The car lived up to Lord Lagan’s expectations. The gentlest touch on the accelerator and he felt the soft leather seat pushing against his back, the headrest resisting his head’s inclination to roll back as the car leapt forward. It took less than an hour to reach the Strathcarron Hotel, and he turned into the hotel grounds with a sense of disappointment that this inaugural drive had been so short. Perched high up above the town, the hotel gave the impression of looking down its nose at the rest of Inverness. Built in the Victorian era by an enterprising local, the hotel had preceded the railway by only a few months, providing sophisticated accommodation for the sudden influx of fashionable tourists keen to follow in the Queen’s footsteps. Granite turrets lent a Scottish baronial feel to the place, reminding him of the Highland castle where he’d been raised.

Lord Lagan parked in a bay that had been reserved for him, catching the watchful eye of a uniformed policeman who tipped his head deferentially towards him. At least the ACC had put a few bobbies on site, not that he seriously expected anyone to try and murder him. The policeman accompanied him as he entered the hotel, keeping a respectful distance until he met the reception committee. The ACC made immediately for him, discomfort at having to apologise for one of his detective’s actions written across his face.

“Archibald, I’m sorry about this business with Detective Inspector Corstorphine. I’ve had a word. Obviously a misunderstanding somewhere along the line. The fellow’s not the sharpest tool in the box. I’ll be having my men take over the investigation tomorrow.” The Assistant Chief’s words came out in a torrent until his lordship raised a hand in a conciliatory gesture.

“Not your fault. The fellow’s just doing his job – I’m sure it will all be cleared up shortly.” He stopped as a waiter proffered glasses of sherry, the tray held in that peculiarly awkward way waiters present such things. He sipped it, a warm alcoholic glow spreading down his throat. The glass was lowered, held delicately between forefinger and thumb and slowly twirled as he studied the contents. “Although it’s a bloody inconvenience. I’ve had to call in my QC to accompany me. Do you have any idea what he charges per hour?”