Old Sins, page 22
‘Oh, poor things. How are they?’
‘Not good – she’s in a state of collapse, both blaming Aunt Flora.’
‘Mmm. Fair enough, in that if the brother had inherited it wouldn’t have happened.’
‘William Maitland believes Flora was a thoroughly bad influence, taking Danni to the unsuitable places teenagers think are cool and encouraging her to rebel. More than that – who knows? Does it look as if there’s anything she’d actually got Danni involved in?’
French looked awkward. ‘I suppose we should be looking into it. I’m not sure where to begin, though.’
Strang was taken aback. She’d known the Maitland story from the start; surely it was an obvious line of enquiry, along with all the others? He brought coffee and biscuits and sat down. ‘Well, background checks I suppose – who were her friends, where did she work, her phone records…’
‘And I can just ask Glasgow to do that?’
‘Yes, of course. Ask for whatever resources you need, and you’ll have priority to get them. You could run police checks on the locals too. Bob Erskine can fix that.’
‘You did tell me that. It’s just…’ She took a sip of coffee, then burst out, ‘Oh, I’d so hoped it would be straightforward. Danni’s row with Joe Dundas, the way it looked at the cottage – them just having a drink, him losing his temper – I thought we’d only have to lean on him and he’d confess.’
‘More than one reason for having a drink,’ Strang said. ‘And easy to stage that scenario afterwards.’
‘I didn’t think it through. Didn’t want to, I suppose. It opens up so much, I just feel lost. And, well, I don’t think the DCS is very impressed.’
Strang’s heart sank. Recommending her didn’t seem to have been his smartest move and JB had very exacting standards. She must have been sharp with French; she was blinking away tears.
‘What did you say?’
‘It looks as if Sinclair couldn’t have killed Danni, but I could tell her he probably had blown up the car.’
‘Really? Any proof?’
‘She said that. But there isn’t, as yet, and she said “probably” wasn’t good enough and wanted an action plan. Livvy’s only starting one now, so I just said we’d be searching the property. Then she asked about progress on the homicide and I had to say “not much”. Didn’t go down well.’
It wouldn’t. Strang could almost hear JB’s exasperation at second-hand. ‘So … ?’
‘Then she asked how Murray was doing and I said very well, really. She’s got good ideas, Kelso, and she gets more out of people at interviews than I do.’
‘That’s her job as a DC, of course.’
‘Yes, and I wasn’t a DC very long – got my sergeant’s stripes very quickly. And since then, I’ve been behind a desk, analysing reports and actioning further investigations.’
‘This is a very different ballgame, isn’t it?’
‘You could say. She suggested I talked to you and brought Livvy for a brain-storming session but I wanted your advice first. I should be directing her but she’s taking the lead. Oh, it’s my fault, probably, but … What should I do?’
He could hardly say ‘Do what the lady says, for heaven’s sake!’ He said instead, ‘Good idea, probably – throwing ideas around, planning strategy …’
‘That would be brilliant! We’ve been getting on OK, except she’s always ready to bristle.’
And if she discovered French had ignored JB’s suggestion, she’d bristle even more. Oh dear.
‘We’ll try to smooth things over. Now, tomorrow I’m seeing Flora’s lawyer. William’s consented to let me have the personal papers that he still holds. I’ve no idea what they might be – probably just marriage licence and income tax records, but you never know. I’d like to have it tidy to hand over to the Met, but that should be finished in the next twenty-four hours and then I can’t hang round enjoying a little holiday at the taxpayers’ expense.’
She looked alarmed at that, but she thanked him for his help, apologising for eating all his biscuits, and when she left seemed to be more confident about what to do. As he cleared up, Strang thought about the evening.
He liked Rachel, and he was feeling guilty that he’d jumped at what looked like an easy solution to the problem his Sinclair connection had created. She’d built up a good reputation in post, but even then he’d sensed a lack of underlying confidence and now he’d put her in a position that could damage it more.
