‘MURDER AT THE CASTLE!’ screams the headline. There’s a fuzzy black and white photograph of the charred ruins of the castle, alongside another image of Nancy and Elliot. I scan the article, feeling my breathing hitch.

Nancy McKay, 39, and her son, Elliot, 9, were found brutally slain last night at their home on the Isle of Shura. The police found the bodies burned almost beyond recognition after a fire engulfed their ancestral home.

The coroner is yet to release his report, but police are treating the deaths as homicides. A source revealed that the mother and son had both sustained knife injuries.

Andrew McKay, 45, husband of Nancy and father of Elliot, has been declared missing, but whether he also perished in the fire is unclear. It is not yet known if Andrew McKay is a suspect, but it has been reported that he was in significant financial trouble, with the bank threatening to repossess the property. The McKay family have lived on Shura for almost six hundred years and the family are well known in the area. Andrew McKay’s mother, Mary, inherited her late father’s seat, and donated much of the estate to Catholic charities when she died. The police are asking for any witnesses, or those who may have knowledge of the crime, to come forward.

I draw in a breath. ‘Oh my god,’ I say. ‘He killed them. Then he set fire to the castle to cover it up.’

Liam nods. ‘Looks like it.’

‘It’s him,’ I say, looking around at the campsite. ‘He’s been hiding here ever since.’ Though as I say it, I wonder how he manages, living out here year in and year out. How would he survive the winters? And looking around at his things, it’s clear this is a temporary campsite. But maybe he heads back to the mainland for supplies.

I remember then what I’d seen in the pile of rubbish over by the door and I run over to it.

‘Liam,’ I say in a hoarse voice when I find the item that caught my attention a moment ago.

‘What?’ he asks, distracted by his own search through the rest of the man’s belongings.

‘You should come here and see this.’

He comes over and I show him what I’m looking at. It’s a box of ammunition. Shotgun shells.

Chapter Seventeen

Liam kicks the ammunition box with the toe of his boot. It’s empty. I notice now that there are also a dozen empty shells among the pile of rubbish. Liam hesitates for half a second and then he takes my hand.

‘Let’s go,’ he says, pulling me back into the corridor. I don’t need telling twice. We practically run down the hallway and are about to open the door that leads into the servants’ stairwell when we hear footsteps coming up it, and skid to a halt.