Boonzie had Jamie McGlashan’s mobile phone in his pocket. He had taken it from the poacher in case it came in handy, preferring the anonymity of using someone else’s rather than having to purchase one in his own name. He could feel it there, burning a hole in his side, telling him he should use it to phone home. He took the phone out and gazed at it, torn by indecision. Part of him badly wanted to talk to Mirella, to check on how she was doing and to tell her he was okay. But he knew she’d be very emotional, and feared that the sound of her voice and her tears might break his resolve and make him want to give up his quest and rush back home to be with her again.

Instead he used the phone to look up the number for Belford Hospital online, dialled it and got through to the main reception desk. He identified himself, asked if Dr Fraser was available and was told she’d just come in. While waiting for the doctor to come on the phone, he watched three more cars arrive. A yellow VW, a brown Land Rover Discovery and a purple Suzuki hatchback. Two females, one male, all unfamiliar faces and of no importance to him.

At last, Dr Fraser came on the phone, having only just got into work and already sounding as though she was running in eight directions at once. Boonzie repeated who he was and asked about Ewan. He was ready for the worst, but even so the news that there had been no discernible change in his nephew’s condition left him feeling flat and grim. He thanked her for the update anyway, gave her his number and asked if she would call if there were any developments, good or bad. Dr Fraser promised that she would.

Boonzie put the phone away and continued waiting and watching. At 8.47 a.m. the first glint of the sun’s disc peeked over the hills in the east. Two and a half minutes later, at precisely ten to nine, a black Jaguar luxury estate veered in sharply through the gates and rolled up in front of the building. The driver’s door swung open and Boonzie felt a small, sharp blade of pain and fury stab his heart as his Number One target, Detective Inspector Fergus Macleod, emerged from the car, grabbed a briefcase and raincoat from the back and then marched up to the entrance. Macleod’s face was blotchy and red and he walked uncomfortably, as though he’d overstuffed himself with fried eggs and bacon that morning. Boonzie thought briefly about reattaching the scope to the crossbow and pinning him like a butterfly to the doorway before he made it inside, then dismissed the idea as maybe not practical. Macleod disappeared into the building. Boonzie made a note of his car make, model and registration.