And the investigation seemed to be rudderless; JB was worried and he’d be surprised if he didn’t get a call tomorrow asking what could be done. But pulling French out would put another big dent in her self-esteem, and there was no guarantee that whoever came instead wouldn’t find it equally hard to adopt a maverick approach.
On the other hand … What she’d said about Ranald hadn’t surprised him, and if he couldn’t have killed the girl but had blown up the car, it could be a game-changer. If Ranald was no longer under suspicion, there would be no real problem about his discreetly taking over. JB would be happy, Livvy would be happy and he didn’t think Rachel would object in any way.
DC Livvy Murray finished her report and the timeline plotting the movements of the people interviewed. PS Bob Erskine had given her the info from door-to-door, but she couldn’t see anything useful. No one here spent much time just walking around – if they’d shopping to do, they’d go to Lochinver. Maybe they could get a photo of Danni and pass it round there?
But that was for tomorrow. Now, she wanted to talk to Angus Mackenzie. He might be down the pub but when Murray stepped outside she could see lights on in his house, so he was probably at home. She glanced over at the community hall, but it was shut up with no cars parked outside. If DI French had come back from her little tête-à-tête with Strang, she hadn’t returned to work.
It was dark, but very cold and clear. The sky was thick with stars and the moon was almost full so that even beyond the light spilling out around the pods and the pub it was easy to see where you were going. She’d planned to walk up to the main road and then along it to the house, but then she saw there was a path across the rough ground that was more direct – probably well-worn by years of Angus Mackenzie going to the shop and the pub.
Murray set off up it, disturbing a sleeping sheep that jumped up with an indignant baa and ran off. She wasn’t sure when she reached the house if she should go round to the front, but there was an outside light burning over a door to the back and she decided to try there.
Angus Mackenzie looked an enquiry as he opened the door, but before she could show her card, he said, ‘Ah! You’re one of the detectives. I saw you this morning.’
‘Yes, that’s right. DC Livvy Murray.’
‘And what can I do for you? Come in, anyway.’
He was in his seventies, Murray guessed, but he was lean and wiry, with a shock of fluffy white hair, and he was fit-looking. Healthy life, farming.
The door opened straight on to the kitchen, a fairly basic room with old and shabby fittings. An unwashed pan, a plate, a glass and a knife and fork stood on the wooden draining board beside the chipped porcelain sink.
‘Come ben the front room,’ he said. ‘I’ve a fire on there. It’s a chilly night – there’ll be a hard frost by the morning. Sit yourself down.’
It was a room that looked as if it had happened, rather than been designed, with unmatched chairs and a sofa. A collie on the hearthrug raised its head to look at her, decided no action was required and dropped it again with a sigh. The recliner chair nearest the fire was extended and the TV was on; he’d been watching a football game, but he switched it off and returned the chair to its upright position as he sat down.
‘Oh, please don’t let me interrupt your match,’ Murray said hastily. ‘It’s not an official visit.’
‘Och, I don’t mind!’ he said. ‘The wrong side was winning anyway. Fire away!’
‘If it’s really all right, I just wanted to pick your brains about Inverbeg and the people here – background stuff, you know? It would be helpful from our point of view to know a bit more about it.’
He settled back into his chair. ‘You’ve certainly come to the right place. I was born here, and though I did have a career that took me away, I came right back whenever they paid me to retire. It hadn’t changed much and that’s suited me fine. You get good craic in the pub and the sheep keep me busy. If I need anything there’s a dozen people I could ask for help – and they’d probably have offered before I did. What’s happened – it’s hard to believe it, really. It all went wrong from the time Flora Maitland died.’
Murray nodded sympathetically. She knew from Strang’s notes what the situation was there, but she didn’t want to go over it. ‘Tell me about the Sinclairs,’ she said. ‘Did they start up the fish farm?’
‘No, they bought it as a more or less going concern from the previous owners – well, pretty much a barely hanging-on concern, but Ranald’s done a good job sorting it out. Very able fellow – runs a tight ship. Not universally popular, but he’s giving employment and that counts. And Hattie, of course – well, that’s a good girl. Involved in everything locally and always a smile for everyone. Not sure he appreciates her as much as he should.’
