‘I heard the body on the beach was a dealer, called Paul Watson. He’s been here before. If he’d still had a face, the MRT folk would have likely recognized him.’ He watched Rhona as his news sank in. ‘You heading back to Portree or to Glendale?’

‘I left my jeep up at the turning circle near the trig point.’ Rhona indicated the nearby hill.

‘Then you’ll be needing a lift,’ Archie said.

The journey in Archie’s pickup proved to be enlightening. Rhona realized her sojourn on the island had been an isolated one. Jamie had regaled her with a few stories, but Archie, it seemed, was the source of all knowledge. And Archie’s take on the dead guy matched what McNab had told her.

‘Although Watson wasn’t the name he went by on the island,’ Archie said. ‘Here the kids called him the Snowman, but he didn’t only visit at Christmas.’

Archie’s feelings about the Snowman were obvious by his tone. ‘He would arrive, spend a week pretending to be a tourist and offload his cargo, using blackmail and intimidation to do it, but never in sight of the law. Then he stopped coming and we learned he’d been jailed.’ Archie hesitated, as though he wasn’t sure if he wanted to say any more than that.

Then, ‘My nephew was one of the ones he had in his clutches, although we didn’t know it at the time. Came back in a bad way from Afghanistan. We all thought coming home to Skye would cure him. It didn’t. Nightmares. Violent flashbacks. He used to hit walls with his bare knuckles. Anything to get the rage out.’

‘What about help from the MOD?’

‘Six months’ rehabilitation. After that you’re the NHS’s problem.’ He paused. ‘For Alistair the cocaine was a way out of all that.

‘So,’ he continued, ‘I was mightily glad when that Glasgow detective nailed Watson and put him away. That’s one man I’d like to shake hands with.’

‘No one’s taken the Snowman’s place?’ Rhona said.

‘If they have, I don’t know about it.’

‘And your nephew?’

‘The SSAFA charity’s Highland branch tried to help . . .’

The ‘but’ hung in the air unsaid between them.

Rhona didn’t want to know, but was compelled to ask.

‘Ali died a year ago. Exposure, up on the Cuillin.’ Archie turned to Rhona. ‘Some bad memories don’t go away.’

They drew into the turning circle where Rhona’s jeep was parked.

‘But,’ Archie met her eye, ‘there were a few folk, myself included, who might have cheerfully considered nudging the Snowman off Kilt Rock if they’d known he was back in business on the island.’

It was clear Archie was worried that someone local had done exactly that.

‘Will you be working with the Major Investigation Team when it arrives from Glasgow?’ he asked.