She was in the bedroom now, at the window. She stood in the dark and strained to see what was out there. Her heart raced and she felt quite breathless.

  ‘Maybe I imagined it.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, I imagined it,’ she said quickly, ‘I know I did.’

  ‘Really? Is the place locked?’

  ‘Yes, of course. I’m just tired. My eyes are on stalks. Look, call that number, Nick. Call if you need me but try to sleep.’

  ‘If you’re sure…’ He wasn’t happy and she could have kicked herself for reacting aloud like that.

  At last, she got him off the phone.

  There was a lamp on in the hallway, and a light on under the cooker hood in the kitchen. She turned them off, and now the cabin was in darkness. She returned to the living room window and peered out, her eyes taking in more now, making out individual plants. She listened, hearing only the wind.

  There was a second smaller bedroom at the front of the house. She went in there and to the window and looked out over the scrubby area where her car was parked.

  And then she saw it: a figure crouched by her car. Her mouth was dry as her heart hammered. As she watched, the figure stood up. It was hooded, its face invisible. A sudden move of the head and the unseen face was looking right at her.

  ‘Who are you?’ she whispered, her breath misting the window.

  And suddenly the figure took off, running away from the car, away from the cabin and back along the driveway.

  Fury filled her. She wanted to grab her keys and drive after them, to tear after them, run them down if need be – as the driver of the tractor had run down Ellen McIver.

  But sense made her stay where she was.

  The windows in here were casements. She opened one of them and listened hard – and heard it. A car engine kicking into life, then a rev or two, and the skitter of stones as it took off into the night.

  She went out of the small bedroom and into the hallway, closing the door behind her. Then she lifted her phone and dialled 999.

  ‘This is DI Anna Vaughan,’ she said, when she was connected to the control room. ‘I’m SIO on a murder investigation in Knapdale and I want to report an intruder at my home.’

  It took forty minutes, but a car arrived with two officers from Lochgilphead, a young man and an older woman. They knew who she was and why she was here in Knapdale.

  ‘I want you to check the property with me,’ she said. ‘And to look over my car. After that I’ll be fine.’

  ‘One of us can stay with you if you like,’ the woman said.

  ‘No,’ she said, after a moment’s thought. ‘Honestly. The place is secure. I just need to know my car’s okay to drive.’

  They went round the house as a trio, torches on, checking the ground, checking the windows, even going down to the beach. By now the sky was indigo and salted with stars. A distant light out to sea marked a lighthouse on Jura. It winked on and off, on and off. From somewhere came the sound of birds calling.

  Finally, they checked the car, the officers on their knees looking round it, checking the exhaust, checking the tyres. The woman officer spotted it: big letters drawn in what looked like lipstick on the passenger door and the one behind it, spelling two words: stupid bitch.

  ‘Nice,’ Anna said darkly.

  ‘And look here,’ the male officer said. He swiped fallen leaves from the gulley where the windscreen wipers rested. ‘Looks like a note.’

  He pulled gloves on and teased the paper out from under the windscreen and held it out for Anna to read first.

  ‘What is it?’ the woman officer asked.

  ‘A note from a prankster,’ Anna said, reading over the block capitals.

  It was unsigned, but most certainly not from Ellen McIver.

  20

  SATURDAY, 19 JULY

  They met in the meeting room at the village hall at eight: Anna, Jo, Sam Stewart, now back on early shifts, and PC Danny McAdam, whom Anna had met briefly on Thursday evening. Morag had come over from the pub to make them coffees but couldn’t stay – she had breakfasts to see to for guests at the inn.

  ‘Last night someone came to my cabin and put a note under one of my windscreen wipers,’ Anna told them. ‘I saw the person crouching by the car. I scared them off. This is the note.’ She opened the cardboard wallet and slid out a plastic evidence bag containing the single page.

  She pushed it forward for Jo and the two PCs to see.

  Dear Stupid Bitch,

  You will have no luck finding Miss McIver’s killer. Not if you keep looking in the wrong places. To over-complicate is an act of vanity.

  Sincerely,

  Not a friend.

  ‘What does the writer mean, “to over-complicate is an act of vanity”?’ Jo asked.