Murray realised, with joy, that he liked to gossip. ‘Really?’ she said. ‘Is that what they say?’
‘He always makes a bit too much of a beeline for Maia Reynolds – you know, Auchinglass House? – and there’s talk. She’s the slinky type – makes all the right noises, sweet as you like, but you never know what she’s thinking. Hattie’s worth two of her, if you ask me.’
‘I’ve met Sean,’ she said. ‘What sort of reputation does he have?’
‘Oh, fancies himself as a bit of a rough diamond. People are kind of careful what they say – he’s a big employer round here. He’s made himself unpopular with the crofting community with this nonsense about the wolves.’
‘Is it really true? Ben Linton said it was just a silly rumour.’
Mackenzie snorted. ‘It’s no rumour. There was one attacking one of my own sheep and I had to scare it off – and I’m not the only one that’s had to do that. But all Reynolds says is it’s just someone’s dog out of control. Oh, there’s going to be trouble and claims before very long, but money’s no object, anyway.’
She’d wondered about that earlier. ‘Where has it come from?’
‘Ah, now that I don’t know. They came here while I was still living in Edinburgh, not long before I retired. The story is he sold an Internet company for millions, but I couldn’t vouch for that. And of course they’ve got on this rewilding bandwagon and the government’s always giving them wee presents with our money. Nice little business too, with the volunteers paying for the privilege of working as farm labourers – oh, they’re not daft.’
‘Who owned it before?’
An expression she couldn’t read passed over Mackenzie’s face. ‘I can tell you who owned it when I was young – a man called Reith. An evil lot, that family. But the son was killed and shortly afterwards I heard the parents had divorced, so I can’t tell you what happened then. I’d the impression it was an absentee landlord before the Reynolds came, but you’d have to ask around.’
She got the idea somehow that he didn’t like talking about it and said quickly, ‘And who else is there that I should know about?’
‘Hard to say, really. We’re a douce lot, mostly, just getting on with life and minding our own business. Kasper and Zofia, at the pub – now, they’ve made a name for themselves around here. Work all the hours God made, put some heart into Inverbeg again. Mind you,’ he gave a sigh, ‘it’ll be quieter now with Danni gone, poor wee soul. There was hardly a night she was there that she didn’t cause some sort of fuss and some of the folk who just liked a quiet drink actually stopped coming. Kasper will have an easier time now.’
Murray tried not to show that her ears had pricked up but Mackenzie noticed. Looking annoyed with himself, he said, ‘Now I wouldn’t want you to make anything of what I said. Kasper’s a good man. And I’m maybe starting to talk out of turn. Was there anything else you wanted?’
Murray took the hint and got up. ‘No, that’s all. You’ve been a great help, Mr Mackenzie. It’s difficult when you come into a place like this without knowing anything about it. I’ll let you get back to the football – maybe your side’s doing a bit better now.’
‘They’ll need to! Glad if I’ve been useful. Er … I don’t suppose you can tell me how it’s going?’
‘I don’t know myself,’ she said. ‘We’re just at the beginning.’
As she set off back down the path it was Kasper she was thinking about. You could have a row with someone who was making your life more difficult, day in day out, lose your temper—Suddenly there were sheep jumping up round about her, running with agitated bleats. Startled, she looked around and realised there was one, not very far from her, that wasn’t running. It was lying on its side with a bloody wound showing up on the white fleece and there was a dog, tearing at it. Long legs, a great ruff, sharply pricked ears, fur showing silvery under the moonlight—Murray froze. Surely not – but could it really be a wolf? And now it had noticed her and was lifting its head.
Not a dog. There was was no doubt about it now. This was the creature of the darker fairy tales and the hairs rose at the back of her neck in atavistic fear. She was ready to run – but would that only tempt it to chase her? And there was the poor sheep, so pitiful in its silent agony …
She had to do something to drive it off. They were timid, afraid of people, she’d been told, and Angus Mackenzie had done it. She began yelling, waving her arms, making as if to come towards it.
