Cover

Dedication

To Peter, who is my soulmate, my helpmate

and the most incredible support.

Except if we’re playing chess

when he’s a complete jerk!

August

Day 1: Saturday

Prologue

It was a quarter to six when Russell stepped out of the back door of Lamond Lodge. The air was still, only the dawn chorus breaking the quiet morning. He closed the door softly, not that it was likely to wake the rest of them. Not after last night.

Out to the east the sky grew lighter and he quickened his step, anxious not to miss the sunrise. He crunched across the gravel, stepping lightly onto the manicured grass. Something caught his eye – a movement through the trees – and then it was gone. A fox, or a deer maybe? He should have brought binoculars. There was bound to be a pair somewhere in the house. It seemed to have everything else.

He reached the wooden steps that led to the treetop walk and began to climb, taking them two at a time. As he gained height the scaly brown bark of the Scots pines became orange and he drew level with the flat-topped branches, admiring their blue-green needles. The elevated walk didn’t quite clear the crown of the trees but there were enough gaps to afford him a panoramic view in every direction. He looked first to the south-west, admiring the Lomond Hills, their ancient volcanic plugs the highest points in Fife. Far below he spotted a young deer, grazing on the long grass beyond the trees and he watched it for a moment. Then he swept his gaze round, admiring the steep gable roof of Lamond Lodge, and across the Eden Estuary, north, towards Dundee. The university town of St Andrews sat in the foreground bound by its two beaches, and he completed the circle, turning east to look out over the North Sea.

And then he watched as the light on the horizon became a glint of gold, spreading out across the sky. Best time of the day. They didn’t know what they were missing, back in the house. Down on the ground the deer stopped suddenly, raised its head for a moment then, with a kick and a flash of its white tail, it bolted across the field. Something had startled it but he couldn’t see what.

He didn’t see the gun, didn’t hear the shot. The sunrise exploded in his head and he spun round, falling like a stone to the floor of the walkway, a trickle of blood at his temple.

Chapter 1

‘Therefore, if anyone can show just cause why this man and this woman may not be joined together in marriage let him speak now or forever hold his peace.’

A shaft of sunlight streamed through the stained glass of the old church, casting a warm light across the congregation. DI Clare Mackay stiffened in the short silence that followed the minister’s words and she smiled nervously at the man beside her, DCI Alastair Gibson. He reached across and took her hand, giving it a slight squeeze. Clare swallowed, feeling her mouth dry, and ran her tongue round her lips.

The minister beamed round at the congregation. ‘Always a nervous moment,’ she said, and a ripple of laughter ran round the church. Then she turned back to the couple standing before her. ‘Tom and Gillian…’

From her seat halfway down the nave, Clare craned her neck to see Tom. He was in a morning suit. She had thought he might be in a kilt. But then Gillian didn’t strike her as a kilt kind of person. The morning suit with the rose-pink tie was much more her style. Clare could only see the back of his head but as she watched him, glancing at his bride, she couldn’t help thinking it might have been her standing there in ivory silk. Her and Tom. A couple for so long, until Tom’s role as a solicitor had brought him into conflict with Clare. It had been the beginning of the end and the catalyst for her move from Glasgow to St Andrews. They had both moved on, of course, Clare initially with the sculpture expert, Geoffrey Dark. She had thought he might be the one but then he’d moved to Boston and their attempts to keep a long-distance relationship alive had foundered.

And then, after a hesitant start, she had found herself drawn to her boss, DCI Alastair Gibson. She counted back mentally as Tom and Gillian delivered their vows. It was almost seven months now – seven months since they’d decided to give their relationship a go. And we’re still here, she thought. She glanced at him, and thoughts of Tom and what might have been faded to grey.

‘It’s my great pleasure to pronounce you husband and wife,’ the minister said, and a ripple of applause spread across the church as the happy couple locked lips.

And there it was. Tom was married. Tom who Clare had decided she could no longer be with, despite his best efforts. Tom who had wanted her long after she had stopped wanting him. And she hadn’t wanted him any longer. She was sure about that. But a niggling voice in the back of her mind told her she would miss him wanting her. She flushed at this and felt the DCI squeeze her hand again.

‘Okay?’ he mouthed, and she nodded, hoping he hadn’t read her thoughts.

The happy couple were heading for the vestry now to sign the register and the congregation prepared to listen to a cellist who had set up his instrument below the pulpit. As he began playing Clare thought the melody sounded familiar. She looked down at her order of service.

Can You Feel the Love Tonight

Elton John

‘Is this from The Lion King?’ the DCI whispered, and she nodded again. Suddenly there was movement from the front of the church and around twenty teenage girls began assembling behind the cellist.

