Alvis had seen the fallout from this, both as a police officer and as a civilian, with friends and colleagues caught up in the aftermath. It wasn’t only physical injuries that left their mark, but the forever-lurking PTSD, haunting those involved for years afterwards, just as it did among fellow officers who’d served on the front line at home.

Because not all atrocities happened in war zones.

His mind moved back to 22 July 2011 and the terrible work of right-wing extremist Anders Behring Breivik, the numbers of young people killed or seriously injured by a lone gunman still too awful to contemplate, although he, like most Norwegians, knew the totals by heart – 69 dead, 110 injured, 55 seriously, when the white extremist, dressed in police uniform, went on a shooting spree on the island of Utøya in Tyrifjorden.

He thought of the young woman in the plantation and wondered about her state of mind. Trying to preserve life, especially on the front line, could prove as traumatizing as being a combat soldier. The group was a team, that much had been obvious by the camaraderie, but the girl seemed to be, at times, a reluctant member.

The ringing of his mobile brought him out of his reverie. Glancing at the screen, he was pleased to find Rhona’s name.

‘You’re back safely?’

‘I am,’ she assured him. ‘I called to say I’m planning a walk tomorrow instead of coming into Portree.’

‘D’you want some company?’

She hesitated a little, then said, ‘No, but thanks anyway. How much longer are you here for?’

‘I leave in a couple of days.’

Alvis had the strongest feeling in that moment that Rhona had called to say goodbye.

‘Chrissy will be heading back to Glasgow shortly too,’ she said.

‘And you?’ Alvis asked.

‘Probably stay until Christmas. After that . . .’

‘So your work here is over?’

‘The PM found no evidence of foul play, according to McNab, no birch residue, no evidence of a knife or tomahawk wound. It looks like the injured party in the birch woods is unconnected to the body on the beach.’ She paused, then almost as an afterthought, said, ‘Do you remember roughly the heights of the medic group?’

Alvis, slightly taken aback by the question, thought for a moment. ‘Average for the men, five nine or ten, except for the blond one who was closer to my height, and to the body on the beach. Why?’

‘Just curious. We’ll find out anyway when they eventually report to the station.’

She sounded about ready to ring off, so he intervened.

‘What about the DNA evidence you collected from the woods?’

‘Nothing back on that, yet.’

Her tone suggested she didn’t expect there to be a match to the victim either. It sounded as though Dr MacLeod no longer had faith in her earlier connections.

‘Well, enjoy your walk,’ Alvis said.

‘Thanks, I intend to.’