That stopped the attack, but it didn’t run. Showing no sign at all of timidity it turned towards her, baring its teeth with a snarl.
She wasn’t afraid. This was way, way, beyond fear – she was terrified, panic-stricken, sweat coming out on her brow as adrenalin coursed through her, with its message of fight or flight – futile, when she could do neither.
It had moved away from the sheep, and begun a wide, circling approach. She could smell it now, a rank, feral smell, see the red gums, the row of pointed teeth. She was screaming now, but that made no difference. It moved steadily closer, closer. It would leap into an attack at any moment and there was nothing she could do. Except die.
Then she heard the frantic barking of a dog and for a moment the wolf paused, looking round to assess the new threat, then dismissed it. It was coming again—
A shot rang out. With a howl, the animal leapt in a sort of convulsion then collapsed to the ground in a heap. A moment later Angus Mackenzie’s collie was at her side, dancing round her in circles barking furiously and Angus himself, holding a shotgun, was hurrying towards her.
‘Are you all right, lass?’ he called.
Murray was trembling so that she could hardly stand. ‘Thank you,’ she gasped. ‘It was going to attack me! I thought I could save your poor sheep …’
Mackenzie looked grimly at the victim. ‘I’ll need another shot for her too. You don’t need to see that. Away you go in and sit down before you fall down.’
She heard the other shot as she went inside, but didn’t turn, going instead to huddle by the sitting-room fire. When Mackenzie came in he was carrying two glasses.
‘Brandy,’ he said. ‘I think we both need it.’
Her teeth chattered against the edge of the glass. ‘That was just so horrible! It would have killed me. I thought they were meant to be afraid of people! And you’d managed to scare one off before …’
‘I had a big stick and a dog, and even then it was touch and go. Once they have a taste of meat, they’ll defend their prey. Still, that one’s had his last lamb and Sean Reynolds can’t spout his rubbish about me not knowing what a wolf looks like. He’s in big trouble now.’
He was picking up the phone as he spoke. ‘Police,’ he said.
The Sinclairs came back into the house. The drama was more or less over, a couple more police cars had arrived and people were drifting away from the gathering in the street now that everyone had claimed their turn to say they’d known there was a wolf there all along.
‘Well, that will fix the bastard,’ Ranald said with some satisfaction as he walked in behind Hattie, smiling. ‘It could even land him in jail, with luck.’
Hattie stopped dead, turning to look at him, and Ranald turned red. ‘Yeah, I suppose …’
‘I don’t think it’s funny that a beautiful creature has been needlessly killed and for some reason I’m feeling a bit sensitive over jokes about jail,’ she said stiffly. ‘What we need to do now is decide what we’re going to do about your own particular problem.’
Subdued, he followed her into the kitchen. ‘I’m going to make coffee. Want some?’
She shook her head wearily as she sat down at the table, absent-mindedly patting the dogs who were greeting her. ‘I’ve drunk so much coffee already that I won’t sleep for a week if I have any more. We’ve agreed we need to contact Kelso, right?’
Ranald gave a sigh that was almost a groan. ‘Yes, right. But I think it would be better if you called him. He was very short with me the last time we spoke, and he’ll be more sympathetic towards you. He’ll realise that it will affect you too and that you don’t deserve that, even if I do. It’s not just that I’m hiding behind your skirts.’
Hattie thought he was, in fact; Ran had never been into humiliating acknowledgements of his mistakes and if one had to be made it would be more comfortable at one remove. Even so, she didn’t trust him not to get stiff-necked about it and she would be more likely to strike a better tone – for what good that might do.
‘Oh, very well,’ she said, then, reluctantly, ‘Might as well be now, I suppose. I can say I’ve called to tell him about the wolf, and work round to it.’
‘He’s probably heard already, but you might as well.’ He sat down at the table and propped his head on his hands as Hattie made the call.
He hadn’t heard, in fact. There was no need for anyone to have informed him, and Strang was suitably astonished, and anxious.
