What if he’d told the truth and revealed his nocturnal trip to the Party House? Said he’d witnessed the gang attack on the hot tub? No doubt he would then have been asked if he’d recognized any of the men involved and would have said no, because they were wearing balaclavas.

Snyder would then have immediately questioned him regarding the voices. Blackrig was a small village, where everyone knew everyone else. How could he not recognize if the voices were local?

No, Greg decided. It was better this way. At least he hadn’t grassed on Josh. In fact, he’d almost cheered when he’d seen him attack the hot tub, because he hadn’t had the guts to express his own anger in that way.

Even as he’d contemplated his alternative version of the interview, he was aware that he was ignoring the real horror of that night. The moment when he’d caught a glimpse of blonde hair and knew with sickening certainty that it had to be Ailsa.

At that point, he was startled by the echo of a gunshot coming from the hill. He waited, hoping it was a clean shot to the heart and Colin wouldn’t have to finish the beast off. Stratton fancied himself good with a rifle. Greg didn’t agree.

The second one came minutes later, suggesting Colin had indeed had to finish the job himself. They would load it on the garron now and bring it down via the pony path to the larder.

Stratton never bothered with the beast after he’d shot it. Colin would be the one to dress and tag it.

Greg contemplated heading for the estate larder, the round stone building with its wooden slatted windows that sat next to the bothy where Colin stayed. Colin would be full of the hill story and eager to offload it, no doubt.

Not wanting to hear any more about Stratton today, or share his own police tale, he decided to head home to Beanach instead.

He sent Colin a text message to that effect, and with a final affectionate pat for each of the ponies, he took himself down to his Land Rover.

He had a fresh salmon in his own outside larder that he was planning for tonight’s meal, and he found himself looking forward to seeing Joanne again, aware he would have to make things up to her after his earlier anger in the woods.

As he reached the vehicle, the sky clouded over, but he knew by the smell and the forecast that it wasn’t set to rain yet. The closeness of the air had brought out swarms of midges. In general the tiny biters weren’t attracted to his blood, although he’d seen grown men so tortured while on a hunt that they were eventually forced to give up. A rifle was of no use against an army of midges determined to suck your blood.