  ‘Hard to tell,’ Anna said. ‘It’s a dig at me, obviously, but it’s also a way of pointing the finger towards the simplest explanation.’

  ‘Which is what?’

  Anna shrugged. ‘That it was Wullie Cameron all along – a horrible accident; manslaughter at worse.’

  ‘But we know that’s not true,’ Jo said.

  ‘Leo Maxwell, then – the next obvious suspect.’

  They looked at one another, unconvinced.

  ‘I say we ignore the contents of the letter but not the letter itself,’ Anna said. ‘It’s designed to distract us, and that’s the interesting part. Someone is trying to divert us, to divert me. Someone who knows where I live.’

  Jo looked uncomfortable. ‘That doesn’t really narrow it down,’ she said. ‘I know. Others know.’ She glanced at Sam and Danny in turn, both of whom nodded. ‘Word gets round in places like this.’

  Anna thought for a minute. ‘Take a photo of the letter on your phones,’ she told the officers. ‘When you’re talking to people, show them the photo. Ask if they recognise the handwriting and watch for reactions.’

  They did as she suggested.

  Jo was sitting up and looking meaningfully at Anna, clearly itching to share news.

  ‘What is it?’ Anna asked.

  ‘We got a call from a woman who lives on Islay at 7.45 this morning,’ Jo said, eyes alive. ‘She called as soon as she heard the appeal on local radio. She was on the ferry on Thursday afternoon, the one that left Kennacraig at 3.15. She was out on deck having a smoke on the starboard side, sheltering from the wind. She saw a tractor on the north shore of the West Loch, “dancing about in the lane like it was having a fit”, she says. She thought it was odd, as if the driver was in some kind of trouble. I’ve got her contact details. She says she’s around all morning.’

  Anna’s skin tingled. The prospect of an eyewitness had seemed remote, but now it looked like they had one. Still, it might lead to nothing.

  ‘We’ll call her straight after this meeting,’ she told Jo, then turned to the others. ‘Right, a plan for the day.’

  She started with Sam and Danny, providing them with the questions she wanted asked of local residents.

  ‘I want a systematic door-to-door,’ she told them. ‘Every house in Baldrishaig, Torinturk, all the way up to Kilberry, and phone in any leads to Jo.’ She turned to Jo. ‘Did you have a chance to make a list of everyone on the local Facebook page who was filmed driving a tractor at the farm show?’

  ‘Yes,’ Jo said. She turned back a couple of pages in her notebook. ‘I’ve got the names here. Do you want me to read them out?’

  ‘Please.’

  ‘We’ve got videos showing the following: Rosie Blake, Rosie’s husband Olly, Harriet Maxwell, Tess Cameron, Vonnie Brown, Ivy Robertson, and even Dr MacCorkindale. His wife Didi too, though she’s dead now.’

  ‘No Morag?’ Anna asked.

  ‘No. No Carol Baillie either, though I’m pretty sure there’s a video of Duncan Baillie driving the tractor – that was long before he got ill, of course.’

  ‘Okay,’ Anna said, then addressed the men: ‘Make a note of those names. If any of those people deny ever driving a tractor, ask them about the farm show. Tell them there’s a video online. See how they react. Jo, any luck getting phone records for Ellen McIver’s landline?’

  ‘I’ll chase again and stress the urgency.’

  ‘Next, I want to interview Marcus Jones, the journalist from Oban. He stayed at the pub last night. He was extremely drunk when I spoke to him but he as good as admitted being in touch with Ellen and that he came here to meet her the afternoon she died. I want to put the thumbscrews on. Jo, you can be present at that interview. We’ll do it early, and I don’t care if he’s hungover. In fact, that might help. After that, Jo and I will head to the library in Tarbert. Now, I’ll nip over to the inn and ask Morag to give us a shout as soon as Marcus Jones appears for his breakfast. Then, Jo, we can call our ferry passenger.’

  ‘I’d taken my father-in-law for a scan at the Royal in Glasgow,’ Deborah Knight told Anna and Jo.

  They had her on speakerphone.