‘Not good – she’s in a state of collapse, both blaming Aunt Flora.’
‘Mmm. Fair enough, in that if the brother had inherited it wouldn’t have happened.’
‘William Maitland believes Flora was a thoroughly bad influence, taking Danni to the unsuitable places teenagers think are cool and encouraging her to rebel. More than that – who knows? Does it look as if there’s anything she’d actually got Danni involved in?’
French looked awkward. ‘I suppose we should be looking into it. I’m not sure where to begin, though.’
Strang was taken aback. She’d known the Maitland story from the start; surely it was an obvious line of enquiry, along with all the others? He brought coffee and biscuits and sat down. ‘Well, background checks I suppose – who were her friends, where did she work, her phone records…’
‘And I can just ask Glasgow to do that?’
‘Yes, of course. Ask for whatever resources you need, and you’ll have priority to get them. You could run police checks on the locals too. Bob Erskine can fix that.’
‘You did tell me that. It’s just…’ She took a sip of coffee, then burst out, ‘Oh, I’d so hoped it would be straightforward. Danni’s row with Joe Dundas, the way it looked at the cottage – them just having a drink, him losing his temper – I thought we’d only have to lean on him and he’d confess.’
‘More than one reason for having a drink,’ Strang said. ‘And easy to stage that scenario afterwards.’
‘I didn’t think it through. Didn’t want to, I suppose. It opens up so much, I just feel lost. And, well, I don’t think the DCS is very impressed.’
Strang’s heart sank. Recommending her didn’t seem to have been his smartest move and JB had very exacting standards. She must have been sharp with French; she was blinking away tears.
‘What did you say?’
‘It looks as if Sinclair couldn’t have killed Danni, but I could tell her he probably had blown up the car.’
‘Really? Any proof?’
‘She said that. But there isn’t, as yet, and she said “probably” wasn’t good enough and wanted an action plan. Livvy’s only starting one now, so I just said we’d be searching the property. Then she asked about progress on the homicide and I had to say “not much”. Didn’t go down well.’
It wouldn’t. Strang could almost hear JB’s exasperation at second-hand. ‘So … ?’
‘Then she asked how Murray was doing and I said very well, really. She’s got good ideas, Kelso, and she gets more out of people at interviews than I do.’
‘That’s her job as a DC, of course.’
‘Yes, and I wasn’t a DC very long – got my sergeant’s stripes very quickly. And since then, I’ve been behind a desk, analysing reports and actioning further investigations.’
‘This is a very different ballgame, isn’t it?’
‘You could say. She suggested I talked to you and brought Livvy for a brain-storming session but I wanted your advice first. I should be directing her but she’s taking the lead. Oh, it’s my fault, probably, but … What should I do?’
He could hardly say ‘Do what the lady says, for heaven’s sake!’ He said instead, ‘Good idea, probably – throwing ideas around, planning strategy …’
‘That would be brilliant! We’ve been getting on OK, except she’s always ready to bristle.’
And if she discovered French had ignored JB’s suggestion, she’d bristle even more. Oh dear.
‘We’ll try to smooth things over. Now, tomorrow I’m seeing Flora’s lawyer. William’s consented to let me have the personal papers that he still holds. I’ve no idea what they might be – probably just marriage licence and income tax records, but you never know. I’d like to have it tidy to hand over to the Met, but that should be finished in the next twenty-four hours and then I can’t hang round enjoying a little holiday at the taxpayers’ expense.’
She looked alarmed at that, but she thanked him for his help, apologising for eating all his biscuits, and when she left seemed to be more confident about what to do. As he cleared up, Strang thought about the evening.
He liked Rachel, and he was feeling guilty that he’d jumped at what looked like an easy solution to the problem his Sinclair connection had created. She’d built up a good reputation in post, but even then he’d sensed a lack of underlying confidence and now he’d put her in a position that could damage it more.
