‘So they’d have you think,’ Melinda said, her voice high and mad. ‘The bloody liars. The bloody, bloody liars!’ She took an angry swig of wine. ‘Where is the lavatory?’ she asked Nick.

  ‘At the back on the right,’ Nick said.

  When she’d gone Nick took Anna’s hand again. ‘It’s just for this evening,’ he murmured.

  ‘It’s torture.’

  ‘I know, but count the hours.’

  ‘I am. It’s still too many. You know,’ she said quickly, ‘I might break my rule. Just one glass.’

  She turned to look for the waiter. She caught his attention just as Melinda came swaying back to the table.

  ‘I thought you didn’t drink on a weeknight? Always claiming to be such a good girl.’

  ‘Mum—’ Nick began but was interrupted by ringing from Anna’s bag.

  ‘What’s that racket?’ Melinda demanded.

  Anna ignored her and took out her work phone.

  ‘I have to take this,’ she said, making Melinda screw up her face in disgust. She got up. ‘Hi, boss, it’s Anna speaking,’ she said and headed for the door.

  ‘Sorry to interrupt your evening like this,’ her boss, DCI McLeod said.

  ‘It’s fine,’ she said and nearly laughed at the truth of it. ‘What is it, boss?’

  ‘We’ve got a suspicious death on the west coast. The DC from Lochgilphead is there and looking for support. Her DS is on leave and the DI in Oban is tied up. I was hoping you might take a ride out there this evening. It’ll mean an overnighter, at least.’

  ‘Nothing would make me happier,’ she said almost giddily. ‘Where exactly is it?’

  ‘It’s a remote coastal community in Knapdale. Place called Baldrishaig. You won’t know it.’

  ‘I do, as it happens. Do you know any details?’

  ‘A woman in her sixties has been run down and killed in one of the smaller lanes. Deliberately, by the sound of it. Name of Ellen McIver.’

  ‘Anyone in the frame for it?’

  ‘Not yet. The DC’s Jo McLean, lives at Tarbert. I’ll text you her contact card. She’s a crime scene manager and can tell you what steps she’s taken so far. She can also advise you about accommodation.’

  ‘I’ll call her right away. And, erm,’ she went on, ‘I won’t need accommodation. Nick and I have got a place out that way.’

  ‘Is that right?’ He sounded impressed.

  ‘Yes. It’s nothing fancy.’ She felt her cheeks reddening slightly at the admission. ‘More of a cabin, really.’

  ‘Fine, then. Save us a few quid from the coffers. I’ll send you DC McLean’s number just now.’

  He rang off. She’d have to leave right away, jump in a cab, pack a night bag and drive west – literally into the sunset.

  Jo McLean’s contact details arrived and she dialled. It rang out, then went to voicemail. She left a message, asking the constable to call her back asap, then ran up the steps and into the restaurant and waved urgently at Nick, who came over.

  He laughed when she told him. ‘Very convenient…’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  Melinda was watching them beadily from across the room.

  ‘I’d better make my apologies, hadn’t I?’ she said, suppressing the urge to grin at the realisation this would be the last time she’d see Melinda for some time.

  She’d never expected to thank her lucky stars for murder.

  2

  DC Jo McLean called as Anna was unlocking her front door. ‘Give me one sec,’ she said and went inside and through into the kitchen-dining room at the back, which doubled as a study. ‘Okay, I can talk,’ she said, and turned on a tap to run a glass of water as Jo briefly introduced herself.

  ‘Are you at the scene now?’ Anna asked.

  ‘I’m in the village, a mile or so away. Only place I can get a signal. I’m so happy you can come,’ the DC said.

  She sounded excitable with relief and Anna wondered how old she was. Mid-twenties, maybe.

  Anna carried the full glass to the big table by the floor-to-ceiling windows giving on to the back garden. She sat and took a notepad out of her bag. ‘Can we go through some things before I set off?’ she asked. ‘I just want to check everything’s in order, especially given it’s—’ she glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall ‘—nearly seven-thirty, which means I’m unlikely to be with you much before half-past ten.’

  ‘Yes, ask me anything.’

  ‘I’ll put you on speaker, then I can look at the map on my phone at the same time.’

  ‘Sure thing.’

