‘He was a good friend to all of us, Torquil,’ Morag said. ‘The Drummonds are both cut up about it and even Calum Steele has been writing sentimental pieces in the West Uist Chronicle about him.’ She stood up and put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Now do you see why you can’t go resigning? I need you, Torquil.’
He turned and smiled down at her. Like Ewan McPhee, Morag was a good friend, as well as being his sergeant. He noticed how tired and drained she looked. And how much weight she had lost, although now he realized that it must have been from worry. He gave her a big hug. ‘Och, of course I won’t leave, Morag – for now anyway.’ He released her, then asked, ‘How is Jessie, his mother?’
The Padre struck a light to his pipe despite the prominent No Smoking notices scattered all over the station. ‘She’s struggling, Torquil. But she’s a tough old lady. She lost her husband in a fishing-boat accident when Ewan was only five, so it’s bound to be stirring up old wounds.’ He sighed. ‘But until the Fatal Accident Enquiry, whenever that is, we can do nothing.’
‘Poor Ewan, he’d been through the mill, hadn’t he?’ Torquil said. ‘What with that last relationship and everything.’
‘A relationship may have had something to do with this, Piper,’ said Morag, using the name that Torquil was often known by throughout the island. ‘You know how involved Ewan can get? Well, I think he had fallen head over heels. His mind hasn’t been on the job for days. The trouble was, I don’t think the lassie knew exactly how much he felt for her.’
‘Who is she?’ Torquil queried.
‘Katrina Tulloch – the new vet.’
Torquil nodded his head as he put the face to the name. ‘Old Tam Tulloch’s niece. I met her a couple of times before I left. She’s a bonnie lassie, right enough.’
The Padre blew smoke ceiling-wards. ‘Actually, I think she did know he liked her, Morag. She was upset yesterday at Gordon MaDonald’s wake. She left in a hurry after Kenneth McKinley said something to her about there not being many police officers left on West Uist.’
‘Gordon MacDonald is dead?’ Torquil repeated.
‘Aye, from a stroke. That was Ralph McLelland’s opinion, and he’d been Gordon’s GP for years. He’d been dead for a couple of days before he was found. Rhona McIvor discovered him when he didn’t show up to help her with the geese.’ He shook his head. ‘And now poor Rhona is in the cottage hospital herself after having another heart attack.’
And he told Torquil about the events at the wake.
‘So the new laird, this Jock McArdle, is really going to set up a wind farm?’ Torquil asked in disbelief. ‘Here on West Uist? There will be an outcry.’
‘Morag and I just saw the first one,’ said the Padre. ‘That lorry that just came off before you looked as if it was carrying the components for a windmill.’
‘I can’t believe that all this has happened since I went away,’ said Torquil with a sad shake of the head. ‘Especially Ewan falling in love again. And falling overboard and drowning.’
‘We’re all trying to get our heads round it, laddie,’ agreed the Padre.
At that very moment Katrina Tulloch, the veterinary surgeon in question, was not feeling at all caring towards one of her patients. She had been feeling tense and on edge ever since Ewan had disappeared. She knew perfectly well that the big constable had fallen for her, but over the last couple of weeks he had seemed to be preoccupied with something and his attitude towards her had been slightly strained, as if he was suspicious of her.
God! How do I get myself in such emotional messes? she mentally chided herself. Without any active encouragement she had seemed to have had at least three men fawning over her since she had taken over her uncle’s practice. And she had felt torn and confused to say the least. Which of them did she really want? Dammit, it was all so bloody—
Her wandering attention was brought back to bear on the large dog that had begun to snarl at her again.
‘Zimba has always been a wee bit protective of his bottom,’ explained the dog’s owner, Annie McConville, one of Kyleshiffin’s renowned eccentrics. She ran a dog sanctuary that covered the whole of the Western Isles, and she was an almost daily visitor at both the local police station, where she would lodge complaints about local ordinances, and the local veterinary practice with at least one of her many canine charges. Zimba was a large Alsatian who had developed a limp over the preceding week, which had done nothing for his somewhat mercurial disposition.
‘I think I’ll have to take him in for a general anaesthetic, Miss McConville,’ Katrina said, edging backwards, peeling off her latex rubber gloves as she did so. ‘Zimba isn’t going to let me near enough to examine that abscess.’
‘Oh, so it is an abscess that he has? And there was me thinking it was just a bad case of worms again. He sits down and pulls himself along to scratch his bottom a lot.’
Katrina smiled uncertainly, scarcely believing that Annie McConville hadn’t seen the abscess as large as a duck’s egg to the left of the Alsatian’s anus. Attempting to examine the brute had almost cost her a couple of fingers.
‘I’ll make an appointment then shall I, Miss Tulloch?’ Annie asked, alternately stroking the Alsatian and tugging on the chain leash to encourage him off the examination table.
‘Just see Jennie at the reception and we’ll get him in tonight. He’ll need an operation tomorrow.’
The Alsatian jumped down and yowled with pain.
‘See, he’s not liking that proposition,’ said Annie.
And while Katrina sprayed the table with disinfectant and then washed her hands in preparation for her next client, she mused that in many ways human medicine seemed preferable to veterinary work.
‘Hi, Katrina,’ came a familiar male voice.
She spun round at once, her face registering surprised joy, which was quickly suppressed by professional bedside manner. ‘Oh Nial,’ she said, on recognizing the Scottish Bird Protection officer-cum smallholder. He was holding a cage containing a young fulmar. ‘You sounded just like someone else.’
Nial Urquart pressed his lips together. ‘I’m, sorry, Katrina. You mean Ewan McPhee, don’t you?’
Katrina shook her head and smiled dismissively. ‘Forget it. What can I do for you, Nial? A wounded fulmar is it?’
The bird protection officer nodded and laid the cage on the table. He undid the front grille and, reaching in gingerly, removed the bird.
‘Just hold her on the table, will you, while I give her the once over,’ Katrina said. And swiftly and skilfully she assessed her patient. ‘She’s been lucky,’ she announced. ‘She’s got a pretty bloodstained wing, but the wound is superficial. No bone damage that I can find.’ She looked up at him, instantly aware that his eyes had been roving appreciatively over her upper torso. She pretended not to notice, instead asking, ‘What was it, an eagle?’
‘It was one of the golden eagles from up in the Corlins. I saw it swoop on her in mid-flight, and just failed to keep hold. I saw her fall and the eagle just flew on and took the next fulmar it spotted. The last I saw it was heading back towards its eyrie in the Corlins.’
‘You really love those eagles, don’t you, Nial?’
He nodded enthusiastically. ‘They are majestic creatures, Katrina.’ He put the fulmar back in its cage, then turned to her with a smile. ‘I love all beautiful creatures.’
Katrina chose to ignore the flattery, if flattery was intended. Instead, she continued conversationally, ‘I’m heading up to the Wee Kingdom after I finish surgery here. I’ve got to go and see Alistair McKinley’s sheep. He’s worried that a couple might have a touch of foot rot.’ There was silence for a moment, then she asked, ‘Any news of Rhona?’