And the investigation seemed to be rudderless; JB was worried and he’d be surprised if he didn’t get a call tomorrow asking what could be done. But pulling French out would put another big dent in her self-esteem, and there was no guarantee that whoever came instead wouldn’t find it equally hard to adopt a maverick approach.
On the other hand … What she’d said about Ranald hadn’t surprised him, and if he couldn’t have killed the girl but had blown up the car, it could be a game-changer. If Ranald was no longer under suspicion, there would be no real problem about his discreetly taking over. JB would be happy, Livvy would be happy and he didn’t think Rachel would object in any way.
DC Livvy Murray finished her report and the timeline plotting the movements of the people interviewed. PS Bob Erskine had given her the info from door-to-door, but she couldn’t see anything useful. No one here spent much time just walking around – if they’d shopping to do, they’d go to Lochinver. Maybe they could get a photo of Danni and pass it round there?
But that was for tomorrow. Now, she wanted to talk to Angus Mackenzie. He might be down the pub but when Murray stepped outside she could see lights on in his house, so he was probably at home. She glanced over at the community hall, but it was shut up with no cars parked outside. If DI French had come back from her little tête-à-tête with Strang, she hadn’t returned to work.
It was dark, but very cold and clear. The sky was thick with stars and the moon was almost full so that even beyond the light spilling out around the pods and the pub it was easy to see where you were going. She’d planned to walk up to the main road and then along it to the house, but then she saw there was a path across the rough ground that was more direct – probably well-worn by years of Angus Mackenzie going to the shop and the pub.
Murray set off up it, disturbing a sleeping sheep that jumped up with an indignant baa and ran off. She wasn’t sure when she reached the house if she should go round to the front, but there was an outside light burning over a door to the back and she decided to try there.
Angus Mackenzie looked an enquiry as he opened the door, but before she could show her card, he said, ‘Ah! You’re one of the detectives. I saw you this morning.’
‘Yes, that’s right. DC Livvy Murray.’
‘And what can I do for you? Come in, anyway.’
He was in his seventies, Murray guessed, but he was lean and wiry, with a shock of fluffy white hair, and he was fit-looking. Healthy life, farming.
The door opened straight on to the kitchen, a fairly basic room with old and shabby fittings. An unwashed pan, a plate, a glass and a knife and fork stood on the wooden draining board beside the chipped porcelain sink.
‘Come ben the front room,’ he said. ‘I’ve a fire on there. It’s a chilly night – there’ll be a hard frost by the morning. Sit yourself down.’
It was a room that looked as if it had happened, rather than been designed, with unmatched chairs and a sofa. A collie on the hearthrug raised its head to look at her, decided no action was required and dropped it again with a sigh. The recliner chair nearest the fire was extended and the TV was on; he’d been watching a football game, but he switched it off and returned the chair to its upright position as he sat down.
‘Oh, please don’t let me interrupt your match,’ Murray said hastily. ‘It’s not an official visit.’
‘Och, I don’t mind!’ he said. ‘The wrong side was winning anyway. Fire away!’
‘If it’s really all right, I just wanted to pick your brains about Inverbeg and the people here – background stuff, you know? It would be helpful from our point of view to know a bit more about it.’
He settled back into his chair. ‘You’ve certainly come to the right place. I was born here, and though I did have a career that took me away, I came right back whenever they paid me to retire. It hadn’t changed much and that’s suited me fine. You get good craic in the pub and the sheep keep me busy. If I need anything there’s a dozen people I could ask for help – and they’d probably have offered before I did. What’s happened – it’s hard to believe it, really. It all went wrong from the time Flora Maitland died.’
Murray nodded sympathetically. She knew from Strang’s notes what the situation was there, but she didn’t want to go over it. ‘Tell me about the Sinclairs,’ she said. ‘Did they start up the fish farm?’
‘No, they bought it as a more or less going concern from the previous owners – well, pretty much a barely hanging-on concern, but Ranald’s done a good job sorting it out. Very able fellow – runs a tight ship. Not universally popular, but he’s giving employment and that counts. And Hattie, of course – well, that’s a good girl. Involved in everything locally and always a smile for everyone. Not sure he appreciates her as much as he should.’
