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of Sunday morning. A DCI, a DS, and seven DCs. Plus a forensics team. They didn’t hang around once the balloon went up.”
    The police station was a collection of pink, harled buildings on the corner of Church Street and Kenneth Street, next door to the Kingdom Hall of Jehovah’s Witnesses and the Peking Cuisine Chinese Takeaway. Gunn drove through a gate and parked beside a large white police van.
    â€œHow long have you been based at Stornoway, George?”
    â€œThree years. I was born and brought up in Stornoway. But I’ve spent most of my time in the force at other stations around the islands. And then at Inverness.” Gunn slipped out of the car with a quilted nylon swish.
    Fin got out of the passenger side. “So how do you feel about all these incomers taking over the investigation?”
    Gunn’s smile was rueful. “It’s no more than I’d expect. We don’t have the experience here.”
    â€œWhat’s the CIO like?”
    â€œOh, you’ll like him.” A smile crinkled Gunn’s eyes. “He’s a real bastard.”
    The real bastard was a short, stocky man with thick, sandy hair Brylcreemed back from a low brow. He had an old-fashioned face and an old-fashioned smell (was it Brut?), and Fin could have guessed he was a Glaswegian even before he opened his mouth. “Detective Chief Inspector Tom Smith.” The chief investigating officer rose from behind his desk and held out a hand. “I’m sorry for your loss, Macleod.” Fin wondered if they all knew, and thought that they had probably been warned. Smith’s handshake was firm and brief. He sat down again, the sleeves of his pressed white shirt neatly folded up to the elbows, his fawn suit jacket carefully arranged over the back of the seat behind him. His desk was covered in paperwork, but there was a sense of order about it. Fin noticed that his thick-fingered hands were scrubbed clean, and that his nails were immaculately manicured.
    â€œThank you.” Fin’s response was mechanical.
    â€œSit down.” Smith spent more time looking at his papers than at Fin as he spoke. “I’ve got thirteen CID, including the local boys, and twenty-seven uniforms working on this. There’s more than forty officers on the island I can count on.” He looked up. “I’m not sure why I need you.”
    â€œI didn’t exactly volunteer, sir.”
    â€œNo, you were volunteered by HOLMES. It certainly wasn’t my idea.” He paused. “This murder in Edinburgh. Do you have any suspects?”
    â€œNo, sir.”
    â€œAfter three months?”
    â€œI’ve been on leave for the last four weeks.”
    â€œAye. Right.” He appeared to lose interest and returned again to his paperwork. “So what grand illumination is it you think you’ll be able to cast on our little investigation here?”
    â€œI’ve no idea, sir, until I’ve been briefed.”
    â€œIt’s all in the computer.”
    â€œI have a suggestion, though.”
    â€œOh, do you?” Smith looked up sceptically. “And what might that be?”
    â€œIf the post-mortem hasn’t been carried out yet, it might be an idea to bring in the pathologist who did the PM on the Edinburgh murder. So we’ll have a first-hand comparison.”
    â€œGreat idea, Macleod. Which is probably why I already had it.” Smith leaned back in his chair, his self-satisfaction almost as overpowering as his aftershave. “Professor Wilson arrived on the last flight yesterday.” He checked his watch. “PM should be starting in about half an hour.”
    â€œYou’re not flying the body to Aberdeen, then?”
    â€œThe facilities are good enough here. So we brought the mountain to Mohammed.”
    â€œWhat would you like me to do?”
    â€œFrankly, DI Macleod, nothing. I’ve got a perfectly good team here that’s quite capable of