  ‘It meant an overnight stay – a trip to the mainland always does. Ron had the scan in the morning then I drove us back to the ferry port, in time for the three-fifteen summer sailing. It’s a good job they put that extra boat on. It was packed – probably due to the golf that’s on this weekend. Anyway, we got on and I got Ronnie settled in the cafe with a cup of tea, then I headed out on deck for a smoke. My first proper break of the day. By that time, we were almost out of the loch, just about to pass the point, and that’s where I was when I saw the tractor.’

  ‘Tell us exactly what you saw,’ Anna said, just about containing her excitement.

  ‘As I say, we were approaching the point, where that white house is, you know? There’s a beach, fields behind it, then woods and houses. It was right down by the beach, in a lane, I reckon, this big blue tractor, shoogling about, going forwards, backwards, turning in circles, like he was in some kind of trouble.’

  ‘He?’

  ‘The driver. I mean, I couldn’t see him that well. I just assumed it was a man. In a panic, he was. I wondered if he was stuck, got his wheels caught on something and trying to get free.’

  ‘You say you couldn’t see him that well. You could tell the person was male, though?’

  ‘Well… no. Not now you come to mention it. I saw the driver, in a coat, collar up and a cap on.’

  ‘What colour coat and cap, do you remember?’

  She was quiet for a moment. ‘Brown, maybe.’

  ‘Could you see the person’s hands on the wheel?’

  ‘I must have done, but I wasn’t that close. Sorry.’

  ‘How long did it go on for, do you remember?’

  Deborah gave a slight groan. ‘I only watched for a minute. I didn’t pay that much attention. It was interesting, unusual, but not that interesting. And then I finished my smoke and went back inside to Ronnie. Got myself a coffee. It was horrible when I heard the radio this morning. That they reckon the tractor was used to kill someone. I realised what I must have seen.’

  ‘Did you notice the time you saw the tractor, Deborah?’ Anna asked.

  ‘No. I’m sorry. You could work it out, couldn’t you, from the time the ferry passed the point?’

  ‘Did you pay for the coffee with your phone, by any chance?’

  ‘No. Cash. Sorry. And I never ask for a receipt, or that would have had the time on, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Don’t worry. Was anyone else on deck, did you see?’

  She took another moment to consider. ‘No. No, I reckon I was the only one. I’m sorry. I wish I could help you more. I just wasn’t near enough. The girl on the dunes would have seen more than me.’

  Anna and Jo looked at one another.

  ‘I’m sorry, Deborah,’ Anna said. ‘What girl on the dunes?’

  A puzzled silence. ‘Oh, but… Don’t you know about her?’

  ‘No,’ Anna said. ‘We don’t.’

  ‘She was there the whole time, watching. Then I saw her come down off the dunes onto the beach. She walked away. Actually, she was running, now that I think about it.’

  ‘Can you describe her to us, Deborah?’

  ‘She was, I don’t know… Slim? Longish, blondish hair. She had a white top on, jeans. She looked like a teenager to me.’

  ‘Thank you, Deborah,’ Anna said, gaze fixed on Jo, whose own eyes were wide with shocked comprehension. ‘You’ve been very helpful.’

  ‘Ivy?’ Morag asked when Anna enquired after her daughter. ‘Not up yet. It’s only nine and she is a teenager!’ She gave an ironic little laugh.

  Anna had caught her as she brought out cooked breakfasts to a couple at a nearby table.

  ‘Would you wake her for me?’ Anna pressed quietly. ‘It’s important. We believe she might know something about the murder.’

  ‘Oh!’ Morag looked genuinely horrified. ‘Oh, I see. Erm… I’ll go up now. She’ll need to get dressed. What on earth can Ivy know?’ she asked.

  ‘That’s what I want to ask her.’

  Morag blinked and looked about, distressed. ‘I’ll bring her over to the village hall, myself, will I?’

  ‘Please.’

  Nick had texted while she was in the pub. They’d spoken again last night after she found the note. She’d lied there’d been no trace of an intruder. She might tell him the truth at some point, but not now, when he was already wound up like a spring about to break. He’d called the police sergeant and left a message to say his mum had been in touch.

  Anna called him back from outside the village hall.

