“How do I get there?”
“Turn round, then back round the next bend, and you’ll see a road covered with heather on the right.”
Hamish phoned Strathbane again and gave instructions as to how to get to the quarry.
Elspeth found the road and her small car began to bump over the ruts. “Not far now,” said Hamish. “We’ll go the rest of the way on foot. On second thoughts, you stay here. It’ll be dangerous.”
“I want the story,” said Elspeth. “I’m coming.”
“Then keep behind me and don’t do anything daft.” They walked quickly up the old overgrown road, their feet making no sound on the grass and heather that covered it.
♦
Cyril switched off the engine. “Here we are,” he said.
“Are you going to give her another dunt on the head afore you throw her over?” asked Mary.
“No. Don’t want things to look too suspicious. I told you, the sides of the quarry are so steep that even if she had the strength to swim, she’d never have the strength to climb out.”
They both got out of the car. Cyril lifted out his shotgun. “What’s that for?” asked Mary.
“We’ve come this far. Got to make sure no one surprises us. Hold the gun and I’ll open the boot and get her out.”
Hamish and Elspeth crouched down in the heather. The moon raced out from behind the clouds. “He’s got a gun,” said Hamish, his mouth against Elspeth’s ear. “Damn.”
“He wouldn’t be idiotic enough to shoot a policeman, would he?” asked Elspeth.
“That pair are mad enough to do anything.”
♦
“Did you hear something?” asked Mary sharply.
Cyril froze and listened hard. “Nothing,” he said.
Mary shivered. “This place gives me the creeps. It’s haunted, you know.”
“Havers.” Cyril opened the boot. “Help me get her out.”
♦
There was a rustling in the heather beside Hamish. He felt Elspeth moving away and shot out an arm to stop her, but she had gone. He swore under his breath. He would need to confront the Robertses, but he wished he could get to that shotgun first.
He thought the Robertses had really gone mad. He was sure Cyril Roberts would shoot them both and get rid of their bodies even if he told him that reinforcements were on their way.
The Robertses dragged Jenny out and laid her on the heather. “Now, the thing is,” said Cyril, “we roll her to the edge, cut off the ropes, rip off the gag, and push her over. Right?”
“Right,” said Mary. “Hurry up. I feel something here.”
And then they both froze as a silvery, unearthly voice whispered across the heather. “You are wicked and I have come to take you away.” Then there was an eerie laugh.
Mary’s face, already bleached by the moonlight, was now as white as paper. “It’s the wee folk,” she said through dry lips.
“Pull yourself together, woman.” Cyril picked up the shotgun and swung it to the left and the right.
“You will suffer unbelievable torture,” mocked the unearthly voice. Cyril fired to the right. Silence.
Then from the left came the whispering, jeering voice again. “Bullets cannot hurt us.”
Mary slumped down against the side of the car and began to cry with fright. Beside himself with rage and fear, Cyril stood straddling Jenny’s body where she lay on the heather, glaring around him.
“Let her go,” called the voice, and to the terrified Cyril it seemed to be coming from the sky above his head.
He left Jenny and ran desperately this way and that, trying to find the source of the voice.
“You are going to die,” mocked the eldritch voice.
“Mary,” shouted Cyril, “come here and grab her and let’s get this over with.”
Mary continued to sob, shivering and wrapping her arms around her body.
♦
Jenny summoned up all her energy and began to roll down the slope of the hill when Cyril went to his wife to try to get her to her feet.
Despite the tussocks of heather, it was a steep slope away from the lip of the quarry, and she slowly gathered momentum until she bumped up against a rock and lost consciousness.
♦
Damn, he’s loading the shotgun again. I should have taken him, thought Hamish. I could even have chanced it while he was dealing with Mary.
“Now untie her and ungag her,” Cyril was ordering his wife. “She can scream all she likes. No one will hear her up here.”
“What about the fairies?” screeched Mary.
“There’s no such damn thing as fairies. When we get rid of her, I’ll blast whoever that is playing tricks. Now get on with it!”
Mary moved round to the back of the car and let out a scream. “She’s gone!”
“What!” The moon shone bravely down. Cyril joined her and stared down at where Jenny had so recently Iain. Then he looked wildly around, swinging the shotgun this way and that.
“We’ve taken her where you’ll never get her,” cackled the unearthly voice.
Mary Roberts said in a dull voice, “God have mercy on me.” She ran to the edge of the quarry and jumped over.
“Mary!” shouted Cyril. He dropped the shotgun and ran to the edge of the cliff.
Hamish rose to his feet and sprinted up behind him. He seized Cyril, threw him to the ground, and handcuffed him. In the distance came the wail of police sirens.
“Elspeth!” he shouted. “Where are you?”
“Down here,” shouted Elspeth from somewhere behind him. “I’ve got Jenny. You keep an eye on him and I’ll look after her. Are you going after Mary?”
“I’ll need to wait for help. If I went down there after her, there’s no way I could get both of us out again.”
Hamish cautioned Cyril, who was crying so hard that he did not seem to hear him.
Hamish took out his mobile phone and said he would need ropes, divers, and an ambulance.
Police cars with sirens wailing and blue lights flashing bumped up towards them.
Jimmy Anderson was the first out. “What’s happening, Hamish?”
“This is Cyril Roberts, who is guilty of kidnapping Jenny Ogilvie and trying to kill her. He is guilty of the other murders. His wife, Mary, has jumped into the quarry. See if you can get men down there. I don’t have any rope.”
“You’re lucky,” said Jimmy. “We still had the men in Braikie who were looking for Jenny’s body down the cliffs, so they have all the equipment.” He walked away from Hamish and began to bark out orders.
Hamish saw Elspeth and Jenny in the light from the police cars. “How is she?” he asked.
“Very weak. Don’t wait for the ambulance. Get someone to take her to hospital immediately.”
“Right!” Hamish arranged for a policeman and policewoman to drive Jenny to the hospital and to stay with her.
When Jenny had been ushered into a police car, Hamish said to Elspeth, “You could have got yourself shot. What on earth possessed you to pretend you were a fairy?”
“Anything to stop them throwing her over. And it worked.”
“What if Mary Roberts didn’t believe in fairies?”
“Most people up here will believe in fairies if their mind’s a bit overturned. Do you think Mary Roberts will still be alive?”
“I doubt it. I think she wanted to die when she went over.”
Cyril Roberts was being put into a police car just as Detective Chief Inspector Blair came roaring up.
Hamish had to go through the whole story of how he had come to suspect the Robertses. When he had finished, Blair said, “You wait here to see if they get Mrs. Roberts out alive. I’ll go with Cyril Roberts to Strathbane and question him.”
“Sir,” said Hamish, “I think as I solved the case, I should be there when he is questioned.”
“You’ll stay here and do as you’re told,” snarled Blair, already wondering how he could take all the credit himself.