For my daughter Carolyn,

whose many skills include the design of superb book covers.

First published in Great Britain in 2024 by

Arachnid Press Ltd, 91 Columbia Avenue, Livingston, EH54 6PT

www.arachnid.scot

www.kenlussey.com

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of Arachnid Press Ltd.

Copyright © Ken Lussey 2024

The moral right of Ken Lussey to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

Except as set out in the author’s note, this is a work of fiction and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

ISBN: 978-1-0686257-4-9

Cover design by Carolyn Henry Photography

Other books by Ken Lussey

Thrillers featuring Bob Sutherland and Monique Dubois and set in Scotland and beyond during World War Two:

Eyes Turned Skywards

The Danger of Life

Bloody Orkney

The Stockholm Run

Hide and Seek

The Eye of Horus

Contemporary thrillers featuring Callum Anderson and Jenny Mackay:
The High Road
A Tangled Web

For younger readers:

The House With 46 Chimneys

Prologue: Wednesday the 15th of September

‘Blude’s thicker than water.’

Allan Ramsay in his 1737 ‘A Collection of Scots Proverbs’.

*

Violet looked around anxiously as she started along the rough path that led from the rear of the castle grounds directly towards the haven. Now that she was through the gate and beyond the wall and trees, the landscape was wide open and she no longer had an excuse to offer if asked what she was doing and why she wasn’t in the castle, cleaning, as she was meant to be. Or if asked why she was carrying a woven shopping bag containing lemonade, sandwiches and a tartan blanket.

Not that anyone was likely to ask. You didn’t need to be as experienced as Mr Mackay, the butler, to be able to see that Sarclet Castle’s days as a family home were behind it. Certainly as far as the colonel and his family were concerned, anyway.

She’d walked into the kitchen one morning earlier in the week to overhear the younger Mrs Mackay asking the older one if there was any word about the castle being closed up. The two women stopped talking when they saw Violet, who pretended not to have heard anything. It was a thought that had crossed her mind too. A live-in housemaid didn’t get paid much, but the money came in handy for her mother in Thurso and Violet wasn’t sure what else she could do without leaving Caithness.

By rights, she should have been conscripted into war work when she turned 20, in June of the previous year. But Colonel Gough, the 2nd Earl of Wick, had pulled strings and Violet found Sarclet Castle a pleasant and relatively undemanding place to work, so was happy to remain there. All good things come to an end, though, and Violet had a feeling that her days at the castle might be numbered.

It was a beautiful day, still warm despite being well into September and with just a few fluffy white clouds to break up the blue sky. Violet had changed from her maid’s uniform into her best summer dress, the blue one with the red and yellow flowers on it that buttoned up the front.

The most important thing about the weather was that there was very little wind and what there was came from inland. There were times in her two years working here when she’d seen fierce onshore winds carrying so much salt and sea spray that they could have stripped paint, even within the relative shelter of the trees and high walls protecting Sarclet Castle and its gardens.

Violet never thought of herself as especially pretty but she’d been told more than once, by more than one man, that she looked like a young Dorothy Lamour. She found the comparison flattering, as she knew she was meant to, but she never saw the likeness herself. The previous summer she’d met her younger sister Elizabeth in Wick and taken her to see ‘The Jungle Princess’ at the Pavilion Picture House simply because it starred Dorothy Lamour. She enjoyed the film but didn’t see anything of herself in the woman on the screen.

The path Violet was following reached the top of the grassy cliffs surrounding three sides of Sarclet Haven above its most southerly corner, and she paused to look down on it. The harbour had been made as unusable as Royal Engineers and the colonel’s Home Guard could manage. Coils of barbed wire had been stretched out thickly between the base of the cliffs on either side of the stony beach. There was still a rowing boat pulled up out of the water, well above the barbed wire and close to the old fishing station, but there was now no way of getting it to the sea.

Things had been different until about this time the previous year. No one talked openly about it, not to her anyway, but Violet had heard whispers that something dark and extraordinary had happened while she’d been away, spending a few days with her mother and sister in Thurso. She’d returned to find the castle in disarray and marines patrolling the gardens and nearby coastline. The defence of the harbour had been taken much more seriously afterwards.

From where she stood, Violet could have made her way in either direction to join tracks descending to the head of the harbour below her. Instead, she stayed at high level on a path that took her above the outer corner of the harbour before turning south-east towards Sarclet Head, a path that passed close by her destination.

Violet stopped and watched as two small aircraft, which she thought were Spitfires, flew overhead in the direction of Wick. She thought of Peter and smiled. She opened her handbag and took out the telegram, then re-read it for perhaps the tenth time since the telegraph boy had cycled up to the front door of the castle late that morning. Thankfully it had been Violet who had opened the door and taken the telegram.

It still said the same as it had then, in the poor handwriting for which the unpleasant postmaster at Thrumster was well known: ‘Miss Violet Bain. Sarclet Castle. Today’s flight cancelled. See you at the usual place at 2.30 p.m. Peter.’

In the two months that she’d known him, Peter had never sent her a telegram before. He’d once telephoned the castle to let her know he couldn’t make a planned meeting. That had led to a ticking-off from Mr Mackay the butler. But that seemed preferable to spending 6d for nine words, including the address, then 1d for every additional word. The telegram she was holding had not been cheap to send. Violet wasn't mean, but she was careful and it did cross her mind that Peter could have saved 4d by leaving out the unnecessary ‘at the usual place’ and another 1d by omitting her Christian name.

She knew there was a train on the Wick and Lybster line that left Wick at 1 p.m. on weekdays and got into Thrumster about twenty minutes later. She imagined that Peter would have caught that, then walked from Thrumster. It was less than two miles so he would probably already be at the broch, waiting for her.

Sarclet Broch formed a mound covered in rough grass and heather. Peter had told her that it had been higher until ten years earlier, when some friends of the colonel who thought themselves to be accomplished antiquarians had persuaded him to let them dig into the top of the mound.

They’d dug out the interior of the broch, revealing a massive circular surrounding wall that stood taller than Violet could reach with her arms extended above her head while standing on tiptoe on the flagstone flooring. Other interior features they’d uncovered included partial stone dividing walls separating off some of the areas and what seemed to be bed platforms, plus a large hearth in the centre of the broch and a deep stone well that always had water in it despite the broch’s location on top of cliffs.

The antiquarians had also reopened the entrance to the broch, which was on its east side even though that side faced the sea and the worst of the weather. Peter said that there was much more to be excavated on the site, probably including smaller surrounding buildings and the outer face of the main broch wall. But that would depend on the landowner being interested enough to agree to the work. Violet doubted that the colonel would ever again be that interested in his estates in Caithness.

To get to the entrance, Violet had to walk around the south side of the mound. Then she bent over and, nearly crouching, shuffled along the low entrance passage. She stood up as she emerged into the interior with an expectant smile on her face.

‘Hello, Peter! I’m here!’ she called.

There was no answer.

Violet wasn't unduly worried. Perhaps Peter’s train had been delayed? It was such a beautiful day that it would be no hardship to go back outside and climb up the mound, then sit on the blanket on the top of the broch wall in the sunshine, watching for Peter to arrive.

She turned back towards the entrance passage but stopped when she heard what sounded like a shoe scuffing on the stone floor behind her.

Violet spun around and when she saw who it was she realised why she’d received a telegram rather than a phone call from Peter. The man took a pace towards her and she saw he had a knife in his hand.

Even on a beautiful afternoon with very little wind, there was no chance of Violet’s screams being heard by anyone other than her killer.

1: Saturday the 30th of December

Callum watched the scenery pass by as Jenny drove. They’d taken to using his Audi Q7 whenever they went anywhere together. Jenny still professed fondness for her ageing silver SAAB, which she called Morag. But Morag now spent an increasing amount of her time unused and rather neglected.

Jenny enjoyed driving the Audi and Callum acknowledged to himself, and occasionally to her, that she was a better driver than him. During his time with the Metropolitan Police, Callum had been trained in what Jenny once called ‘all the blue flashing light and siren stuff,’ but Jenny drove with more empathy for the car and other drivers than Callum could muster.

When they’d first got together earlier in the year she tended to do all the driving on single track roads, and there were plenty of them in northern and western Sutherland, while he usually drove on roads with white lines down the middle. Over time that had changed. Now he rarely drove if they were in the car together. He liked tying features in the surrounding landscape to the maps on his tablet and learning more about the country he’d decided to make his home. It was an arrangement that worked well for both of them.

‘At least we’re not driving into the sun,’ said Jenny. ‘It can get quite difficult at this time of year. As it’s a bright day, do you fancy stopping in the next village, Helmsdale? There’s something on the way in that I’ve always wanted to look at and you might find interesting.’

‘Have we got time?’ asked Callum.

‘We’re expected at around 2 p.m. for a meeting and afternoon tea is being served an hour later. The last sign we saw said it was under 40 miles to Wick and Sarclet is a few miles this side of it. We’ve got loads of time.’

Callum could see parts of the village and harbour ahead of them as they passed a sports pitch on their left. Then Jenny pulled off the road into a parking area just beyond a ‘Welcome to Helmsdale’ sign. She drove past an odd little building largely walled in slate before coming to a halt at the far end of the car park.

Callum got out of the car and retrieved his fleece from the back seat. As he walked around the back of the car he saw Jenny waiting on its far side and smiling at him.

‘It’s this way,’ said Jenny, climbing some steps up an embankment. At the top was a large grassy area that seemed to be an extension of the sports pitch he’d seen.

The most prominent features were six tall white flagpoles lined up along the top of the embankment above the parking area and road. Callum was surprised he’d not noticed them from the car. To their right and beyond them was a stone plinth with a group of life-size statues on top.

‘Who are they?’ asked Callum.

‘This is the Emigrants Statue,’ said Jenny. ‘It was unveiled in 2007 as a sort of non-political commemoration of all those who emigrated from these parts. An identical statue was unveiled the following year in Winnipeg in Canada.’

‘The figures are beautifully modelled,’ said Callum, as they neared the plinth.

‘They represent a family. I remember reading that the kilted father is in the lead, looking hopefully ahead into an unknown future, with his son next to him looking up at him for reassurance. The mother, complete with a shawl, is looking back at the life they must leave and is holding their baby.’

‘The plaque on the side of the plinth is quite poignant,’ said Callum. ‘It says: “The Emigrants commemorates the people of the Highlands and Islands of Scotland who, in the face of great adversity, sought freedom, hope and justice beyond these shores. They and their descendants went forth and explored continents, built great countries and cities and gave their enterprise and culture to the world. This is their legacy. Their voices will echo forever thro the empty straths and glens of their homeland.”’

‘I told you the story of the clearances,’ said Jenny. ‘When you compare the scale of this to the Duke of Sutherland's enormous statue on top of the hill above Golspie, which can be seen for miles around and commemorates the man largely responsible for the clearances in Sutherland, it’s easy to see why some think this was a rather unequal memorial. But I suppose it’s better than nothing.’

Callum heard Jenny’s voice break and looked at her. She was tall, two inches shorter than his own 6ft and was wearing a black fleece with a red padded gilet over it. Jeans and brown Dubarry boots completed her wardrobe. She had long brown hair and brown eyes that he was surprised to see tearing up.

He put an arm around her shoulders. ‘Are you all right, Jenny?’

She shivered and smiled. ‘I’m fine. It’s just that it was all so tragic and unnecessary. That wind off the sea suddenly seems to have got colder. Before you get the wrong idea, that’s why my eyes are like this.’

‘Aye, right,’ said Callum, smiling.

‘Well done!’ said Jenny, smiling back at him. ‘We’ll turn you into a proper Scot yet. I wonder if there’s any other language in the world in which two single-syllable words, both meaning “yes”, can be combined to give an expression of such total disbelief? Let’s go back to the car. You might have noticed the great view of the village across the River Helmsdale from the top of the steps up from the car park, but I don’t think I want to linger in such an exposed location for any longer than necessary.’

Callum was about to get back into the car when he saw an odd lozenge-shaped concrete structure in the corner of the car park nearest the start of the bridge that carried the main road over the river.

‘What’s that?’ he asked, pointing.

‘I’ve no idea,’ said Jenny. ‘It has a plaque on it.’

Callum walked over and, despite what she’d said about the cold wind, Jenny followed. The structure was a few feet in height and four-sided, with a chamfered top and a base that narrowed as it approached the ground.

He turned to Jenny. ‘According to this, Helmsdale Castle was built near here in 1488. The ruins were removed in 1970 to make way for the new road and bridge.’

‘Good grief,’ she said. ‘They removed a medieval castle to make way for a road scheme as recently as 1970? There’s something slightly shocking about that. Again, this somehow doesn’t seem quite up to the job it was intended to do. Changing the subject, I do think we’ve got plenty of time. Do you fancy finding a café in Helmsdale and having a cup of coffee to warm ourselves up?’

*

‘You said we wouldn’t need the GPS, Callum. That means I’m relying on you to tell me when to leave the main road.’

Callum glanced down at his tablet on his lap. ‘We’re looking for a right turn off the A99 in Thrumster, which can’t be more than a couple of miles ahead. I recall it being a village of scattered bungalows from the one time I’ve been to Sarclet. Having just been given a thumping I was paying less attention to my surroundings when I drove away from the castle. I have to admit that if you told me then that I’d be invited back to spend Hogmanay there I’d not have believed you. I also have to admit that I still don’t know why we’ve been invited.’

‘I’m sure that all will be explained,’ said Jenny. ‘Carol simply said that she knew the castle’s new owners and that they were very keen to meet the two of us. Carol and Martin will also be there. As I told you, she said that part of the reason for the invite was to allow the owners to ask you to do some work for them.’

‘I did a little digging into the background of the new owners,’ said Callum. ‘The Sarclet estate was purchased in its entirety in October by a company acting on behalf of Mr Gerald and Mrs Rose Balliol, who have an extensive property portfolio elsewhere in Scotland and beyond and a broad range of other business interests. They seem entirely legitimate, or as entirely legitimate as anyone who is enormously rich can ever be. Anyway, it’s not as if I’ve been rushed off my feet since setting myself up in the private investigation business so I suppose I should be grateful. I just find the idea of mixing work with a social event slightly odd.’

Callum had been intrigued by what the Balliols might want with him since Carol Macleod had rung Jenny up out of the blue two weeks earlier to ask them to spend three nights over Hogmanay at Sarclet Castle.

Carol’s husband Martin Macleod was a partner in an accountancy firm in Inverness and had worked alongside Jenny’s husband Iain until his death in September of the previous year.

Jenny’s friendship with Carol, which had for years been suppressed by Iain’s desire to keep his separate lives in water-tight compartments, had blossomed again in recent months. Callum was pleased as he felt this had helped Jenny come to terms, a little, with the knowledge that she’d been comprehensively lied to by her husband for a large part of her adult life. The opportunity to talk to someone else who had known Iain, and who had been deceived by him, did help.

Callum checked the tablet again. ‘This is Thrumster we’re coming into now. The right turn is at a crossroads not far ahead. That’s odd. That almost looked like a yellow railway station sign just back there on the left but I’m sure the railway line to Wick goes much further inland and there’s nothing obvious shown on the map.’

‘One of life’s little mysteries,’ said Jenny, indicating and slowing the car for the turn. ‘I’m surprised you didn’t identify the junction by the presence of the Old Smiddy Inn on the far corner. It looks quite nice. If we tire of the company, we can perhaps pop in there for a drink. The road sign says it's only a mile and a quarter to Sarclet. That would be an easy walk.’

‘The castle might be a little further, but not much. I somehow think that “thanks for the hospitality but we prefer our own company in the pub” might not go down too well.’

‘That’s true. From your description, Callum, I suspect the castle’s large enough to have nooks and corners we can hide away in if it all gets too boisterous for us. You don’t strike me as the shrinking violet type anyway.’

Callum looked at Jenny and smiled. ‘Just past the bungalow ahead of us on the left and the farm on the right we bear left at a junction along a road taking us into Sarclet. Hello, it looks like people are gathering for some sort of party here. The four cars pulled off by the gravel pile and old oil tank don’t look like they belong. And that’s a TV outside broadcast van parked over there.’

Jenny slowed down to a crawl. ‘Add to your list of things that don’t belong the woman walking along the road as if traffic is the last thing on her mind and the TV camera crew and others standing by the junction. Ah, and the police car pulled across the road in the junction itself.’

Jenny pulled to a halt beside a policeman in a high-visibility yellow jacket who was holding up his hand to indicate they should stop.

‘I’m afraid the road into Sarclet is closed,’ he said after she’d lowered her window.

‘We’re staying at Sarclet Castle for the next three days,’ said Jenny. ‘Has something happened?’

‘Not at the castle, no. You’ll not be able to go any further but I can let you through if you tell me who you are. I’m mainly here to keep the media at bay.’ The policeman made a gesture towards the camera crew and other people standing a little distance away.

He wrote their names in his notebook and then waved to a colleague sitting in the police car, who reversed it far enough across the junction to allow Jenny to drive past along the road into Sarclet.

‘I wonder what’s going on?’ she said.

‘I daresay we’ll find out when we get there,’ said Callum. ‘It must be something serious to attract a TV crew and journalists in the middle of winter. The entrance to the castle grounds is through an anonymous gateway on the right, part of the way along what, by any standards, is a scattered linear settlement. I’m guessing it’s just before we get to that police car we can see, blocking the road like their chums back at the junction.’

Callum was right. The officer standing in the road near the police car was a woman this time, who raised a hand as if in greeting and pointed to the gateway.

‘It looks like the others radioed ahead to say we were coming,’ said Jenny.

Once beyond the gateway the drive curved round to the left through trees and ran for a third of a mile until it brought Callum and Jenny face to face with an attractive castle built of honey-coloured stone.

‘This is rather nice!’ said Jenny.

Callum had been impressed by Sarclet Castle on his first visit and saw no reason to change his opinion now. The drive approached the west front of the castle. The southern or right-hand end formed a five-storey tower with crenellations and two tiny turrets on top. There was a central section standing to its left as Callum looked. This was presumably a later addition and amounted to four storeys and a sloping slate roof with another little turret at its end. The northern section of the castle, much smaller than the other two, looked like an even later addition and was two ornate storeys in height.

An imposing entrance had been built onto the front of the castle, pretty much in the centre of the structure, partly overlapping both the original tower and the larger extension. The entrance was itself two storeys in height and extended some way forward of the main building.

There were half a dozen cars parked off on the left side of the gravelled area in front of the castle, facing a stone wall.

‘I wonder how many they’re expecting?’ said Jenny as she pulled in beside the last car in the row, a blue Jaguar. ‘I’m pretty sure this is Carol’s car so it looks like she and Martin are already here.’

As they removed their two airline cabin bags from the rear of the Audi, Callum wondered how long it would take before they felt comfortable packing their belongings into a shared case. Not yet, he thought wryly.

‘Gravel drives weren’t designed with wheeled luggage in mind,’ said Jenny as she stopped to pick up her case.

Callum did the same. He considered offering to carry Jenny’s but thought she’d find the idea patronising.

They came to a halt outside the front door. ‘It looks like we pull on this chain to let them know we're here,’ said Jenny.

‘That was certainly the idea on my last visit,’ said Callum.

Jenny pulled the chain and Callum could hear a bell ringing somewhere inside the building.

‘I half-expected the chain to cause something heavy to fall on us when I pulled it,’ said Jenny.

Callum laughed. ‘I thought I might cause a vat of boiling oil to be poured on my head when I gave it a pull.’

Nothing happened for a while. Then there was a thud that sounded like a bolt being withdrawn and the right half of the outer door swung silently open. Callum couldn’t remember if the door had creaked when he first visited but felt almost cheated now. A door this large and grand really ought to creak if you were going to get the authentic castle experience.

2: Saturday the 30th of December

Callum decided that the tall thin man with dark hair who opened the door had to be the butler. The dark jacket and trousers, grey waistcoat and black bow tie couldn’t have been worn by anyone else in the castle. He seemed of indeterminate age, probably in his forties or fifties.

Jenny stepped forwards. ‘Hello, I’m Jenny Mackay and this is Callum Anderson. I believe we’re expected.’

The butler smiled in what Callum thought was a surprisingly human way. ‘Welcome to Sarclet Castle, Dr Mackay. You too, Mr Anderson.’ He opened the door more widely and took a step backwards. ‘I’m Williams, the butler. I’m very pleased you had a safe journey.’

‘I did wonder whether we’d make it at all,’ said Jenny. ‘We were stopped by the police on the road from Thrumster. They let us pass when we said we were staying here.’

‘Ah, yes. There’s quite a police presence at the end of the road through the village, where paths lead down to Sarclet Haven and along the top of the cliffs. I’m told that sirens were heard before lunch and there’s been a lot of coming and going since then.’

‘That doesn’t sound too good,’ said Jenny.

 The entrance hall had changed little since Callum’s only previous visit to the castle, in July. Beyond the door and the large expanse of tan doormat that positively commanded visitors to wipe their feet was a double-height space that had walls adorned with large paintings. They depicted Scottish subjects, which was a change from the classical paintings that Callum had seen on his previous visit.

Directly opposite the front door was a grey stone staircase that led upwards to a landing partly occupied by a large decorative planter made of dark marble that even in December was full of flowers. The staircase split in two at this point and the two symmetrically opposing legs then headed off to the sides before curving back to their original direction and arriving at the two ends of an upper hallway from which it was possible to look down over the lower hall to the front door.

As on his first visit, Callum was impressed by the way the entrance hall exuded quality and attention to detail. He had the sense that the new owners of Sarclet Castle might be trying to outdo their predecessor. That confirmed what he’d read about the Balliols having very deep pockets.

‘May I take your cases?’ asked Williams.

Callum felt this was more an instruction than a question and handed his over. Jenny did likewise.

‘If you follow me, I’ll take you to your accommodation. You’re at the south end of the castle on an upper floor.’

Callum saw Jenny catch his eye and smiled. They followed Williams along a corridor that seemed to run the length of this end of the castle. The artwork lining the walls continued the Scottish theme. The doors they passed were closed.

Williams came to a halt beside a lift recessed into a side wall at the end of the corridor. ‘There are stairs we could have taken and you are welcome to explore the castle to your hearts’ content, but I thought I should show you the most direct route.’

‘This is the oldest part of the castle we’re in, isn’t it?’ asked Callum. ‘I’m surprised a lift was allowed.’

‘It is, and I suspect there’d be no chance of getting one approved now. But I understand there’s been a lift here since the castle was converted into a hotel in the 1950s. The previous owner apparently had no problem getting permission to modernise it when he renovated the whole building a few years ago. It seems to have been designed to fit within the existing structure with minimal change and, as you’re about to discover, it’s quite cosy.’

It was. They emerged into another corridor and Williams then led them through a door on its opposite side. ‘Welcome to the Strathmore Suite. All of the guest rooms are named after geographical features in Caithness or Sutherland. Yours is named after Strathmore Lodge, which is a hunting lodge on part of the estate some distance west of here in the interior of Caithness.’

‘Thank you, Williams,’ said Jenny. ‘This is lovely.’

Callum looked around. It was indeed lovely. The room was dominated by a dark wood four-poster bed that looked old but whose size, which he suspected qualified it for the description of a super king, suggested it might be rather more modern. There were modestly sized windows set into the considerable thickness of two walls, facing in different directions, and the corner between them was home to a pair of armchairs and a coffee table. Other furniture, including a desk, some drawers and a wardrobe, were in a dark wood that matched the bed. The pile on the carpet was so deep Callum could feel his feet sinking a little on each step and he felt guilty that he was still wearing his outdoor shoes.

‘Here are two key cards that will open your room door and several other doors you might need in the castle including the rear entrance if you feel the need for a midnight stroll in the gardens. You’ll find the bathroom through the door over there,’ said Williams, pointing. ‘The left end of the desk conceals a fridge with a range of drinks and chocolates. Please help yourselves. The phone over by the bed connects directly to my office and there will always be someone there, 24 hours a day, very happy to provide you with anything you like in the way of room service. There’s a bottle of champagne in the fridge and as you can see there are glasses on top of the desk, though as I understand it you are meeting Mrs Balliol shortly.’

Jenny looked at her watch. ‘Carol Macleod said something about a meeting at 2 p.m. We’ve got time to freshen up but, as you suggest, not to do justice to what I suspect will be a nice bottle of champagne. I understand we’re expected to dress for dinner, but what about the rest of the time?’

‘Mr and Mrs Balliol feel that guests are here to enjoy themselves,’ said Williams. ‘As you say, dinner is a little different but otherwise “comfortable and casual” should be your guiding principle. Someone will be along to take you to your meeting a little before the due time. Is there anything I can get you in the meantime?’

Callum saw Jenny catch his eye before turning towards Williams and smiling. ‘No, thank you.’

After Williams had left, Callum went to look out of the windows, one after the other. ‘We’ve got two views. One is out over the area in front of the castle while the other overlooks a narrow garden that stretches away from the end of the castle with a high wall on the seaward side – you can see the sea in the distance off to the left – and a band of trees on the inland side.’

Jenny went into the bathroom and then reappeared with a smile on her face. ‘We’ve got twin sinks, a double-sized shower and an oval bath plenty big enough for two tall people to share. And once you’ve moved the net curtains and lifted the roller blind you get a view of the sea.’

‘Sharing a bath with you and then spending the rest of the afternoon in this amazing bed is an enticing prospect,’ said Callum.

Jenny laughed. ‘It is, my love, but I’m afraid sex, like the champagne, will have to wait. We’ve only got twenty-five minutes before we find out why we’re here.’

*

Jenny answered the door when the knock came, a little earlier than Callum had been expecting, and then stepped back. ‘Hello Carol! It’s good to see you again. Come on in, we’ll only be a moment.’

‘Hello Callum,’ said Carol as she entered their room. ‘Thank you for coming.’

Carol Macleod was a black-haired woman in her late thirties who, Callum thought, might have dressed comfortably but didn’t conform to his idea of casual. She looked very much the lady of the castle in black trousers and a green knitted top that, even to his untutored eyes, looked expensive.

‘The chance to celebrate Hogmanay in a private castle is a lovely idea,’ said Callum, smiling. ‘How are Martin and the children?’

‘I think you’ll find Martin in good form. He gets on well with my father and has been looking forward to spending Hogmanay here even more than he was looking forward to the family Christmas at home in Dornoch. The kids are staying with Martin’s sister and her family in Inverness for the next week. They like their two cousins but I don’t envy Marjorie having to deal with five teenagers.’

‘Your father?’ asked Callum as a realisation began to dawn.

‘Yes, I’m sorry if I was less than straightforward when I rang to invite you, Jenny. I didn’t want to over-complicate things. Gerald Balliol is my father and Rose Balliol is my mother.’

Callum had known that Carol had wealthy parents, but not who they were.

‘Would it have made a difference if I’d told you?’ she asked.

‘No, of course not,’ he said.

‘I suppose I thought it might deter you from coming,’ said Carol. ‘How are the girls, Jenny? And your two boys, Callum?’

‘Emily and Sophie spent Christmas with Callum and me at the house in Oldshoremore,’ said Jenny. ‘I’m still wondering whether to sell it and focus entirely on the house in Kilmuir, though that is smaller. We were all aware it might be our last Christmas in the far north-west and had a great time. The two of them enjoyed their first term at Glasgow University and have returned to the city for what sounds like a series of parties over Hogmanay. I think they might be having second thoughts about their decision to do their hair differently and deprive themselves of the option of looking like the truly identical twins they otherwise are.’

Callum saw Jenny look at him. ‘I think Callum missed seeing Matthew and James over Christmas,’ she said. ‘But we’re hoping to travel down to London early in February so he can be a father to his pair of twins then.’

‘We are,’ said Callum. ‘At eleven they’re too young to travel unaccompanied on the flights up to Inverness and finding a way of having them accompanied has proved unwieldy and expensive. Getting them up for a few days over the October half term meant my making two round trips by air, just so I could travel with them. Meanwhile, it looks like the Final Order for my divorce from Miranda will be through around the end of January. She and Phillip Standen aren’t letting the grass grow under their feet and have announced that their engagement party will take place on the Saturday of the first weekend in February.’

‘And that’s why the two of you are going to London?’ asked Carol, looking surprised.

‘Why not?’ asked Callum. ‘I’ve got on better with Miranda and Phillip - admittedly at a considerable distance – than I ever did when she was my wife and he was my detective chief inspector. And, as Jenny said, it will allow us to spend a little time with the boys.’

‘I’m here to take you to meet my mother,’ said Carol. ‘But this conversation gives me the best chance I’m going to get to ask a question that I’ve been wondering about. Are you two planning to get married?’

Jenny laughed. ‘There’s no beating around the bush with you, is there, Carol? No, don’t worry, we’re not in the least offended. Callum and I have an understanding. He’s not going to ask me to marry him until he’s legally free of Miranda. We’ll take things as they come once that’s happened.’

Carol smiled. ‘I’ll take that as a “yes” then. You’ve not had much of a chance to see the place yet, but if you do fancy a Scottish castle wedding, I could put in a word for you with the owners.’

Callum saw Jenny smile as he glanced at his watch.

‘You’re right, Callum,’ said Carol. ‘We need to be moving. I should warn you that what my mother wants to talk to you about will probably seem rather weird. Could I just ask you to hear her out without leaping to any immediate judgements? For reasons she may reveal over dinner, Sarclet Castle means a lot to her at a personal level and I hope you might be able to help her resolve the one thing that’s preventing her from fully enjoying the place as she should.’

‘That sounds very mysterious,’ said Callum. ‘I’ll certainly keep an open mind.’

‘I should add that I have a personal stake,’ said Carol. ‘It was me that recommended you to her, though I think that she’d already heard of you from the estate manager, Geoffrey Gunn. Anyway, if you’re both ready, let’s be on our way.’

Carol led them out of their room and along the corridor. Then she stopped and pushed open a door on the right that led to a spiral stone staircase, which they ascended for one floor. The corridor she led them out onto was rather narrower than those they’d seen so far and lit only by electric lights set into the ceiling and a small window at the far end.

‘It’s not obvious from the front of the castle but there’s a significant range built onto the rear which houses a variety of secondary functions and service accommodation, including staff quarters. We are on the top floor here, in the attic, and doors off this corridor lead to staff bedrooms. Except for the next one on the right, which is a small staff lounge. That’s where Mother thought it would be best to meet.’

Jenny was behind Carol and Callum saw her turn to look at him quizzically. He was pleased he wasn’t the only one who thought it a little odd that one of the owners of the castle would choose to meet them in this out-of-the-way corner of her property.

Carol knocked and Callum heard a woman’s voice telling them to enter. He followed Carol and Jenny through the door.

3: Saturday the 30th of December

Carol stood to one side after leading the way into the room to reveal an older version of herself standing in front of an armchair.

The woman wore a greenish tweed skirt and waistcoat over a white blouse and brown leather boots. Her hair was shoulder-length, immaculately styled and silver, which set off her intense green eyes to striking effect.

‘Can I introduce Callum Anderson and Jenny Mackay, Mother?’

The woman smiled and took a pace towards Callum, holding out her hand. ‘I’m glad you could come. I’m Rose Balliol. Please call me Rose. Welcome to Sarclet Castle.’

Callum shook her hand and Jenny did likewise.

‘Please call me Jenny. And I know Callum would prefer it if you called him by his first name too.’

‘I believe you’ve both met our estate manager, Geoffrey Gunn,’ said Rose. She waved her hand to indicate the room’s fifth occupant, standing a little to one side.

Geoffrey Gunn was a man of about fifty who, as on Callum’s first meeting with him, was wearing a tweed waistcoat over a checked shirt.

‘I’m pleased to see you well, Geoffrey,’ said Callum.

‘It will take more than sabotaged brakes on the descent at Berriedale Braes to see the back of me,’ said Gunn, smiling. ‘It wasn’t pleasant for a while, though, and I’m grateful to Mr and Mrs Balliol for keeping me on when they purchased the estate.’

‘We needed someone who knew the place inside-out and who we could trust, Geoffrey,’ said Rose. ‘After what happened we knew there was no chance of your feeling any loyalty to the previous owner.’ She looked at Jenny. ‘I should add that, rather like Harry Potter’s Voldemort, the previous owner is never referred to by name. We did however do well from his sudden and unexpected need to divest himself of all his UK property. When I pressed Gerald to buy the Sarclet estate he went one better and purchased all of the previous owner’s UK properties, including several rather brash apartments he owned at expensive addresses in London for the use of members of his extended family. I’ve never been one for gold taps myself, but with the owner in a rush to sell and grateful to find a buyer for everything, we got a very good deal.’

Rose waved her arm to take in the room. ‘Please take a seat, wherever is comfortable. You’ll understand why I chose to meet here shortly.’

The room they’d entered was modest in size and had four padded armchairs and a two-seat sofa around one end of it. There was a small folding side table with two dining chairs against the wall the door was in and a sideboard across the other end of the room which supported a large TV and a microwave. A small freestanding set of shelves that was home to a collection of popular paperback fiction was set against the far wall, next to the room’s only window. A closed door on the left-hand side wall looked as if it led to a bathroom.

Looking at the furnishings, Callum decided that this was the room to which comfortable but otherwise time-expired chairs were consigned from elsewhere in the building. It wasn’t by any stretch of the imagination shabby but it did feel quite lived in.

The same principle seemed to apply to the artwork. Pictures on two of the walls were too large for the space, as if they’d been rehoused from a larger room. Next to the window was a noticeboard with what looked like staff rotas and other information displayed on it.

Jenny led Callum to the sofa and the others took three of the armchairs.

Rose had positioned herself on a chair close to the sofa and now leaned forwards. ‘I’ll not offer you tea, Callum. I don’t expect it to take long to put a proposition to you and then, if you accept, Geoffrey will take you to meet my husband to collect some background material. Carol and I will take Jenny down to afternoon tea in the drawing room, where you and Gerald can join us after your meeting.’

Rose smiled. ‘It’s silly, but I feel rather nervous now you’re here and the moment has come to talk about this. It’s not been made any easier by some shocking news I had a short time ago which feels like it’s connected to what I want to discuss with you yet, logically, can’t be. Perhaps it’s best if I come straight to the point. Do you believe in ghosts, Callum?’

Callum found the woman’s intense gaze a little unsettling. ‘The short and simple answer is no, Rose.’

‘Is there a longer and more complex answer?’

‘Up to a point. I’ve always considered myself unsuperstitious in every way. With one exception. I seem to have the ability to tell if someone’s watching me or following me. I get a prickling sensation in the back of my neck and over the years I’ve come to trust it. I can’t explain it, yet it feels very real to me and time and again it’s proved accurate.’

‘Thank you, Callum. I need help from someone who’s not closed to the idea of possibilities beyond our everyday existence. I’m grateful to you for being honest with me and I think that your sixth sense of being followed is enough to convince me that you’ll take what I’ve got to say seriously.’

‘I’m thoroughly intrigued,’ said Callum.

‘I want you to investigate an unsolved murder,’ said Rose. ‘Before you respond, you need to know that the murder took place eighty years ago.’

‘I have investigated cold cases before,’ said Callum, ‘but I have to admit never one that’s quite that cold.’

‘The victim was a young woman called Violet Bain who was 21 years old and who worked in the castle as a live-in housemaid. On the afternoon of the 15th of September 1943, a nice day apparently, she left the castle wearing her best dress and walked down to Sarclet Broch, a partly excavated broch on top of the cliffs not far from here. She thought she was going to meet her lover, a pilot based at RAF Wick. It seems she encountered someone else instead, who raped and murdered her.

‘The police investigated, of course, but got nowhere because the obvious suspects had firm alibis. I’m told that the police lost interest when they discovered Miss Bain had had a series of relationships with a number of different men, including three associated with the castle. The implication is that they concluded she was too free with her virtue to be worth bothering about and that what happened to her was her own fault.’

