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then the whisky wasn't cheap in that bar. Mark could have got really drunk but had managed to avoid it.
    Realising his mind was fully switched on now, he knew he'd struggle to sleep.
    He still had no idea where Kay was.
    He had no idea how much work he'd have to do - it could be days, it could be weeks, it might even be months.
    The meeting with Elizabeth nagged at him - she didn't look old enough to have daughters in their early 20s. She had been a horrendous flirt, though he'd tried to keep it professional.
    Sarah's behaviour wasn't helping his mood. She'd been angry with him - he thought that he'd been considerate since Beth arrived. He could have been away from home a lot more, but instead he'd recruited Kay and stayed in Edinburgh, focusing on helping with Beth.  
    Not helping - that was the wrong attitude. Beth was his responsibility as much as Sarah's and he honestly felt that he'd done more than his fair share. Sarah even had her little meetings with Katie and the occasional girlie night out. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been allowed out to have a few pints with the boys, and Sarah didn't let him have whisky in the house. In fairness, it was all a result of the perfect storm, Mark getting absolutely hammered every time he touched whisky and her father dying of liver disease in his forties as a result of virulent alcoholism.
    Mark shut his eyes, lay back and listened to the window rattling in its case. He hadn't noticed the wind when he'd arrived. It was howling - he could almost make out words among the noise.  
    "Let me in."
    Over and over.
    He downed the second glass of water, trying to ignore the wind and the rattling. He'd complain to Harris in the morning.
    "Let me in."
    He got up and pulled the blinds open. It was an eery twilight outside, the full moon and the midsummer equinox combining to light up the garden at the back of the hotel.
    The dog from the bar was standing on the lawn, looking up at him.

eleven

    "Well, Mr Campbell," said Harris, "I'm afraid that I've had no complaints from the other residents."
    "The windows were practically coming off their hinges," said Mark. "The wind was absolutely howling. Didn't you hear it?"
    Harris smiled. "I don't stay at the hotel myself," he said. "I have a modest cottage in the village."
    Mark yawned with exhaustion. His sleep had been fitful at best - a mixture of the booze, the rattling windows and his whirring mind. He looked around the deserted reception hall, feeling as if he could have joined John in the whisky and not felt any worse for it. "Are there any other guests staying here?" he asked.
    Harris bristled. "There is a German couple," he said. "I could ask them, but their English is poor and my German is practically non-existent." He straightened up. "We have some tourists coming from Scandinavia in the next couple of days."
    "Could I move room, then?" asked Mark.
    "That's the only room available that meets your exacting requirements, I'm afraid," said Harris.
    "I hardly think that having a desk in the room is exacting ," said Mark, almost laughing. "What about Kay's room?"
    Harris's mouth twitched. "I'm afraid that the room is pre-paid until the middle of next week," he said. "You can have it once it's free."
    "She's paid for another week?" asked Mark.
    "That is what I said," said Harris. "Of course, you're welcome to try other hotels in the area."
    Mark thought through the implications of that - she had another week's accommodation booked. The rooms weren't exactly cheap, and he wasn't paying her much.
    Could she have disappeared?
    "I'll stick it out for another couple of nights," said Mark. "It might just have been the weather."
    "Well, there is that," said Harris. "It's been rather close of late." He cleared his throat. "Breakfast is served out on the patio today. It's a glorious day."
    Mark frowned, remembering the dog outside his window. It had haunted the few dreams he'd managed. "There was a dog standing outside last night," he said. "I