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something unnerving about being alone out there. I put it down to tiredness and the mournful circling of the wind; the way the floodlight created dark shadows in every corner. I told myself that the biggest danger was that the remains would be compromised by the cottage’s ancient roof. The whole thing looked unsafe, and with the weather getting worse I didn’t want a sudden collapse to damage the fragile bones before I’d had a chance to examine them.
    I’d just finished taking photographs when Duncan returned with Brody’s camper van. It was actually like a small Winnebago, with separate, self-contained living quarters. Inside was relatively cramped, but as scrupulously clean as the ex-inspector’s car had been.
    ‘You’ll be fine. Nice and cosy in here,’ Fraser told Duncan, patting the side of the van. Somehow I wasn’t surprised that it would be the young PC who would be staying here overnight. Fraser jerked his head towards the cottage. ‘If she comes out to bother you, you’ve my permission to arrest her.’
    ‘Aye, thanks a bunch,’ Duncan said, unhappily.
    Fraser gave a wheezing chuckle. Promising to bring him out some supper, he had left Duncan trying to light the van’s paraffin heater and offered me a lift back into town. We’d been driving for about ten minutes when I saw something standing out like a lighthouse in the darkness. It was the imposing house I’d noticed on the way to the cottage, now lit up by spotlights.
    ‘Must be nice to have money to burn,’ Fraser commented, sourly.
    ‘Who lives there?’
    ‘Guy called Strachan. Locals think the sun shines out of his arse, by all accounts. Came here a few years ago and started chucking money around. Fixed up the roads and houses, paid for a new school and medical clinic. Absolutely loaded. Got his own yacht, and his wife’s supposed to be a stunner.’ He gave a derisive snort. ‘Some people have all the luck.’
    I looked at the gaily lit windows, suspended in the darkness, and wondered briefly why life and luck should favour some, and victimize others. Then we rounded a bend in the road, and the house was lost from view.
    We reached the village not long afterwards. It was spread out in the darkness ahead of us as the road dropped down towards the harbour, a smattering of bright yellow embers. Soon we were close enough to make out individual houses, their curtains drawn to shut out the winter night.
    Fraser turned off the main road before it reached the harbour, cutting off back up a narrow side street. Standing by itself at the top was a tall old building on which was hung a neat sign that said
Runa Hotel
. It looked snug and welcoming, but after where I’d spent the afternoon anything would be an improvement.
    We pulled up outside. The rain had eased as I climbed out of the car. Shredded clouds streamed across an ink-black sky, giving glimpses of bright stars and a sickle moon that shone like a broken opal. The night was cold, but the rain-washed air carried a salty freshness. Even here it was so quiet I could hear the sound of the waves crashing on the seafront, invisible in the darkness.
    I followed Fraser up the steps and through the double doors. An appealing scent of beeswax and freshly baked bread engulfed me as I found myself in a long, warmly lit hallway. The bare floorboards had been polished to the colour of cinnamon by generations of feet, and the walls and ceiling were clad in old pine panels, so that it was like walking into an old ship. An ancient grandfather clock tocked away steadily against one wall, next to a mahogany-framed mirror whose silver was mottled with age.
    A young woman emerged through a swing door at the far end. She looked in her late twenties, tall and slim in jeans and a blue sweater that complemented her dark-red hair. A constellation of freckles dappled her nose and cheekbones, above which were striking sea-green eyes.
    ‘
Feasgar Math
. Good evening,’ she added for my benefit. I knew Gaelic was