Murray realised, with joy, that he liked to gossip. ‘Really?’ she said. ‘Is that what they say?’
‘He always makes a bit too much of a beeline for Maia Reynolds – you know, Auchinglass House? – and there’s talk. She’s the slinky type – makes all the right noises, sweet as you like, but you never know what she’s thinking. Hattie’s worth two of her, if you ask me.’
‘I’ve met Sean,’ she said. ‘What sort of reputation does he have?’
‘Oh, fancies himself as a bit of a rough diamond. People are kind of careful what they say – he’s a big employer round here. He’s made himself unpopular with the crofting community with this nonsense about the wolves.’
‘Is it really true? Ben Linton said it was just a silly rumour.’
Mackenzie snorted. ‘It’s no rumour. There was one attacking one of my own sheep and I had to scare it off – and I’m not the only one that’s had to do that. But all Reynolds says is it’s just someone’s dog out of control. Oh, there’s going to be trouble and claims before very long, but money’s no object, anyway.’
She’d wondered about that earlier. ‘Where has it come from?’
‘Ah, now that I don’t know. They came here while I was still living in Edinburgh, not long before I retired. The story is he sold an Internet company for millions, but I couldn’t vouch for that. And of course they’ve got on this rewilding bandwagon and the government’s always giving them wee presents with our money. Nice little business too, with the volunteers paying for the privilege of working as farm labourers – oh, they’re not daft.’
‘Who owned it before?’
An expression she couldn’t read passed over Mackenzie’s face. ‘I can tell you who owned it when I was young – a man called Reith. An evil lot, that family. But the son was killed and shortly afterwards I heard the parents had divorced, so I can’t tell you what happened then. I’d the impression it was an absentee landlord before the Reynolds came, but you’d have to ask around.’
She got the idea somehow that he didn’t like talking about it and said quickly, ‘And who else is there that I should know about?’
‘Hard to say, really. We’re a douce lot, mostly, just getting on with life and minding our own business. Kasper and Zofia, at the pub – now, they’ve made a name for themselves around here. Work all the hours God made, put some heart into Inverbeg again. Mind you,’ he gave a sigh, ‘it’ll be quieter now with Danni gone, poor wee soul. There was hardly a night she was there that she didn’t cause some sort of fuss and some of the folk who just liked a quiet drink actually stopped coming. Kasper will have an easier time now.’
Murray tried not to show that her ears had pricked up but Mackenzie noticed. Looking annoyed with himself, he said, ‘Now I wouldn’t want you to make anything of what I said. Kasper’s a good man. And I’m maybe starting to talk out of turn. Was there anything else you wanted?’
Murray took the hint and got up. ‘No, that’s all. You’ve been a great help, Mr Mackenzie. It’s difficult when you come into a place like this without knowing anything about it. I’ll let you get back to the football – maybe your side’s doing a bit better now.’
‘They’ll need to! Glad if I’ve been useful. Er … I don’t suppose you can tell me how it’s going?’
‘I don’t know myself,’ she said. ‘We’re just at the beginning.’
As she set off back down the path it was Kasper she was thinking about. You could have a row with someone who was making your life more difficult, day in day out, lose your temper—Suddenly there were sheep jumping up round about her, running with agitated bleats. Startled, she looked around and realised there was one, not very far from her, that wasn’t running. It was lying on its side with a bloody wound showing up on the white fleece and there was a dog, tearing at it. Long legs, a great ruff, sharply pricked ears, fur showing silvery under the moonlight—Murray froze. Surely not – but could it really be a wolf? And now it had noticed her and was lifting its head.
Not a dog. There was was no doubt about it now. This was the creature of the darker fairy tales and the hairs rose at the back of her neck in atavistic fear. She was ready to run – but would that only tempt it to chase her? And there was the poor sheep, so pitiful in its silent agony …
She had to do something to drive it off. They were timid, afraid of people, she’d been told, and Angus Mackenzie had done it. She began yelling, waving her arms, making as if to come towards it.
