addressing anyone present in particular?

  Did you tell anyone about this incident afterwards, and if so, who, and what did you tell them?

  She read these questions over and then added a seventh name to the list of people the questions should be put to: Dr Vernon MacCorkindale, whose unwell wife had died after a fall at home. He’d arrived at the tearoom as Ellen had left. It was possible he’d heard the commotion, even that Ellen had spoken to him as she left.

  She turned to a fresh page and wrote the single word WHO? at the top then sat staring at the expanse of white. She realised a better question might be: What type of person did this?

  She wrote:

  Someone who was desperate, terrified or simply rash. Who was able to cover their tracks despite the chaos and possible emotional impact of the act – a cool head. Who knew where Ellen would be at that time. Who knew how to operate the tractor and knew where the tractor and key were kept. Someone with a secret worth killing for. If Ellen was right, someone who had killed several times before and got away with it, who had killed without anyone suspecting. (NB: this is starkly at odds with the MO in this crime.)

  So, back to her first question: Who?

  And still she had no idea. The phone records had to be key, the library too, and the forensics report…

  It was nearly eleven now. Through the window the evening sky was darkening. Her eyes prickled with tiredness. A pleasant wave of sleepiness washed over her. Bed was calling.

  Except then her phone pinged. A text from Nick, saying, Call me.

  She groaned but dialled anyway, in the vain hope of good news, but his phone went to voicemail, meaning he was on to someone else.

  She didn’t leave a message but began to type a text – only to be interrupted by someone calling from a number she didn’t recognise, though it had a Glasgow code.

  ‘Hello, Anna speaking,’ she said, rising to look out of the window with its view down to the sea. Her hand went automatically to a light switch on the wall to turn off the light, the better to see the view.

  ‘Good evening, Anna,’ a familiar voice said, though it was shaky now. ‘It’s your mother-in-law here.’

  Anna went cold.

  ‘Hello, Melinda,’ she said, and waited.

  Melinda cleared her throat. ‘You’re probably wondering why I am calling.’

  ‘Yes, I am, if I’m honest,’ Anna said. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘I’m in a hotel.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘That’s all I can say right now.’ She sounded horribly nervous. ‘You see… you see, the thing is, I might have done something a little… a little silly.’

  ‘Right.’ She kept her tone as flat as she could.

  ‘Possibly you already know about it?’

  ‘Tell me,’ Anna said. Her heart was racing. She moved to sit on the settee, effecting a demeanour of calm she hoped would keep her thinking calmly too.

  ‘I put something on the internet – about a former friend of mine. Now it seems your – your police colleagues are, well, looking into it. They’ve been to the house – to your house, I mean. I just spoke to Nicholas. He told me.’

  So that was who Nick had been on the phone to when she’d tried him just now.

  ‘Melinda,’ Anna said, trying to second guess what Nick might have said to her, ‘you need to come clean – and now. Does Nick know where you are?’

  ‘No. He asked, but I didn’t tell him.’

  ‘And you won’t tell me, so…’

  ‘I need you to help me,’ Melinda said, pleading. It was a tone Anna had never heard her use before.

  ‘Help you, how?’ she asked.

  A weary, irritated sigh. ‘By instructing your colleagues to “lay off” – what else?’

  Anna coughed out a laugh before she could stop herself. ‘“To lay off”? Seriously, Melinda⁠—’

  ‘You’re an inspector! Nick said it was a constable and a sergeant. Those are lower ranks. Surely you could have a word – for me? For Nick?’

  ‘Melinda, stop it,’ Anna said, trying not to sound too harsh. ‘Please. Try to listen to what you’re saying. Now, I can hear that you’re anxious. And yes, I know the police have been to our house and why they’re looking for you. It’s serious. You must volunteer to be interviewed. Now, Nick’s talked to a solicitor – maybe he told you.’

  ‘A woman!’

  ‘Yes, a woman,’ Anna said and nearly laughed. ‘Her name’s Robyn McArthur and she’s very, very good.’ She shut her eyes and breathed. ‘Where are you, Melinda? Tell me now and we can help you.’

  ‘I’d rather not. I… I need to think.’

  ‘Melinda, the number you’re calling from is on my phone,’ she pointed out. ‘It’ll take seconds to trace it. It’s easier if you just tell me.’

  ‘What?’ She sounded panicked.

  Her phone buzzed: Nick trying to call. She rejected it. He started calling again straight away.

  ‘Melinda, tell me⁠—’

  ‘No! No, I shan’t.’

  ‘Then—’

  Melinda hung up.

  She tried calling the number back but it just rang out.

  Nick was beside himself.

  ‘It feels like snitching,’ he said.

  ‘I understand that,’ Anna said. She stood at the window, looking out over the darkening garden and the gleaming sea. ‘Nick… Earlier, I said your mum wasn’t vulnerable. Now I’m not so sure.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean, she needs to be found for her own protection.’

  ‘Surely you don’t think⁠—’

  ‘It’s not snitching, that’s all I’m saying. It’s finding someone so you can help her. Now call the number the police left. Give them the phone number she called us both from – I expect it’s a hotel or a call box near one – then message Robyn to let her know.’

  ‘I’m so tired,’ he said.

  ‘Then go to bed. Try to get some…’ Her voice tailed off.

  ‘Anna?’ Nick said, sensing something was wrong.

  ‘Yeah, I, er…’

  She’d seen something outside: a moving shadow within the shadows. Now she squinted hard, eyes fixed on the right side of the garden, trying to make it out again.

  ‘Anna, what is it?’

  ‘I thought I saw something,’ she said, keeping her voice low, moving away from the window, heading swiftly for the hallway and the bedroom at the side of the cabin.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Like someone was in the garden,’ she said.

  ‘Shit, Anna!’