Anna asked, ‘How well did you know Ellen, Bill?’

  He pushed out his bottom lip. ‘As well as anyone round here. Well enough.’

  ‘Did she come in the pub?’

  A very brief pause. ‘She used to.’

  ‘Did you like her?’

  That earned her a glare. ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘She was a troublemaker. In everyone’s business.’

  ‘In your business? In your and Morag’s business?’

  The glare became a scowl. ‘If you know about it, why the need to ask?’

  ‘She complained about lock-ins, I believe?’

  ‘Aye, she did.’ He went on, defensively, ‘It was a private party, once, just over a year ago – for Morag’s pal’s sixtieth. All right, so things got loud. Women that age, they like to let loose. Someone put music on loud. Not sure how Ellen heard it, though. Nearly half a mile from here – the other end of the village. But she made a fuss, all right. Well,’ he murmured bitterly, ‘I hope it made her feel better.’

  Anna absorbed the story, then asked, ‘Do you think she was behind the mischief that’s been going on round here?’

  His eyes widened, only for a moment, then he got himself under control again. ‘I don’t know who was behind all that.’

  ‘Do you think she poisoned Yorick?’

  ‘Not really. Ellen wouldn’t have lowered herself. High and mighty, always muttering on about theories. Saw herself as some sort of higher authority, if you ask me.’

  ‘What sort of “theories”?’

  He huffed. ‘Just the kind of thing she liked to say. Tapping the side of her nose and saying there was stuff going on round here, right under our noses, and she knew all about it – that kind of thing.’

  ‘Stuff?’ Anna asked.

  ‘Making it all up, most likely.’ He got up from the table, clearly done with them and the conversation. ‘You’ll be wanting to get on, I expect.’

  As it happened, that was exactly what Anna wanted. If it hadn’t been, she’d have stayed put, whether he liked it or not.

  She nodded to Jo.

  ‘Thank you for your time,’ she said, and let him show them the way out.

  Sam Stewart was waiting for them in his own car outside the village hall when they returned. He got out and they saw he was in civvies.

  ‘Notes,’ he said, holding out photocopied sheets. ‘My handwritten ones, plus a few emails from people saying stuff had happened.’

  ‘Thanks, Sam,’ Jo said, taking it.

  ‘Any word?’ he asked now. He seemed oddly nervous.

  ‘Not yet,’ she said.

  His eyes were on the village hall. ‘You using this place?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  He nodded. ‘Okay if we go in for a wee minute?’

  ‘Sure,’ Jo said and led the way.

  Inside he took a deep breath.

  ‘What is it, Sam?’ Anna asked. They were all still standing.

  ‘Word’s got out,’ he said. ‘Local rumour mill, you know?’

  ‘Oh, and?’ Anna prompted.

  ‘The wife’s sister was on to her first thing this morning. She works in the Creeler’s – you know, the bar in town? Seems to be commonly accepted Old Wullie Cameron’s responsible for what happened yesterday and that Glen and his missus are covering it up.’

  Anna and Jo exchanged glances. Jo’s amazed expression told Anna she wasn’t privy to this rumour mill.

  ‘Glen’s lying about being at home all afternoon. He went to Tarbert,’ Sam went on pointedly. ‘He was at MacGibbon’s, the hardware place up the back, picking up an order around three, and what’s more, Tess was with him. Tom saw her out in the car. Glen called Tom MacGibbon later to ask him not to tell anyone he’d been in – that Tom should say he hadn’t seen Glen since Tuesday when he’d been in to place the order.’

  ‘Wow,’ Jo said. She looked at Anna. ‘We’ll put it to Glen.’

  Sam smiled, pleased with himself. ‘I’ll get in touch with that lady, too, Mrs Moncrieff. I’ll let you know if I get anything out of her.’

  ‘Thanks, Sam,’ Anna said.

  ‘And anything else, just shout.’

  ‘We will.’

  He left them. Anna checked the time on her phone. It was 8.15 a.m.

  ‘I’ll call Corporate Comms now,’ she said, ‘and get a topline statement put out through the usual channels. Then I think we can pay a visit to the Camerons’ farm.’

  8

  ‘That’s right,’ Glen Cameron said firmly, though his eyes and flaring nostrils betrayed his nerves. ‘We were here the whole afternoon, weren’t we, Tessie?’

