‘What could you see? Try to remember.’

  ‘Nothing, really. The carpet, the fireplace, the armchair, a pile of books, that old television set. But then she shut the door. Seconds after that she’d got rid of us.’ She shrugged. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be,’ Anna said. ‘We’ll ask Carol Baillie too. You said, “a pile of books”. Where were they?’

  ‘On the table by her armchair. Library books, by the look of them. Hardbacks with shiny wrappers.’

  ‘How many were there?’

  Morag shook her head. ‘Oh, now you’re asking. Three, four. Maybe more than that.’

  ‘I see,’ Anna said, considering. ‘Thank you, Morag. That’s very helpful.’

  ‘There’s lots more I could tell you about Ellen McIver, if it would help.’ She was eyeing Jo meaningfully. ‘Lot of strange stuff been going on round here. Including to my cat.’

  ‘And we’d like to hear more about that,’ Anna said, ‘but perhaps later. We need to see another couple of people first.’

  ‘I understand. My Bill being one, I expect, seeing as he found her. But make sure you grab him early. He was all for heading to Glasgow today. I said to him, you’re not going anywhere, not until the police have finished with you. Our daughter Ivy will be around the place too, if you want a word with her, though I can’t think what she might have noticed, teenagers being teenagers, eh? Go to the main door of the pub and ring the bell. He’ll come down and let you in. Jo’s got his number in case he’s popped out. As I say, I told him not to go far.’

  A bell tinkled from inside the store. ‘Oh, customer!’ she sang. ‘Do excuse me.’

  And she was up and out of the room in an instant, pulling the door shut behind her. Anna heard her through the wall, bidding someone a hearty greeting.

  Anna said to Jo, ‘There was only one library book there last night, I’m sure of it. I didn’t see any other books in the house. Did you?’

  ‘I don’t remember. Maybe she returned them to the library later that morning? Oh, but she didn’t have her car, did she?’

  ‘Exactly. So where are those books? Why were they removed?’ The clock on the wall caught her eye and she nodded to it. ‘Ten to,’ she said. ‘The next shift’ll be here soon. Let’s go see them together. We can take these rolls with us.’

  Heading outside she saw Nick had messaged:

  Heading out for a run. Mum not up yet.

  She replied quickly:

  Good luck. Talk later x

  The handover went smoothly. Anna let Jo do the talking while she took the opportunity to study the crime scene in daylight, getting a sense of the location, the fields on all sides, and the loch and the sea.

  Back at the village hall she and Jo outlined a plan. Jo made notes and by seven-thirty she’d filled four pages with ideas for possible leads, and they’d begun to prioritise them.

  ‘Read it to me,’ Anna said, returning to the table to sit and concentrate.

  ‘We’ll start with Bill Robertson, who found the body,’ Jo said. ‘Then to the Camerons’ farm for a chat with Glen and his wife. We need the list of names from Glen too, people who’ve borrowed the tractor in the past. After that we’ll talk to Morag again. Get her take on the various acts of mischief and anything else she can tell us.’ She glanced at the clock. ‘That should take us to ten, ten-thirty, by which time Forensics should be here.’

  Jo had taken a call from her Forensics Services contact just after seven to say a team were about to leave Gartcosh, east of Glasgow, and hoped to reach Knapdale in three hours or so. Once they’d scoured the crime scene, including the tractor and Ellen’s cottage, they’d provide initial findings to Anna and Jo then head back to Gartcosh to carry out further tests. At that point Jo would also be able to have the body removed to Glasgow for a post-mortem, in the care of a private ambulance.

  ‘Can you ask Sam to bring us any records on the mischief?’ Anna asked. ‘I’m keen to see if there are patterns, or signs of any kind of personality behind them.’

  ‘No problem,’ Jo said. ‘Sam’s not on duty again till four, but he said he’d be available to help out with anything we need.’ She narrowed her eyes, as if a thought had occurred to her.

  ‘What is it?’ Anna asked.

  ‘Just that Sam’s great with old ladies,’ Jo said.

  ‘Oh?’ Anna frowned.

  ‘The lady you spoke to last night, Mrs Moncrieff – who Ellen had tried to call. Why don’t I ask him to call on her? See what he can get out of her.’

  ‘She didn’t seem to have a clue who Ellen McIver was,’ Anna said. ‘But it’s worth a try. That reminds me – we need to request records from the phone company for Ellen’s number, going back at least a couple of months.’

  ‘I’ll do that,’ Jo said, and made a note. She flipped back a couple of pages in her pad. ‘We said we’d get an appeal out early too. You’re going talk to Corporate Comms. And while you’re doing that, I’ll get on to Karen – my colleague at the police station in Lochgilphead – and ask her to keep trying to contact Ellen’s niece, then we can include Ellen’s name in the appeal.

  ‘After that,’ Jo went on, ‘we’ll go see Harriet Maxwell and her son Leo.’ This was the woman with curly hair and frightened eyes Anna had glimpsed driving the old Mini late last night, the one whose son Ellen had persecuted for his driving.

  ‘Then there are the other people Ellen was bothering,’ Jo said. ‘Scott McKellar, the boatman she accused of fly-tipping, and Dr MacCorkindale, who she threatened to report to the General Medical Council. That should take us to mid-afternoon. By then we might have got some leads from the public.’

  ‘That’s good, Jo,’ Anna said. ‘Let’s aim to take stock around 4 p.m.’

  She stopped and looked towards the connecting door. They’d been aware of voices in the shop, and of the bell sounding now and then. Now there was a new, clearer voice: a man’s, demanding something. Anna heard the words, ‘No, I think it is really most important,’ in a brisk English accent.

  Morag answered, though indistinctly.

  The man’s voice came again: ‘Through here, are they?’

  There followed a sharp rat-a-tat at the door. Jo was up and had it open in a flash. The man on the other side gaped at her, his hand up, ready to knock again.

  ‘Can we help?’ Jo asked him smartly. Anna rose, ready.

  ‘Yes. You’re the detectives, aren’t you?’ he said. ‘I’m Johnny Clark, owner of Slipway Cottage, down by the water.’

  ‘Come in, Mr Clark,’ Anna said, smiling coolly.

  ‘I shall. I only came here for one night,’ he said, seeming to feel an explanation was in order. ‘I have an estate agent coming to value the place, though I might put him off while this business is going on.’

  Clark was tall and bald but for wisps of white hair and wore little square glasses that made him look cross. He wore an expensive blue wool jumper and raspberry corduroy trousers. His eyes moved over Anna while he spoke, taking in her tall, slim figure, lingering on her long, naturally blonde hair, then moving to her chest. Anna managed not to show her revulsion.

  ‘Have a seat, Mr Clark,’ she said.

  ‘Yes,’ he murmured, distracted. ‘I shall.’

  He pulled out a chair and slithered into it.

  ‘It’s my outhouse, you see,’ he said, once Anna had sat opposite him. ‘I have no idea if it’s connected with this business, but your colleague – the young chap who came knocking last night – told me to be on the lookout for anything strange. Said I should report it to you at once. Which is why I’m here.’ He pursed his lips, pleased.

  ‘And?’ Anna prompted.

  ‘As I said, I’m thinking of selling and I know the place is in need of some TLC – the boiler needs replacing, for one thing. Anyway, I needed to change a couple of lightbulbs this morning, so I went to get some from the outhouse where I keep them. I’m certain someone’s been in there.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I mean, it isn’t locked. The key’s in the door – just to keep it closed, really. Nothing of value in there.’

  ‘What is in there?’ Anna asked.

  ‘An old freezer. A toolbox, a drill, boxes of nails, screws, that sort of thing. Lightbulbs, erm, batteries, you know the sort of thing.’

  ‘What makes you think someone’s been in there, Mr Clark?’ Jo asked.

  ‘Because the box of bulbs had been moved, hadn’t it?’ he said, as if she was being deliberately dense. ‘I was up two weeks ago and changed a bulb then. I’m sure the box was on a lower shelf, but today it was up higher. Here, at head height.’ He showed them. ‘I was puzzled as I thought I’d been the last person in there. Then I noticed a shovel had been moved as well, propped not against the back wall but to one side.’ He sat up. ‘It’s significant, isn’t it?’

  ‘It could be,’ Anna said, not keen to indulge this pompous man. ‘Is anything missing, do you think?’

  ‘I don’t believe so, no.’ He screwed up his face in irritation at the question. ‘Well, I expect you’ll want to come and see it for yourselves,’ he said. ‘Take photographs, check for fingerprints – that sort of thing.’

  ‘We’ll pop along,’ Anna said.

  ‘You’ll “pop along…” When? Now?’

  ‘Later today, hopefully,’ Anna said. ‘We’ll add you to our list.’

  His expression soured.

  ‘I do have to get back to Glasgow at some point. I can’t wait around here all day. I’m a busy man!’

  Anna gave him a look. ‘Why don’t you go back there now,’ she suggested, ‘and we’ll be along when we can. Meantime, perhaps you’d lock the outhouse and hang on to the key.’

  He squirmed with displeasure.

  Anna got up. Jo did too, giving Clark no choice but to rise with them.

  ‘Thank you so much for coming to see us,’ Anna said, and gave him her brightest, most grateful smile.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Well…’

  And with that, Clark left.

  Anna rolled her eyes at Jo then checked the clock on the wall. ‘Let’s make our phone calls,’ she said, ‘then head over to the pub to talk to the finder of the body.’

  7

  Bill Robertson was a gloomy-looking man, heavy-set with dark features and thick black eyebrows. Not a bit like his jolly wife.

  ‘Mr Robertson?’ Anna said when he opened the door of the pub.

  ‘That’s right.’ He eyed Jo warily, as though she might refute the claim.

  Anna introduced herself. Upstairs, dogs were yapping.

  He stood back to let them enter the dark pub. It was cold and smelled unpleasantly of old beer and bleach. He closed the door after them, then grumbled, ‘We can talk down here or go upstairs to the flat. Only thing is, the dogs’ll be there. Up to you.’

  ‘I’m happy with dogs,’ Anna said, hoping for a more uplifting environment.

  ‘This way, then,’ he said, and led them down a passage beside the bar, then up a steep staircase and through a door at the top.

  They were met by two Jack Russell terriers, scrabbling to meet the visitors, grunting as they pushed wet noses into Anna’s hands. Then they turned their attentions to Jo, clawing at her trouser legs. Jo bent to fuss them.

  ‘What are their names?’ Anna asked.

  ‘Miley,’ Bill said, pointing at one. ‘And that one’s Kevin. Blame Morag for Kevin. We’ll go in the kitchen. Don’t want to disturb Ivy. She was up late waitressing at a wedding in Tarbert. She needs her sleep.’

  Anna followed Bill into the kitchen where a radio played. The dogs skittered after her. Light poured in through big windows.

  He turned off the radio. ‘Brew?’

  ‘We’ve just had one,’ Anna said, ‘but thanks. Have you always run pubs, Mr Robertson?’

  ‘No, and call me Bill. I was a builder for twenty years. We took this place on during the pandemic. Started doing B & B as well at the end of last year. Plumbing wasn’t very good, but we’ve had it all redone with money Morag got after her dad died last year.’

  ‘And are you making a go of it now?’

  ‘Depends how you measure success,’ he said gloomily. ‘We’re busy enough.’ Then he nodded to a round table and four chairs by the window. A black-and-white cat leapt down from one of the chairs and darted from the room.

  ‘Is that Yorick?’ Anna asked.

  ‘That’s him. “Poor Yorick”, though it’s more like “poor mice and birds and anything else he can get his claws on”.’

  ‘He made a full recovery then?’

  ‘He did.’ His eyes moved awkwardly about the room and Anna sensed his discomfort. He seemed to realise he ought to sit too and pulled out a chair. ‘So, er… this is about Ellen, I take it?’

  ‘That’s right,’ Jo said.

  ‘Found out who did it, have you? I told you everything I know yesterday, so you won’t want to go over that again.’

  ‘We do, as it happens, Bill,’ Anna said. ‘Tell us what happened.’

  He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

  ‘Tell us about your walk,’ Anna prompted. ‘When you set off, the way you went.’

  He nodded.

  ‘I set off just after four. Took the dogs the same way we always go – across the road and down the lane.’ His eyes went off into a corner of the room as he replayed the walk in his head. ‘Took a right, heading out towards the Camerons’ place. We always make for the small car park at the west end of the little beach. Then we go along the sand to the big beach and make our way through the lanes back to the village in a big circuit. Takes just over an hour – on a normal day.’

  ‘Unlike yesterday,’ Jo murmured.

