‘I’ve just been interviewed at the hall,’ Greg said as calmly as he could.

A horrified silence followed, before Colin said, ‘About finding the body or five years ago?’

‘Both,’ Greg said. ‘If, or when, they get round to talking to you, just stick with our story.’

‘Okay.’ Colin sounded doubtful.

‘The murder inquiry takes precedence now and you weren’t around when she disappeared, so relax,’ Greg added for emphasis. ‘Are you still at the Bothy?’

‘I’m on the hill with Stratton and the other bloke. They decided to go hunting after all and he wasn’t well pleased when you weren’t available. I told him you were still organizing things with the police.’

Greg didn’t openly congratulate him, but he hoped Colin could tell by his voice that he’d done well.

‘How is it going?’ he said.

‘Okay. Stratton moans a lot.’ There was a pause, then in a cheerier voice Colin said, ‘Were you and Joanne up here at the hide?’

‘We were,’ Greg admitted. ‘How’d you guess?’

‘Someone’s been at the whisky.’

‘A giveaway,’ Greg agreed. ‘Can you continue to hold the fort? I’m going to have a word with Malcolm about the ceilidh tonight. Caroline and I had agreed to help in the bar.’

‘Can Stratton sack me?’ Colin suddenly asked.

‘Over my dead body,’ Greg assured him.

‘That’s what I’m afraid of,’ Colin said grimly.

It was Greg’s job to hire and fire his assistant ghillies, but Stratton might well decide to challenge him on that. If he did, that would be the last straw, he decided. If Colin went, so would he.

If you are still a free man, he reminded himself.

The front door to the pub stood open in the sunshine, the four outside tables occupied by visitors. Stepping into the dimmer interior, he found more tourists.

The sound of their chatter was both a pleasure and a sad reminder of the endless months of lockdown, when the hotel had been closed. Malcolm had dealt with the situation by keeping on his staff, cooking for those who were housebound or shielding, and doing up the main room in the pub.

He’s done a good job too, Greg thought, as he made his way over to the bar, where Malcolm was pulling a pint for a customer.

Spotting him, Malcolm told Greg to head through to the kitchen. ‘Help yourself to a coffee.’ He turned to Karla. ‘You can manage on your own for a bit?’

Karla smiled. ‘No problem.’ Originally from Denmark, she’d come over to work in Blackrig one summer before the pandemic and had decided to stay.

Greg poured two mugs of coffee from the machine and took a seat at the big kitchen table. During lockdown, he, among many others, had picked up the hot food deliveries Malcolm and Karla had prepared, and distributed them around the village and its surrounds.