  ‘That’s right,’ Tess Cameron agreed.

  They were in the big, old-fashioned but comfortable kitchen at the Camerons’ farm, Anna and Jo at the table opposite Glen, while his wife Tess chopped vegetables at a counter, a big pot beside her. From time to time she ceased chopping and lifted the board to sweep the vegetables into the pot with the wide-bladed knife she was using. Glen was a wiry man, with small eyes and sharp features. Tess was short and drab. They were in their late forties, Anna reckoned. No children, so Jo had heard from Sam.

  Dennis, their black lurcher, had finally calmed down and lay obediently but alert on a cushion before an Aga.

  ‘Here the whole time,’ Tess added, as if they’d asked for more detail, ‘from at least midday till Bill came along, whenever that was.’

  Neither Anna nor Jo said anything. They’d agreed this as a tactic – and it worked.

  ‘Yep,’ Glen said, sounding uncomfortable now, ‘never left the house. Neither of us.’ He sat up and folded his arms, as if that was his last word on the matter.

  At the counter, Tess continued chopping vegetables.

  Anna gave Jo a nod.

  ‘Except it isn’t true, is it, Glen?’ Jo asked, taking her cue.

  They watched as Glen’s eyes widened and he struggled to contain his panic.

  Anna peered round at Tess, who was still bent over her board but had stopped chopping, her shoulders up and tense.

  ‘You went to MacGibbon’s Hardware around three-ish. Later, you asked Tom to say you hadn’t been there.’

  Glen glowered. ‘Tom tell you, did he?’ he demanded.

  Jo didn’t answer.

  Anna asked, including Tess in the question, ‘Did you go together?’

  She looked at Tess, whose slumped shoulders gave a sudden heave. She let out a loud sob.

  ‘Aye, we went together,’ Glen said glumly. ‘Tess stayed in the truck.’ He raised his voice and asked, ‘Happy now?’

  ‘Not really, Mr Cameron,’ Anna said. ‘You’ve lied during a police inquiry.’

  He looked down and sagged. At the counter, Tess was sobbing away.

  ‘Mrs Cameron, perhaps you’d join us over here?’ Anna said.

  Tess came over, hanging her head so her lank brown curls fell over her face, a hand to her mouth. She slid into a chair beside her husband.

  ‘It wasn’t Dad,’ Glen said quietly, eyes on his fists sitting tense on the table before him. ‘He’s ill. You saw him yourself,’ he snarled at Jo.

  Jo nodded.

  ‘Dr MacCorkindale’s coming out to see him this morning,’ Tess said quietly, a little moodily too. ‘He knows just how poorly Dad is.’

  ‘We’ll want to talk to the doctor,’ Anna said to Glen. ‘You might need to give permission on your father’s behalf.’

  ‘Fine,’ Glen grunted.

  Anna took a breath. ‘Meantime, I would like to meet your dad for myself,’ she said, stalling him with a hand when he prepared to speak. ‘It could help him – and you – at a later date.’

  He shut his mouth, but his nostrils flared with ill-contained anger. After a moment he said, ‘Tessie, you take them.’

  Tess nodded meekly and got up.

  ‘This way,’ Tess said, and slipped out of her chair.

  ‘You stay here,’ Anna whispered to Jo, who nodded in response.

  Tess led the way into the hallway, then turned right. They passed doorways to cluttered rooms, then climbed a staircase that turned in the middle. Everything in the farmhouse was old and faded, and there was a fusty smell. Old framed photos hung askew on the walls and books with split spines were jammed in dusty bookcases along the landing.

  Tess led the way towards the back of the house. A window gave a view over fields to Slipway Cottage and the choppy grey sea beyond.

  ‘This is Dad’s room,’ Tess said quietly. She was at the end of the corridor. She paused to pick up a plastic bag bearing a green cross logo that sat by the door. She peered briefly inside it then reached for the door handle. ‘Let me go first, just to check he’s awake.’

  Anna hung back as Tess opened the door and stepped through the crack into the darkened room beyond. She left the door ajar and Anna heard Tess’s soft murmuring from within. A few moments later the door opened wider and Tess put her head out. ‘He’s awake,’ she said quietly.

  Anna took a deep breath, always wary of a sick-room fug, and stepped through the door.

  The room was in shadow, but she could make out mess, heaps of clothes and furniture. And there against one wall was a giant bed that looked to be made of carved wood. The mattress was high off the floor, and a figure was bundled up under sheets and blankets.

  ‘Dad, this is a police lady,’ Tess said loudly. ‘Just here to say hello.’ She went to a window and opened the curtains. Anna had a view across the fields to the sea.

  The man in the bed gave a sort of grunting whimper. Words formed but Anna didn’t catch them.

  ‘Nothing to worry about,’ Tess assured him.

  The old man made a series of fretful noises and seemed to be trying to sit up in bed.

  ‘No, no, don’t get up,’ Tess said.

  Anna said quickly, ‘I just wanted to say hello, Mr Cameron. You stay where you are.’

  ‘Call him Wullie,’ Tess said. She was taking medicine boxes out of the plastic bag and lining them up on a dresser. ‘Everyone does, and he’d like that.’ She spoke again to her father-in-law. ‘See, Dad? She just wanted to pop her head round.’

  He seemed to relax. The whimpering stopped.

  Anna took a step closer to the bed. She took a shallow breath and tasted sour air. She glanced towards the window and wished Tess would think to open it.

  ‘I’m sorry you’re not feeling well, Wullie.’

  Her eyes were accustomed to the dark now. She could make out the old man in his bed, his narrow face, skin stretched over bones like promontories. A thin arm came from under the blanket, reaching for something.

  ‘It’s okay, Dad,’ Tess said soothingly. She looked at Anna. ‘I think that’s enough for now.’

  Anna itched to ask a question or two, even just to name Ellen McIver and gauge the reaction, but she knew that would spook Tess and anger Glen when he heard about it. Best to wait to talk to Dr MacCorkindale and see what he deemed might be possible in the way of an interview.

  She nodded to Tess.

  ‘We’ll leave you now, Dad,’ Tess said, more brightly.

  Anna went first from the room and took a deep welcome breath out on the landing. Tess came after.

  ‘He’s declining fast,’ she said quietly when the door to the bedroom was closed. ‘I don’t think it’ll be long. The doctor agrees.’ She chewed her lip for a moment. ‘Thing is, Glen doesn’t see it. He loves his dad.’ She gave a sad smile.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Anna said.

  ‘Shall we go back down?’

  ‘Satisfied?’ Glen demanded when Anna came back into the kitchen. He was on his feet and looked ready for a fight. The dog was up, galvanised by his owner’s agitation. ‘How’s he seem, Tess?’

  ‘He was sleepy,’ his wife said, and went to him, half-embracing him as she returned to the counter and her vegetables. ‘His medicines were outside the bedroom,’ she told Glen. ‘I put them out on the dresser.’

  ‘Why don’t we all sit down again?’ Anna asked.

  Tess nodded, seeming disappointed as she put down her knife. They returned to their seats.

  ‘Dad’d never do this, even if he was fit and able,’ Glen grumbled. ‘He’d never do something like that, not to anyone. I’m telling you.’

  ‘You saw what had been done to her, then?’ Jo asked, picking up on the implication. ‘When did you go down there, Glen?’

  ‘After Bill left,’ he said defensively. ‘Once we’d called you lot. I had every right! It was my tractor, so Bill said.’

  ‘How close did you get to the body?’ Anna asked.

  ‘I didn’t go near. I didn’t want to.’

  ‘And the tractor?’

  He glared at her, breathing shallowly. Of course he’d have gone to the tractor. And he could only have reached it by walking close to the body. She waited for his answer.

  ‘All right,’ he said. ‘I wanted to see if the key was in the ignition.’

  ‘Was it?’ she asked, knowing the answer.

  He nodded.

  ‘But I didn’t touch it. I didn’t touch anything. I came away quick enough.’

  ‘It was definitely your tractor, then?’ Anna asked.

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Which you keep here on the farm?’

  He nodded. ‘Though, like I told Jo yesterday, other folk use it from time to time. It’s an arrangement.’

  ‘You were going to write the names down for me,’ Jo reminded him.

