Might they find the DNA of her attacker on her body or her clothes? Perhaps the killer’s fingerprints were on the plastic? If she’d been raped, would there still be DNA evidence of that?

Watching crime dramas had taught her some things, but she had no idea how accurate they were.

She contemplated whether she could talk to Greg about it, but something told her there was a line he wouldn’t cross with respect to Ailsa’s disappearance and death. Was that because he, like the other men, had been a suspect, and might be again?

Leaving aside the forensics, she now focused her search on the origins of Ard Choille, the results of which expanded what Greg had told her earlier.

It seemed the original estate owner, Lord Main, had been benign, if a little eccentric. He had begun the tree-house concept because of his love of trees and the desire to have a house that became one with the landscape. The work had progressed in a leisurely fashion along with his thoughts on it.

Locals continued to swim off the nearby beach. Workmen came and went, depending on Lord Main’s whim, although the house itself had been completed prior to his death.

When this happened, his remaining and distant family fought each other over ownership, eventually selling the estate to a conglomerate who had different ideas for its management. They’d kept on a skeleton staff, including Greg, put in the sauna and hot tub at the lochside and begun advertising Ard Choille as a party house.

In her research she couldn’t find an exact timeline for when things like the hot tub were actually installed. No doubt Greg would know, but dare she ask him?

If they spent more time together, like yesterday morning at the green lochan, then maybe yes.

She resolved to be as open and supportive of him as possible. She definitely didn’t want to leave. Especially now, when she knew that Richard was back in London and searching for her.

Shutting her laptop, she resolved to do what she’d been putting off since the post van had delivered the package to her at the edge of the woods.

If the test was negative, she could relax about that at least.

If it was – she couldn’t bring herself to think the word ‘positive’, let alone say it – she had an even bigger problem to deal with.

Rising, she forced herself to walk through to the bathroom, package in hand, unsure, even now, if she wanted to know the truth.

Greg

The weather hadn’t yet broken, and the night had been muggy and uncomfortably warm, even with the bedroom window open.

She lay on her front, her dark hair spread across the pillow, her breathing soft, her cheeks a little flushed.