  ‘They’ve found her,’ he said, sounding breathless with relief. ‘It was pretty easy, in the end. That number she called you and me from last night – it was from a call box along the road from a hotel at the airport. The sergeant went there an hour ago. She was staying under her own name and everything. She makes a rotten criminal.’ He laughed gloomily.

  ‘Where is she now?’ Anna asked.

  ‘They’ve taken her to Helen Street,’ he said. ‘I called Robyn. She’s heading there. She said there was no point me going too. Hopefully Mum will agree to Robyn’s representation.’ He let out a long and pained sigh. ‘Oh God. I never want to live through anything like this again.’

  ‘It’s been horrible,’ she said. ‘At least you know where she is.’

  ‘Do you think they’ll take her back to London?’

  ‘Probably. That’s where she’s accused of a crime. The police here will probably take a statement then hand her on. It’s good she’s got Robyn, but Robyn can’t represent her in London. Your old friend Mikey Miles used to do criminal law, didn’t he? He’s still down there. Why not give him a shout?’

  ‘Good idea,’ Nick said. ‘Yeah, I’ll drop him a text. How are things with you?’

  ‘Busy,’ she said. ‘I have to go. Talk to you later.’

  A soft knock came at the door connecting the meeting room to the shop.

  Anna answered and Morag entered, pushing a miserable-looking Ivy before her.

  ‘I’d like to stay, please,’ Morag said and closed the door.

  Anna had anticipated this.

  ‘I’d rather you didn’t,’ she said. ‘There are things Ivy might want to tell us that she wouldn’t want you to hear.’

  Ivy screwed her eyes shut and hung her head.

  ‘I see,’ Morag said, looking somewhat winded. ‘In that case…’

  ‘We’ll take good care of her,’ Anna said. ‘Come on in, Ivy. Have a seat.’

  Morag left and Ivy sat opposite Anna and Jo.

  ‘We don’t have time for lies or denials,’ Anna said, but in a gentle tone. ‘We need the truth. Do you understand?’

  Ivy studied her hands and nodded glumly.

  ‘Were you on the little beach on Thursday afternoon?’

  Nothing for a moment, then another tiny nod.

  ‘Did you see the tractor being driven in the lane where Ellen McIver was killed?’

  Another nod.

  ‘Did you see who was driving it?’

  She looked up and said quietly, ‘No. I didn’t. Honest.’

  Anna held the girl’s gaze until Ivy could bear it no more and looked away.

  ‘Okay, let’s go back a bit. What were you doing on the beach?’

  She squirmed and shut her eyes again.

  ‘Was it something to do with Leo Maxwell?’

  A sigh that was almost a sob, then she nodded.

  ‘Had you gone there to meet him?’

  Another nod.

  ‘What time?’

  ‘Half-two,’ she said. It was a mere whisper.

  ‘Pre-arranged?’

  She nodded. ‘Dad said he’d kill me. But I saw Leo at the Co-op in Tarbert on Wednesday night. He was there with his mum. I asked if we could talk – about something that had happened. A row we’d had. He said maybe, then he said, “Meet me on the beach tomorrow, half-two.” That’s why I went there.’

  ‘And did you see him?’

  She nodded. ‘He brought his dog.’

  ‘And how long were you together?’

  ‘Not long. We argued. He was making excuses. Pathetic ones. I told him I could see right through him, and he didn’t like that. He said we were finished and he was going. He called for Charlie and he left.’

  ‘Which way did he go?’

  ‘Back over the dunes towards Back Lane.’

  Her face crumpled and she began to cry. Anna let her for a minute. Jo fished out a tissue from her pocket, unfolded it and passed it over the table.

  ‘What did you do after Leo had left?’ Anna asked.

  ‘Sat in the dunes above the beach. I didn’t want to go home. I didn’t want to go anywhere or see anyone. And—’ she sniffed ‘—I thought he might come back.’

  ‘Did you see or hear anyone while you were down there?’

  She peered about nervously, but then seemed to make up her mind. She nodded and said in quiet voice, ‘I saw Ellen.’

  ‘Where?’ Anna asked.

  ‘Coming from Back Lane.’

  ‘Did you notice the time?’

  ‘No. It was a wee while after Leo left.’

  ‘How long?’ Anna pressed. ‘Can you make a guess?’