  She opened Google Maps and zoomed in on South Knapdale at the south-west tip, right at the mouth of the sea loch. ‘Tell me exactly where it happened.’

  ‘In a place called Baldrishaig,’ Jo said. ‘I’ll spell it for you⁠—’

  ‘It’s okay, I know it,’ Anna said. ‘I’ve spent quite a bit of time in Knapdale. Two or three miles south of Kilberry, isn’t it?’

  ‘That’s right.’ She sounded surprised.

  ‘Where’s the locus?’

  ‘One of the lanes that runs down to the wee beach,’ the constable said. ‘There are two beaches. The wee beach is the one furthest west. The lane doesn’t have a name – I double-checked. You come off the main road down towards the viewpoint then take a right, then a left before the Camerons’ farm. Do you know where that is?’

  ‘I think I can tell where you mean,’ Anna said, studying the web of thread-thin lanes.

  In her mind she conjured up the tiny hamlet, strung out along half a mile of the road – what Jo had called ‘the main road’, though it was in fact a single-lane B-road winding between fields and occasionally through woods as it tracked the coast. She’d never stopped in Baldrishaig but seemed to remember seeing the turn-off, with a sign marked ‘viewpoint’ just opposite a village hall housing a village shop and cafe.

  ‘The victim’s a local woman called Ellen McIver,’ the constable said, ‘in her late sixties. Her identity’s been confirmed by her GP, by the way. The man who found her knew her as well. That was Bill Robertson – Bill and his wife have the pub and the village shop. He was out walking his dogs. PC Stewart from Tarbert, who attended first, knew Ellen too. There’s no doubt it’s her.’

  ‘When did Mr Robertson find the body?’

  ‘Four forty-five p.m. He didn’t have his phone, so he went direct to the farm and they called 999 from there. That was at 5.05 p.m. He reported finding Ellen McIver, dead, run over by a tractor⁠—’

  ‘A tractor?’ Anna interjected in amazement.

  ‘That’s right. She’s a bit of a mess. Half-flattened and her head cracked open. The tractor’s still there, further down the lane, driven into a ditch with the key still in the ignition. It looks like she was run over a number of times – run over then reversed over. Anyway, the area control room contacted me at Lochgilphead. They also contacted the hospital here and they sent paramedics. I rang Sam Stewart, the PC at Tarbert because I knew he’d get there before me.’

  ‘And when did you get there?’ Anna asked.

  ‘About 5.50 p.m.,’ Jo said. ‘A couple more uniformed officers followed on behind me. We organised a cordon in the village. Paramedics arrived a few minutes after me, though the local GP was already there. He pronounced life extinct, not that there was much doubt. Between them, he and the paramedics reckoned she’d been dead between two and three hours.’

  Anna did a quick calculation and concluded the woman had been killed between 3 p.m. and 4 p.m.

  ‘How busy is that lane?’ she asked, frowning.

  ‘Not busy at all. There’s nothing out this way. Most people use the big beach. It has a decent car park. People don’t tend to go down the other end.’

  ‘So there’s nothing down there?’

  ‘A place you can park a couple of cars, then a gate through on to the dunes. You can get down to the beach from there. There’s a cottage along the shore. A holiday let, according to Sam Stewart. I sent one of the boys along to see if anyone was in, but it seems to be empty.’

  ‘You said Ellen McIver is a local?’

  ‘She’s lived in the village for thirty years.’

  ‘Spouse or relatives?’

  ‘A niece, called Beth Howie. She rarely visited. We’re trying to get hold of her. Here’s the weird thing. This Beth rang Morag at the pub this morning, saying her aunt had been on to her late the night before and Beth was worried. She asked Morag if she’d mind going along and checking on her – like a well-being check, you know? The niece was about to head to the airport. Morag said she would, only she and Ellen didn’t exactly get on, so she took another neighbour with her. The two of them paid a call and Ellen seemed fine, if frosty. She told the two of them to mind their own business and threw them out. Morag spoke to the niece to reassure her. As I say, though, we haven’t been able to get hold of her, possibly because she’s travelling.’

  ‘Did you know Ellen?’ Anna asked.

  ‘Of her,’ Jo said, a little cagily.

