by Jo McCready
“So, what’s our story?” RJ asked.
“We’re Riley and Stuart Black. I’m older than you, obviously, by eight years. We met in Birmingham when you were a student. We used to get the same train into the city every day and sat beside each other for months before I plucked up the courage to talk to you. You’re an artist, and I’ve just been made redundant from an advertising agency in London—our home for the past ten years. We’re scouting out places to build or develop into an artist retreat. A new business venture, away from the rat race, and a way to invest my redundancy.”
“Sounds plausible enough. So, we’re married then. I should have guessed.” RJ swapped the ring she’d been toying with over to her left hand.
“We’re staying in the village near where Sullivan stayed. It’s about ten miles outside Oban. Our booking is open-ended depending on how long it takes us to scout the area. I’ve spoken to the owner and described our situation. They seem to be glad of the length of the booking. Must be hard times. They were willing to accommodate us for as long as we needed.”
“Any updates on the case?”
“What do you know so far?” he asked her.
She filled him in on all she knew as well as her visit to Janice Sullivan.
“We’ve had a lot more come through since you were last updated, it seems. They’re still combing through the emails and texts of both the Sullivans and Kowalski. Nothing popped yet. No signs or rumors of any extra-marital activity on any side. The financials for his companies are panning out so far. None of his companies are in trouble. Looking into his past is proving to be a bit more problematic. He had a number of associates when he was younger that are now either dead or incarcerated. Statistically, it’s no different than what we would expect from such a cohort. They’re trying to see if there are any current links to his old friends, but nothing has surfaced yet. The biggest piece of information is that we now know who he transferred the money to.”
“And who would that be?”
“Buchanan Estate, the place where he was staying and hunting.”
“The payment makes sense, but why was the trail hidden so well? That’s just odd.”
“The payment wasn’t for his room and board or his hunting privileges. That all went through the official company account.” Stuart shook his head. “And the amount is higher than you’ll have heard. We found more hidden payments from another of Sullivan’s bank accounts. It totals fifty thousand dollars. There were no upcoming payments, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t planning on paying them even more.”
“Then just what was he paying them for? That money amounts to almost forty thousand pounds. And why was it put through separately?”
“All good questions that we still have to find the answers to.”
They passed the rest of the drive in silence, with RJ mulling over the new information, and Stuart, or whatever his real name was, stewing in his own juices, sitting beside the woman who had inadvertently knee-capped him.
Chapter 6
Although she had visited the town of Oban many times before, RJ, like most people, had never ventured to the village of Ferlieclachan, which lay ten miles east of the main town. Hardly surprising since the village was not situated on any main roads. A reminder of its stark remoteness was that the country road which led to Ferlieclachan ran out of tarmac a few hundred yards from the village pub. It was at the pub that Stuart slowed down and pulled in.
“Home sweet home,” he muttered under his breath as he pulled up the hand brake. “Wait here.” He unclipped his seatbelt and exited the car, going in through the well-handled wooden doors of the old, whitewashed stone building.
RJ stared after him and chewed the inside of her cheek. They’d need to get over their issues if they were to masquerade as husband and wife. She’d talk to him this evening, try to clear the air. If they didn’t hash it out now, then working together could get very unpleasant. A plan of action decided, she peered out the windscreen at the old building. It looked like it had been there since time began. Weeds jutted out where the stone blocks met the pavement, the stoop worn from the footsteps of probably hundreds of years of clientele. She looked up at the flaking black paint on the blocks surrounding the windows above. It didn’t bode well, but then, she wasn’t here for a holiday. A little round face suddenly appeared at the top window, disappearing out of sight as quickly as it had appeared. RJ was still watching the window for any further signs of life when Stuart got back in the car.
“We’re to go ’round the side,” he told her as he started the car and reversed out of the space.
They stopped at a metal gate covered in chicken wire that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a farm. A woman with a frizzy, auburn mane and rosy cheeks marched up to the other side and swung it open for them. She waved them through with a friendly smile, then closed and fastened the gate behind them.
What awaited them on the property was a steep bank containing three black-and-white cabins painted to match the main building. Two large oak trees spread their branches and roots out between the cabins, their boughs towering over the roofs like ancient guardians and protectors. Beyond the property line, designated by a fence of the same ilk as the gate, was a thick pine-tree plantation, the entire sector at a forty-five-degree angle to the top left already harvested. Freshly cut stumps and the waste of the seized trees provided a desolate and alien backdrop to what was to be their home for the duration of the assignment.
The cabins rested on gravel-filled platforms set into the hill. Wooden staircases with no handrails led from each one to join a winding path that started at an empty area of hard standing, obviously designated as car parking.
The tires crunched as Stuart eased into the area the landlady was pointing to, leaving space on either side for other cars—should there be any.
“Lovely to have you here,” the landlady said with a wide but tired smile as they got out of the car. “You’re the only ones here, so you have your choice of cabins, but I thought I’d put you in number two. It’s got the best views.”
Her strong brogue was a sudden reminder to RJ of exactly where she was. It was jarring to hear the accent after so long and sounded alien after the time she had spent away. She gave herself a mental shake and resigned herself to the fact that she’d be hearing a lot more of it on this assignment. She just had to tune in and get used to it again.
“Sound’s lovely, doesn’t it, darling?” Stuart turned to RJ with a smile and took her hand in his.
RJ plastered a grin on her face.
As they followed their host up the stairs, RJ noted that she was wearing long sleeves even though it was a relatively warm evening. She could have kicked herself—she’d completely forgotten about midges. She hated the little buggers, and now she would have to deal with the constant itching that Highland summers provided.
“Oh, I never introduced myself, I’m Tracy,” she told them as she put the key in the door.
Tracy’s clothes were worn. They were undoubtedly clean but had clearly seen better days. Jeans that had once been black were a washed out-gray, and the plaid shirt she wore over a vest had a thin layer of light fuzz covering it in its entirety. The running shoes she wore were scuffed and discolored.
Tracy turned the handle, but the door wouldn’t budge. Putting her shoulder against the wood, she pushed, turning the handle at the same time. “Just needs a wee shove,” she explained as she grunted with an effort that was rewarded with an open door. “If you need anything at all, you just let me know.”
She waited in the doorway as they took in the cabin in all its splendor. There was one main room, with a window facing the front. A double bed had been pushed against the back wall, with a sofa in front of the window and small kitchen area to one side. A door off the kitchen presumably led to the bathroom. The cabin smelled musty, like it needed a good airing out, but appeared clean and tidy, even if the furniture did look a bit worse for wear and the carpet was worn away to within an inch of its life. If this
was the best cabin, RJ wondered what the other choices provided.
“It’s great, just what we need,” she reassured Tracy.
“Yep, perfect,” Stuart added. “A great little base.”
“So, you folks are looking for property, eh?”
“Yes, yes, we are. This is the perfect spot for us to stay while we’re looking. If you’ve any leads, please let us know. Maybe you could put the word out in the pub for us?” Stuart suggested.
“I’ll certainly ask around.” Tracy beamed. “I haven’t heard of anything, to be honest. Usually someone would have to die with no family for the sort of thing you’re looking for to come up around here.” She offered them an apologetic smile, her cheeks flushing a deeper shade of red. “Not that I want to put you off, what would I know?” She shrugged. “Breakfast is served in the pub at seven-thirty if you want to book ahead.”
“Oh, I think we’ll be fine sorting our own out,” Stuart said. “Although, I’m sure we’ll see you in the pub at the end of a long day’s property search.”
“Well, I’ll be seeing you. If there’s anything you need, just give me a shout. Oh, and those wee nyaffs that you’ll see around, they’ll be mine.”
“Nyaffs?”
“Aye, my weans, I’ve got three of them. Twin boys and a girl.”
RJ thought of the little face she’d seen at the widow, no doubt one of Tracy’s kids curious about their new visitors.
“A nyaff is an annoying person, darling,” RJ explained to her ‘husband’ with a forced smile and an emphasis on the word ‘darling’.
Tracy was either oblivious to RJ’s dig towards Stuart or too polite to indicate that she’d noticed. RJ bet it was the first option. Tracy, it seemed, had enough on her plate without worrying about the personal life of her guests.
“Anyways, if they’re any bother, let me know.”
“Oh, I’m sure we’ll be fine.” RJ smiled, understanding why Tracy had dark circles beneath her eyes. “Thank you.”
Tracy retreated down the stairs and RJ shut the door, shoving it back in place with her shoulder.
“There really wasn’t much choice in the way of accommodation round here,” Stuart said as she turned around. “However, we couldn’t get much closer to the estate than this. Those trees at the back are on Buchanan land, and the main gate is just down the road.” He walked over to the window and pushed it open. “Get this place aired out in no time.”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine. Just like camping.” Hands on her hips, she looked around and considered the space, her eyes coming to rest on the bed in the corner.
Stuart smirked at her.
She glared at him. “There’s no way we’re sharing.”
“If that’s the case, you’ll need to take the couch,” he said. “Look at the size of me compared to you. Plus, I need to be able to stretch out my knee,” he added with a malicious grin.
He was at least a full head and neck taller than she was, and he did have a point about his knee, although she hoped he’d drop it soon or they’d never be able to work together.
“Fine by me.”
She turned back around, planting her feet firmly as she struggled to pull the door open. When it finally budged, she stepped outside to get her bag from the car. On her way down the steps, she noticed she had an audience—that same little face that had been spying on her from the upstairs window. The girl, who looked to be about five or six, sat upon a rusty swing-set in the corner of the lot, staring at RJ just as intently as before. This time, though, she had no place to retreat to when RJ caught her eye.
“Hello,” RJ called in greeting and lifted her hand.
The girl lifted her hand to wave back. There was a moment’s hesitation before she hopped off the swing and ambled over to where RJ was now trying to pull her hold-all out of the car. She pushed strands of hair the same color as her mother’s away from her face and peered up at RJ, eyes filled with curiosity.
“Is it just you?” the little girl asked her.
“Just me?”
“Got any kids with you?” she asked hopefully.
“No, sorry, just me and my husband.” RJ pitied the little mite. There didn’t seem to be a lot to do around here at first glance.