‘I’ll need to find out what documents are still available,’ said Callum. ‘But you don’t have to go back eighty years to find that sort of attitude in the police.’

‘My husband has copies of all the paperwork, though I understand it’s remarkably sparse.’ Rose looked down. ‘Telling you what I want you to do is the easy part. Telling you why I want you to do it is much harder and that’s why I’ve been feeling nervous about meeting you.’

‘You’re going to tell me that people believe that Violet Bain never entirely left the castle, aren’t you Rose?’ asked Callum. He looked around. ‘I’ve been trying to work out why you wanted to meet here when, I’m sure, you have your choice of plusher and grander reception rooms available to you in the castle. And you asked me if I believe in ghosts. At the risk of making myself look foolish, I’m guessing that this room was once one of the staff bedrooms in the attic of this part of the castle, but people became reluctant to sleep here because the belief began to grow that it was haunted by, and I’ll stick my neck out further, the ghost of a young woman wearing her best 1940s dress. As a result, it became a staff lounge. Was this Violet’s bedroom in 1943?’

Rose looked up. ‘I’m impressed, Callum. There have been a lot of changes in this part of the castle over the years with rooms being reconfigured and bathrooms being inserted. We don’t know if this was Violet’s bedroom but it might have been and your other deductions are spot on. I want to find out who killed Violet Bain in the hope it might bring her soul some peace and persuade her that she no longer has to haunt the castle to be taken seriously.’

‘I don’t need to believe in ghosts to want to see a young woman’s murder properly investigated,’ said Callum. ‘I can’t guarantee anything after so much time has passed, but I will do my best.’

‘Thank you,’ said Rose.

‘You talked about some shocking news that might be connected with Violet Bain,’ said Callum.

‘There’s been a lot of police activity at Sarclet Haven and along the cliffs this afternoon. Shortly before I came up to meet you, Gerald told me that it’s because they’ve found a body at Sarclet Broch. It seems there’s been another murder of another young woman at the broch. The coincidence of this happening on the day I asked you here to discuss Violet Bain’s murder is remarkable and, as I said, shocking.’

‘You should never leap to conclusions where murder is concerned,’ said Callum, ‘but with eighty years between the killings I suspect we aren’t looking at the same murderer. It does add to the sense of strangeness, though.’

Rose sat back in her armchair. ‘What’s odder still is that although no one knew it at the time, Violet’s was the second murder of a young woman to have taken place at the broch. That makes today’s murder the third.’

‘Seriously?’ asked Callum.

‘Do you want to explain, Geoffrey?’ asked Rose.

‘I was going to take you down to see the broch for yourself before it got dark, Callum,’ said Geoffrey Gunn, ‘but I think that will have to wait until it’s no longer an active crime scene. As background, it’s worth telling you a little about Sarclet Broch. First, I need to ask if you know much about brochs?’

‘I’m sure Jenny does,’ said Callum, ‘but I’m afraid my ignorance is fairly comprehensive.’

‘That’s not a problem,’ said Geoffrey. ‘A broch is a drystone circular tower with rooms, galleries and stairways contained within the thickness of its walls and roofed over to provide larger spaces in the main body of the structure. The walls tended to be much thicker at the base than at their tops, and the structures could reach heights of up to 13 metres. They were built in the last few centuries BC and went out of use after the first couple of centuries AD. For drystone structures, some very advanced construction techniques were used including weight-saving devices intended to allow taller structures to stand securely, and the use of air circulating through the voids within the walls for heating and cooling.

‘There were over 500 brochs built in Scotland. They are most densely located in the north and west, especially in Caithness and the northern isles, though there are a few in the lowlands. They were often surrounded by much lower stone structures, sometimes enough of them to have formed what we might think of as a village. Theories about their purpose range from defensive towers to status symbols to farmsteads, or maybe all of the above at different times and in different circumstances. They certainly consumed a lot of resources to build.

‘Some brochs have been completely excavated by archaeologists while others remain as untouched mounds. A few, a very few, remain to their original height, wholly or in part, but most are truncated stumps. Sarclet Broch stands on cliffs to the east of here. Until 1933 it was just another suspected broch hidden within an undisturbed mound. That was the year the 2nd Earl of Wick allowed a group of his friends from London to dig down into the mound from the top. They cleared the interior of the structure of debris, revealing quite a complex set of features and the inside face of the main circular wall. They also cleared the entrance passage. Except around the entrance, the outside of the broch remained a sloping cone covered in vegetation surrounded by humps and bumps that suggested ancillary structures.

‘Four years ago the previous owner of the Sarclet estate commissioned a full-scale archaeological investigation of the broch. The result was the complete excavation of one of the most complex and important brochs yet investigated. The walls of the surrounding buildings and ramparts were uncovered, as was the outside face of the broch itself. What emerged is what’s on view to visitors today. Inside the broch, a deep stone well had been found and dug out in 1933, though the investigation was restricted by the well’s tendency to fill with water if left overnight. In 2019 more was known about similar structures that had been found, in brochs and elsewhere, in Orkney, and more effort was put into getting to the bottom of the well.

‘The well, which may not have actually been built as a well, descended a flight of stone steps that had been found in 1933. It then, unknown to the 1933 excavators, turned back on itself and descended a second flight of stone steps into a chamber at its foot, whose floor is over six metres below the floor of the broch. In this chamber, buried by rubble that was apparently used to backfill the bottom half of the well deliberately, was the skeleton of a young woman who had been there since the end of the broch’s period of occupation. She is believed to have been in her early twenties when she died, and marks on her ribs suggest she died as a result of having been stabbed with a bladed weapon, probably a large knife or a sword. She was also in the early stages of pregnancy.’

Callum found he’d been leaning forwards on the sofa. ‘Which is why Violet Bain was the second young woman to have been murdered at the broch and today’s victim the third? You said the prehistoric murder was done with a knife or a sword. How did Violet Bain die?’

‘She was stabbed with a knife,’ said Geoffrey Gunn.

‘This is all getting very weird,’ said Callum. ‘I wonder how the poor woman who died today was killed?’

‘My husband might know a little more about that by now,’ said Rose. ‘Geoffrey, can you take Callum down to meet Gerald? Jenny, are you happy to join Carol and me down in the drawing room for afternoon tea and to meet some of our other guests?’

4: Saturday the 30th of December

Jenny followed Rose into the drawing room. She was struck by what was, by any standards, an impressive space. To her left were two large windows set into the considerable thickness of the wall, each flanked by floral patterned curtains that were drawn back to allow views out over a garden. The walls were a plain mushroom colour that gave the room a restrained, classy feel and provided a neutral background for the works of art, mainly landscapes and some quite large, that covered much of the available space. The far end of the room was dominated by an imposing marble fireplace with a highly decorated mirror above it. There was a log fire burning in the grate.

The dark wood desks, chests of drawers and small tables that had been artfully placed around the sides of the room looked to Jenny’s untutored eyes to be of very high quality and matched the colouring of the floorboards that could be seen beyond the edges of the huge and spectacularly beautiful rug that didn’t fall far short of covering the whole of the floor area of the room.

Two two-seat sofas, a chaise longue and six armchairs, all made from matching dark wood and all with matching upholstery, were scattered in groups in different parts of the room, set around or flanked by low tables. Two more matching sofas faced one another across a slightly larger table in front of the fire.

The corner of the room on Jenny’s right housed a display case that would have sat well in an upmarket museum. The dark wood framed glass enclosure on top of elegantly turned legs measured about four feet square by a couple of feet in height. Most of the internal space was filled by a large model of an old military aircraft standing on its wheels, though there were other objects set on the green, apparently baize, base around it that were too far away for Jenny to make out in any detail. In that corner, the scenic art that held sway in the rest of the drawing room gave way to framed black and white photographs. The largest of these was of a man in military uniform standing beside a woman wearing a dark jacket and skirt carrying a large bouquet of flowers. Jenny realised that the mantlepiece was also home to framed black and white photographs.

‘Hello Jenny, it’s good to see you again!’

Martin Macleod was a stocky man with thinning blond hair. She knew that he was thirty-nine, the same age as his wife Carol. He was wearing, rather incongruously, a Christmas-themed green jumper with red and white motifs in the form of rows of Santas and snowmen alternating with rows of Christmas trees and puddings.

They exchanged cheek kisses and Martin stood back. ‘I can see you’re impressed by the jumper,’ he said, smiling. ‘I’m wearing it to win a bet with the kids. They gave it to me as a present in the hope I’d find it embarrassing.’

‘And having won your bet I hope that’s the last we’ll see of it,’ said Carol, laughing. She had followed Jenny into the room.

‘We’re still expecting a few guests to arrive,’ said Rose Balliol. ‘Follow me, Jenny,’ she commanded.

Jenny could see that there were five other people in the drawing room.

Rose introduced her to David Sutherland and his wife Margaret, who she said were her slightly older brother and her sister-in-law. Jenny didn’t think that David carried his years as well as Rose but could see the family resemblance between them.

Then Rose led her over to a group of three women standing by the sofas in front of the fire.

She introduced two of them as Amanda Stirling, the Balliols’ chief legal adviser in Scotland, and her partner Ellen Mitchell. Amanda was smartly dressed while Ellen had more obviously received the message about ‘comfortable and casual’. Both looked to be in their early forties. The third woman, who seemed a little detached from the first two, was Suzanne Cooper, also smartly dressed and a similar age to the others, with long dark hair.

Having made the introductions, Rose said she needed to check on the service of afternoon tea and left the room. Jenny quickly realised that Amanda and Ellen were partners in a personal rather than professional sense and it turned out that Ellen was an artist, a sculptor, who lived with Amanda in Edinburgh. Suzanne Cooper said that she was the depute head teacher of a secondary school in Inverness. Jenny wondered how she knew the Balliols but didn’t think it polite to ask.

Before the conversation had a chance to lurch into awkwardness, Jenny saw that Martin and Carol had moved to look at the glass display case in the corner and, after making her excuses, she went over to join them.

‘I saw this when I came into the drawing room,’ said Jenny. ‘It’s amazing. Is there a particular reason why it’s here?’

Carol smiled. ‘It’s a large model Mother commissioned of the aircraft her father, my grandfather, flew during the latter half of the war. It’s a de Havilland Mosquito.’

Jenny looked at the model, whose wingspan must have been well over three feet. It had two engines, one on each wing, and was painted in grey and green camouflage. ‘It’s a beautiful machine,’ she said.

‘It is,’ said Carol. ‘Grandad was a fighter ace during the Battle of Britain but was shot down and lost the sight in his left eye at the beginning of November 1940. He then spent time running units that trained pilots to fly before joining a branch of military intelligence in 1942. That’s where he and my grandmother got together and the rest, as they say, is history. I’ll not talk about my grandmother as I think Mother wants to tell her story over dinner tonight.

‘Returning to the Mosquito, I believe that Grandad more or less stole it after it had been repaired following a crash and used it as his personal transport for the rest of the war. As he was a senior RAF officer, Grandma arranged to have the aircraft painted with his initials. The large letters “RA” to the left of the fuselage roundel stand for “Robert Andrew”, while the “S” stands for “Sutherland”. There’s also the pennant you can see below the canopy showing his rank and 22 little black crosses on the nose showing the number of enemy aircraft he shot down, though not in this aircraft which was unarmed except for the bombs it could carry.’

‘That’s an impressive tally,’ said Jenny.

‘It is, though those were just his confirmed kills as a pilot and I know that the true figure was rather higher.’

‘Is the large photograph of your grandmother and grandfather on their wedding day? She’s stunningly beautiful and looks radiantly happy. That’s hardly surprising if she’s just married someone as handsome as him. From across the room, I wasn’t sure if it was a wedding photograph though, with that amazing bouquet of flowers, I should have realised.’

‘It is,’ said Carol. ‘He was an RAF group captain at the time, which explains the uniform. Mother told me that Grandma Monique chose to get married in a suit because she didn’t think that she’d be comfortable in virginal white. They were married near Edinburgh early in June 1943.’

‘And these are his medals, in the case next to the model?’ asked Jenny.

‘What you see are both of their medals. Grandad was awarded more, but for a civilian Grandma did pretty well too.’

‘That’s fascinating,’ said Jenny.

‘Anyway, how are you and Callum doing?’ asked Carol. ‘I’m sorry if I put you on the spot when I asked earlier whether you were going to get married.’

‘Oh, Carol, you didn’t!’ exclaimed Martin.

‘Why not?’ asked Carol. ‘I was curious and it seemed the best chance I’d get to ask.’

‘It’s all right, Martin,’ said Jenny. ‘I’m sure we’ll get round to it after Callum’s divorce is finalised. And it’s not escaped my attention that next year has a February the 29th in it, so I do have the option of popping the question if that feels like a good idea at the time.’

‘How’s Callum feeling now he’s had a while to get used to being an ex-policeman?’ asked Martin. ‘As the idea that he might go into private investigation was mine, I feel rather responsible. I know we’ve put work his way, and a few of my contacts have started to use him too, but it’s hardly the armed robberies or murders he was used to in the Metropolitan Police, or the excitement he had when he first came to Scotland, for that matter.’

‘He seems to be adapting well,’ said Jenny. ‘He’s able to keep a reasonable balance between the work he takes on and other things we’re doing. And now Rose has asked him to look into that poor girl’s 1943 murder near here, which will certainly be very different to anything he’s been doing recently.’

Jenny hoped she sounded more confident than she felt. The truth was that at times she lay awake at night worrying about whether Callum had done the right thing in rejecting the offer of a position with Police Scotland and resigning from the Metropolitan Police. What really concerned her was the sense that he’d thrown away his career and an important part of who he was simply so he could be with her. That was lovely, of course, in many ways. But sometimes she found herself wondering what would happen if he ever started to think that he’d done the wrong thing. It would be very easy for a decision he had gladly taken to become her fault.

Some time previously, at the back end of summer and not long after he’d become an ex-policeman, Jenny had asked Callum whether he had any regrets. She could remember his reply word for word. She could still hear the sound of his voice as he was speaking: ‘What, about chucking in a career in the police and living off the largesse of a rich widow instead? Ask me again when the days are short and the wind is cold. I think I’ll give you the same answer, though. I’ve no regrets at all.’

The problem was that the days were now short and the wind was often cold, and Jenny found she couldn’t summon up the courage to ask Callum the question again. She was too afraid that his answer might be less positive this time and she didn’t know how she’d cope with the idea that he might be starting to have regrets. She thought it was time she changed the subject.

‘What’s the smaller photograph in the corner?’ asked Jenny. ‘The one below the posed group of men and women.’

‘Ah,’ said Carol. ‘That’s a photograph taken by an RAF photographer on the morning of the 2nd of November 1940 at a place near Adisham in Kent. Grandad had been shot down the previous evening, after dark. He’d managed to escape from his aircraft by parachute but had been badly injured. The still smoking hole in the ground that those three men are looking into contained all that remained of Grandad Bob’s Hawker Hurricane fighter.’

Jenny wished that she hadn’t asked.

5: Saturday the 30th of December

The Balliols’ office in Sarclet Castle turned out to double as an impressive library and was on the ground floor, not far from the entrance hall. The room was quite modest in size, by Callum’s idea of castle standards but, for anyone with a respect for books, it was still a breathtaking space. Three of the walls were lined from floor to ceiling with fitted wooden bookshelves. The books on them appeared to be a mix of leather-bound old volumes and more modern books that might actually have been intended to be read. He couldn’t immediately see any popular paperbacks and wondered if they were consigned to secondary spaces, like the staff lounge on the top floor he’d just come from.

The fourth wall was wood-panelled above a large fireplace with a fire burning in it that was fronted by a mesh fireguard. The fireplace was flanked by a pair of large green leather wingback armchairs. Only part of the panelling above the fireplace was visible because of a large framed antique map of Scotland that had been hung there. Callum briefly wondered whether the heat rising from the fire dried out or damaged the paper before deciding that wasn't his problem.

The floor was covered in a highly decorated and deeply piled carpet that majored in reds and in the centre of the room were two dark wood tables, each with a green leather inlay, placed with their long sides together. Two men were sitting on the side of the tables furthest from the door, with their backs to the fire. They stood as Callum and Geoffrey Gunn entered the room.

Callum had the sense he’d met or seen one of the men before, but couldn’t place him. The other, wearing a quilted green gilet over a tailored white open-necked shirt, matched photos Callum had seen online of Gerald Balliol. He was a few inches shorter than Callum’s 6ft and, despite being well into his seventies, had dark hair, albeit with grey at the sides and a grey beard. He had sharp blue eyes and an impressive presence.

‘Welcome to Sarclet Castle, Mr Anderson. Please call me Gerald. Perhaps you and Geoffrey could take the seats on that side of the desks while Mark and I sit on this side? Forgive me, I should have introduced you. This is Mark Cooper, who is the chief superintendent in charge of Police Scotland’s Highlands and Islands Division. We’ve known each other for several years, since he was a superintendent in Edinburgh. As he’s one of the few people I know who are not afraid to beat me at golf I consider him to be a friend.’

‘Thank you, Gerald,’ said Callum. ‘I have a sense we’ve met, Chief Superintendent Cooper, though I can’t place where.’

Cooper smiled. ‘I was involved in the fracas at Lochinver in July and our paths crossed briefly when you and Dr Mackay were brought off that fishing boat and taken to an ambulance. You had other things on your mind at the time so I’m not surprised I didn’t register. Chief Superintendent Julia Sutton sends her regards by the way. Your turning down her offer of a job was a disappointment to her. It’s not often that she doesn’t get her way in her professional life and your decision to leave your police career behind you may have been good for her, though don’t quote me on that. You’re a civilian now and this is a social event, so please just call me Mark.’

Callum wondered how Gerald Balliol and Mark Cooper had become friends. He’d known that until their recent acquisition of the Sarclet estate the Balliols’ property holdings in Scotland lay mainly in the central belt and the south of the country. But that didn’t explain why two men from different worlds shared games of golf and Hogmanay parties.

