It was ‘Patch’ Keddie, the one-eyed birdwatcher who was one of the community’s more colourful fixtures, who’d discovered the body floating face-down among the rushes at the edge of Loch Ardaich while on his solitary wanderings in the countryside with backpack and spotting scope, four days earlier. Shocked and upset by the grisly discovery, Patch had hurried to a spot where he could get phone reception and called for an ambulance, but it was already far too late.

It appeared as if Ross must have been exploring the lochside when he’d slipped and fallen into the water. His surveyor’s van was later found quite a distance away, parked by the fence of the Highland Manor development site. This had sparked much puzzled debate about what Ross was doing down at the water’s edge, a good quarter of a mile or more from the location he’d been surveying. Perhaps he’d wandered over there just to enjoy the magnificent views. In any case, having never learned to swim he had little chance of escaping the freezing cold water. He wasn’t the first victim to have been claimed by the depths of the loch.

Among the mourners at the graveside was Ross’s partner in the firm, thirty-four-year-old Ewan McCulloch. Head bowed and grim-faced, Ewan was visibly shaken to the core by the loss of his business associate and friend. Though they’d only worked together for five years, like most folks in this close-knit community with relatively few incomers they’d known each other for nearly all of their lives.

Other attendees at the funeral included Ross’s stricken parents, who now lived near Inverness. Mrs Campbell had wept bitterly throughout the gruelling church service and was so crippled with grief that she could barely remain upright to watch her only child’s coffin go into the ground. Her husband bore his agony in stoical silence, but the expression in his eyes was ghastly to see.

Katrina Wilson, the ex-girlfriend, was conspicuous by her absence. Nobody was terribly surprised that the untrustworthy little cow had not bothered to show up. Also present were Mairi Anderson, the surveyor’s office administrator; William and Maureen Reid, who ran the Kinlochardaich Arms, the village’s one and only pub; Rab Hunter, the local mechanic who’d known both Ross and Ewan since primary-school days; Patch Keddie, tears streaming from his one eye; and Grace Kirk.

Grace was a couple of years younger than Ewan, had attended the same primary and secondary schools and then left for a time to pursue a police career in the big city. She’d returned to her birthplace a few months ago and was the only female officer in the area. Today she was off duty and out of uniform, hiding her reddened eyes behind dark glasses as she stood in the back of the crowd with her hands clasped and shoulders drooping.