Jamie instinctively made a grab for the door handle, wanting to throw himself out and bolt away in terror through the woods. That was when the creature spoke. It said in a strong Glaswegian accent, ‘Dinnae even think aboot it, son. Stay right where ye are.’

Someone had injected icy loch water into Jamie’s veins where his blood used to be. He could barely breathe, but he managed to blurt out: ‘W-who are you?’

The creature replied, ‘Never mind who I am. Let’s talk aboot who you are. What’s yer name, son?’

All kinds of terrible thoughts flashed through Jamie’s mind. The most frightening of which was that this man had been sent to murder him. His worst nightmare had come true. The killers knew about him! He stared at the crossbow and the thought of being skewered against the inside of the car door made him want to puke with terror. ‘J-J-J-Jim,’ he stammered. ‘Jim S-S-S-Smith.’

The creature said nothing, contemplating him for a moment. Then a mossy hand flashed out as quick as a snake and plucked the mobile phone from Jamie’s coat pocket. The crossbow stayed trained on Jamie’s vitals as the creature swiped the screen to unlock the phone, and spent a moment glancing through it. Jamie swallowed as he remembered his still-open Facebook page.

The creature had already found it. And seen his real name.

‘Lie tae me again, Jamie McGlashan, and ye’re a dead man.’

Jamie’s heart lit up with hope. Maybe that meant the creature wasn’t an assassin sent to murder him, after all. ‘A-all right! I’m sorry. I’m Jamie McGlashan.’ As a glimmer of courage returned he repeated, ‘Who are you?’

The creature reached up and removed its leafy hood, and Jamie could see the face of the man inside the ghillie suit. His features were lined and his hair and beard were white. The stranger’s eyes were as cold as Loch Ardaich in January and as inscrutable as a dead salmon’s.

‘The name’s McCulloch. I’m Ewan’s uncle.’

Jamie was totally confused. All he could mutter was ‘Shite.’ An instant later, he knew that his expression had betrayed him.

Ewan McCulloch’s uncle said, ‘Ye spoke tae my nephew. The night of the murder. Before Ewan was attacked.’

‘I—’

‘Nae mair bullshit, Jamie. I can see it in yer eyes. It’s you. Ye’re the one who saw Ross Campbell killed.’

There no longer seemed any point in denying it. And in the strangest way, it felt good to talk about it. ‘Yes! I watched the fuckers drown the poor guy. I won’t forget it as long as I live.’