There was an obvious possibility. Callum had never been interested in Freemasonry in London but he knew of many colleagues in the Metropolitan Police who had joined. He had no way of knowing but wondered whether the two men sitting on the opposite side of the table from him were Masons. It didn’t matter, he was just curious.

‘Please call me Callum. I understand from Rose that you have background material for me about the 1943 murder of Violet Bain.’

‘We do,’ said Gerald Balliol. ‘I’ll ask Mark to talk you through it in a moment. Sadly that may not take very long. First, though, I would like to thank you for agreeing to look into this murder for Rose. Sarclet Castle has come to mean a great deal to my wife, for reasons I think you’ll hear about later. This matter of the unresolved murder and the supposed ghost is preventing her from enjoying our ownership of the castle as much as she should.

‘I don’t know what you think about ghosts, Callum, and I don’t want to. But I would be extremely grateful if you could do everything you can to convince Rose that the 1943 murder has been looked into as thoroughly as is now possible, eighty years after it happened. I’m not expecting you to become the Highlands’ answer to the Ghostbusters, I just want you to spend all the time you need to look under every stone that might lead to a resolution of the mystery of Violet Bain’s murder. I understand that although you’ve not been in business long you have a standard rate for your investigations. I will pay you double your normal daily rate whatever the outcome and I will pay you a bonus of 50% on top of that if Rose is happy with what you find. And if you impress me I will ensure you have as much work as you need in future.’

‘Thank you, Gerald. I’ve already told Rose I’ll do it and you’ve not said anything to make me think that was a mistake. Rose said that there had been another murder at Sarclet Broch today and I understand that the 1943 murder site is now an active crime scene once more.’

‘That’s right Callum,’ said Mark Cooper. ‘Another young woman has been stabbed to death. Eighty years on, I can’t see there is a direct link with the crime you are investigating. I’ve asked the Senior Investigating Officer to keep me in the loop and to let me know when it might be possible for Mr Gunn to take you to look at the broch as I believe was the plan. My best guess is that might be tomorrow afternoon.’

‘Thank you,’ said Callum. ‘What do you have on Violet Bain’s murder?’

‘I’ve had a copy made of the entire file, which I can let you have. A word of warning though: it’s rather thin.’

Mark tapped on a buff cardboard folder on the desk in front of him, then slid it across to Callum, who picked it up and opened it.

‘Is this everything?’ he asked. ‘Rose said the investigation ran out of steam when the police concluded that Violet Bain had been, to use her words, “too free with her virtue to be worth bothering about”.’

‘That’s about the size of it, I’m afraid,’ said Mark. ‘It’s no excuse but you need to remember that there was a war on and that the Caithness-shire Constabulary wasn’t resourced to deal with the normal demands placed on them plus the additional strain caused by a number of military bases on their patch.

‘I’ve looked through that file. It didn’t take me long. Miss Bain was a live-in housemaid here and it seems she left the castle without permission to go to Sarclet Broch because late that morning she’d received a telegram she believed was from her lover, Sergeant Peter Bartlett, a pilot based at RAF Wick. There’s no copy of the telegram in the file, but the postmaster at Thrumster was interviewed and said he had received the message from the exchange by telephone and written it down to be taken to Sarclet Castle by the telegraph boy on his bicycle. He remembered it saying that the sender’s flight that day had been cancelled and it went on to ask the recipient to meet him at the usual place at 2.30 p.m. The postmaster remembered it because he knew Miss Bain by sight and thought the sender was a lucky man. Before you ask, it was established that the postmaster had an alibi for the significant part of the day, right through until after Miss Bain’s body was found early that evening by a Home Guard patrol. Sergeant Bartlett wasn’t interviewed but had the best alibi imaginable. He took off from RAF Wick early that morning on a reconnaissance flight to Norway and didn’t come back.

‘The key witness the investigating officers interviewed was Violet’s younger sister Elizabeth, who was eighteen years old and lived with their mother in Thurso where she worked as a telephonist. Elizabeth was keen to be as helpful as possible and identified a number of men who Violet had known well, to use the euphemism in the file. We’ve already covered Sergeant Bartlett. Additionally, it appears that during her time working at the castle, Miss Bain had had sexual relations with three members of the household or staff. The first was the youngest son, Flight Lieutenant the Honourable Henry Gough, another RAF pilot though this time a commissioned officer. It seems theirs was a consensual and clandestine relationship that was revived each time he had home leave. He, too, had a watertight alibi as his squadron was involved in the Allied invasion of Italy which began twelve days before the murder took place and he was certainly there with them at the time.

‘Then we have the head of the household, Colonel Reginald Gough, the 2nd Earl of Wick. By rights, Violet should have been conscripted to do war work when she turned 20 in June 1942. She preferred the quieter life at the castle and asked Colonel Gough to pull some strings for her. He did, successfully, but only in return for sexual favours from her. He was old enough to be her father, indeed his youngest child, Lady Alice, was a little older than Violet. Those looking into the murder seem to have made no moral judgements, not about the colonel at least. They simply established that Colonel Gough had last been at Sarclet Castle two weeks earlier, and then only briefly, and that on the day of the murder, several witnesses could confirm that he was in London.

‘The third member of the household she had been close to was Calum Mackay, who was in his thirties and the son of the butler. He had been invalided out of the army after Dunkirk and worked in the castle gardens. It’s unclear how and when their relationship began, but it seems to have been over well before her death. In any case, he was in hospital in Inverness on the day of the murder and had been for several days before, having an operation on the leg in which he’d been wounded in France.

‘The investigation also asked other members of the castle staff about their whereabouts on the day of the murder. The possibility of Calum Mackay’s wife killing Violet through jealousy was considered but didn’t square with Violet having been raped. Only two other people were living in the castle. The butler, Edward Mackay, had boarded a train in Wick at 8.25 a.m. that day and people he knew on the train confirmed he stayed on it all the way to Inverness, where it arrived at 2.45 p.m. The idea was that he would spend the night with relatives there and then set off back the next morning with his son after he’d been discharged from hospital. The butler’s wife, the older of the two Mrs Mackays in the household, was the head cook and housekeeper and appears not to have been considered as a possible suspect. Besides, the two Mrs Mackays said they had worked together in the castle for most of the day and there was no reason to doubt them. It’s at about this point that the investigation simply ran out of steam. Local people and Home Guard members were asked if they’d seen any strangers going through the village or hanging around the haven or broch, but the police concluded that gave them nothing to go on. Rose’s assessment, that the investigating officers decided they had more worthy uses for their time, seems pretty accurate.’

‘Thank you, Mark,’ said Callum. ‘I’ll read the file. At first glance, the telegram seems central, but I’ve no immediate feel for how to pursue that as a lead. As Violet was raped, it’s worth asking if any physical evidence might still exist eighty years later. Was her clothing kept?’

‘You’re thinking of the possibility of looking for traces of DNA and matching anything you find to a descendent of the murderer? The same thought occurred to me and I had a detective sergeant look into it. I believe him when he says that there is no trace of any physical evidence being retained. Eighty years is a long time and there have been major structural changes in police organisation during that period. The Caithness-shire Constabulary became part of Northern Constabulary in 1969 and that in turn became part of Police Scotland in 2013. Each time there was a reorganisation, evidence stores would have been moved and perhaps rationalised, with older material being disposed of.’

‘Fair enough,’ said Callum. ‘Would you mind if I speak to your detective sergeant if I need anything else as I get more deeply into this?’

‘I have no problem with that,’ said Mark. ‘But only up to a point. Gerald and Rose are paying you to investigate this murder. I don’t want to find that my people are doing all the work.’

‘I understand.’

‘Very well. The man to speak to is Detective Sergeant Trevor Jones, who is with my Major Investigation Team based in Inverness, though I suspect that by now he may be in Caithness or on his way here as part of the investigation into today’s murder.’

‘I’ve met him,’ said Callum, smiling. ‘I’ll get in touch if I need to, but only if I need to.’

Gerald looked at his watch, a Rolex. ‘Good. I promised Rose we’d join her before it’s too late for afternoon tea and I hope I might just about deliver on my promise. I’ll have the file taken to your room Callum, so you aren’t wondering what to do with it for the rest of the afternoon.’

6: Saturday the 30th of December

‘Do you think it’s all right to leave the curtains open?’ asked Callum.

‘Why not?’ asked Jenny. ‘We’re not overlooked. The light coming in from the floodlights gives the room a lovely cosy feel. Anyway, it’s a little late to be worrying about voyeurs.’

Callum was lying on his back on the bed, partly covered by a duvet and partly by Jenny. She was resting her chin on her hand, which in turn rested on the centre of Callum’s chest. Her dark hair was tousled and cascaded down the sides of her face and onto Callum. His head and shoulders were propped up on a pillow and he was looking down his chest at her.

‘I didn’t get a chance to ask, but how was your walk with Martin and Carol after we’d had afternoon tea?’

‘Bloody cold,’ said Jenny. ‘Even colder than when we stopped in Helmsdale. But this is a really beautiful place. The gardens may not be at their best at the end of December, but we had a walk through the rose garden, the narrow garden that stretches away from this end of the castle below one of our windows. We also had a look at the walled garden, which is a little removed from the north end of the building. By then the sun had set and it was getting dark, so we came in and Carol and Martin took me on a tour of parts of the castle I’d not seen.’

‘At this time of year you do pay the penalty for the seemingly endless days of summer so far north,’ said Callum. ‘I’d have thought that sharing a bath with me would have helped warm you up.’

‘It did, but not as much as what we then did. I sometimes think it’s very unfair that you can only have one orgasm at a time while I can have loads of them when I’m with you.’

Callum saw Jenny smile.

‘It’s tempting to ask if you want some more,’ he said, touching her left shoulder and running his hand softly down her arm.

‘Thank you for the offer, but not at the moment. Later, perhaps. Pre-dinner drinks are served at 7.30 p.m., which according to the digital clock on the side means we’ve got an hour and twenty minutes. You’ve not said what you found in the police file about Violet Bain’s killing. Was I out with Carol and Martin long enough for you to read it?’

‘Yes. The investigation was as superficial as everyone says.’ Callum went on to give Jenny an overview of the police file, in much the way that he’d been given one by Mark Cooper.

‘There isn’t much for you to go on,’ said Jenny.

‘My immediate response when Mark Cooper talked to me was that the telegram was at the heart of things. I’m even more sure of that now. We know the boyfriend didn’t send it as he was already on his way to Norway when it was sent or possibly even dead by then. One problem I had was a lack of understanding of how the telegram system worked. The file doesn’t help because the police in 1943 and anyone they talked to understood the system and assumed everyone else would too.

‘I’ve done a little digging online and found that some of what I thought I knew about telegrams was wrong. What I found out makes what happened that day seem rather odd. The first thing that didn’t fit with my preconceptions was the postmaster at Thrumster receiving the message by telephone from the exchange and writing it down by hand. I had in mind Morse code arriving as beeps and then being printed as words on a ticker tape that got cut into strips and stuck onto a message form to be carried to the recipient. I’m sure I’ve seen something like that in an old film.

‘But no. Apparently at that time someone in this part of the world could send a telegram by going into a telegram office, a post office in effect, and dictating their message and then paying for its transmission. The message was conveyed, often indirectly, to the nearest post office by phone and was then written down and carried to the recipient, usually by a boy on a bicycle.

‘That got me wondering whether there might be a record of who sent the telegram and from where. I suppose I had in mind the paradigm of an email, with headers saying where it came from, and a world in which everyone pays for just about everything electronically. I was partly right in that the first line of a telegram was a preamble which did include information about the “office of origin”. But if you went into a post office to send your telegram you paid by cash, which meant that even if we had a copy of the telegram, and we don’t, we’d never know who sent it even if we could establish where they sent it from.

‘And you didn’t need to go to a post office to send your telegram. If you had a telephone at home or in a business, you could phone your message via a telegraphist into the system and the cost would be added to your next telephone bill. That seemed a little more promising until I found that you could also send a telegram from any telephone box simply by dialling a standard number, 190, and dictating your message to a telegraphist. You were then told the cost and you paid by putting the appropriate number of coins in the slot in the machine. The telegraphist could tell if the correct payment had been made by the sounds the coins made over the line as you inserted them.’

‘This is all very well,’ said Jenny, ‘but it appears to miss a more fundamental point.’

‘I think I know what you’ve spotted and I was coming to that,’ said Callum. ‘The system seems to have been entirely geared to sending messages to people who couldn’t be reached by telephone, which I imagine meant most people at that time. Yet it’s inconceivable that Sarclet Castle wouldn’t have had a phone. If it had been the boyfriend trying to get in touch with an urgent message, then the phone would have been a far simpler option.’

Jenny lifted her head. ‘But if you were someone other than the boyfriend setting up a trap for Violet, then sending a telegram from a phone box somewhere, and from what you say it could have been anywhere, was a much safer option than trying to impersonate someone she knew well on the phone.’

‘Very true, Jenny. That leaves our best clue the reference in the telegram to a meeting at “the usual place”. Whoever sent the message knew Violet or her boyfriend well enough to know where they usually met.’

‘And that’s all you have to go on?’ asked Jenny.

‘It is early days but leads do seem thin on the ground. I did see one thing Mark Cooper didn’t mention and might have overlooked when he went through the file.’

‘What was that?’ asked Jenny.

‘There was a badly typed report written by two constables who were detailed to go through the village two days after the murder and ask if anyone had seen anything unusual on the afternoon Violet was killed. The first paragraph of the two-page report gives a summary and concludes that no one had seen anything significant. However, halfway down the second page, it says that they spoke to a Mrs Bruce who said that she had been in her front garden that afternoon and had seen an RAF sergeant with pilot’s wings on his uniform cycling through the village in the direction of Sarclet Haven. She said that she was listening to the BBC Home Service on her radio through an open window and a program of music by Jack Payne and his orchestra scheduled for 2 p.m. started a few minutes after the sergeant had passed, which gave a time for when she saw him.

‘The constable who interviewed Mrs Bruce then notes that she was in her eighties and had a reputation for being senile. He wrote that no one else in the village saw this RAF sergeant and it was likely that she had become confused about which day it was or simply invented her sighting to get some attention. If the constable asked Mrs Bruce for a description of the sergeant beyond his uniform it’s not noted and it seems her sighting was simply dismissed because of her age and never followed up.’

‘That’s disappointing,’ said Jenny.

‘It is,’ said Callum. ‘Mrs Bruce doesn’t sound senile even from the brief police account of what she said. I’ve checked online. The BBC Home Service did have a program of music by Jack Payne and his orchestra starting at 2 p.m. on the day Violet was killed. The following day his program began earlier and the day before Violet’s death he wasn’t on the schedule at all.’

‘It’s a shame the police didn’t think to check,’ said Jenny.

‘Very true. Eighty years have passed and the chances of anyone involved in any aspect of the police investigation still being alive are vanishingly small. I do have a couple of ideas about threads I can tug at and I had a quiet word with Geoffrey Gunn after meeting Gerald. Your genealogist friend Lucy Duncan in Kinlochbervie was also happy to help when I called her. I got the impression she wasn’t exactly run off her feet with customers at the moment and was pleased to pick up some business from me. I also spoke to a reliable contact in London who used to work in the Metropolitan Police archives before getting a better job with the British Library on Euston Road. His name is Jeremy Ryde and he’s going to do some background research for me, also chargeable to the Balliols, of course.’

‘That all sounds very positive.’ Jenny frowned. ‘Changing the subject to today’s murder, Martin was wondering why the police hadn’t been to the castle to ask who was here earlier today and whether anyone had seen anything when arriving.’

‘That’s a fair point,’ said Callum. ‘I’d have thought they’d have been knocking on doors in the village to ask those questions. And there are probably more people at Sarclet Castle at the moment than in the rest of the village put together.’

‘I suppose we’ll have to see.’ Jenny moved up the bed and kissed Callum, then ran her hand down his body. ‘I hope this doesn’t seem callous given what we’ve just been talking about.’

‘Have you changed your mind about wanting more orgasms?’ he asked.

‘We do have a little time before we need to shower and dress for dinner. I wondered if you wanted to even up the score a little?’

7: Saturday the 30th of December

Pre-dinner drinks were served in the dining room. Carol and Martin had shown Jenny this magnificent space a little earlier, after darkness and the cold had brought their tour of the gardens to an end. It was the original great hall of the castle and was located on the first floor of the oldest part of the building. Jenny was pleased when she was able to lead Callum directly to it. As they approached along the corridor, he said that he’d also been shown the hall on his first visit to the castle in July before relations with his hosts had cooled.

Jenny turned to smile at Callum as they reached the sturdy wooden door to the hall, which stood partly open. She thought he looked extremely smart in the dark blue suit he’d bought for the occasion which he was wearing with a light blue shirt and a dark red patterned silk tie. He’d lost weight over recent months, a result he said of simply drinking less and eating better. She’d thought that he was very attractive when they’d first met in June but had to acknowledge that he now looked younger than his 39 years whereas before he’d looked a little older. At 6ft he was a couple of inches taller than her and she enjoyed running her hands through his dark brown hair. She particularly liked his eyes, which were a slightly lighter shade of brown than her own.

Callum had seemed strangely nervous when they’d been dressing for dinner. After they’d been invited, Jenny had suggested he should get hold of a jacket and kilt for the visit. He’d resisted, on the grounds that he’d feel uncomfortable in an outfit that pretended to a greater degree of Scottishness than he could justify. The suits he’d kept from his previous life were now a little large for him and showing signs of having been worn for work too often. He’d thrown away his dinner suit as too big and too tatty to keep.

He smiled back at her now, but Jenny had the sense that he was wondering if he’d stand out at dinner as having failed to make sufficient effort.