  ‘Was she liked?’

  ‘No, in a word.’

  ‘I see.’ Anna made a note, frowning. There’d be time to get into details. ‘Whose tractor is it?’

  ‘It belongs to a farmer called Glen Cameron,’ Jo said.

  ‘And you’ve spoken to him?’

  ‘Yes, to Glen and his wife. Both deny using the tractor…’ Her voice tailed off.

  ‘What, you don’t believe them?’

  ‘It’s not that,’ the constable said darkly. ‘It’s Glen Cameron’s dad, Wullie. He’s eighty-something and… well, he’s forgetful. Doesn’t always know where he is or recognise people. It seems he still takes the tractor out from time to time. It was his farm before Glen took it over and he likes to drive about the lanes still. He even goes as far as Kilberry, “keeping an eye on things”, as Glen says.’

  Anna closed her eyes and saw a grim scenario unfold in her mind.

  ‘Both the Camerons swear blind the old man didn’t leave the house all afternoon,’ Jo said. ‘They say he’s off-colour and been in bed for days.’

  ‘Did you ask to see him?’

  ‘I did. Glen wasn’t happy about it, but he took me up. I tried to talk to the old man, but he was so confused. Asking for Mary. Mary was his wife who died years ago. I don’t believe he ran Ellen down. I really don’t. Glen told me other local people use the tractor from time to time.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I asked for names.’

  ‘Okay,’ Anna said, taking Jo at her word for now, though she intended to pay Wullie Cameron a visit herself – and to look for whatever forensic proof there might be that someone else had driven the tractor this afternoon. ‘Are there any other suspects at this stage?’

  ‘There are possibilities,’ Jo said. ‘People who took against her. But to kill her, in this way… It’s unthinkable, in a place like this.’

  Anna didn’t speak for a few moments. Jo McLean was right. Murder, and so violent, was unthinkable in a place like Knapdale.

  ‘You said the lane’s cordoned off?’ she double-checked, moving on to practicalities.

  ‘That’s right. No one can reach the scene from the village. Obviously, we’ll let the Camerons through if they need to pass. An officer is parked up by the cordon. There are two more at the scene itself. Another arrived later and I sent him along to keep an eye on Ellen’s cottage.’

  ‘And you’ve called Forensics Services, haven’t you?’ Anna asked.

  ‘As soon as I’d confirmed it was a suspicious death. They’ll be here from Glasgow in the morning. I took photos on my phone and then we covered the body over with a low awning from an outdoor shop in Tarbert – there’s a small chance of rain overnight. More officers will come on at 11 p.m. and relieve them, though it’s been tricky finding people. I’ll be here when you arrive. I’ll show you what you want to see. I’m keen to know I’ve done everything right…’

  ‘What are you worried about?’ Anna asked gently, having detected something in the constable’s tone.

  Jo paused before she answered. ‘It’s just… well, stuff’s been going on here for the past few months. Weird stuff.’

  ‘Has it?’ Anna’s skin tingled. ‘Like what?’

  ‘Mischief. Vandalism. Some of it quite serious. The landlady of the pub reckons someone tried to poison her cat. According to Sam, rumour is old Ellen was behind it.’

  ‘Is that so?’

  Anna stared out into her garden, green and golden in the warm evening sun, and shivered. She and Nick had had the cabin in Knapdale for three months and already spent several weekends there. It was a good five or six miles from Baldrishaig, true, but she’d heard nothing about any vandalism or mischief. To them the peninsula was an idyll. A place of beauty and tranquillity, of retreat.

  ‘You said you’ve got someone at the victim’s house. Have you been inside?’

  ‘Went in myself with one of the boys, kitted out in suits and masks. The place was unlocked and a key on the side table just inside, but that’s not unusual round here. People don’t often lock their doors. We just checked no one was in there. Forensics can do a proper check tomorrow morning, but it does look like someone’s been in there.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘There are drawers pulled out in a bureau and a couple of papers on the floor. You know, as if someone had been going through them. Same in the bedroom – there’s only one bedroom; it’s a tiny wee place. As I say, I can’t be sure. I locked up and left one of the boys guarding the place. We could take a proper look when you get here, maybe.’

  ‘Let’s do that. Thanks, Jo. Right, I’m going to pack. I’ll text you my ETA before I set off.’

  ‘Okay. You’ll need somewhere to stay. There’s a B & B in Tarbert we’ve used before. Want me to see if they’ve got a room?’

  Anna hesitated before answering.

  ‘I… happen to have somewhere to stay,’ she said, adding quickly, before Jo could quiz her, ‘Everything’s taken care of.’

  It was past midsummer, but the days were still long, and she was thankful to be able to make most of the journey in daylight. The scenery was spectacular in the evening sun, the mountains either glowing gold or stark cut-outs against the fading sky. Traffic thinned after Inveraray, and the road was nearly empty as she drove south down the western shore of Loch Fyne. She stopped for fuel at Lochgilphead and bought enough food to last her a few days at the cabin. After that, night-time seemed to come on much faster, the colours fading as she continued south towards Knapdale at the top of the Kintyre peninsula. She planned to take the turn-off west into Knapdale just before Tarbert. According to her map, Baldrishaig was eight or nine miles from the main road.

  Nick rang when she was nearing the turn-off.

  ‘Are you driving?’

  ‘It’s okay.’ She slowed as the road wound through a kind of rocky pass, wary of vehicles coming the other way. ‘I can talk. How was dinner?’

  ‘We didn’t stay,’ he said drily. ‘Mum decided she didn’t like the look of anything.’

  ‘Took umbrage at my departure, you mean?’

  She imagined him sitting in their bedroom, on his side of the bed, maybe still in his shirt and tie, though the tie would be undone.

  ‘Maybe.’ She chuckled. ‘She finished off that bottle of wine, though. Now she’s downstairs, wittering away to her friends online.’

  ‘You okay about tomorrow morning?’ she asked him.

  ‘Most definitely,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell her, then I’ll head into work for those meetings, then I’ll come back and take her to the train station at six. And then…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I wouldn’t want to be in your way, of course, but I thought I might come down to the cabin for the weekend. Keep you company.’

  ‘I’d love that,’ she said, and smiled to herself. With Melinda gone, she’d have Nick all to herself again. The feeling was one of almost giddy relief.

  Ahead, she recognised the bend in the road and the dip before the turn-off.

  ‘Got to go,’ she said. ‘Love you.’

  Then she slowed, indicated and turned into the dark tree-lined road that would lead her into the heart of Knapdale, and towards murder.

  3

  The road was slow going, with countless curves and blind bends, but she made it to Baldrishaig by ten-thirty. She’d never paid much attention to the tiny hamlet before, but now took it in. Cottages lined the lane on both sides, backed by trees and giant rhododendrons. It was twilight now, and several of the houses had lights on, so that the place had an air of a woodland fairy tale – but one that was broken by the sight of a police car and a uniformed officer standing by blue-and-white tape that cordoned off the entrance to a narrow lane, lit by pale white light from two streetlamps.

  Anna pulled in beside the officer and put her window down.

  ‘I’m DI Anna Vaughan,’ she told the young officer, holding up her warrant card. ‘I take it the locus is that way?’ She nodded to the cordoned-off lane.

  ‘That’s right, boss. I’m PC Sam Stewart. DC McLean asked me to radio her when you arrived. She’ll come and take you down there – it’s a bit of a maze, you see.’

  ‘Okay,’ Anna said. ‘I’ll park up while you radio.’

  She pulled in to the side of the lane and got out, and smelled the sea on a breeze that came over the dark fields. Sam Stewart came off his radio.

  ‘Jo’ll be five minutes,’ he said.

  Anna looked along the road in both directions, at the fairy-tale cottages with their glowing lamps nestling under the trees. Other than the lights there was no sign of life.

  ‘Have you been here all evening?’ she asked the officer.

  ‘Since before six, aye. I was here just before Jo.’

  ‘I hope you’ve eaten.’

  ‘We got fish suppers brought in from Tarbert.’

  ‘Pleased to hear it. And you’re on till midnight, are you?’

  ‘Aye, that’s right.’

  Anna checked the time on her phone.

  ‘DC McLean’s got officers on their way from Oban and Campbeltown to take over,’ he said. ‘They should be here by eleven or just after. Plenty of time for a decent handover.’