‘There’s one on the way?’ Rhona said.

‘By helicopter, later today, according to Lee.’

Chrissy would be pleased about that, Rhona thought, since it might extend her time here a little.

She thanked Archie for the lift. ‘One other thing. Is there a bus back from Glendale later today?’

‘You mean one the lassie might catch?’

Rhona nodded.

‘If she was planning a walk to Healabhal Bheag, she wouldn’t make the return bus. I told her that,’ he added. ‘She didn’t seem bothered, so I guess she planned to camp out. I did warn her the weather’s closing in again. More snow and high winds forecast for tonight. She said she was used to storms, although in Afghanistan it was sand rather than snow that caused them.’

So Seven must have been intent on deserting her campsite in the plantation, after saying she was staying put. Folk were of course entitled to change their minds. But why then would she leave her tent and supplies behind? The Duirinish peninsula was a wild overnight stay without the proper equipment.

But it was Archie’s final remark that caused Rhona the most concern.

‘She’d already had an accident during the lightning storm. Had a dressing on the back of her head. Said a branch broke off and hit her.’ At this point Archie looked pointedly at Rhona’s bruised knuckles. ‘Looks like you had an argument with something too.’

The late rising sun was already contemplating its return below the horizon. Rhona switched on the jeep’s lights and, as it bounced down the rough track towards the tarred road, contemplated her next move.

When Archie had expressed his desire to shake the hand of the detective who’d locked up Watson, what she hadn’t told him was that she knew who his hero was.

Detective Sergeant Michael Joseph McNab.

45

The incident room was a hive of activity. McNab made his way through the throng, taking a quick dekko at the board as he passed. The Sandman investigation was ongoing, but as far as he could see, nothing new had presented itself in the last few hours, apart from a dead drug dealer on Skye being identified.

Bracing himself, he knocked on the boss’s door.

He had gone over his story about the loss of Harry in his head. It hadn’t sounded good then, and it wouldn’t when said out loud, but it was the only one he had.

Detective Inspector Wilson was on the phone even as he’d shouted to McNab to come in. McNab stood to attention just inside the door and awaited the conclusion of the conversation, where the boss appeared to be using the words ‘Yes, sir’ too frequently for McNab’s liking.

When the conversation came to its conclusion, the manner in which the boss put down the phone didn’t bode well for what McNab was about to report.

‘Well, Detective Sergeant?’