Ramsay woke the next morning to a fresh southeasterly breeze that rattled the bedroom window and swept through the trees beyond the burn on the other side of the dene. He made a pot of real coffee and felt pleased with himself because he found mugs in the first packing case he tried, until it came to him that fresh coffee was a taste he had acquired from Diana. Diana had been on his mind more often this winter because she had sent him a Christmas card. It was the first approach she had made to him since the divorce came through. He saw her occasionally in Otterbridge, striding down the centre of Front Street as if she owned the place. Her confidence still gave him a thrill of admiration and excitement, but he was too proud to let her see him watching. He wondered if the card meant she was already bored with her new husband, but the notion gave him no pleasure. He would like to think she was happy.

He took his coffee to the living room and sat on the windowsill, watching the clouds blow across the sky from the sea. He felt unusually content.

The sound of the phone shocked him and he answered it automatically without thinking who might be there. He should have known it would be work. Who else was there to phone him at home?

“Sorry to disturb you,” the voice said, and he realised he must have sounded as if he had just woken up.

“That’s all right,” he said. It was Gordon Hunter, excited, breathless, urgent. But as Ramsay listened to the voice of the other policeman, he was still staring out of the window at the racing clouds. When he replaced the receiver, it took him longer than it usually did to prepare to leave.

Chapter Two

Further north, along the coast, the east wind pushed hard grey waves into Brinkbonnie Bay, blew strands of dry seaweed around the legs of cattle grazing on the dunes and sand into the road in drifts. It was March 1 but still as cold as winter. The small boats kept on the beach for fishing in the summer were still upturned in the carpark next to the shop that sold ice-creams to day-trippers when the weather was good. In the cottages that were so close to the beach that the washing lines stretched out into the sand hills, people listened to the wind and were glad that the tides were low that week.