Julia stopped the Alvis where she had parked before and sprang out as the police car slowed to a halt a yard or two behind the Alvis' rear bumper. Two uniformed policemen alighted and came to join her on the shoulder, falling in behind her as she led the way down to the beach. As soon as she reached the sand, Julia broke away from her escort and ran forward to greet her husband.
"Sorry it took me so long," she said. "I couldn't find a public telephone anywhere between here and Campbeltown, and once I got there I had a bit of trouble finding the police station. This is Sergeant MacDonald, and that's P.C. Williamson." Turning back to the two police officers, she added, "This is my husband."
"Gentlemen." Peregrine acknowledged the introduction with a nod. "Thank you for coming out."
"Not at all, Mr. Lovat," the sergeant replied, directing his subordinate toward the castaway corpse. "Sorry you and Mrs. Lovat have had your stay here in Kintyre so rudely interrupted. I'm thankful to say we don't get many calls like this. We'll try to run through the formalities as quickly as possible, so that you and your wife can get back to your holiday."
Delving into the breast pocket of his police tunic, he took out a notebook and pen.
"Mrs. Lovat has already given us a statement," he told Peregrine. "While we're waiting for the ambulance to arrive, I'd appreciate it if you'd give me your version."
Peregrine was familiar with the procedure, having witnessed McLeod in action on the scene of more than one investigation. Knowing full well what to expect, he responded to the ensuing series of questions with a conciseness consistent with police methods. At the end of their dialogue, the sergeant gave him a quizzical look over the top of his notebook.
"Have you given evidence before in a police inquiry, Mr. Lovat?"
"Yes, I have," Peregrine admitted. "I occasionally do freelance work as a forensic artist for Detective Chief Inspector Noel McLeod of the Lothian and Borders Police."
Sergeant MacDonald's blue eyes registered a spark of lively interest. "That wouldn't be the same DCI McLeod who headed up the investigation into those so-called jack-o'-lantern killings last October?"
"The very same, I'm afraid."
MacDonald pulled a wry grin. "Gets all the strange ones, does your Inspector McLeod. Well, I guess somebody has to tackle them. Were you involved with the case?"
"Only in a very minor way," Peregrine said evasively. He did not add that, in seeking to apprehend the killer, McLeod had drawn - unofficially - on the collective resources of the Hunting Lodge.
MacDonald favored Peregrine with a speculative look, but any further comment on McLeod's apparent notoriety in police circles was forestalled by the return of P.C. Williamson.
"Sergeant, I think this might be that Irish Fisheries officer who went missing over the weekend," he said. "Scanlan, I think the name was. They use this kind of survival gear. He's got a wound in the back to match his partner's."
MacDonald pursed his lips in a brief, soundless whistle, then gave a deprecatory shake of his head. "Well, that rules out a fight between the two of them," he said. "They can't both have stabbed one another in the back. And he had to wash up on our beat."
The subdued rumble of another vehicle approaching heralded the arrival of the ambulance. Conscious of a growing sea chill in the air, Peregrine wrapped an arm around Julia's shoulders and gathered her close to him as two ambulance attendants made their way down from the road to meet them. Under the supervision of the two police officers, they zipped the remains into a black body bag and shifted the bag onto a portable stretcher for conveyance up to their car, Sergeant MacDonald lingered long enough to exchange parting words with the Lovats.
"Once again, let me express my regrets that you should have had your visit interrupted by a thing like this," he told them. "I hope the rest of your trip goes smoothly."
"So do I," Julia said solemnly. "This certainly wasn't on our agenda!"
"We were planning to leave Kintyre in the morning," Peregrine said, with a glance down at his wife's upturned face, "but I suppose we could stay on for another day or two, if you think you might need us as witnesses."
"I don't think that will be at all necessary," MacDonald assured them. "You've done your bit, and admirably. I don't anticipate our having to trouble you again. Best wishes to you both. Enjoy the rest of your holiday."
"We fully intend to," Peregrine said, giving Julia a hug.
The two men traded handshakes before MacDonald took his leave. Once the police and the ambulance men had departed, the Lovats began gathering up their things. It was only when Peregrine had to shift his camera bag that he remembered the photos he had taken of the dead man.
He said nothing to Julia, but he made a mental note to see about having the film processed as soon as possible, and also have the camera checked out. With the camera misbehaving, he doubted the photos would be of much help to the police, but at least he wanted to be sure that further photos of the wedding trip were not ruined - and it would be fun to see the photos they had taken thus far.
Putting the camera out of mind, he packed up his paintbox, then paused to contemplate the unfinished painting still mounted on his easel. He was debating whether or not to crumple it up and consign it to the nearest rubbish bin when he felt Julia's arms encircle his waist from behind.
"I hope you're not thinking of getting rid of that," she said.
Peregrine turned to her in some surprise, circling her shoulders with his arms. "Are you saying you'd like me to keep it?"
"More than that, I'd like you to finish it, if you can," Julia said. Seeing that her husband was still looking dubious, she went on. "It's true I had a bit of a shock today, darling, but the experience was also something of a revelation. I got to see a side of you that I'd hitherto only heard about secondhand - the side of you that only comes out when you're working on a case with Adam and Noel McLeod. Since you're obviously going to continue in that association, it's important to both of us that I should come to understand that aspect of your life. This was the first step toward my achieving that understanding, and I want to remember it."
Peregrine gazed down at his wife's earnest face with something approaching wonder. "Julia, are you sure? The kind of enforcement work I get involved in from time to time can often get pretty harrowing."
Even as he spoke, it cost him a pang to think of some of the uglier sights he had seen. But Julia's blue eyes never wavered from his.
"You don't have to tell me all the gory details," she conceded. "But you don't have to shield me completely, either. Our lives are now inextricably intertwined. If each of us doesn't grow with the other, both of us will wind up stunted. Trust me to know my own mind in this, darling, and promise me you'll keep that painting."
Peregrine had never heard Julia speak so seriously before. "I promise," he told her. And sealed it with a fervent kiss.
Chapter Five
FOLLOWING their conversation in the hospital chapel, Adam and McLeod went their separate ways. Although both men were now committed to solving the riddle of Carnage Corridor, McLeod had other cases awaiting his attention back at police headquarters, and Adam still had a belated series of rounds to perform at Jordanburn.
Back at the hospital, however, he found it more difficult than usual to concentrate on the reports being rendered him by the nursing staff. Though one half of his mind remained dutifully attuned to the welfare of his patients and concerns of staff, the other half kept wandering back to the unanswered questions concerning how Malcolm Grant, and all those before him, had met their deaths.
He finally finished his rounds just after four o'clock. Faced with the better part of another hour to update his case notes, he resigned himself to the prospect of having to start home during the Edinburgh rush hour and wrote out a set of fresh orders for the nursing staff before starting back toward his office to finish up. Passing through the hospital foyer, a headline caught his eye at the small news kiosk adjoining the reception area: