McKinstry had claimed that he couldn’t put a finger on the writer of the poisonous letters, even though he knew the townspeople like a book. As any constable would. But the local gentry would seldom cross McKinstry’s path. An inspector would deal with them. And Holden had come back from France only in the spring of 1919. McKinstry hadn’t had time or opportunity in five months to put him in the tidy mental boxes where the constable kept the pulse of Duncarrick.

“You’ve sent him on a wild-goose chase to Glasgow!” Hamish scolded Rutledge. “About the brooch. Still, it was foolish for Holden to use his name!”

“If Holden was in Palestine, the Army will have a record of it. If Holden was at Saxwold, Elizabeth Andrews will remember him. If Mrs. Raeburn can recognize him after three years, we have him in Craigness.”

“But there’s no proof Eleanor Gray died there!”

“I know,” Rutledge said. “But if Holden took Eleanor there, the chances are he also took her away. And he can tell us where she went after Craigness.”

“Mrs. Raeburn never saw her—”

“It was pouring rain that night. Eleanor could have waited in the car until the worst had passed. By that time, Mrs. Raeburn had gone back to her bed. And there are the notes in the book’s margin.”

“But no date!” Hamish reminded him.

“In a way, there is a date. It was written after Captain Burns died. She noted that he was dead.”

“Where was Holden when you drove to the glen?”

“According to Mrs. Holden, he was in Jedburgh that day.”

“Aye, but was he? She couldna’ know for certain if the man went where he claimed he was going.”

“True enough.” Rutledge ran his fingers through his hair. “All right.”

“McKinstry said that in this town he kens everyone’s business. It’s no’ impossible for Holden to do the same if he put his mind to it.”

“Yes, and I’ve seen him with Oliver. Any number of times—”

“And Oliver wouldna’ see anything wrong in answering questions Holden might ask. He’s an upstanding citizen, concerned for the truth.”

“All right, it’s possible,” Rutledge agreed. “But if the bones in the glen couldn’t be traced to him—if no one knew whose remains they were—I don’t understand why he’d stir up the past by going after Fiona. The timing is wrong too. Well before those bones were connected with either Eleanor Gray or Fiona, someone was persecuting her. Was it Holden? If so, to what end?”

Hamish didn’t see it that way. “If he left Eleanor Gray in the glen, dead, he’s been afraid for three years that someone might put a name to her. One day.”

“No. If he’s been this clever, then he wouldn’t risk it. . . .”