McNab had finished by saying, ‘Do me a favour, Dr MacLeod, and give Maguire a call. The poor bastard thinks I know something about your incarceration that he doesn’t. I have no idea what that is, but if I was him, it would make me mad too.’

Rhona stared into the flames.

Nobody knew what she’d decided during her captivity. Not Chrissy. Not Sean. Not McNab. She doubted whether she would tell anyone. Ever. Maybe that was why she’d avoided Castlebrae and the psychologist’s couch. She never wanted that pried out of her. If that meant she must live with what she recognized as PTSD, then so be it.

38

Alvis stepped out into the night air. Portree, used to rain in abundance, had dealt with the downpour as always, diverting it into its gutters and drains and sending it back out to sea.

A well-washed Somerled Square glistened in the street lights and the air smelt fresh and clean. It was, he accepted, like being at home in Stavanger. No weather flung at Norway or Scotland could ever defeat the resilience of their populations. After all, they’d had centuries of practice in surviving its extremities.

Visitors who came to walk and climb didn’t let the weather put them off either, whatever the time of year. Alvis could understand why soldiers might come to Skye, to test themselves in its terrain and escape memories of Afghanistan for a short period of time at least.

His first impression of the group that night in the bar had been of a stag party. It was the presence of a girl that had put paid to that idea. From memory, the female member of the group appeared more than a little lost in thought, trying to join in the fun from duty, rather than desire.

The reaction when the rescue helicopter had flown over had exemplified that. The tall blond male that Donald may have encountered in the toilet was the one bringing the shots and encouraging everyone to toast the chopper.

The girl, on the other hand, had appeared more frightened than ecstatic at whatever memory the helicopter had evoked, although she’d successfully covered this by engaging with the big collie and encouraging his tricks.

Perhaps because the beating of the blades conjured up memories she would rather forget?

Several of Alvis’s own colleagues in Police National had spent time in Afghanistan. Norway still maintained a presence there, attached to the larger International Security Assistance Force (ISAF). Ten Norwegian soldiers had already died in the forgotten war, seven of them blown up by IEDs and twenty-six injured in combat action, some badly.