Jamie’s face broke into a relieved grin. ‘And that’s good, isn’t it?’ When she nodded, he said, ‘You didn’t half scare the shit out of Matt, though.’

Rhona changed the subject. ‘Did you organize the stag do?’

‘I did.’ Jamie seemed pleased to talk about something else. Then a worrying thought occurred. ‘Will your investigation be over by next weekend?’

‘It will,’ Rhona assured him.

As they drew into the square at Portree, Jamie asked if she wanted to eat with him at the Isles before heading home.

‘I have to get back,’ Rhona said. ‘I’m expecting a Skype call.’

‘Chrissy?’

‘DS McNab.’

Rhona had felt it necessary to give Jamie some explanation for her extended time on the island, although he’d never questioned her himself. And he was no fool, nor was he off-grid. Therefore he had to be aware of the sin-eater case and at least the fact that she’d been involved in it.

Rhona tried to make light of things. ‘McNab asks how I’m doing. I tell him fine, which is true. Although I suspect if I don’t agree to such calls, he may well get on his motorbike and head back here.’

‘He’s that protective of you?’ Jamie said.

‘He’d be the same with Chrissy,’ Rhona told him. ‘Her wee boy’s called Michael after McNab,’ she said to illustrate. ‘And not because he’s the father.’

Jamie drew into the square and turned off the ignition. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to run your suspicions about the site past Lee MacDonald?’

‘I’d rather wait and see if there’s anything to tell him first,’ Rhona said.

‘D’you want me to come back with you tomorrow?’ Jamie looked so worried for her when he said that, Rhona almost laughed.

‘I specialize in hidden and buried bodies, remember?’

‘At least we have the burying bit in common.’ He gave her a half-smile. ‘You’ll let me know?’

‘Of course,’ Rhona promised.

The sky was a brooding grey mass as she crossed into Sleat. The pleasure she normally took in the long stretch of road was missing tonight, replaced by the recurring image of that small clearing in the woods.

In most cases you knew you were entering a crime scene, but not always. Like the time she’d been called to the Shelter Stone cave on Cairngorm to view the bodies of three dead climbers. Death had many guises on the mountain, the majority being the result of the weather and the terrain. Not in that particular case, though.

Studying a body and the context in which it was found eventually told death’s true story.

There had been no body in the woods, but there had been enough to suggest there had been, if she respected her instincts . . . and those of the dog.