That stopped the attack, but it didn’t run. Showing no sign at all of timidity it turned towards her, baring its teeth with a snarl.
She wasn’t afraid. This was way, way, beyond fear – she was terrified, panic-stricken, sweat coming out on her brow as adrenalin coursed through her, with its message of fight or flight – futile, when she could do neither.
It had moved away from the sheep, and begun a wide, circling approach. She could smell it now, a rank, feral smell, see the red gums, the row of pointed teeth. She was screaming now, but that made no difference. It moved steadily closer, closer. It would leap into an attack at any moment and there was nothing she could do. Except die.
Then she heard the frantic barking of a dog and for a moment the wolf paused, looking round to assess the new threat, then dismissed it. It was coming again—
A shot rang out. With a howl, the animal leapt in a sort of convulsion then collapsed to the ground in a heap. A moment later Angus Mackenzie’s collie was at her side, dancing round her in circles barking furiously and Angus himself, holding a shotgun, was hurrying towards her.
‘Are you all right, lass?’ he called.
Murray was trembling so that she could hardly stand. ‘Thank you,’ she gasped. ‘It was going to attack me! I thought I could save your poor sheep …’
Mackenzie looked grimly at the victim. ‘I’ll need another shot for her too. You don’t need to see that. Away you go in and sit down before you fall down.’
She heard the other shot as she went inside, but didn’t turn, going instead to huddle by the sitting-room fire. When Mackenzie came in he was carrying two glasses.
‘Brandy,’ he said. ‘I think we both need it.’
Her teeth chattered against the edge of the glass. ‘That was just so horrible! It would have killed me. I thought they were meant to be afraid of people! And you’d managed to scare one off before …’
‘I had a big stick and a dog, and even then it was touch and go. Once they have a taste of meat, they’ll defend their prey. Still, that one’s had his last lamb and Sean Reynolds can’t spout his rubbish about me not knowing what a wolf looks like. He’s in big trouble now.’
He was picking up the phone as he spoke. ‘Police,’ he said.
The Sinclairs came back into the house. The drama was more or less over, a couple more police cars had arrived and people were drifting away from the gathering in the street now that everyone had claimed their turn to say they’d known there was a wolf there all along.
‘Well, that will fix the bastard,’ Ranald said with some satisfaction as he walked in behind Hattie, smiling. ‘It could even land him in jail, with luck.’
Hattie stopped dead, turning to look at him, and Ranald turned red. ‘Yeah, I suppose …’
‘I don’t think it’s funny that a beautiful creature has been needlessly killed and for some reason I’m feeling a bit sensitive over jokes about jail,’ she said stiffly. ‘What we need to do now is decide what we’re going to do about your own particular problem.’
Subdued, he followed her into the kitchen. ‘I’m going to make coffee. Want some?’
She shook her head wearily as she sat down at the table, absent-mindedly patting the dogs who were greeting her. ‘I’ve drunk so much coffee already that I won’t sleep for a week if I have any more. We’ve agreed we need to contact Kelso, right?’
Ranald gave a sigh that was almost a groan. ‘Yes, right. But I think it would be better if you called him. He was very short with me the last time we spoke, and he’ll be more sympathetic towards you. He’ll realise that it will affect you too and that you don’t deserve that, even if I do. It’s not just that I’m hiding behind your skirts.’
Hattie thought he was, in fact; Ran had never been into humiliating acknowledgements of his mistakes and if one had to be made it would be more comfortable at one remove. Even so, she didn’t trust him not to get stiff-necked about it and she would be more likely to strike a better tone – for what good that might do.
‘Oh, very well,’ she said, then, reluctantly, ‘Might as well be now, I suppose. I can say I’ve called to tell him about the wolf, and work round to it.’
‘He’s probably heard already, but you might as well.’ He sat down at the table and propped his head on his hands as Hattie made the call.
He hadn’t heard, in fact. There was no need for anyone to have informed him, and Strang was suitably astonished, and anxious.