For her part, Jenny felt comfortable in a long dark green dress and a matching jacket which she wore with a single strand of pearls around her neck. She’d also lost a little weight since knowing Callum, though she had less to lose in the first place. The main change she’d made was to drink very much less alcohol than she had been drinking since her husband Iain was killed. It gave her confidence to be able to go into a social setting and not wonder whether she was going to have to be carried home drunk afterwards. Callum hadn’t had to carry her home the first time they’d met, but she had the sense it was a close-run thing.

Jenny had to be constantly aware of this as a weakness that would always be part of her. She knew she could never relax totally in a setting like this as part of the new Jenny had to remain alert and on guard to ensure the old Jenny, the drunk, didn’t reassert herself.

On Jenny’s first visit, the great hall had been empty and dark and had impressed only after Carol turned on the lights. As she entered the room now, she felt she understood the literal sense of the word ‘breathtaking’.

Two broad steps led down from the doorway into a space whose stone walls were set off by the massive timbers supporting the varnished honey-coloured wooden ceiling above. On her first visit, Jenny had been a little surprised not to see a vaulted stone ceiling but now felt the wood added immeasurably to the room’s attractiveness. The electric lights were off and, instead, the light was coming from massed candles in candelabras placed on the table and free-standing around the edges of the room, as well as from a wood fire burning brightly in the large stone-canopied fireplace.

Jenny hadn’t noticed the minstrels’ gallery earlier until Carol pointed it out. As it was above the heads of those coming into the dining room that was perhaps not surprising. The stone walls were decorated with fans and circles formed from weapons such as swords, daggers and pikes, with circular shields adding to the arrangements. Suits of armour stood in the corners of the room and on either side of the fireplace.

Placed in the centre of the room was a beautiful dark wood dining table around which were sixteen matching chairs. There were two chairs and settings at either end of the length of the table and six along either side. It gave a sense of the scale of the room that even a table of this size left plenty of circulation space around it.

A waiter with a silver tray of champagne glasses was standing just inside the entrance to the hall and Jenny and Callum both took drinks. As Jenny looked around it appeared that most of the guests were already there and there was a pleasant level of background chatter. She saw that only two of the men present, Gerald Balliol and David Sutherland, were wearing kilts. Martin Macleod wore a dinner suit while the policeman, Mark Cooper, wore a lounge suit, though not one that looked new. She hoped that Callum might now feel more comfortable about what he was wearing.

While afternoon tea was being served earlier, a man in his fifties had arrived with a younger woman and they now followed Jenny and Callum into the hall. Rose had introduced them that afternoon as her nephew Eric Sutherland, the only son of her late oldest brother Sven, and Eric’s partner Danielle Kingston. It had emerged in conversation that Eric was a theatre producer in London and Danielle was an actress. Eric had confided to Jenny that Rose didn’t approve of his bringing to her gathering a woman twenty years younger than himself who had caused the breakup of his second marriage. He hadn’t seemed unduly worried by Rose’s disapproval.

Two other people in the hall were new to Jenny. Two elderly women were standing and talking to Rose near the fireplace. They didn’t look like relatives of Rose but were about the same age as her.

Jenny realised that Callum had stopped and was talking to Eric Sutherland and Danielle Kingston. She saw Ellen Mitchell, the sculptor, standing on her own with her back to the gathering in the far left corner of the room and looking at one of the suits of armour.

Jenny made her way to where Ellen was standing, en route declining the offer from a roaming drinks waitress of a second glass of champagne. She was pleased that her refusal had been instinctive and given without any regrets. She wanted to be able to enjoy a glass of wine with her dinner and filling up with champagne now wouldn’t be wise.

‘Hello, it’s Ellen, isn’t it?’

Ellen turned sharply to face Jenny, as if she’d not been aware of her approach.

‘I’m sorry if I surprised you.’

Ellen smiled. ‘No, not at all. I hope I’m right in remembering that you’re Jenny Mackay. I’m not usually very good at attaching names to faces, but I did try to remember who everyone was when the introductions were done earlier. You look stunning in that dress.’

‘Thank you. So do you.’ Ellen was wearing a plain little red dress that suited her slim figure perfectly and looked very good against her dark skin.

‘Thank you, Jenny. I was admiring the suit of armour. It suddenly occurred to me that armour can be thought of as a form of sculpture.’

Jenny’s reply was cut off by a ringing sound. She turned to see where the noise had come from as silence descended on the hall and realised that Williams, the butler, was standing by the fireplace with a knife in one hand and a glass in the other. Standing next to him was Rose Balliol.

‘Hello everyone,’ said Rose, projecting her voice. ‘Thank you for coming to Sarclet Castle for our Hogmanay gathering and welcome to all of you. While you are here you should treat the castle as if it’s your own and you’ll find plenty of staff on hand to ensure you never go hungry or thirsty. Please feel free to come and go as you want and do as much or as little as you like.

‘On Monday morning, the day after tomorrow, those without hangovers after seeing in 2024 might wish to take part in a private tour of Pulteney Distillery in Wick. They’ve agreed to open up specially for us and we’ve arranged transport so you don’t need to hold back when you get the opportunity to sample their product. And if the weather permits we’ll be laying on a falconry display in the grounds that afternoon and clay pigeon shooting out on the cliffs. At the moment the forecast is good. I’ll let you know about the timings for Monday before the festivities get underway tomorrow evening.

‘Tomorrow is of course New Year’s Eve but it’s also a Sunday. You are all welcome to join Gerald and me for the morning service in St Magnus Cathedral in Kirkwall. We have arranged for two helicopters to pick us up on the lawn outside and fly us directly to Kirkwall Airport, which isn’t far from the town. If a church service isn’t your thing, then you are welcome simply to have a wander around Kirkwall instead and perhaps visit the cathedral after the service. The forecast is for a sunny day but a cold one so you might need to wrap up warm. We will have a late lunch here after we return. Please let Williams know before retiring to your rooms tonight whether you wish to fly to Kirkwall tomorrow or stay here.

‘That’s almost all I have to say at the moment. Dinner will be served shortly and I’d be grateful if you could find your assigned places at the table. It always strikes me as rather pointless to end up sitting next to the person you came with at an event like this, so you’ll find that things have been shaken up a little to allow people to get to know each other better.’

Jenny stood back from what at first looked a little like a game of musical chairs, albeit without the music, as guests milled around the dining table looking at names on place cards. As people began to settle, Jenny saw Amanda Stirling wave at her from the further of the two seats on the left-hand end of the table, then smile and point at the chair to her right. Jenny went over and sat down after seeing her name on the place card.

‘Thank you, Amanda. I’ve not come across this approach to seating guests at a dinner party before. Not that I can remember attending a dinner party for sixteen before.’

‘It’s something Rose likes doing,’ said Amanda. ‘She and Gerald have a large house, a very large house, on the edge of Edinburgh and Ellen and I have been invited to dinner there a couple of times. I did think about stealing the idea but it’s hard to make it work as she intends if you’ve got any fewer than about ten people present, so it’s a non-starter for us.’

Jenny glanced round the table and caught Callum’s eye. He was sitting someway along the left-hand side of the table as she saw it, not quite hidden by a large candelabra. He was sitting immediately beyond Rose Balliol and had Danielle Kingston on his far side, who was occupying the last of the six chairs along that side of the table. He picked up a glass of white wine and raised it in Jenny’s direction, smiling.

She returned the gesture, trying to suppress a pang of concern that Callum had been seated next to a younger and much more glamorous woman. She gave herself a mental slap on the back of her hand. She’d been lied to, deceived and cheated on by her late husband and needed to remember that not all men were like him. The concern didn’t entirely leave her, though.

On Jenny’s right, around the corner of the table from her and the first of those seated on its right-hand long side, was David Sutherland, who was turned a little away from her and deep in conversation with one of the two elderly women she’d seen Rose talking to by the fireplace. Beyond her was Gerald Balliol, who was talking to Suzanne Cooper, seated to his right.

Jenny half turned towards Amanda, who had Eric Sutherland on her left, again around a corner of the table. He was talking to the other of the pair of elderly ladies, seated to his left.

‘I gather you’re the Balliols’ chief legal adviser in Scotland,’ Jenny said.

‘Yes. I’m the managing partner in Stirling Urquhart LLP, usually regarded as one of the top ten law firms in Scotland. It’s not breaching a confidence to say that the Balliols have been clients of ours, and of mine, for some years.’

‘Are you the “Stirling” in Stirling Urquhart?’ asked Jenny.

‘That was originally my father, George Stirling. I faced plenty of opposition to the idea that the boss’s daughter could prove a worthy successor to him after he died. And more from the dinosaurs who struggled to come to terms with my sexuality and the fact that I had a black girlfriend. Misogyny, homophobia and racism can be a heady mix and they are all still out there, if usually a little more veiled than they used to be. But I suppose I am now considered to be the “Stirling” in the name of the firm for all practical purposes and there is no longer an Urquhart.’

‘I assume that as you work with the Balliols you specialise in commercial law,’ said Jenny.

‘I do, but the firm covers everything from company and commercial law to personal injuries and from employment and family law to criminal defence. We have just over three hundred staff and partners in different parts of Scotland. Ah, here are the starters.’

Serving staff shook out and placed napkins on the laps of the diners and the starter was then served, a winter vegetable and tarragon consommé according to the menu Jenny had glanced at on the table as she’d sat down.

This was superb, as was the fish dish that followed, scallops served on the shell with smoked roe sauce and pommes soufflés.

‘Is the food at the Balliols’ dinner parties always this glorious?’ asked Jenny.

‘It is,’ said Amanda. ‘I’ve heard it said that they poached their chef from the Balmoral in Edinburgh and that their core kitchen staff are the highest paid in Scotland. The quality of the food does bear that out. Ellen’s a vegetarian and tells me she never feels like a second-class citizen when eating at one of their functions. Do you mind my asking how you and Callum came to know the Balliols?’

‘I’ve been a friend of their daughter Carol Macleod for quite some time,’ said Jenny. ‘But the invitation to spend Hogmanay here came completely out of the blue and neither of us had met Rose or Gerald until today.’ She went on to talk about Callum leaving the police and setting up as a private investigator, and about the job he’d been asked to do by Rose Balliol.

‘That’s fascinating,’ said Amanda. ‘Though the coincidence of a second murder at the broch today is slightly chilling.’

‘It is,’ said Jenny, ‘and more so given that we’ve been told that today’s was the third murder to have taken place there.’ She recounted what Geoffrey Gunn had said about the skeleton found in the well by archaeologists.

Over the main course of braised Scottish ox cheek and some sublime accompaniments, Jenny found herself talking to David Sutherland about his time as a pilot, first in the RAF and then with different airlines around the world.

By the time Jenny had finished the dessert of lemon tart with raspberry sorbet, a simple but perfect conclusion to the feast, she felt replete. Seldom, if ever, had she enjoyed a meal so much.

Having drunk sparking water after her initial glass of white wine, Jenny accepted the offer by a waiter carrying a bottle of what looked like very fine red wine to pour her a drink. It turned out to be every bit as good as she’d hoped.

Jenny was talking to Amanda about cars when the conversation in the room was again stilled by the butler dinging a glass with the blade of a knife.

Rose Balliol stood up. ‘I hope you enjoyed your dinner…’

There was applause around the table.

‘Thank you, I will ensure that word of your appreciation gets back to the kitchen. I’ve asked the waiting staff to check that your glasses are full and wine is left within easy reach because I’d like to spend a little time telling you why Gerald and I purchased Sarclet Castle and why the place has come to mean so much to me. To put it another way, I’ve fed you and now it’s your turn to indulge me, whether you like it or not.’

There was laughter around the table and Rose smiled.

‘I’d like to start by telling you about a journal that came into my possession two years ago. David and I had an elder brother, Sven. He died in early 2021 during the pandemic, along with so many other people who were tragically taken before their time. Later that year I was contacted by my nephew Eric, Sven’s only child, who is with us tonight. Eric had been going through Sven’s belongings and got in touch to ask if I wanted to have my mother’s journal.

‘My response was “what journal?” Mother had been an amazing woman with a fund of stories about her exploits, and my father’s, during World War Two and the Cold War when they’d both worked in military intelligence. I found the idea of her keeping a journal totally inconsistent with my memories of her. Yet here it was. And here it is.’

Rose turned to take an envelope offered by Williams the butler and slid out of it a brown leather-bound book of about A5 size, which she held up with her right hand.

‘There are actually three volumes, but the other two are externally identical to this one. It turned out that she began to write her journal at the end of June 1943. She and our father had married on the 5th of June that year and their honeymoon in Kyle of Lochalsh had been disrupted when they were asked to travel to Malta to look for two missing men. The first journal entry was after they returned and from then on Mother used it partly as a diary in which she recorded things she and Father did, and partly as somewhere she could set out a quite detailed account of her life up to that point. The two sets of entries interleave, and the result is fascinating and in places rather shocking. It’s worth saying that there is no indication that Father ever knew that Mother was keeping a journal.

‘The three volumes of Mother’s journal are my most valuable possessions, which is why, now I’ve shown one of them to you, I’m asking Williams to take it from me and return it to its secure home in the castle. It’s survived eight decades without having red wine spilt on it. I’d like it to stay unsullied.’

Rose reached down, picked up her glass of red wine, took a drink, then put it down and continued. ‘But I’m getting ahead of myself. I should start by explaining why Sarclet Castle is so important to my parents’ story.’

8: Saturday the 30th of December

Rose looked around the table before continuing. ‘Sarclet Castle has a long history. Parts of it were already over three centuries old when it was purchased in the 1890s by an industrialist who had made his money through shipbuilding and arms manufacturing and then went into politics. He was made the 1st Earl of Wick in 1895. He died in 1920 and his son Reginald Gough became the 2nd Earl of Wick. Reginald had two sons and a daughter before his wife left him.

‘Let’s wind the clock forward to September 1942. The 2nd Earl of Wick had become a colonel in the Home Guard and was a man of power and influence in Caithness. At the time there were people in the British establishment who believed that Churchill was the wrong man to lead the country and that it was a mistake to be fighting Hitler as, in their view, Stalin was the real threat. Colonel Reginald Gough, the 2nd Earl of Wick, was one of those people.

‘To find out if he posed a threat to the nation, MI5 dispatched a female agent to stay at Sarclet Castle. She used the name Madame Monique Dubois and as far as the Earl was concerned, she was a French journalist based in London who was researching a series of articles for a US magazine about how Scottish landowners were coping during the war.

‘Monique Dubois was my mother, our mother, and although I always knew she was remarkable it’s only since I’ve read her journal that I’ve been able to tie together all the pieces. If I were to tell her story in detail, I’d keep you here all night and probably tomorrow night too, so I’ll just give you the edited highlights. Besides, our daughter Carol has kindly agreed to use her literary skills to turn Mother’s journal into something that might attract a wider audience, and I don’t want to remove your need to buy the book when it comes out.

‘Let’s start at the beginning. Mother was born in Siberia in 1912 before being adopted by a family who fled the Russian Revolution and moved to Denmark and later to Paris.

‘She became a professional dancer at the age of 16 and, when she was just 18, she married a White Russian count who had her spy on the communists. The British Secret Intelligence Service, MI6, recruited her when she was 20 after she’d left her first husband and she spied on both the communists and the White Russians for them. When she was 24, she was recruited by the Abwehr, the German intelligence service, with the enthusiastic agreement of her MI6 handlers. Her first husband was shot as a spy in the Soviet Union at about the same time.

‘A year later she married her second husband, a senior officer in the Abwehr who was nearly 60 at the time. He was killed in a car crash in Berlin in early 1940 and she became a full-time field agent for the Abwehr, again with MI6’s blessing. Having a double agent buried deep within the German intelligence service must have seemed like a godsend to MI6. Mother and two other German agents landed on the coast of Scotland on the 29th of September 1940 and were quickly arrested. She then transferred to MI5 and the German spies who she landed with were executed.’

Rose picked up her glass and took another drink of her wine. The great hall was completely silent and the only movement was by those following Rose’s example and taking a drink.

‘So that’s how our mother, using the name Monique Dubois, came to be at Sarclet Castle on Thursday the 10th of September 1942.’

‘Meanwhile, our father, Bob Sutherland, had also had an eventful war. He was a highly successful fighter pilot during the Battle of Britain but was shot down and injured just after it ended, losing the sight in his left eye. He went on to command various training units and did a worthy if, Mother thought, unsatisfying job as, officially at least, he wasn’t allowed to fly because of his eyesight. Then fate took a hand. On Tuesday the 25th of August 1942, King George VI’s younger brother, the Duke of Kent, was killed when the flying boat supposedly taking him to Iceland crashed about 20 miles south-west of here at a place called Eagle’s Rock, inland from Dunbeath, which most of you will have driven through to get here.

‘Father was asked to investigate the cause of the crash. This was partly because before the war he’d been a detective with the Glasgow police. Combined with his background as a pilot this arguably gave him the right mix of experience to do the job. Mainly, though, he was asked because he was completely independent of the various arms of British military intelligence, who were at one another’s throats at the time.

‘On Thursday the 10th of September 1942 he flew his Hurricane fighter north from Oban, where the aircraft that crashed had been based, to Wick, because he wanted to interview the only survivor and visit the site of the crash. En route, he encountered a lone German bomber over the sea within sight of here and shot it down. That brought him to the attention of the 2nd Earl of Wick, who contacted RAF Wick to invite Father to dinner at Sarclet Castle and spend the night here.

‘It turned out that Mother and Father had met a year earlier, fleetingly, but it was the fact that their paths crossed again here in this castle that led to their marrying in June 1943. That night they dined with the Earl, his family members and other guests in this room just as we are doing and that’s why I wanted to buy the Sarclet estate so badly when the previous owner felt he needed to sell it.

‘I should perhaps briefly tell you the rest of the story of Sarclet Castle. The 2nd Earl of Wick had two sons and a daughter. The older son was an officer in an armoured regiment in North Africa who was killed early in 1943. The younger son was an RAF pilot who died very late in the war when he crashed at an airfield in the Netherlands in April 1945. The daughter, Lady Alice, married a French officer in London in 1943 and, after the war, she moved to Paris with him. Last year one of her grandsons visited Sarclet Castle with his wife and children and talked to the estate manager here, Geoffrey Gunn. That’s how we know the family story.

