‘What about the gun?’

‘What about it?’

‘Did you get any prints?’

‘After that length of time? No, we didn’t.’

‘But you did check for them?’

‘Oh, aye.’

Wylie was writing everything down, abbreviating most of the words. ‘Gunpowder traces?’

‘Sorry?’

‘On the skin. He was shot in the head?’

‘That’s right. The pathologist didn’t find any burning or residues on the scalp.’

‘Isn’t that unusual?’

‘Not when half the head’s been blown away and the local wildlife have been feeding.’

Wylie stopped writing. ‘I get the picture,’ she said.

‘I mean, this wasn’t like a body, more a scarecrow. The skin was like parchment. There’s a hellish wind blows across that hill.’

‘You didn’t treat it as suspicious?’

‘We went by the autopsy findings.’

‘Any chance you can send me the file?’

‘If we get a written request, sure.’

‘Thanks.’ She tapped her pen against the desk. ‘The gun was how far away?’

‘Maybe twenty feet.’

‘You think an animal moved it?’

‘Yes. Either that or it was a reflex thing. Put a gun to your head and pull the trigger, there’s going to be a recoil, isn’t there?’

‘I’d think so.’ She paused. ‘So what happened next?’

‘Well, eventually we tried facial reconstruction, then issued the composite photo.’

‘And?’

‘And nothing very much. Thing was, we thought he was a lot older … early forties maybe, and the composite reflected that. God knows how the Germans got to hear of it.’

‘The mother and father?’

‘That’s right. Their son had been missing the best part of a year … maybe even a bit longer. Then we got this call from Munich, couldn’t make much sense of it. Next thing, they’d turned up at the station with a translator. We showed them the clothes and they recognised a couple of things … the jacket, and a wristwatch.’

‘You don’t sound convinced.’

‘To tell you the truth, I’m not. A year they’d been looking for him, going out of their minds. The jacket was just a plain green thing, nothing special about it. Same goes for the watch.’

‘You think they managed to convince themselves simply because they wanted to believe?’

‘Wanted it to be him, yes. But their son was barely twenty … experts told us we had the remains of someone twice that age. Then the bloody papers went and printed the story anyway.’

‘How did all the sword-and-sorcery stuff come into the picture?’

‘Hang on a minute, will you?’ She heard Maclay put the receiver down next to his phone. He was giving instructions to someone. ‘Just past the creels … there’s a hut Aly uses when he’s renting out his boat …’ She imagined Fort William: quiet and coastal, with islands off to the west. Fishermen and tourists; gulls overhead and the tang of seaweed.

‘Sorry about that,’ Maclay said.

‘Keeping you busy?’