Pulling up her knees, she placed her head between them.

She’d been lying for so long, the truth was something she no longer recognized.

She also suspected Greg might be doing the same. That’s why they’d spent most of their time together having sex. As though that expunged everything that had gone before, for both of them.

Eventually rising, she climbed back out of the window, shutting it behind her. From her vantage point, she had a good view of the moorland above Blackrig. Thinking she spotted figures up there, she took a look through her spyglass, wondering if Greg might be among them, but found he wasn’t. Although it definitely looked like a stalking party.

Then she caught a glimpse of what they might be after. A magnificent stag, bristling with antlers, standing on the brow of the hill.

Of course. It was July, red stag stalking season. Despite writing articles for various country and game magazines, she’d never embraced the desire to kill deer, or any other animal for that matter.

Even as she thought this, she heard the report of the shot and watched as the stag bounded away only to swiftly stagger and crumple to the ground.

She turned from the kill and began to trek across the moorland in the direction of the Beanach track.

Greg

Knowing he had to get away from the Party House and the police presence, he’d come to watch the grazing garrons, hoping that would settle his nerves. He and Colin had brought down the three sturdy wee Highland ponies, together with their two new foals, from their winter grazing in preparation for the start of the red stag stalking season.

Releasing Cal and Sasha from the back of the Land Rover, he whistled to the ponies, encouraging them to come his way.

Colin had taken one of the seasoned garrons on the hill with the shooting party. Greg wandered among the remaining shaggy-haired ponies, rubbing their heads, whispering Gaelic endearments, all the time reminding himself that Stratton and his party would depart and life on the estate would go back to normal.

It was a comforting thought, if only it were true.

Stratton would leave soon, but the police weren’t likely to, judging by how long they’d stayed in the vicinity when Ailsa disappeared.

Greg realized that despite the soothing nature of the grazing garrons, he was still rattled by his first meeting with DI Snyder. The way in which the detective had conducted the initial interview, the switches in topic throwing him off guard, had been impressive. Snyder was a pro and, Greg suspected, the man was well versed in sniffing out a lie.

And he had definitely lied.