Chapters (23)
- Praise
- Title Page
- Copyright Page
- ONE - BULL PASS (77°30’ S, 161°80’ E) MCMURDO DRY VALLEYS, ANTARCTICA FEBRUARY ...
- TWO - SAN JOSE, CALIFORNIA MARCH 1, 2002
- THREE - NORTH HIGHLANDS, SCOTLAND MARCH 2, 2002
- FOUR - PARIS, FRANCE MARCH 2, 2002
- FIVE - ROSS ICE SHELF, ANTARCTICA (70°00’ S, 30°42’ W) MARCH 4, 2002
- SIX - INVERNESS, SCOTTISH HIGHLANDS MARCH 6, 2002
- SEVEN - ABOVE MCMURDO SOUND, ANTARCTICA (77°88’ S, 166°73’ E) MARCH 12, 2002
- EIGHT - SCOTTISH HIGHLANDS
- NINE - 93,000,000 MILES FROM EARTH MARCH 12, 2002
- TEN - MOUNT EREBUS (77°53’ S, 167°17’ E) BULL PASS, ANTARCTICA MARCH 12, 2002
- ELEVEN - PARIS, FRANCE MARCH 12, 2002
- TWELVE - ROSS DEPENDENCY, SOUTHERN OCEAN (66°25’ S, 162°50’ E) MARCH 13, 2002
- THIRTEEN - COLD CORNERS BASE, ANTARCTICA MARCH 13, 2002
- FOURTEEN - NEAR COLD CORNERS BASE VICTORIA LAND, ANTARCTICA MARCH 13, 2002
- FIFTEEN - ASOTNA, SWITZERLAND MARCH 12, 2002
- SIXTEEN - COLD CORNERS BASE, ANTARCTICA MARCH 13, 2002
- SEVENTEEN - COLD CORNERS BASE, ANTARCTICA MARCH 15, 2002
- EIGHTEEN - COLD CORNERS BASE, ANTARCTICA MARCH 16, 2002
- NINETEEN - COLD CORNERS BASE, ANTARCTICA MARCH 17, 2002
- EPILOGUE
“He was scared o’ me, I’ll tell you that,” said Payton.
The bartender approached to refill the drink. “Steady, lad,” he told Payton.
“Scared o’ you?” asked Gorrie.
“You’re dreamin’, lad,” said the owner.
“Aye, he was. I heard he’d come back—I’d seen him sulking around. And didn’t he see me three days ago, up in Rosmarkie? Aye, was him, as if he were someone more than a shit, meeting with the council member—hid when he saw me. He did.” Payton turned to the bartender and raised his finger. “Hid. Hid.”
“What council member would that be?” said Gorrie.
“Cameron,” said Payton triumphantly. “Ewie B. Cameron, on the land council, among others. A gentleman. Had the sewer in front of my house fixed two years ago. I don’t hold him any ill will, Inspector—a fair man and for the people, as were his ancestors.”
“Are you sure it was Cameron?” asked Gorrie.
“Oh, yes. And Mackay, the slog. Saw me come in and turned away. Scared o’ me. What he didna’ know, as far as I’m concerned, he could ha’e her. Would ha’e served her right. Could have been my old wife there in that bed, pulled the trigger.”
“Three nights ago,” said Gorrie, his tone light, “would have been the day before Mackay died.”
“The wife killed him,” said the bartender.
“Inquiry will decide that,” said Gorrie.
Payton reached toward the bottle in the bartender’s hand, tipping down the neck to refill his glass again.
“You’re sure it was Cameron?” asked Gorrie.
“It was him.”
Gorrie leaned back in his seat, considering the coincidence of the thing. For if his memory was correct, Ewie B. Cameron, latest in a clan of noble and semi-noble Scots, had been killed in a traffic accident the same night Mackay and his wife had died.
An odd coincidence, to be sure.
SIX - INVERNESS, SCOTTISH HIGHLANDS MARCH 6, 2002
SIX
INVERNESS, SCOTTISH HIGHLANDS MARCH 6, 2002
FRANK GORRIE SAT NEAR THE WINDOW IN HIS OLD platform rocker and watched the lights of a car out on the street slide across the dark bedroom walls. It was chilly, quiet, his wife dead to the world under the heavy quilts, her breathing soft and regular.