‘Oh God,’ Clare whispered. ‘They’re going to sing.’

The DCI suppressed a smile as the girls launched into the chorus and Clare sank back in her pew. It was going to be a long day.

‘Gaby,’ the glamorous woman said, extending a hand across the table. ‘And this is Luke.’ She indicated a tall man to her left. Clare took him in. His hair was dark, swept back over his forehead, his features swarthy, and she wondered if he was Italian. Mediterranean, certainly. He was immaculately dressed in a beautifully cut suit with a high waistcoat. His tie, which seemed to be of an abstract design, was tightly knotted, a tiny jewelled tie pin catching the light as he moved. Clare felt she’d seen him before but she couldn’t place him. Gaby, on the other hand, was a face familiar to anyone who followed daytime TV – her introduction patently unnecessary. Daytime With Gaby was riding high in the ratings. She was slimmer than she looked on screen. Maybe it was true about the camera adding ten pounds. Slender features too. Her outfit, a sleeveless lemon shift dress, hung simply, accentuating her figure, and Clare involuntarily drew in her stomach as she took a seat opposite. She could see necks craning at the other tables and she wondered if Gaby was in danger of eclipsing the bride on her special day.

‘Al,’ the DCI said, adding, ‘and this is Clare.’

Gaby smiled broadly. ‘Bride or groom?’

‘Tom’s an… an old friend,’ Clare said, and Gaby nodded.

‘Gillian teaches our daughter.’ Gaby looked across to another table around which sat some of the girls who had sung in the church.

‘Lovely singing,’ Clare said, wondering if Gillian had invited all the girls’ parents, or just the glamorous, celebrity ones.

Luke Gasparini reached across the table for a bottle of wine. ‘Red, anyone?’

Clare shoved her glass across the white linen cloth in response. This reception, she decided, was not to be faced sober.

She was just finishing a slice of leek tart when the red-jacketed maître d’ appeared at their table. He bent and said a few words to Gaby and indicated she should follow him. Clare watched as she threaded her way through the tables, all eyes on her. The maître d’ opened the door to the reception area and Gaby passed through. As the door began to close slowly, Clare craned her neck and saw Gaby take up the receiver of a telephone on the reception desk. Then the door was opened again for a waiter bearing a tray of plates. Clare leaned over in time to see Gaby’s free hand go to her mouth. She was looking round wildly and the maître d’ who had been standing a little way off approached her once more. Minutes later he was back in the room, heading for their table. Luke rose to greet him and, after a few words, he turned back to retrieve Gaby’s clutch bag and cream stole. He glanced at them, muttered something that sounded like apologies and then he too followed the maître d’ out of the room. The door was wedged open now as a procession of waiting staff went to and fro with their trays. Clare saw Luke approach the reception desk and take a clearly distressed Gaby in his arms. She made to rise from her seat but the DCI put a warning hand on her knee.

‘Leave them to it,’ he said, his voice low. ‘You’re not on duty today.’

Clare relaxed back into her chair again, feeling a little as if she’d missed a chance to duck out of the reception. The starter plates were being cleared now and there were four more courses to go. And then the speeches. The day was growing longer by the minute.

‘On behalf of my wife and myself…’

Tom paused for a minute to let the applause and cheers die down then he continued. ‘Seriously, folks, Gillian and I are thrilled so many of you could be with us for our special day.’

Clare hadn’t appreciated just how loud her mobile ring tone was until it cut through the middle of Tom’s speech. She felt her face grow warm as she snapped open her bag and tried to find the mute button. She felt the eyes of the room on her and heard Tom making a joke about Clare never changing. She didn’t dare look at Gillian’s face. She had her phone now but her fingers seemed to have turned into thumbs as she struggled with the buttons. The DCI took the phone from her, flicked the mute button and the ringing ceased. The phone still buzzed in his hands, though, and Clare saw from the display it was Chris, Chris West, her detective sergeant. He knew they would be at the wedding. It was her weekend off. So why was he calling? Ignoring the DCI’s frown, she took back her phone and rose from her seat.

‘Sorry,’ she said to the other guests at the table. ‘Better take this.’ Smiling an apology to Tom, she walked swiftly through the tables. The call had gone to voicemail by the time she reached the reception area. Without waiting to hear the message she redialled Chris’s number.

‘Sorry, Clare,’ he said, ‘interrupting your wedding. I thought it would go straight to voicemail.’

‘What’s up?’

‘We’ve had a shooting.’

‘You’re joking?’