  ‘Unlike yesterday, right.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘We got down past the track to the Camerons’ place and turned into the lane down to the beach. I hadn’t got ten yards before I realised something was wrong. I could see someone lying on the road, and the tractor angled over in the ditch. I called the dogs back and put them on their leads, then I made my way down there. I could tell pretty quickly it was a person lying there. I put two and two together right away and reckoned it must be Old Wullie. That he’d crashed the tractor and got out of it only to collapse. Then I saw the blood and the state of the body.’ He stopped and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.

  ‘Go on, Bill,’ Jo pressed gently.

  He cleared his throat. ‘I saw it wasn’t Wullie. It was a woman. Then I recognised her coat. I thought, “Jesus, it’s Ellen McIver.” I stood there, looking at what he’d done to her. I thought for a minute I was going to be sick. Her head… I looked along the lane and saw the tractor’s back wheel sticking up in the air. There was mess on it. I thought to myself, “He’s done this. The bloody old fool.” That was my first thought, you see? That it was Wullie Cameron who’d done this. I looked about but there was no sign of him. So I ran, dragging the dogs with me, back up the lane and into the track along to Glen’s farm. Didn’t know what I’d say when they opened the door. As it happens, I was out of breath by then. Took me a minute to recover. Tess Cameron thought I was having a heart attack. She led me through into their kitchen. My dogs were going mad over their lurcher. Glen came through and by then I’d got my voice back. “Ellen McIver’s lying dead in the lane,” I said, “and your tractor’s in the ditch. I reckon it’s been over her – more than once. You’ll need to ring an ambulance. Police too, I reckon.” Should have seen his face. Panic all over it. He runs out of the kitchen and Tess goes after him. I sit down at that big table of theirs.

  ‘Tess comes back and she’s got their portable phone and she’s dialling. “Ambulance and police, please,” she says and she gives them the details. A minute or two after she’s done, in comes Glen, all nervy and his eyes out on stalks. “Where’s your old dad, Glen?” I say to him – and he knows exactly what I’m meaning.’

  ‘What did he say?’ Jo asked.

  ‘Nothing at first. Then he said, “He’s in bed. He’s not well.” I said, “Is that right?” and he said, “Aye, that’s right. Eh, Tessie?” And Tess just nodded, but she didn’t look happy. Not one bit.’

  Bill Robertson looked long and hard at the two of them, signalling his scepticism.

  ‘I like Glen,’ he said, a little grudgingly, Anna thought. ‘Tess too. Salt of the earth, she is. But Glen worships that old man of his.’

  ‘Did you believe him?’ Anna asked.

  ‘I wanted to.’

  ‘Did you see Wullie for yourself?’ Jo asked.

  He shook his head. ‘They offered me tea but I said no, I had to get the dogs back, which wasn’t true. I wanted to get out of there, if I’m honest. I left them and walked back the way I’d come.’

  ‘Did you see or talk to anyone on your way?’ Jo asked.

  ‘Not a soul.’

  ‘And you came straight back here?’

  He nodded. ‘I told Morag. She was shocked. Horrified. A minute or two later we heard a car and went to the window. Sam Stewart – your colleague from Tarbert, Jo – he’d pulled up outside the pub. I went down to talk to him. He wanted me to take him to the exact spot, so I left Morag and the dogs and went with him down to the shore. The doctor arrived from Tarbert and then you came, Jo. The rest I reckon you know.’

  ‘Tell us what you were doing earlier in the afternoon, before your walk?’ Anna asked.

  He frowned at her for several seconds. Anna readied herself to justify the question, but then he put out his bottom lip and gave a little shrug.

  ‘I was in Lochgilphead, one-ish. Collecting stock for the shop, plus crisps and soft drinks for this place. There’s a distribution point there. I’m there a couple of times a week usually, including Thursdays, ready for the weekend, see? Got back here, I don’t know, sometime after two.’ He frowned again. ‘No, it was just before two. I put the news on in the car but that Jeremy Vine was yapping on, so I turned it off.’ He bared his teeth. ‘Can’t stand him.’

  ‘And after you got home?’

  ‘I unloaded the stuff, sorted some of it. Then I went for a lie down. Slept on the sofa through there.’ He nodded to the wall. ‘Morag came in from the shop and woke me up just before four. “Go and take the dogs down to the beach,” she said. So I did. I set off just after four.’