‘After the war, with his two sons dead and his daughter in Paris, it seems the 2nd Earl of Wick lost interest in his Scottish properties and spent all his time at his house in London. He sold the Sarclet estate in about 1950 and the castle later became a hotel for many years. Then there was a small fire that some at the time said was intended to be a bigger fire and the insurance company refused to pay out. The castle was boarded up and forgotten about for a time.

‘The previous owner bought the castle five years ago and, separately, quite a lot of the rest of the old Sarclet estate. He then spent much more on renovating the castle than he had on buying it. As I said earlier, I only read Mother’s journal and learned of her connection to Sarclet Castle in late 2021, so the chance of buying it when it was semi-derelict and cheap was no longer available. But, as they say, “all things come to those who wait”, and here we are.’

Rose stood still for a moment with her gaze fixed to Jenny’s right. Jenny realised she was looking at David Sutherland and glanced at him just in time to see him smile at Rose and nod.

Rose smiled back, then resumed her story. ‘I should tell you that my brother David and I have had a debate about how much detail I should go into when telling you our parents’ story. I thought for a while I’d need to finish there, but I think we’ve just agreed I can tell you a little more about what happened while they were at Sarclet Castle.’

Rose stopped speaking to empty her wine glass, then thanked Callum as he refilled it for her. ‘I should apologise for leaving you with a slightly misleading impression just now. You probably thought from what I said that Mother and Father became romantically involved, to use a very old-fashioned phrase, after the dinner that was held in this room on the 10th of September 1942. That’s not quite what happened.

‘I talked about finding parts of my mother’s journal shocking. There are graphic accounts in it of appalling acts of violence as both Mother and Father found themselves, more than once, facing a choice between killing and being killed. When I thought about it, I realised that explained a darkness I had sometimes seen in the eyes of both of them when they didn’t know I was looking.

‘But it was something else in Mother’s journal that surprised me most. My impression of our father was of a gentle and kind man with a great sense of humour, but also of a man who always behaved “properly”, perhaps as befitted a senior RAF officer. I was genuinely shocked to read in Mother’s journal that on the night of the 10th of September 1942, our father ended up in bed with Lady Alice, the daughter of the household. It seems he wasn’t quite as strait-laced as I had always thought.’

She paused as a ripple of laughter passed around the table.

‘Before you think that I’ve totally lost the plot by buying the castle where my parents failed to get together I should add that when Mother and Father returned to Sarclet Castle two days later, on Saturday the 12th of September 1942, they did so as a couple.

‘What happened in the meantime is scarcely believable and Carol has found that the official records are still locked away, eighty years later. Yet she has unearthed enough material that bears tangentially on what Mother wrote in her journal to be sure that her account is true.

‘In the middle of that night, with Father and Lady Alice in one bedroom and Mother in another, the castle was raided by German commandos who had come ashore from a U-boat at Sarclet Haven. Everyone present was taken prisoner. Members of the family were locked in the cellars here. Mother and Father were taken away in a truck and locked in the cellar of a hunting lodge in the heart of Caithness.

‘It’s the next part that’s simply incredible. The next day Mother and Father were able to escape while boarding a German flying boat that had landed on a loch near the hunting lodge. They hijacked the aircraft and flew it to Fort George near Inverness and, almost incidentally, prevented King George VI from being taken into German captivity. They spent that night, together, at Dunrobin Castle and then returned here the following day.

‘Those of you who find it hard to swallow what does sound like an exceedingly tall tale might wish to take a look at the medals on show in the display cabinet in the drawing room. Both Mother and Father were made Commanders of the Royal Victorian Order, an unusual award made for, and I quote, “distinguished personal service to the British monarch”.

‘And, having strained your credulity to the limit, I hope you now understand why I believe that Sarclet Castle is the best place to ensure that the memory of our Mother and Father lives on. I should add that although Monique Dubois was coined as Mother’s cover name in Scotland it was only the latest of many names she’d used during her life and from then on it became the name she usually went by. It was also the name she was married under.’

Rose raised her glass. ‘I hope that after listening to me for so long you’ve still got something to drink in your glasses. I’d like to conclude by proposing a toast… to Monique and Bob!’

Everyone around the table stood up. ‘To Monique and Bob!’

*

Some guests continued to talk and drink in the great hall after dinner, but Jenny and Callum followed a straggle of others making their way to the drawing room.

As they walked arm in arm along the corridor, out of the corner of her eye Jenny saw Callum look towards her.

‘Rose can tell an amazing story, can’t she?’

‘She can, Callum. I see why she’s keen to placate the ghost of Violet Bain. There’s a sense in which she wants the castle to be a fitting home for the spirits of her parents and having a third presence here, especially one from only a year later, is at best distracting.’

‘Do you believe in that sort of thing?’ asked Callum.

‘I don’t know. I’m a doctor and we’re meant to believe in science and the rational world. But I’ve occasionally seen things I can’t explain rationally and I try to keep an open mind.’

‘I think it might be best if I do the same,’ said Callum. ‘I’m finding the idea of three murders in the same location at widely separated times very odd. While the third murderer could conceivably have known about the first two, there’s no way the second murderer could have known about the first. And I think I might need to do more than simply ignore the idea that people believe Violet Bain’s ghost haunts part of the castle. One of the things I’ve asked Geoffrey Gunn to do is find out if there’s anyone still living in the area who worked here when the castle was a hotel. The idea is to try to take myself back in time, as far as living memories permit, towards the 1940s.’

‘That sounds like a plan,’ said Jenny. ‘Was Rose good company over dinner?’

‘She was, though I think she was preoccupied with what she wanted to say afterwards, as if she was turning it over in her mind. She had no speaking notes so that was quite an impressive performance.’

‘How about Danielle?’

Callum half-turned to look behind them as if to check if anyone was within hearing. ‘She was pleasant enough, in a self-centred sort of way. She was very keen to talk about her acting successes, the jobs she’d turned down and all the projects people were falling over themselves to offer her. She was less interested in hearing about anyone else. Carol Macleod was sitting on the other side of her, around the corner of the table, and I think she got more of it than I did as I spent a fair bit of time talking to Rose.’

‘I’m ashamed to say I feel relieved about that, Callum. We promised to be completely honest with each other. When I saw you sitting next to a younger and more glamorous woman I had an anxious moment.’

Callum put his arm around her waist as they entered the drawing room. ‘I understand how deeply Iain’s behaviour hurt you, Jenny, I really do. All I can say is that I’m not Iain and I’m with you because I want to be with you.’

‘If that ever changes, do you promise you’ll tell me?’ asked Jenny. ‘I won’t just find out about it afterwards like I did with Iain?’

‘You once asked me if I had any regrets about chucking in the police to be with you. I told you then I had no regrets and I can tell you the same thing now. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Jenny. I feel like I’m actually living now, whereas I was simply marking time before I met you.’

Jenny felt her eyes prickling and took a deep breath, hoping she’d not messed up her makeup. ‘Thank you, Callum. You can’t believe how badly I needed to hear that.’

‘I’m sorry. I’d have told you before now if I’d realised it was on your mind.’

Jenny smiled. ‘I think I can manage one more glass of champagne before I reach my limit for the evening.’ She took two glasses off the tray being carried by a passing waiter and gave one to Callum. ‘Do you know who the two elderly women are who are standing by the display case? Do you mind if I go over and say hello?’

Callum hugged her. ‘I don’t know and I don’t mind. I’ll go and see if a few glasses of wine have loosened the tongue of Chief Superintendent “Call me Mark” Cooper. I know this is a social gathering, but I’ll never get a better chance to find out if he knows anything more than he’s already told me.’

It turned out that the women were called Anne Bellamy and Mary Knox and had been close friends of Rose Balliol, or Rose Sutherland as she had been then, during their years at The Mary Erskine School in Edinburgh in the 1960s. The three women had remained close friends ever since. Anne and Mary had been sharing a flat in Edinburgh since both their husbands had died during the pandemic.

The two women had travelled up to Wick by train, leaving Edinburgh before 8.40 a.m. that morning and getting into Wick just after 6.20 p.m. As Mary put it, it was bloody cold to be hanging around Inverness for two hours while they changed trains, so they found a restaurant and spun out lunch until they could reasonably return to the station for the train to Wick. They’d arrived at Sarclet Castle in the car Rose had arranged to meet them at the station with not a lot of time to dress for dinner.

Jenny found it lovely talking to Anne and Mary, who were keen to know how Callum was going to find out who killed Violet Bain.

Jenny stuck to vague responses, not being sure how much of what he had in mind Callum would want broadcast.

‘He could try asking her who killed her,’ said Mary.

‘Who?’ asked Jenny. ‘Violet Bain?’

‘Oh God, no, not this again,’ said Anne, taking the sting out of her words by smiling.

‘Why not?’ asked Mary. ‘I was able to talk to Peter after he died. And I’m sure you’d have found it comforting to talk to Bernard. You just wouldn’t open your mind to the possibility.’

‘Can we change the subject?’ asked Anne. ‘You are wonderful, Mary, but you know we see this in totally different ways. What I understand is real for you is just mumbo jumbo for me.’

‘Are you talking about spiritualism?’ asked Jenny.

‘Yes, I’m sure I could help Callum contact Violet. Be sure to tell him, won’t you?’

Anne tutted, still smiling, and Jenny changed the subject to what school life had been like in the 1960s.

9: Sunday the 31st of December

Even with all the candles extinguished and with electric lights supplementing the light coming in through a window set deep in the thickness of the end wall, the great hall was a remarkable room. Callum and Jenny chose to sit on either side of a corner of the huge dining table. They were the first to arrive for breakfast. Presumably, all the other guests were having a Sunday lie-in, and 8.10 a.m. was just too early for them.

Callum wouldn’t have minded staying in bed with Jenny himself, but late the previous night Geoffrey Gunn had phoned to ask to meet him at the front door at 8.40 a.m. He wanted to take Callum to see a woman living in Wick who had worked at the castle when it was a hotel. She was now a nurse and was happy to meet Callum but needed to be on duty by 10 a.m. at the Caithness General Hospital. Hence the early Sunday start.

Geoffrey had also tracked down an elderly couple living in Lybster, back down the main road towards Inverness, who had both worked at the hotel. He would take Callum to see them after he’d talked to the nurse.

Callum and Jenny ate toast while his full Scottish fried breakfast and her porridge were being prepared.

‘You could have stayed in bed, you know,’ said Callum.

‘I know, Callum, but I thought I’d show some solidarity. Are you sure you don’t mind me taking the helicopter trip to Orkney while you’re working?’

‘Of course not. That’s what we agreed after dinner. I didn’t know what I’d be doing this morning but it was clear I’d need to be here rather than in Kirkwall. I’m sure you’ll find Carol and Martin good company and it’s a great chance to get to know some of the others too.’

The breakfast turned out to be as good as the dinner had been.

Callum kissed Jenny then put on his fleece and picked up his waterproof jacket. He didn’t think he’d need to fend off any rain, but the jacket’s windproof qualities might help keep him warm and he could leave it in the back of the car. As he headed for the door he said hello to Carol and Martin Macleod as they came into the hall.

Outside in the corridor, Callum stood to one side to let Rose and Gerald Balliol pass.

‘Are you joining us in Kirkwall, Callum?’ asked Rose.

Callum briefly explained why he wasn't going on the trip and agreed to meet Rose and Gerald early that evening to discuss how he was tackling the job that Rose had given him.

Geoffrey Gunn was waiting by the front door in the lower part of the entrance hall and smiled when he saw Callum coming down the stairs. ‘I hope you had time to enjoy your breakfast. I’m sorry about the early start.’

‘Not at all, Geoffrey. I’m deeply grateful to you for helping me on a Sunday. Should this be a day off for you?’

‘I’ve plenty of time for days off when the Balliols aren’t in residence,’ said Geoffrey. ‘I was lucky to be kept on by them when they bought the estate and they are immeasurably more pleasant people to work for than the previous owner. As I see it, you and Jenny had a lot to do with bringing that change about. If I can help you help Mrs Balliol then I consider that a day well spent. Should I drive?’

Geoffrey led the way outside and over to a metallic green Subaru Outback parked on the drive. ‘It wasn’t the car’s fault, but what happened at Berriedale did put me off the idea of a Land Rover Discovery. This does just as well and is a little less ostentatious. Hop in.’

As they turned out of the drive, Callum looked to the right. ‘The police roadblock’s gone,’ he said.

‘Yes, I know Chief Superintendent Cooper said he’d let us know when we could go to the broch but if he’s going to Kirkwall today that may have slipped his mind.’

‘I spoke to him after dinner last night, but he wasn’t keen on talking about either of the murders,’ said Callum. ‘Instead, I learned more than I wanted or needed to know about golf courses in the Inverness area.’

Geoffrey laughed. ‘Someone once said that “golf is a good walk spoiled” and that’s a view I tend to share. If you like, I’ll drive down to the end of the road near the haven before we come back to the castle and see if we can get to the broch. You appear to have a decent jacket with you.’

‘Yes, and gloves and a fleece hat in its pockets. My boots are back in my car, though.’

‘Don’t worry, Callum, this is the sort of car where you always have room for a couple of pairs of wellingtons in the boot. The path to the broch can be muddy in places at this time of year.’

They drove into Thrumster and turned right towards Wick.

‘How did you find the people we’re going to see?’ asked Callum.

‘It’s quite an insular community,’ said Geoffrey. ‘I simply asked around the staff working at the castle, many of whom also worked for the previous owner, if they had parents or older relatives who had worked at the Sarclet Castle Hotel. I’m hopeful of finding more, but Laura Kennedy, who we’re going to see now, was the first name to surface and Shona and Dougie Scott, who are the couple living in Lybster, were mentioned not long afterwards by the son of a neighbour who works in the gardens here.’

‘When did the hotel close down?’ asked Callum. ‘I get the sense it was a while back, but I’ve not heard a year mentioned.’

‘It ran fairly steadily until the 1990s and then there were several changes of ownership during which it went into a downward spiral of lack of investment, poor customer service, poor reputation, reduced income and then around the loop again. Then there was a fire in late 2013 which damaged the kitchen. I’ve been told it was on a Sunday night in November when there were no guests in the hotel and very few staff were on the premises. There’s a persistent rumour that the owners intended to burn the place down and claim it on the insurance, but the insurance refused to pay out even for the damage that was done. The owners disappeared, some say with the money that customers had given them to pay for festive season bookings in their pockets.’

‘So the castle stood empty for five years?’ asked Callum.

‘Almost. Mr Suleimenov, the man who may not be named in Mrs Balliol’s presence, purchased the Sarclet estate in the middle of 2018. I was born and brought up in Caithness and at the time I was working for an estate down in Easter Ross. I was recruited, on a very good salary, because of my local knowledge. Anyway, we both know that didn’t end well.’

‘It could have ended much more badly, as it did for others,’ said Callum.

‘That’s true. Changing the subject, we’ll be at Laura Kennedy’s house in a couple of minutes. I don’t know much about her except that she’s the cousin of a young woman in the estate admin office at the castle. Sylvia contacted Laura late yesterday to make the introduction and Laura agreed to see us. Are you happy if I simply tell her who you are and then take a back seat?’

‘Completely. I’m going to have to play it by ear a little because I’m not sure what I’m looking for. I just want something, anything, that takes me back down the castle’s timeline, however slightly.’

*

Laura Kennedy lived in a semi-detached two-storey house that was only a few turns off the main road into Wick from the south.

Geoffrey parked on the road outside and then led the way up a concrete drive to a small extension shielding the front door.

Laura must have been watching for them because she opened the door before Geoffrey had rung the bell. She looked to be in her late twenties and was wearing a red jumper over jeans. She had long blonde hair.

Laura smiled. ‘From Sylvia’s description, you must be Geoffrey Gunn, which means you are Callum Anderson.’

‘Right first time,’ said Geoffrey, smiling. ‘Thank you for agreeing to see us, Mrs Kennedy.’

‘Not at all, come through to the kitchen and we can have a cup of coffee. And please call me Laura. Sylvia tells me you’re a good man to work for, so I’m happy to help.’

The kitchen was at the back of the house. Callum and Geoffrey were directed to chairs on one side of a wooden dining table placed in front of French windows looking out onto a small garden.

Laura busied herself with a kettle and then placed three mugs with different floral decorations on the table before sitting down herself. ‘I’ve got to leave for work in thirty-five minutes. I hope that’s long enough to tell you what you want to know. ’

‘I’m sure it will be,’ said Callum. ‘Do you mind if I take notes?’ He pointed to the notebook he’d placed on the table.

‘Not at all.’

‘Thank you. I’ll come straight to the point. I’m a private investigator based near Inverness. Here’s my card in case you need to get in touch. I’ve been asked by Mr and Mrs Balliol, the new owners of Sarclet Castle, to investigate an unsolved murder that took place nearby over eighty years ago. Violet Bain was a live-in housemaid at the castle who was murdered at Sarclet Broch on the 15th of September 1943.’

‘According to the BBC News website, there was another murder down that way yesterday,’ said Laura.

‘There was,’ said Callum. ‘I must say that I find the coincidence a little chilling. Anyway, eighty years is a long time and I’m starting by talking to people who might have known the castle when it was a hotel, even though that was long after Violet’s murder took place. When did you work there?’

‘It was my first job after leaving school,’ said Laura. ‘I was only recently eighteen and began working as a waitress in the restaurant and behind the bar in the summer of 2012. I suppose I knew no better because with hindsight it was obvious the place was in trouble, but I enjoyed working there and made some good friends. I worked at the hotel until the fire in November 2013. I’d stay in the staff quarters up in the attic some nights if I was working late, but there had been no guests at all for a couple of days and I was at my parents’ house in Wick when it happened.