‘Nope. Country house south of the town.’

‘ID’d the victim?’

‘Not yet. I’m heading over there now. Thought you’d want to know.’

‘I’ll leave now,’ Clare said. ‘Two hours at most.’

‘No,’ Chris said. ‘It’s fine. There’s no point in you rushing back. Don’t spoil your day.’

‘Pfft,’ Clare said. ‘It’s the wedding from hell. And the only interesting guests have just left.’

‘Seriously,’ Chris said. ‘If you head back now the DCI will kill me. You know he will.’

‘You leave him to me,’ Clare said.

A burst of applause told Clare that Tom’s speech was over and she moved across to the function room door and peered in. She caught the DCI’s eye and motioned to him to follow her out. ‘We have to go back,’ she said as he appeared.

‘Eh?’

‘There’s been a shooting.’

He drew her over to a corner of the foyer and indicated a small table with two armchairs. ‘Tell me,’ he said.

Clare stood her ground. ‘I’ll explain on the way. I’ll just let Reception know we’re checking out.’

He put a hand on her arm. ‘Clare, will you just stop for a minute and tell me what’s happened.’

She looked pointedly at his hand and he withdrew it.

‘Please?’ he said. ‘At least sit down.’

She sat, perching on the edge of the chair. ‘That phone call. It was Chris.’

‘That’s your work phone,’ the DCI said. ‘Why didn’t you switch it off?’

Clare shrugged. ‘Do you want to know or not?’

‘Go on, then.’

‘Like I said, there’s been a shooting.’ She paused to let this sink in. ‘Some big house outside St Andrews. So obviously I have to go back.’

‘Hold on,’ the DCI said. ‘You’re not the only DI in Fife. Dundee can send someone, for that matter. And anyway, neither of us is fit to drive.’

‘Dammit.’ She hadn’t thought of that. There had been champagne when they’d arrived at the hotel – she’d had two glasses of that. Then the wine with their meal. She recalled the DCI topping her glass up a few times. ‘How much have you had?’

He shook his head. ‘Too much. There’s no way either of us can drive back.’

‘Taxi?’

‘Clare! It’s the best part of seventy miles.’

‘But a shooting, Al.’

‘Listen, you have a good team back there. They know what to do and we’ll head back in the morning. If it makes you feel better, give Chris a call back and remind him of the Standard Operating Procedures.’

She let her shoulders droop. ‘Yeah, I suppose. He knows all that, anyway.’

‘Well then. Look, Clare, we have a lovely room right here in the hotel. We can enjoy the rest of the reception, have a dance tonight and start fresh in the morning.’ He reached across and took her hand. ‘Okay?’

She made an effort to smile. ‘Doesn’t look like I’ve much option.’ She glanced back towards the function room door. ‘Suppose we have to go back in.’

He smiled. ‘Not really. Let’s just say we’re too polite to interrupt the speeches again. We’ll stay out here and have a drink instead.’

‘We could hide in our room for a bit.’

He laughed. ‘That might be pushing it.’

She nodded. ‘Suppose you’re right.’

He squeezed her hand. ‘So, what do you want from the bar?’

Chapter 2

Clare moved her seat back towards the wall as Tom and Gillian sank down beside them. The band had struck up a waltz and the more enthusiastic ceilidh dancers were drifting back to their tables for a rest.

‘I’m so sorry about my phone,’ Clare said, but Gillian waved this away.

‘Tom says you’re never off duty,’ she said, taking his hand. ‘I think that’s why he married a teacher – for the holidays!’

‘I’m sure they’re well-earned,’ DCI Gibson said.

‘I’ll say,’ Gillian beamed.

‘I hope it wasn’t anything important,’ Tom said.

Clare forced a smile. ‘Nothing that can’t wait until morning.’

‘We’re staying here tonight,’ Tom said. ‘Maybe we could all meet for breakfast?’

‘Oh, I think we’d better make an early start,’ Clare said quickly. She smiled at the pair. ‘You know how it is.’

The band announced an Eightsome Reel and Gillian rose.

‘Come on,’ she said, pulling her husband to his feet. ‘I’m determined to teach you how to do this properly.’

Clare watched the pair head off to join the dancers.

‘Fancy it?’ the DCI said.

She shook her head. ‘I’d hate to make a mistake in front of the teacher.’

He laughed. ‘Come on, then. We’ve done our bit. Let’s go and hide in the room.’

They elected to climb the thickly carpeted stairs rather than take the lift. ‘I’ll tell you this much,’ Clare said, stepping out of her heels and stopping to pick them up. ‘I am not having breakfast with Bridezilla down there.’

‘I’m with you on that,’ the DCI said. ‘Let’s have it sent to the room.’

‘DCI Gibson! We are not made of money.’

‘I’ll pay. Anything other than watching you glaring at the bride over your granola.’

‘To hell with granola. I’m having the full Scottish.’

They reached their room and the DCI retrieved the key from his sporran. The bed had been turned down and the lamps lit. An ice bucket with a bottle of champagne sat on a side table.

‘Oh, Al,’ she said. ‘How lovely of you.’ The door swung closed behind them and the DCI took Clare in his arms. ‘I’ve been wanting to do this all day.’

She allowed herself to sink in, smelling his cologne, and feeling his hand in her hair. They stood for a minute and then she raised her face to meet his and found his lips.

Day 2: Sunday

Chapter 3

She was awake long before breakfast arrived. The DCI found her in the en suite, texting Chris.

‘Seriously?’ he said, rubbing his forehead. ‘You couldn’t wait a few hours?’

Clare shrugged. ‘Couldn’t sleep.’

‘Any particular reason?’

‘Just wondered what’s happening.’

He hesitated. Then he said, ‘Clare, why did we come here? To this wedding, I mean.’

She looked at him. ‘I dunno. Because they invited us, I suppose.’

‘You could have pleaded work, or said we’d booked a holiday.’

She nodded. ‘Yeah. Probably should have.’

‘So, Tom – you are over him, aren’t you?’

She stared.

‘It’s just that, well, you seemed on edge all day yesterday, even before Chris called. I couldn’t help wondering…’

She rose from her perch on the bidet. ‘Come on. Let’s get back into bed for a couple of hours. It’s going to be a long day.’

He stood back to let her out of the bathroom and watched her move towards the bed. ‘So you’re not struggling with Tom marrying Gillian?’

She glanced at him. ‘I dunno, Al. It’s not that I wish I was still with Tom. I, well, I find it hard he’s married someone so different to me. It makes me wonder if he thinks our years together were a waste.’

The DCI climbed into bed beside her and pulled her close. ‘I’m sure he doesn’t. Nothing is ever wasted. It’s what makes us who we are.’

She forced a smile. ‘Why are you always so bloody sensible, Al?’

‘I told you. It comes with being a DCI,’ he said. ‘It’s a condition of accepting the promotion.’

‘There’s no hope for me, then,’ she said.

‘Nope. Not a chance.’

In spite of her hurry to return to St Andrews they lingered over breakfast, Clare declaring it to be awesome.

‘It is pretty fab,’ the DCI admitted, putting down his fork. ‘Coffee’s excellent, too.’

She glanced at her watch. ‘We’d better get a move on, though.’

‘Tell you what,’ he said, ‘you slip out the side door while I check the bill. Save bumping into the happy couple.’

‘We said we’d split the bill.’

‘And we will. We can sort it out later!’

Clare rose, dabbing her mouth with a linen napkin. ‘I’m not paying for this, though,’ she said, indicating the breakfast tray. ‘Far too extravagant.’

‘Even if it spared you the breakfast from hell?’

‘Even that.’

They drove back through glorious countryside, the fields golden with ripening crops.

‘I love this time of year,’ the DCI said. ‘The colours are amazing.’

Clare was glued to her phone. ‘Mm, yeah.’

‘You’re missing some lovely scenery.’

‘Al, I have a shooting to deal with.’

He sighed. ‘Go on, then. What’s happening?’

She squinted at her phone. ‘Victim’s been ID’d.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Businessman from Glasgow.’

‘Who ID’d him?’

Clare scrolled down the message. ‘His sister. Seems they were staying in a country house for a few days. Six of them.’

‘Staying with friends?’

She frowned, reading on. ‘No. Chris says it’s a house that’s rented out to holidaymakers. Pretty fancy, apparently.’

‘Has he interviewed them?’

‘He says so. But I’ll want to speak to them myself.’ Clare’s phone buzzed again and she clicked to open the message. ‘SOCO still onsite. Been there since late yesterday.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘If we hurry we should make it before they pack up and leave.’

‘Clare, I am not breaking the speed limit because you don’t want to miss anything. Your team will update you. Trust them to do their jobs.’

She made no reply, turning her head away to look out of the window.

A few miles on the DCI slowed the car as they entered Cupar, a small but busy market town. Early on a Sunday morning, the traffic was light and they were soon through the town and heading for St Andrews. ‘Where’s the house?’ he said.

Clare studied her phone. ‘Chris says it’s along Grange Road. South of the town. Go up North Street and I’ll direct you from there.’

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