‘An Italian tourist took a series of photographs of Kilt Rock from the Mealt Falls lookout point yesterday. This morning, going through them, he spotted what might be a body on the shore and contacted the police.’ Jamie passed Alvis his mobile. ‘Here’s the photo.’

Rhona had already viewed the image. The black basalt cliffs which, she knew, got their name from their folded appearance, were skirted by a shoreline of equally dark rocks split and fallen from the cliff face. In the photograph that had so troubled the tourist, there appeared to be a different-coloured shape amongst the stones, which, with a little imagination, might be the crumpled form of a body.

‘The Coastguard have the search and recovery remit, but the Stornoway station’s currently fog-bound,’ Jamie told Alvis. ‘Looks like we might get a chopper from Glasgow instead. Sergeant MacDonald and my MRT teammates will meet us at the viewpoint. For speed they’ll be first responder.’

‘Any forecast for when the mist will clear?’ Alvis said.

‘Word is, it will thin out soon. Enough for us to descend the cliff face, I hope.’

For the moment, driving through what resembled grey soup, that sounded more of a hope than a reality.

It was a testament to Jamie’s knowledge of the road that he didn’t miss the sign for the viewpoint. As they entered the car park, other vehicles loomed out of the haar. Plus a food truck, apparently open and selling coffee and breakfast to the assembled Mountain Rescue Team and police officers.

As they approached the crowd round the van, a concerned Lee came to meet them.

‘Rhona. It’s good to have you here, but let’s hope you’re not needed.’

‘You still don’t know if it’s a body?’

‘It’s not been confirmed as yet, but it wouldn’t be the first one we’ve retrieved from the base of the cliff. Some folk don’t heed warnings and get too close to the edge.’

Lee gestured along the clifftop, barely distinguishable in the mist. ‘A couple of the MRT are on their way down via the gully.’ He turned to Rhona. ‘If it proves to be a body, do you want to view it in situ?’

‘Definitely,’ Rhona told him. ‘How do I get down there?’

‘The gully’s pretty tricky for non-climbers.’

‘Is there another way?’

‘You could wait for the chopper and get winched in or . . .’

‘Or what?’ Rhona said.

‘Have you any experience of abseiling?’

That she hadn’t expected.

‘Once, for charity. Chrissy and I went off the Erskine Bridge,’ Rhona said, trying not to remember exactly what she’d felt about that little escapade.

‘If you’re needed and willing, Jamie could take you down and the chopper could lift you off afterwards when the mist’s cleared,’ Lee suggested. ‘You’ve been helicoptered in before?’

‘Yes, with the MRT on Cairngorm and Police Scotland.’

‘So, nothing to it, then.’