‘At the time everyone believed that the owners, a couple who’d moved up from Edinburgh two or three years before I started working there, set the fire to try to burn the place down for the insurance money. As it turned out, only the kitchen was damaged and the insurance company thought something was wrong so didn’t pay. The owners disappeared with quite a lot of customers’ money because, despite the place’s poor reputation, there had been a good number of bookings for December. They also left staff unpaid when they disappeared, which was a bit of a blow in the run-up to Christmas.’

‘What I’m trying to get a feel for,’ said Callum, ‘is whether there were any echoes from the Castle’s time as a family home. You were there seven decades after the time I’m interested in, which isn’t much closer than today’s eight decades. Can you point me in the direction of anyone whose memory of it might go back further?’

‘Not really,’ said Laura. ‘There were people who’d been there longer than me, and I sometimes see one or two of them around Wick or at the hospital. But my friends were mainly the younger staff who can probably tell you very little more than I can, and most of them have long left Caithness anyway.’

‘I know your time is tight this morning,’ said Callum, ‘But could you drop me an email with the names and contact information of anyone you can think of who was at the hotel and is still living in the area, even the young ones? The address is on that card.’

‘Yes, that’s not a problem. I’m intrigued to know why you’ve been asked to investigate an eighty-year-old murder, Callum. I’d never heard her name before you said it, but the story was that the castle ghost was a young woman who’d been murdered in the war. Is there a connection?’

Callum smiled. ‘You’ve hit the nail on the head, Laura. It doesn’t look like Violet’s murder was properly investigated by the police at the time and Mrs Balliol hopes I can find out who killed her and perhaps bring some belated comfort to her restless spirit.’

Laura looked at him quizzically. ‘Do you actually believe that?’

‘The honest answer? I don’t know. But it is clear that the police didn’t try very hard to find her murderer at the time. Until earlier this year I was a detective inspector with the Metropolitan Police and I suppose my professional pride has been offended. I very much want to find out who killed Violet Bain because I believe that she deserves better than she’s had. If that also brings peace to a ghost who may or may not inhabit part of the castle, so much the better.’

Laura was silent for a moment, then she looked down at the table. ‘You can take it from me that her ghost is real. If I were asked in any other context whether I believe in ghosts, I’d tell you I don’t. But while I was working at the castle I twice had really weird experiences in one of the rooms on the top floor of the rear range, where the staff quarters were.

‘The first time, I was awakened in the middle of the night by what I later discovered was a book on the bedside table falling onto the floor. As I reached for the switch on the bedside light it felt like my arm passed through something unbelievably cold. The second time, I’d been to the loo, which was along the corridor. When I came back into the bedroom I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye and when I looked I saw the figure of a woman standing in the corner of the room and looking back at me. She seemed to be in monochrome, maybe because there was very little light in the room, but she had dark hair and was wearing a 1940s-style dress with a pattern of flowers across it, some lighter and some darker than the background of the material. We both stood still, just looking at each other, for what felt like forever and then she simply faded away.

‘I have no rational explanation for what happened. After the first time, I convinced myself that I’d been dreaming. But that didn’t work the second time. My trip to the loo had been real and I was fully awake when I got back to the bedroom. I talked to one of the other waitresses about it and for the first time heard the story of the young woman who’d been murdered in the war and how she continued to roam the attic of the hotel at night.’

‘Thank you for telling me about what you experienced, Laura,’ said Callum. He saw Laura glance at her watch. ‘I’m grateful to you for being so open with us and I know you need to be elsewhere. Thank you for your time. If you do think of anything else that might help or of people I might usefully talk to, please do drop me an email.’

‘Not at all, Callum. That’s the first time since just after it happened that I’ve told anyone about seeing the ghost. I do hope you can help Violet find peace and will do everything I can to help.’

‘Can I ask one last question? Did you know Shona and Dougie Scott at the hotel?’

‘Those are names I’ve not heard in a very long time. Dougie worked in the gardens and Shona looked after housekeeping. She was lovely. They seemed old even back then. If you’ve tracked them down then I’m pleased to hear they’re still alive.’

‘They are,’ said Callum. ‘We’re going to see them now in Lybster.’

‘Please pass on my best wishes, though there’s every chance they’ll not remember me. I was called Laura Fraser in those days and I was just one of quite a few younger members of staff.’

10: Sunday the 31st of December

‘How far is Lybster?’ asked Callum.

‘Not far,’ said Geoffrey. ‘You might not have noticed it when driving north yesterday. It’s perhaps twelve or thirteen miles from Wick. Did you find what Laura had to say helpful?’

‘Far more so than I expected. I’m not sure what I thought I’d find when agreeing to take this on, but I certainly didn’t expect my first interview to be with someone who’s met the murder victim, in spirit at least.’

‘I found what she had to say totally compelling,’ said Geoffrey. ‘I have heard the story of the Sarclet Castle ghost told several times by several different people and in several different ways. Laura’s account is entirely consistent with what others have said. It sounds like she might have used the bedroom that Violet stayed in seventy years earlier. As Mrs Balliol told you, the configuration of rooms in that part of the castle was changed during the major renovation work in 2018 and 2019 but, even afterwards, there was a particular bedroom that staff simply never liked to sleep in. And as you worked out when you met Mrs Balliol in that room, we changed it into a staff lounge to ensure no one would have to spend the night in it. Even afterwards, Violet’s ghost was seen there from time to time, most recently only a month ago. It was when someone told Mrs Balliol about the latest sighting that she became interested in the story of Violet Bain. The rest you know.

‘This is Lybster we’re coming into. Part of the village is on the main road but we need to turn left nearly opposite the Portland Hotel to get into the heart of it.’

Callum looked with interest as Geoffrey drove through the village. ‘Wow! This section of the road is enormously wide.’

‘It is,’ said Geoffrey. ‘This was once a thriving place. I’ve read that in the 1850s there were over 350 fishing boats based in the harbour, which is reached by turning off this road further along the village. At the time it was the third busiest fishing port in Scotland after Wick and Fraserburgh. In 1903 it was still significant enough for a light railway to be opened connecting Lybster to Wick, though that only operated until 1944.’

‘Is that why there’s what looks like a railway station sign in Thrumster?’ asked Callum.

‘Yes, a local heritage group rebuilt the station and relaid a short stretch of track a while back. Anyway, I think we’re looking for a house on the left, just beyond the turning on the right to the harbour. I think it’s the one at the far end of this set of four here, sitting back beyond the broad verge and the front gardens.’

 The front door was set within an arched recess and accessed via a ramp. There was a green four-wheeled mobility scooter parked to one side of it. The door was opened by an elderly man in a burgundy cardigan with brown leather buttons. His clear blue eyes twinkled when he saw the visitors.

‘Are you Mr Gunn from Sarclet Castle?’

‘Yes, I am. Please call me Geoffrey. This is Callum Anderson who I told you about when we spoke on the phone.’

‘I’m pleased to meet you, Mr Scott,’ said Callum as they were ushered into a narrow hallway that had stairs, fitted with a stair lift, leading up to the upper floor. They were then shown into the front room, off to the right of the hall. To Callum’s eyes, this looked as if it had changed little in the previous fifty years. Except, he realised, for the very large flat-screen TV that stood on a unit occupying the corner between the far wall, home to a fireplace in which a peat fire was burning, and the front wall with the window looking out onto the street. Something else that was much more recent than the room’s furniture was what Callum recognised as a PlayStation 5, sitting on the shelf below the TV on a horizontal stand alongside two controllers and a Sky Q box. These had all been features in his home with Miranda and the twins in London.

‘Hello, I’m Shona.’ Callum was startled. He’d not noticed the grey-haired lady with a tartan blanket draped around her shoulders sitting in a leather armchair in the corner of the room to his left. A Zimmer frame was standing next to the chair.

‘Please don’t think I’m rude if I don’t get up to greet you. My left knee’s giving me gyp. It always does in cold weather. That’s why we’ve got Boudica’s chariot parked outside the front door. Please sit down.’ She pointed at a two-seat leather sofa under the window to Callum’s right that had seen better days. ‘Dougie will pour us all a nice cup of tea. We’ve got some chocolate digestive biscuits to go with it.’

Callum was about to say he’d not long had breakfast when he thought better of it. ‘That would be lovely, thank you. I’m Callum and this is Geoffrey.’

Dougie disappeared back out into the hall for a short time, then reappeared with a tray, declining Callum’s offer of help. He sat down in a second armchair near Shona’s after he’d placed tea and biscuits on small tables he’d positioned in front of the sofa and between him and Shona.

Callum explained the background. ‘We’ve just talked to Laura Kennedy, who started work in the hotel after she left school in the summer of 2012, the year before it closed. She remembers you and sends her regards. She was called Laura Fraser back then.’

‘That’s nice,’ said Dougie. He looked at Shona. ‘Was she the one with the red hair, love?’

‘No, Dougie,’ said Shona. ‘Laura Fraser had blonde hair. What’s she doing now, Callum?’

‘She’s a nurse at the Caithness General Hospital.’

‘Is she happy?’

‘We only spoke to her for a short time, but she seemed happy,’ said Callum.

‘That’s good,’ said Shona. ‘She was a nice wee lassie. I suppose you want us to tell you about our time at the hotel?’

‘Yes please, Shona. How long did you work there for?’

Shona looked at Dougie before speaking. ‘I was born and brought up in Lybster and my parents owned the village shop. I worked there after I left school and inherited it when they were killed in a car crash on their way back from Thurso one night in 1985.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Callum.

‘Thank you,’ said Shona. ‘It was long ago and time does eventually heal a little. Dougie and I were both born in 1948, so I was 37 when I inherited the business. I ran the shop until I reached the normal retirement age for women, at that time, of 60. That was early in 2008. Our three kids had long left Caithness for the brighter lights of Glasgow, Cardiff and Melbourne and had no interest in taking over the shop, so I sold the business at a good price.

‘Dougie is also from Lybster. He was 15 when he left school in 1963 and he got a job at the Portland Arms Hotel. You might have seen what’s now the Portland Hotel on the main road passing through the village. Even the road has changed its name since then. It was the A9 in those days but it’s been called the A99 for a long time now.’

‘I was there for two years working as a kitchen porter,’ said Dougie. ‘But then I saw a job advertised as an assistant gardener at the Sarclet Castle Hotel. It paid better and I liked the idea of working outdoors so I applied for it, even though getting there every day meant a bus ride to Thrumster and then a walk or hitching a lift to Sarclet until I bought a second-hand moped.

‘So you started working at the Sarclet Castle Hotel in 1965?’ asked Callum.

‘That’s right. I turned out to have green fingers and became head gardener by the time I was 20. I’ve still got an allotment here in Lybster which I look after as well as the front and back gardens.’

‘How long did you work there for?’ asked Callum. ‘If you knew Laura Fraser then you must have been there in 2012 when she started work.’

‘Dougie reached the retirement age of 65 in the summer of 2013,’ said Shona. ‘I should say that I quickly got bored with retirement if that meant rattling around the house on my own. A few months after I sold the business, Dougie told me that there was a vacancy at the hotel for a head of housekeeping. I had no direct experience but knew how to manage people from my time running the shop. I applied for and got the job. I worked there until Dougie retired in 2013 and we left together.’

‘So you weren’t there when the fire happened?’ asked Callum.

‘No, but I wasn't really surprised,’ said Shona. ‘Working at the Sarclet Castle Hotel suited me, but it was obvious that if someone didn’t come along prepared to invest a lot of money in the place then its days were numbered.’

‘Thank you, Shona,’ said Callum. ‘Dougie, can you tell me what the hotel was like when you first started in 1965? As I said, I’m trying to get some feel for the castle in the 1940s when it was a family home. You were there only twenty years later.’

‘It was well run and successful,’ said Dougie. ‘Caithness was a much quieter place at the time and we had lots of regular guests who liked to stay in the castle for a week or longer.’ He looked at Shona.

‘You have to remember that no one had thought of the North Coast 500 or anything like that at the time,’ said Shona. ‘And it was only much later that they built the crossings over the Beauly, Cromarty and Dornoch firths that brought Caithness much closer to Inverness by road. Getting this far north took much more effort than it does now so people tended to stay in one area for longer once they got here. It was only many years later that I got the sense from what I heard from Dougie and what people said that the hotel had started to go downhill.’

‘Thank you,’ said Callum. ‘You’ve taken me rather further back in time than I thought might be possible, so I’m grateful. When you started at the hotel, Dougie, was there anyone there who’d been around for a while? I know the castle became a hotel in the 1950s and I imagine that in those days staff turnover might have been lower than it is today.’

‘The castle was sold by the 2nd Earl of Wick in 1950,’ said Dougie. ‘His father had bought it in the 1890s. It opened as a hotel two years later in 1952 after they’d done quite a lot of work to the place. There were a few of the original staff still there in 1965 but the hotel staff often thought they were better than the garden staff so they didn’t have a lot to do with us if they didn’t have to.’

‘That’s a shame,’ said Callum.

‘Remember what Mr Anderson said about being interested in the murder of Violet Bain in 1943, Dougie,’ said Shona. ‘Are you going to tell him about the head gardener?’

‘Ah, I don’t know,’ said Dougie.

‘Dougie can get a little tired and confused if he has to talk too much,’ said Shona.

Callum could see that the twinkle had gone from the man’s eyes and felt a pang of concern. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve taken up too much of your time and I’m really grateful…’

‘Wait a moment, Callum,’ said Shona, raising her hand sharply. ‘Come on Dougie. Tell Mr Anderson what you told me this morning about Calum Mackay.’

‘Is that…’ Callum stopped when Shona again raised her hand.

‘Yes, sorry, that had slipped my mind,’ said Dougie. He took a deep breath and seemed to gather himself. ‘When I started work at the Sarclet Castle Hotel the head gardener was Mr Mackay, Calum Mackay. He’d worked in the gardens since the war and was in his fifties. He’d been in the army and was wounded at Dunkirk and then invalided out. He had a bad limp and it was obvious he was in a lot of pain sometimes, but what he didn’t know about the castle gardens wasn’t worth knowing.

‘He also had a drink problem and would quite often take bottles of whisky that were nearly empty from the hotel bar when he thought no one would notice. I’m sure they did notice but had decided not to say anything if he didn’t take too much. He would save up his part bottles until he had a reasonable amount, then get blind drunk on his own in the greenhouse or garden shed.

‘One evening in the summer of 1968, I came across Calum Mackay stinking of whisky and almost unconscious in a tatty old armchair he had in the garden shed. I fetched coffee from the hotel and was able to get him to drink some. Then I sat with him, getting him more coffee from time to time. That was when he told me about himself.

‘He told me that during the war, his father had been the butler at Sarclet Castle when it had been a family home and his mother ran the domestic side of things. His wife helped his mother and, once he had been invalided out of the army, he looked after the gardens.

‘He said that they brought in extra help when the earl and his family were in residence but that the only other permanent member of staff was a live-in housemaid called Violet Bain. In September 1943 Violet was murdered at Sarclet Broch. According to Calum Mackay, the police didn’t try very hard to find her killer. He was in Inverness at the time, having an operation on his leg, so wasn’t a suspect. But although the police didn’t find her killer, they did discover that Violet Bain had several lovers in the two years she had been working at Sarclet Castle.

‘One of them was Calum Mackay himself. As he told it, they only had a very brief liaison and he knew that she had also had an affair with the younger son of the family, an RAF pilot who had been based in Caithness for a while. While the police didn’t find Violet’s killer, they did interview Calum’s wife because they thought she might have attacked Violet through jealousy. This revealed Calum’s affair to her and she immediately moved back to her mother’s home in Inverness and began divorce proceedings. He told me that she later remarried and had the large family he’d always dreamed of having with her. He never found anyone else. Calum’s parents ran Sarclet Castle for the 2nd Earl of Wick until he sold it in 1950. They then retired while Calum continued to work in the gardens.’

‘Thank you, Dougie,’ said Callum. ‘Do you remember him saying anything about who he thought might have killed Violet Bain?’

‘There was something about a telegram and he’d argued and then fought with the postmaster at Thrumster, who Violet had said made her feel uncomfortable whenever she went to the post office. The police at the time said that the postmaster’s movements had been accounted for, but Calum always believed he’d killed Violet. The enmity between them was such that the postmaster moved away a few months later. I wish I could remember his name. Something Graham, I think. That’s it, Stewart Graham.’ Dougie sat back in his chair looking very pleased to have remembered the name.

‘You said that you became head gardener by the time you were 20,’ said Callum. ‘Did Calum Mackay retire?’

‘No, he dropped dead of a heart attack while pruning a bush. It was only a month or so after he’d told me what I’ve just told you. I was promoted, so benefitted from his death in a way that sometimes made me feel a little guilty. I’ve also had the happy life that was denied to him, with a beautiful wife and a wonderful family and a job I’ve loved.’

Callum could feel a lump forming in his throat and he could see that Shona had tears in her eyes.

‘Thank you, Dougie, I’m truly grateful. There’s one other thing. Did either of you ever hear stories about a ghost in the castle?’

‘Yes,’ said Shona. ‘Violet’s ghost was believed by many to haunt one of the bedrooms in the staff quarters. I don’t believe in ghosts and never felt anything out of the ordinary myself. But during the time I was there, I heard unsettling stories from sensible, sober members of staff several times. Because of the stories we only used the bedroom where it mainly happened when we had to. Staff who lived in permanently were usually given other rooms.’

‘Thank you again,’ said Callum. ‘I think that’s all I wanted to ask. I’ll leave you a card. If anything else occurs to you which might help, please get in touch.’

11: Sunday the 31st of December

‘That exceeded my expectation,’ said Callum as Geoffrey Gunn turned the car right onto the main road back towards Wick.

‘What a lovely couple,’ said Geoffrey.

‘They are,’ agreed Callum. ‘I must say you’ve turned up trumps for me, Geoffrey. The first interview produced someone who had encountered the murder victim and the second unearthed someone who had discussed the case with one of Violet’s lovers.’

‘Where does that leave you, though?’ asked Geoffrey.

