Boonzie listened calmly and quietly as his nephew related the whole story: Ross’s death, Ewan’s initial speculations about possible suicide, and the anonymous phone call from the man he could only refer to as ‘the poacher’, which had blown away all the previous theories about the drowning and left him, Ewan, in such a quandary. He told it exactly as it had happened, leaving nothing out. When he finished, Boonzie methodically broke down the facts and went through all the questions that had been flying around Ewan’s mind. Was this real? Could it be some kind of prank? How plausible was the witness’s claim? Could it be verified? Was there any way to identify this mystery caller and get him to come forward, or at least reveal more about what he’d allegedly seen?

Nobody with a background as tough and dangerous as Boonzie McCulloch’s could have survived as long as he had without being extremely cautious. He was nobody’s fool and his mind was as sharp as the wicked double-edged blade on a Fairbairn-Sykes commando dagger. But after a long discussion, Ewan’s uncle could come to only one conclusion. ‘I trust ye, laddie. If it sounds real to you, then it sounds real to me.’

‘Part of me wishes you’d dismissed the whole thing as total bollocks,’ Ewan said. ‘I’d have been happy to believe you, and try to forget this nightmare ever happened.’

‘Ye say this person sounded familiar,’ Boonzie said thoughtfully.

Ewan replied, ‘I thought so at the time, yes. I was sure I’d heard his voice before somewhere. But the more I try to remember where, the less sure I am about it. I might have imagined it. I’m going out of my head with confusion. What the hell am I going to do?’

Boonzie’s reply was unhesitant. ‘Do nothing. Sit tight and wait for me tae get there.’

Ewan realised how foolish he’d been not to anticipate that this would be his uncle’s instant reaction. ‘No. I can’t accept that. I’m not asking you to drop everything and come here. I just thought … to be perfectly honest I don’t know what I thought.’

‘Aye, well, two heads’re better than one. Give me a day to sort things oot here and make the travel arrangements. I’ll be with you as quick as I can.’

‘I hate to drag you away from your home.’

‘The middle of winter’s no exactly the busy season for us,’ Boonzie said with a chuckle. He and Mirella had a seasonal business growing tomatoes and basil, which they canned into purée and pesto for the restaurant trade in their region of Campobasso. They’d never be millionaires, but it was a blissfully peaceful life and exactly what the couple wanted to be doing.

‘All the same. I feel like shit about it.’