  Glen Cameron gave an unhappy grunt and looked sideways at his wife. ‘Tess made a list. Get it, will you, Tessie?’

  She nodded and rose silently, disappearing from the kitchen. They heard a door open and close elsewhere in the rambling house, then Tess’s footsteps returned along the stone-flagged hallway.

  She resumed her seat and pushed a ragged-edged notebook across the table to them.

  Anna and Jo read the names together:

  Bill Robertson

  Scott McKellar

  Tom MacGibbon

  Reggie McKay – died a year ago

  ‘Scott McKellar, the boatman, and Tom MacGibbon who has the hardware place?’ Anna asked.

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘How does anyone go about borrowing the tractor?’

  ‘They phone up,’ Glen said. ‘It’s not usually a problem.’

  ‘So no one ever helps themselves?’

  He pushed out his bottom lip and frowned. ‘Scott took it a couple of times and texted me after to let me know. He had to drag his boat out of the loch to do repairs on it.’

  ‘When was this?’

  Glen shook his head as he brought the information to mind. ‘Last year, I reckon. Before Christmas, anyway. Me and the wife were in Glasgow, and he couldn’t get hold of us, so he helped himself. I didn’t mind.’

  ‘So when someone comes to take the tractor, where do they get the key from?’

  ‘It’s on a hook just inside the side door to the old barn,’ he said. ‘Door’s never locked. People know to put the key back where they found it. I ask them to leave a tenner or so for fuel. There’s a jar just inside. Bill brought me whisky too last time. Not that we drink it, do we?’

  His wife shook her head glumly.

  ‘So where do you keep the tractor? Is it always in the same place?’

  ‘Down the side of the old barn,’ he said. ‘Other side of the yard.’ He nodded towards the window, though it was high up and from here they could see nothing from it but sky.

  ‘What time did you leave for MacGibbon’s Hardware?’

  ‘Half two, I reckon.’ He glanced at his wife who nodded in miserable agreement.

  ‘Where was your dad then, Glen?’

  ‘In bed,’ he said, adding with a snarl, ‘like I said. It’s okay to leave him for an hour or two. The doctor said so.’

  ‘And was the tractor in place when you left?’

  ‘Hard to say. You don’t pass the barn as you drive out of the yard, you see. We talked about it after we found out, didn’t we, Tessie?’

  His wife nodded.

  ‘Show us where the tractor is usually parked,’ Anna said.

  ‘If you like.’ He got up quickly, making his chair screech on the stone floor.

  ‘Want me to come, Glen?’ Tess asked him meekly.

  ‘Please,’ Anna answered for him.

  Glen led the way out into the yard and the bright morning. The farm was a couple of fields inland from the shore, but the sea tang was strong in the air, blown in on a breeze that made foam on the water. They were a few metres above sea level here, with a view out west to the islands, and east across fields to the lane where Ellen McIver still lay.

  She checked her phone and saw it was 9.34 a.m. No message from Nick, but then she saw she had no signal. She wondered if he’d spoken to Melinda yet. Please, God, let it all go to plan…

  ‘Our truck’s parked where it always is,’ Glen said, pointing at a Ford pickup a few paces from the farmhouse’s front door. ‘Tractor’s kept round here.’ And he strode off across the yard, making for a cluster of outbuildings: what looked like a fallen-down stable block and a barn missing half its roof.

  They hurried to keep up, then Glen stopped at the corner of the barn and pointed to a patch of scrubby ground. ‘That’s where she goes.’ There were countless wide tyre marks in the mud.

  Anna looked around, then turned back towards the house. Yes, this was a blind spot, and not just from the house but from the driveway too.

  ‘You see?’ Glen said, rounding on them, chin out and shoulders square. ‘We’d only see it if we looked behind us as we were driving away up the lane.’ He waved vaguely across the fields in the direction of the village.

  ‘You’d have had a good view on your way back, though,’ Anna said, and watched him, hawk-like, for an answer.

  He stared at her, opened his mouth then closed it again, hopefully seeing her point.

  ‘You said you left here at two-thirty for the hardware place,’ Anna said. ‘You were there around three. Did you come straight back?’

  ‘Reckon so,’ Glen mumbled, eyes on his wife, who assented with a small nod. ‘About three forty-five, it was.’