“You’ve got a ton o’ stuff fir just two people,” she said as she peered at all the bags stuffed into the small boot.
“Yeah, actually we do,” RJ agreed, looking at the contents of the car in consternation. No way was she going to lug all of it up to the cabin. Stuart better get his butt into gear. If she had to sleep on the couch, he could carry his own bags.
Suddenly, something rubbed up against her leg. She let out a sharp gasp, relieved when she looked down to see a tortoiseshell cat trying to wind itself round her ankles.
“That’s Socks. He loves everybody. Don’t you, Socks? My name’s Kirsty.”
Socks meowed up at RJ. She bent to run her hands over his soft fur. “A very good name,” she said as she looked at the little white paws trying to clamber onto her lap. She laughed and stood up again, much to the cat’s chagrin. His incessant meowing voiced his frustration.
RJ smiled down at the little girl and held out her hand.
Kirsty looked at RJ’s hand, then up at her face, before looking down again and placing her hand carefully in RJ’s and shaking it. She seemed unsure of herself, and RJ deduced it was the first time she’d ever performed the grown-up ritual with anyone.
“It’s very nice to meet you, Kirsty. I hope we can be friends even if I’m not quite the age you were hoping for.”
Kirsty gathered herself up to her full height. “Nice . . . to meet you, too, missus,” she said, trying out the unfamiliar words.
“You can call me Riley,” RJ said.
“Uh . . . okay.”
“Your mum said you had brothers,” RJ prompted as Kirsty stood and watched her struggle to pull her bag free from its tightly wedged place.
“Aye,” Kirsty said as she picked up the cat and cradled it in her arms. The cat went along with the process as if resigned to its fate. “But they hardly ever want to play with me. They say am too wee.”
“Brothers, eh?” RJ shut the boot and picked up her bag. She was surprised to see the cat purring contentedly in Kirsty’s arms—clearly, she had been wrong about his displeasure. “It looks like someone else appreciates you very much,” RJ said, tilting her head towards the happy cat.
Kirsty grinned at the cat, then graced RJ with that toothy grin. “Aye, Socks is a right wee sook. He loves cuddles. I’m his favorite,” she announced proudly. “The boys don’t really do cuddles.” She screwed up her face and rolled her eyes, looking every bit like a teenager trapped in a five-year-old’s body.
RJ rolled her eyes in solidarity. “Well, Socks is lucky to have you to give him plenty of cuddles.”
“Kirsty!” Tracy’s voice rang out over the grounds. “Tea!”
The little girl turned on her heel and ran in the direction of the back door of the pub, the poor cat jostling in her arms.
“Cheerio, missus,” she shouted over her shoulder before she disappeared into the pub.
RJ smiled at the spot where Kirsty had stood, then swung the hold-all over her shoulder and trudged back up the steps to the bundle of laughs that was Stuart.
He better get over himself quick, RJ thought as she put her shoulder to the door and pushed. She found him standing in the middle of the room, signing off with whomever he had just been talking to on the phone.
“There’s been a development,” Stuart told her as he put away his phone, his earlier annoyance with her seemingly forgotten. He waited until RJ had closed the door. “We’ve just found out that James Sullivan wasn’t the first to die at the estate. The same procurator fiscal was involved in the investigation, or rather lack of investigation, of both deaths. This isn’t an isolated incident. We’ll need to tread carefully.”
Chapter 7
“What do you mean? Who else died?”
“A gamekeeper, two y
ears ago. Name was David MacKay. Took his own life, supposedly.”
“On the estate?”
“On the estate,” he confirmed. “Closed casket, due to the nature of his injuries. Shotgun to the head.”
“Do we think it’s related to the Sullivan death?” RJ asked. “It makes sense that the same fiscal dealt with the case. It’s in the same area. He would deal with all sudden-death cases here. It might just be a coincidence.” She paced in the small area between the door and the kitchen as she digested the information.
“Something tells me not.” He shrugged. “Call it a gut instinct. A bit of free advice—when you’ve been in this game as long as I have, you learn to listen to your gut.”
She stopped pacing mid-step and whirled round to face him, her jaw set in a hard line. “Don’t patronize me. I may be relatively new to the organization, but I’m not stupid. Just because I have a lot to learn doesn’t mean I’m thick. If you treat me as if I am, we aren’t going to get very far.”
They stared at each other, expressionless, each unwilling to give anything away. RJ was the first to break the silence. If she didn’t, they’d be stuck in that stalemate all night. She took a breath and calmed herself, conscious that she was just as responsible for the success of their relationship as he was.
“How long have you been in this game?” she asked him, putting as much sincerity into her tone as she could muster.
Stuart let out a loud sigh, and RJ could see some of the tension ease from his shoulders. It was about time he realized that they couldn’t be at loggerheads the entire time they had to work together. And who knew how long that would be?
“Fifteen years, give or take. They recruited me straight after I’d left the army.”
RJ looked at the man in front of her with newfound admiration. “Is that where they get most of us, from the services?”
“Well, they don’t routinely recruit geologists, if that’s what you mean.”
