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Back Time for the Dead
Chapters (94)
  1. Cover
  2. Time for the Dead
  3. Dedication page
  4. Map
  5. Epigraph page
  6. Prologue
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. 37
  44. 38
  45. 39
  46. 40
  47. 41
  48. 42
  49. 43
  50. 44
  51. 45
  52. 46
  53. 47
  54. 48
  55. 49
  56. 50
  57. 51
  58. 52
  59. 53
  60. 54
  61. 55
  62. 56
  63. 57
  64. 58
  65. 59
  66. 60
  67. 61
  68. 62
  69. 63
  70. 64
  71. 65
  72. 66
  73. 67
  74. 68
  75. 69
  76. 70
  77. 71
  78. 72
  79. 73
  80. 74
  81. 75
  82. 76
  83. 77
  84. 78
  85. 79
  86. 80
  87. 81
  88. 82
  89. 83
  90. 84
  91. Epilogue
  92. Acknowledgements
  93. About the Author
  94. By Lin Anderson

‘Try looking at any map featuring land north of the central belt,’ she’d told him. ‘It’s all in Gaelic.’

‘It wasn’t on Sanday,’ he’d reminded her.

‘That’s because Orkney and Shetland are Norse. Didn’t they teach you anything about Scotland in school?’

He’d laughed then. ‘I went to a Catholic school, remember? It was all about the conversion of Scotland.’

She was almost at Sconser and the ferry terminal for Raasay. Her favourite view of Raasay was from Portree, but it was here that her most lasting memory of the island began. It had been earlier in her career. Not long after she’d found her son, Liam. Or he had found her.

A fishing boat had netted a severed male foot in Raasay Sound, a month after another fishing boat had gone down in the vicinity. Tempers had been running high among the locals since it hadn’t been the first time a submarine on manoeuvres on the west coast of Scotland had snagged a net and sunk a boat. The forensic trail on that investigation had led Rhona to Raasay via Santa Monica, USA, uncovering a conspiracy that had gone far beyond a clumsy attempt by the Ministry of Defence to shut down the story of the foot.

Today, the ferry was halfway across the Sound, and seeing its steady path to Raasay, Rhona thought she might like to revisit the island sometime during her stay on Skye. Perhaps call in on Mrs McMurdo who’d run the post office back then, and given her a place to stay.

The long length of Loch Sligachan travelled, she now passed the large family-run hotel at its head, then began the steep climb up towards the intermittent plantations that lined the road leading into Portree. The best views on this road were undoubtedly in the opposite direction because of the exciting glimpses of the Cuillin. Something she could enjoy on the way back.

After she got this meeting over with.

Checking her watch, Rhona realized she was going to be late. Something that was entirely down to her reluctance to set out in the first place. As luck would have it, the Dunvegan Road was this side of Portree and she soon spotted the sign for Am Fasgadh. Sweeping into the small car park outside the one-storey building, Rhona swiftly abandoned the jeep and hurried inside.

‘Dr MacLeod?’ a voice called her name on entry.

The man who stood at reception had his hand outstretched, as though certain that she was the person he sought. When Rhona indicated that he was right, he introduced himself.

‘Dr Mike Bailey. I was beginning to think you might have got lost,’ he added with a smile. He waited for a moment, as though expecting an explanation, which Rhona had no desire to give. When this became obvious, he said, ‘If you’d like to follow me through, Dr MacLeod.’