‘Now we wait until you go hunting,’ he mused. ‘Take your time. I’m in no hurry. I’m a hunter, too. Just like my boy.’
There was the sound of a toe scuffing rock and Alistair spun round, his eyes wide with surprise.
‘You! What are you doing here?’ he challenged.
chapter fourteen
Vincent Gilfillan had been busy all morning. He had dealt with his own chores before going on to feed Rhona’s goats and then do some work on her weaving quota. He knew that he and the others would have to get together and work out what they were going to do about her croft. But of course, the complication was simply the new laird, Jock McArdle. The possibility that he would repossess her croft and rescind the right of transfer seemed highly likely.
‘Damn the man,’ he muttered to himself. ‘We should have been in contact with the Crofters Commission to find out exactly what rights we have.’ He shook his head sadly as he tidied up and left Rhona’s weaving shed. It was exactly the sort of thing that Rhona would have seen to. And she would have done if she hadn’t died so suddenly.
At the thought of her death, he pictured the new laird and he felt his anger seethe to boiling point. In his mind he saw him going into the cottage hospital with Inspector McKinnon and he thought back to what he had wished he had done. Part of him wished that he had not stopped Alistair McKinley from going out to challenge him. But then he thought of Rhona lying there, her face alabaster white.
He pushed open the door of her cottage, went through to the main room, lined with bookcases, antiques and numerous handmade mats covering the polished wood floor. He slumped down on the settee beside the holdall containing the things he had brought back from the hospital. The smell of her perfume and the odour of her cigarettes was all around him and he felt slightly heady. He gave a deep sigh of despair and leaned forward, sinking his head in his hands as he began to sob.
He was still sobbing when Inspector Torquil McKinnon found him there ten minutes later when he pushed open the door.
‘I thought I heard someone in here,’ Torquil said, coming in and pulling off his large leather gauntlets. ‘And I am glad to find that it is you, Vincent. We need to talk. But first, I have to tell you that we are investigating a murder.’
Vincent looked up and wiped the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand. ‘Whose murder, Inspector?’
‘One of Jock McArdle’s employees. The tall flashy-dressed one with attitude. It was his body that we found by the Wee Kingdom causeway.’
‘He had a bad attitude, right enough. I met him yesterday. In Geordie Morrison’s croft. I was there with Megan Munro and he came in and gave us a letter each from the new laird.’ He wrinkled his nose distastefully. ‘I thought that he smelled of whisky.’
‘What were the letters about, Vincent?’
‘I think you know already, Inspector,’ Vincent returned. ‘The same as the letter that McArdle devil gave Rhona.’ His face twisted in distaste. ‘You know – the one that killed her! The one about having wind towers put up on the common grazing ground by our crofts.’
‘Have you got your letter?’
‘Not here. I think I may even have just screwed it up.’ He chewed his lip reflectively. ‘But Rhona’s letter should be here in this holdall. I haven’t had a chance, or the inclination, to unpack her stuff.’ He unzipped the bag, opened the sides and pulled out the letter.
Torquil read it and nodded. ‘Enough to give anyone a shock, let alone someone who had just had a heart attack.’ He held out the letter for Vincent to see. ‘I understand from Dr McLelland that it looked as if she was trying to write a message when she collapsed. Any idea what she meant by this CARD IN?’
Vincent shook his head. ‘No idea. It may mean one of those get-well cards that she had. They are all in there as well. As I said, I haven’t had time to check her things.’
Torquil put the letter back into the holdall. ‘I think that I had better take the bag back to the station. There may be something of relevance. I’ll give you a receipt for it all.’
Vincent looked at him with puzzled brows. ‘I thought you were investigating the murder of that young thug. Why do you need Rhona’s things?’
‘There have been several deaths. Too many for comfort. We’re keeping an open mind about them all.’
‘That’s just what I was thinking yesterday, Inspector. That’s why I was in Geordie’s cottage. I was looking to see if I could find some clue as to where he’d taken his family.’
‘And what was Megan Munro doing there?’
‘I think she had the same idea. But she was upset.’
‘Tell me more.’
Vincent stood up and stretched the muscles of his back. ‘I’m not sure that I should be saying anything about Megan’s problems.’
Torquil eyed him sternly. ‘I repeat, I am investigating a murder. Why was she upset?’
Vincent sighed. ‘I think she is having man trouble with Nial Urquart. She was upset, I comforted her, and that Liam Sartori fellow walked in.’ He held his hands palms up in a gesture of helplessness. ‘She threw herself into my arms and I was giving her a friendly hug, that’s all. There was nothing more.’
‘And what did Sartori say?’
‘Nothing much. Just a smart comment, then he gave us the letters and said he was going on to see Alistair McKinley.’
‘And that was the last you saw of him?’
‘Yes. I had chores to do and Megan was desperate to find Nial. I had already taken care of Geordie’s chickens and collected the eggs. And to tell you the truth I was a bit peeved with him. He’s always going off and taking his family with him, and he’s never too good at telling us where he’s gone.’
‘Who does he usually tell?’
Vincent hesitated for a moment, his expression grim. ‘Rhona.’
‘And presumably she hadn’t told you where they went?’
‘No, but she wouldn’t, would she?’ he replied brusquely.
‘Do I detect a touch of pique there, Vincent?’ Torquil asked.
Vincent ran his hands across his face. ‘Aye, maybe. Look, the truth is that Rhona liked younger men. She always had. Never anything deep. She liked to be in charge of her life.’ He gestured round the room at the bookcases packed with books, the upright piano by the wall, the old manual typewriter and the reams of neatly stacked paper on an old roll-top desk; then, ‘Geordie was the latest.’
‘And does everyone on the Wee Kingdom know that?’
The crofter shook his head. ‘I knew it, and I suspect that Alistair McKinley knew it too. But I’m pretty sure that Sallie, Geordie’s wife doesn’t.’
‘Or perhaps she found out and that’s why they’ve gone off somewhere.’
‘Maybe,’ Vincent returned doubtfully. ‘Geordie is an unpredictable man. I am just not sure what to think.’
‘And were you one of Rhona’s lovers?’ Torquil asked matter-of-factly.
Vincent gave a soft whistle, and then smiled winsomely. ‘You don’t pull punches, do you, Inspector?’ He glanced at a photograph of all of the Wee Kingdom crofters on the mantelpiece. A smiling Rhona was in the middle. ‘The answer is yes, years ago, for a few months. When I first came to the Wee Kingdom to take over my croft when my mother’s cousin died. But not since then. I loved her then.’
Torquil nodded. ‘The Padre tells me that you’ve been here about twenty years now.’
Vincent nodded. ‘That’s right.’ He seemed to look into the distance, into the past. ‘Twenty years, how time flies. Rhona was sort of playing at crofting back then. She was still commuting back and forth to the mainland, and working as a writer in Glasgow or Edinburgh.’