Rhona ignored McNab’s attempt at a joke. ‘Are you sure you’re up for this? I know how you don’t like mortuaries.’

‘As long as there are no electric saws and disembowelling, I’m fine.’

The mortuary was for storage only, with a small viewing room. Duncan, who proved to be a mountain of a man, much to McNab’s amusement, brought out the body and the bagged clothes, then departed.

Exposed, it showed all the signs of a fall onto rocks, much like the one on the shore. The face too had taken a beating, making it difficult to discern the features beneath. One thing was still obvious. The climber had, by his torso, been a fit guy.

‘Well?’ she said as McNab brought up the photo of a handsome army medic in full uniform and attempted to compare it to the body before them. ‘Could that be him?’

‘Height- and weight-wise, hair and eye colour, yes. We have his blood type too, which we can compare,’ McNab said.

Rhona gave him the good news.

‘All British military personnel deployed to Iraq or Afghanistan were given the chance to store their DNA in a secure armed forces repository,’ she said. ‘If Peter Galbraith took up that option, then we can establish for sure if this is him.’

McNab nodded, obviously encouraged by that.

‘So, how long would you say he’s been dead?’

When Rhona shot him a look, McNab qualified his question. ‘An estimate only, of course.’

‘Well, it’s been consistently cold on the Cuillin over the last few days which hinders decomposition. Rigor mortis has come and gone. He was, according to Jamie, semi-buried by a rockfall, so there’s not the usual infestation of someone above or below ground.’

Rhona continued, ‘Insects prefer injuries inflicted prior to death, because they bleed profusely, which suggests the face wound happened before he died. All of which puts the death in the time frame of the previous few days.’

‘When the medics were out on the hills.’

Rhona raised the body a little to examine the underside. ‘One oddity, though . . .’

‘What?’

‘See here, post-mortem lividity suggests he probably died on his back, but was later turned on his front.’

McNab waited, obviously expecting an explanation for this.

Rhona attempted to give him one. ‘He fell, landing on his back initially, then later rolled further down the scree and ended up on his front.’

‘How did the earlier wound to his face come about, d’you think?’

Rhona shook her head. ‘Something that happened during the climb, I presume. He wasn’t wearing a climbing helmet, or there wasn’t one found nearby. That’s why you need to talk to Jamie. Even better, attend the post-mortem in Glasgow. Electric saws notwithstanding.’

McNab, she noted, didn’t look enthusiastic about either suggestion. Although why talking to Jamie featured equally with the smell and noise of a PM, she had no idea.