I backed up the files on to a USB memory stick, then connected the laptop to the hotel’s Internet server so I could check my emails. The missing persons files I’d asked Wallace to send hadn’t arrived, so I replied to the messages that were most urgent, then lay on the bed and closed my eyes. I could easily have fallen asleep if my stomach hadn’t rumbled noisily to remind me that, tired or not, I needed to eat.
I pushed myself off the bed and headed for the door. As I passed the window, I idly glanced out. My own reflection stared back at me from the dark, rain-flecked glass, but for a second I thought I’d glimpsed something-someone-outside.
I went over and looked out. A lonely street lamp stood in the street below, a bright yellow smudge in the darkness. But except for that the night was empty.
Trick of the light, I told myself. Switching off the bedroom light, I went downstairs.
CHAPTER 5
THE BAR WAS little more than a snug into which a few tables had been squeezed. Like the hallway, it was clad in pine panels, so that the overall impression was of being inside a giant wooden box. Set against one wall was a fireplace made entirely of seashells. A peat block burned in its hearth, filling the air with a rich, spicy scent.
There were fewer than a dozen customers, but it was enough to make the place feel busy without being overcrowded. The voices were a curious blend of lilting Scots and the harsher consonants of Gaelic. I received a few curious looks as I went in. Word had obviously spread about what had been found at the old crofter’s cottage, no doubt thanks to Maggie Cassidy. But after the initial glances everyone went back to what they were doing. Two old men were playing dominoes by the window, the clack of the black rectangles a staccato counterpoint to the chink of glasses. Kinross, the bearded ferry captain, was talking at the bar to a huge man with a ponderous gut. A blowsy woman in her forties was with them, her raucous laugh and smoker’s voice carrying above the barroom hubbub.
All the tables were occupied. There was no sign of Fraser, so I guessed he had gone to take Duncan’s supper out to the camper van. I hesitated, feeling the usual stranger’s exclusion at walking into a closed gathering.
‘Dr Hunter.’ Brody was sitting at a table by the fire, hand raised to attract my attention. The old border collie was curled asleep on the floor at his feet. ‘Won’t you join me?’
‘Thanks.’ I was glad to see a familiar face. I went over, easing my way past the domino players.
‘Can I get you a drink?’ He had a mug of tea on the table in front of him. I still hadn’t eaten, but a drink would be welcome.
‘A whisky, thanks.’
He went to the bar as I took the chair opposite him. Kinross gave him a nod as he made room. Cautiously respectful rather than friendly. There was no one serving, so Brody simply poured a measure of whisky into a glass, then chalked it up on a slate hanging by the bar.
‘Here you go. Fifteen-year-old Islay malt,’ he said, setting the glass in front of me with a small jug of water.
I looked at his tea. ‘You don’t drink yourself?’
‘Not any more.’ He raised his mug. ‘Slainte.’
I added a little water to the malt. ‘Cheers.’
‘So did you get much done after I’d left?’ he asked, then smiled ruefully. ‘Sorry, shouldn’t ask. Old habits and all that.’
‘Not much to tell yet, anyway.’
He nodded and changed the subject. ‘How are they settling into the camper?’
‘All right, I think. At least, Duncan is.’
Brody smiled. ‘Drew the short straw, did he? Ah well, he’ll stay in worse places before he’s finished. That van stood me in good stead when I first retired. Not seen much use since I came out here, though.’
‘Duncan was saying you used to work with his father.’
His smile grew reflective. ‘Aye. Small world, eh? We served in the Territorial Army together when we were both green PCs. Last time I saw Sandy his lad was still at school.’ He shook his head. ‘Where’s the time go, eh? One minute you’re chasing crooks and thinking about promotion, the next…’
He broke off, brightening as Ellen came over. ‘Can I get you something to eat, Dr Hunter?’ she asked.
‘That sounds good. And it’s David.’
‘David,’ she corrected herself, smiling. ‘I hope Andrew here’s not bothering you. You know what these ex-policemen are like.’
Brody wagged a finger, mock-stern. ‘Careful, that’s slander.’
‘Would a slice of home-made apple pie make amends?’
He patted his stomach, regretfully. ‘Tempting, but I’d better not.’
‘The sky won’t fall if you treat yourself for once.’
‘You can never be too careful.’
Ellen laughed. ‘Aye, I’ll remember that next time you sneak sweets to Anna.’
The big man who was with Kinross suddenly raised his voice. ‘Another couple of drams here, Ellen.’
‘In a minute, Sean.’
‘Shall we help ourselves, then? We’re dying of thirst.’
It was the woman at the bar who’d spoken. She was drunk, a condition I guessed from the look of her wasn’t unusual. A few years ago she might have been attractive, but now her features were puffy and etched with bitterness.
‘The last time you helped yourself, Karen, you forgot to chalk it up,’ Ellen retorted. There was steel in her voice. ‘I’m having a conversation. I’m sure you can survive for a few more minutes.’
She turned back to us, and so missed the anger that clouded the woman’s face. ‘Sorry about that. A few drinks and some people forget their manners. Now, I was asking you what you wanted to eat. There’s mutton stew, or I can make you a sandwich if you’d rather.’
‘Mutton stew sounds good. But I don’t mind if you serve them first.’
‘They can wait. It’ll do them good.’
‘Ellen…’ Brody said, quietly.
She sighed, then gave him a tired smile. ‘Aye, all right. I know.’
He watched her go to the bar to serve them. ‘Ellen can be a little…fiery,’ he said, but with affection. ‘Causes friction sometimes, but the hotel’s the only watering hole on Runa, so everyone either abides by her rules or stays home. She’s a good cook, too. Did a college course on the mainland. I eat here most nights.’
Even if Fraser hadn’t mentioned on the ferry that Brody was estranged from his wife and daughter, I would have guessed that he lived on his own. There was something intrinsically solitary about him.
‘Does she run this place by herself?’
‘Aye. Not easy, but between the bar takings and the occasional guest, she manages.’
‘What happened to her husband?’
His face closed down. ‘There wasn’t one. Anna’s father was someone she met on the mainland. She doesn’t talk about it.’
The way he said it made it clear that he wasn’t going to either. He cleared his throat and nodded towards the group at the bar.
‘Anyway, let me tell you about some of Runa’s local colour. Kinross you’ll have met on the boat. Surly bugger, but he’s had it rough. Wife died a couple of years ago, so now there’s just him and his teenage lad. The loudmouth with the beer belly is Sean Guthrie. Used to be a fisherman but lost his boat to the bank. He’s got an old one he’s trying to patch up, but he scrapes a living now doing odd jobs, and helping Kinross run the ferry sometimes. Harmless enough mostly, but keep clear of him when he’s had too many.’
He was interrupted by a raucous laugh from the woman.
‘That’s Karen Tait. Runs the general store, when she’s sober and can be bothered. Got a sixteen-year-old daughter, Mary, who…well, she isn’t what she should be. You’d think Karen would be at home with her, but she’d rather prop up the bar in here every night.’
His expression made it clear what he thought of that.
A blast of cold air swept into the bar as the outside door was opened. A moment later a golden retriever burst into the bar in a scrabble of claws.
‘Oscar! Oscar!’
A man came in after it. I’d have put him a year or two either side of forty, with the chiselled good looks of a latter-day Byron. His weatherproof coat was black and obviously expensive. Like its wearer, it looked out of place amongst the scuffed coats and oilskins favoured by the other islanders.