‘In practical terms, I’m not sure, but it certainly makes me happier about my prospects of making progress. It also gives me something positive to tell Rose and Gerald. And I’ve added to my list of strands to follow the need to find out more about the postmaster, Stewart Graham.’

‘What do you think about him as a suspect?’

‘I’ll need to check,’ said Callum, ‘but from my memory of the police file, he was a married man aged 52. The telegram seems to me to be central to the case, and Mr Graham was central to the story of the telegram. The telegraph boy was interviewed and confirmed he had taken a telegram intended for Violet Bain to Sarclet Castle and delivered it into the hands of the young lady herself. We only have the postmaster’s word that he received the message from the exchange by telephone and wrote it down. The police don’t appear to have checked that at the time and my chances of checking it now are non-existent. If Mr Graham had taken a fancy to Violet Bain he could have made it his business to know where she and Sergeant Bartlett usually met. That would have allowed him to write the telegram himself and then wait for her at the broch.’

‘Didn’t Chief Superintendent Cooper and Dougie Scott both say the postmaster had an alibi?’ asked Geoffrey.

‘Yes, but the alibi revolved around his wife’s confirmation that they had been together in the post office during the day, except for lunch, which she had cooked and they had eaten together in their home next door. They had also left the post office together at the end of the business day and he’d not been out of her sight for more than a short time from late morning until after Violet’s body was discovered. There had been customers at the post office during the day but no one except the wife could confirm Mr Graham’s whereabouts for the whole of the afternoon. Without his wife’s confirmation, his alibi was less than watertight.

‘Would she have protected him if she’d known he’d raped and murdered a young woman?’ asked Geoffrey.

‘Stranger things have happened,’ said Callum. ‘Having said that, if he had killed Violet would Stewart Graham have admitted to the police that he knew her by sight and had thought that the sender of the telegram was a lucky man? That reveals a degree of attraction that could have drawn attention to him if the police had been doing their jobs properly. It seems very unguarded and, to my mind, it argues against him being the murderer.’

Callum looked across at Geoffrey. ‘I do find it a little odd that he moved away a few months later, though. Would Calum Mackay’s belief that Stewart Graham murdered Violet Bain have been enough to drive him away? It’s making a huge assumption, but it feels to me as if there might have been others in the community who shared Calum’s suspicions, enough of them to make the Grahams’ lives sufficiently uncomfortable for them to give up a livelihood and a wartime home. As I said, finding out more about Stewart Graham is important.’

Callum looked out of the window, trying different arrangements in his head of the pieces of the puzzle he’d been asked to solve.

‘I’ve been thinking about Dougie and Shona Scott,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Dougie may be the only person alive who has any real feel for how the Sarclet Castle Gardens were arranged during the war. We’ve got photographs, of course, but that’s not the same thing. Dougie worked with Calum Mackay for three years and even though changes were made to the gardens when the castle became a hotel, they must have talked about how things were before.

‘When Mr Suleimenov purchased the castle the gardens had become a jungle after five years of complete neglect. The decision was taken to restore them to what they had been in their prime, using old photographs. In practice that meant that parts ended up as they had been in the castle’s days as a hotel, while other parts were taken back further in time, to when the castle was a family home.

‘I’ll talk to the head gardener, but I wonder whether we might offer Dougie - and Shona so as not to leave her at home on her own - a sort of consultancy contract, perhaps a day every week or two. The idea would be to have him advise on how best to move things forward now we have owners who are particularly interested in the castle’s wartime years.’

Callum smiled. ‘You’re just an old softie at heart, aren’t you Geoffrey?’

Geoffrey looked across the car and smiled back. ‘I know people who wouldn’t agree with you. But it would be nice to involve Dougie and Shona. I also think it’s an idea that would appeal to Mrs Balliol. It’s not always been the case, but the gardens are wheelchair accessible, as is most of the castle now, despite appearances, so Shona could be involved as much as she wanted. To my mind, everyone would benefit, including me.’

‘It is a great idea,’ said Callum.

‘Thank you,’ said Geoffrey. ‘It’s not far to Thrumster now. The weather’s still good, should we see if we’re able to access the broch?’

‘That would be ideal,’ said Callum. ‘Incidentally, were you able to make contact with the archaeologist you mentioned?’

‘I left her a message late yesterday. I’ll try again when we get back to the castle.’

*

‘The road through Sarclet simply comes to an end at this widening here, with the turning area beyond it,’ said Geoffrey. ‘The tarmac parking area on the left means we can be sure we’re not getting in anyone’s way.’

‘I’m a little surprised to see no police presence here,’ said Callum. ‘It can’t be much more than 24 hours since the latest murder took place but there’s no sign of anything out of the ordinary.’

The sky was blue but there was a cold wind coming in from the sea. Callum decided that his gloves and fleece hat might come in handy. Having donned wellington boots they walked over to a stone plinth carrying two information boards.

‘The wooden fingerpost points to the left for the harbour,’ said Geoffrey. ‘If you follow that you take a sharp right this side of the house you can see over there then double back and follow an inclined track descending to the head of the harbour, the haven as it’s usually called.’

‘Would the house have been there in 1943?’ asked Callum.

‘It’s an old building but I suspect it was a ruin long before the war,’ said Geoffrey. ‘It was rebuilt by the estate in 2019 and is used as a holiday let for up to six people. It was occupied over Christmas but the family who were due to arrive on Friday for Hogmanay had to cancel because two of them got Covid. There’s still a lot of it about.’

‘So the house isn’t going to be any help providing witnesses in either 1943 or 2023,’ said Callum. ‘It was worth a thought. Presumably, that’s Sarclet Castle we can see in the other direction, on the skyline?’

‘That’s right,’ said Geoffrey. ‘It looks quite different from this side but you can make out the walled garden on the right with trees beyond it, and the walls and trees protecting the rear of the castle, with the rose garden walls on the other side of the castle itself. There’s a grassy path leading from the back of the castle directly to the corner of the haven. The castle is much closer to the coast than it seems when you’re in the gardens.

‘We’re going to follow the short path ahead, which comes out on grassy cliffs above the haven. We then follow the cliff path above the head and far side of the haven and around to the east towards Sarclet Head. The broch isn’t visible from here or from the castle because of the lie of the land.’

Callum followed Geoffrey to the path that ran around the top of the grassy cliffs that formed the haven.

‘Just along here is where we meet the path coming from the back of the castle,’ said Geoffrey.

Callum followed him past the junction of paths, then around the far side of the haven and beyond it. A short time later Geoffrey stopped walking. ‘From here, you can see Sarclet Broch laid out ahead of us in a slight bowl set into the top of the cliffs.’

Callum stopped next to him. ‘There’s a lot more to it than I’d expected.’

‘Yes, it was developed and redeveloped over a long time and the broch itself was surrounded by a large Iron Age village that was itself surrounded by defensive ditches and ramparts. After the broch went out of use, probably not long after AD 100, parts of the site were redeveloped to provide a farmstead for Pictish occupants and later still a residence during the Viking age.’

‘I assume Violet Bain would have come this way on the day she was murdered,’ said Callum.

‘I’d have thought so,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Her most direct route would have been via the path from the back of the castle to the top of the cliffs above the corner of the haven, and then along the route we’ve taken.’

‘What would she have seen of the broch itself when she reached this point?’ asked Callum.

‘I’ve seen photographs of how it was left after the 1933 dig. From here Violet would have seen a fairly broad grassy mound with a flat open top, where they’d dug down into the interior. Very little if any of the stonework you can see forming the outside face of the broch and the surrounding structures and defences would have been visible. It was all still buried. One further difference, of course, is that she wouldn’t have seen the massed ranks of wind turbines that are out there now.’ He gestured out to sea with his left arm. ‘Do you want to press on?’

They followed the path around the right-hand, inland, side of the curving outer defensive ramparts and ditches to the far end of the site. From there a path flanked by low stone structures led back at an acute angle to their left, directly towards the massive outer wall of the broch itself.

‘This is seriously impressive,’ said Callum.

‘It is,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Remember, though, that none of this was visible to Violet when she came here. She’d have simply found a cut in the side of the mound that led to the entrance passage that we see ahead of us. Mind your head and shoulders and be prepared to bend over. It’s not very dignified.’

Callum found it quite a squeeze.

‘You’re clear of the passage now, Callum.’

Callum stood up and looked around, taking in the interior of the broch. It was crowded with stone walls, formed from piled rocks or large vertical slabs, and a range of other features. ‘Is this what Violet would have seen?’

‘Up to a point. The 2019 excavators did a much more thorough job than their 1933 predecessors and that included their work in the interior. But I suspect that what we’re looking at now isn’t greatly different when seen by a non-expert from what Violet saw in September 1943. The 1933 excavation revealed the full depth of the inside of the walls and exposed the floor. They also exposed the dividing walls, bed platforms and the central hearth. They found the well but only dug out what we now know was the top half of it. Er, Callum, there’s a dark stain on the pentagonal area of red gravel forming the central hearth. Could that be what I think it is?’

Callum walked over to where Geoffrey was standing. ‘If you think it’s blood then you’re probably right.’

‘Would the police have just left it like that?’ asked Geoffrey.

‘At the end of the day, it’s usually down to the property owner to clean up after forensics have finished with a crime scene. Is that the Sarclet Estate in this case?’

‘It is,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Perhaps Police Scotland has been in touch this morning. If it is up to us, then I’ll get someone out as quickly as possible, though I’m not sure what we can do other than sluice it down with water. We’re planning to set up a clay pigeon shoot further along the cliffs tomorrow afternoon and I don’t want any guests wandering in here and realising what that is.’

‘I’m sorry Geoffrey. I suppose you get used to this sort of thing and I’d forgotten how much of a shock it can be. Is that the entrance to the well over there?’

Callum walked over to an irregular opening in the gravel-covered floor of the broch that was shaped a little like a map of Denmark, surrounded by a kerb of squared-off stones and covered by a substantial inset metal grille that matched the shape of the opening.

‘It is,’ said Geoffrey. ‘As you can see, we don’t want anyone getting in there. It’s got very steep stone steps and is full of water, so it’s an accident waiting to happen.’

Callum turned to face Geoffrey. ‘The 1943 police report said Violet’s body had been found by a Home Guard patrol. She was lying, partly clothed, on the grass bank that at that time formed the outside of the broch, on one side of the end of the entrance passage. A woven bag that was identified as hers containing food and a blanket was found within the broch near the end of the passage. From that and the pattern of blood stains, they concluded that she’d first been stabbed just inside the entrance, then dragged out through the passage, then raped and stabbed repeatedly on the grass bank. What an appalling end to such a promising young life.

‘Dragging an injured woman out of the broch was no mean feat. She was 5 feet 4 inches in height and of slight build, according to the police report. It strikes me that a small man might have had difficulty pulling her weight, especially if she was struggling. On the other hand, a large man would have had more strength but would have had to cope with the small size of the broch’s entrance passage. I found it hard enough and I wasn’t dragging a screaming woman I’d just stabbed.’

‘Whoever did it must have been covered in blood after the attack,’ said Geoffrey.

‘Very true,’ said Callum. ‘That would have made his getaway very difficult. Yet the police only found one witness who thought she’d seen anything of interest and they chose not to believe her. They also concluded that the attack had been done with a knife with a double-sided blade, but they were very common at the time and a possible weapon was never found. That’s a shame as it might have given them a set of fingerprints. They got no fingerprints or other useful forensic evidence from Violet’s body and found no traces of blood of a type other than Violet’s in or around the broch. And, as you heard Mark Cooper say, any physical evidence that was gathered was subsequently lost.’

Callum walked over to the inner end of the entrance passage and looked around. ‘We know that nearly two thousand years ago a young woman was stabbed and killed, then hidden in the well over there. Eighty years ago another young woman was stabbed just where I’m standing and then dragged out of the broch and killed. And yesterday a third young woman was killed here. Mark Cooper used the phrase “another young woman stabbed to death”. I’m guessing it happened where that bloodstain is. That’s three similar murders in a space that can't be more than a few metres square, yet widely separated in time. Let’s get out of here, Geoffrey, I’m getting shivers up and down my spine.’

‘I’m glad you said that Callum. This place is doing nothing for my nerves either.’

12: Sunday the 31st of December

‘It looks like the police are here,’ said Geoffrey, gesturing with one hand towards the police car parked on the gravel area in front of the castle.

‘The ex-policeman in me thinks that’s not before time,’ said Callum. ‘I was surprised they weren’t here yesterday afternoon asking if anyone had seen anything suspicious and checking people’s movements.’

Geoffrey parked and as they got out of the car Callum felt his phone buzz and looked at it. ‘It’s Jenny,’ he said. ‘Thank you for this morning, Geoffrey, I’m very grateful.’

‘No problem.’ Geoffrey smiled and raised his hand as Callum answered his phone, then turned to walk round the side of the castle.

‘Hello Jenny. Is everything all right?’

‘Everything’s fine, Callum. It is for me, anyway. The morning service in the cathedral finished a little while ago and as it’s so cold Carol and I found a café while Martin went off to explore the harbour. We’ve got a bit of time in hand before we’re all due to meet up to be taken back to the airport. But while I’m fine, there seems to be a bit of a flap on. Amanda Stirling’s just come in and said she’d been looking for me. She asked me to get in touch with you and ask you to ring her. She says it’s quite urgent.’

‘Amanda Stirling?’

‘Yes, she’s the Balliols’ chief legal adviser in Scotland. I was sitting next to her at dinner last night. I’ll text you her number.’

Callum formed a mental image of the woman sitting next to Jenny at dinner as he rang her.

‘Thank you for calling, Callum. Wait a minute. That’s better, I’ve come out of the café and found a doorway that gives privacy and a little shelter from this bloody wind. It’s urgent so I’ll not beat around the bush. I’ve made contact to ask if you can do some work for me in Wick as quickly as possible. Straight away, in fact.’

‘Thank you for thinking of me, Amanda, but I’m doing a job for Rose and Gerald Balliol at the moment and I can’t put that on the back burner.’

‘I know,’ said Amanda. ‘I’ve spoken to Gerald and he says he’ll square it with Rose if you agree to help me out. It has a strong link with what you’re doing for them and I hope it won’t get in the way.’

‘In that case, fair enough,’ said Callum. ‘What do you want me to do? Hang on. I’m standing outside the front of Sarclet Castle and could do with getting out of the wind myself.’ Callum walked over to where his car was parked and got in. ‘That’s better. My car’s cold but at least it’s windproof.’

‘I know you’ve been looking into the 1943 murder at Sarclet Broch. I want you to come forward 80 years and talk to the man who the police seem convinced committed the murder there yesterday. He says he didn’t do it and he thinks he knows who might have, but the police show no sign of taking him seriously, except as a suspect.’

‘Is he in custody?’ asked Callum.

‘No, the police in Scotland can only hold a suspect, except in terrorism cases, for a maximum of 24 hours. They don’t have the option your ex-colleagues have in England to apply for an extension for up to 36 or 96 hours. They released him a little while ago with conditions that tie him quite closely to his mother’s address in Wick.

‘As background, you need to know that his name is Gordon MacDonald and he’s the son of Charles MacDonald, who heads up a successful asset management company in Edinburgh. Charles’s company is a client of my firm and after Gordon was arrested yesterday Charles made contact to ask if I could help. I sent the best criminal defence solicitor in our Inverness office up to Wick straight away. I picked up a text update from the solicitor when I came out of the cathedral a short time ago and agreed with Gerald it would be a good idea to ask you to help as you are pretty much on the spot.

‘I should add that as well as being a client of mine, Charles MacDonald is a friend of Gerald Balliol’s. That’s why Gerald was happy for me to ask you to expand your brief. You also need to know that Gordon MacDonald lives in Edinburgh but is in Wick visiting his mother Claire MacDonald who, though she kept the name, is divorced from his father. The young woman who was killed was Amy Russell, who for some months had been living with Gordon MacDonald in Edinburgh.

‘You might as well hear everything else directly from Gordon MacDonald or from Vikram Khan, who is the solicitor I mentioned. I’ve got your number now. I’ll text you Vikram’s number and Claire MacDonald’s address. I’ll let Vikram know you’re coming. I’m grateful, Callum. It goes without saying that I’ll ensure you’re compensated for your time on this, and if you come good I’ll owe you one.’

‘Hang on Amanda. What about Mark Cooper, as in Chief Superintendent Mark Cooper, the man who heads up Police Scotland’s Highlands and Islands Division? Isn’t it going to get a little awkward as we all hold hands to sing Auld Lang Syne tonight if he finds out that his host and two of his fellow guests are conspiring together to undermine what must be the most high-profile investigation his people have on their plate at the moment?’

‘That’s a fair point,’ said Amanda. ‘I’ll talk to Gerald about how to handle Mark, who’s here in Kirkwall. I was about to say that there’s no immediate need for the police to know of your involvement as you’ll be meeting Gordon and Vikram at the mother’s house, but Vikram tells me that the house has been the subject of a lot of press interest so anything’s possible. Just try to avoid treading on any police toes, certainly until we’ve been able to find some common ground with Mark.’

*

Callum’s GPS took him into the centre of Wick and then, slightly circuitously, out to the eastern side of it along the north side of the bay the town was built around. He found himself dodging lots of potholes en route, some remarkably severe and one not far from his destination that was so big it had been marked by a single lonely traffic cone that didn’t look up to the job. The address he’d been given was on a long and slightly twisty road occupied on both sides by generally similar but individually distinct large bungalows. From glimpses between the homes on his right, Callum got the impression that they had rear gardens overlooking the north side of the bay.

Claire MacDonald’s home had been easily identifiable from some distance away because, on a road where all the residents seemed to park on their ample front drives, there were four parked cars on the street, three fully on the road and the fourth with two wheels on the pavement. The clincher was the same TV outside broadcast van that he’d seen the day before, this time parked twenty yards beyond the four cars. Half a dozen people were standing on the pavement, looking cold in coats, scarves and hats. A couple of them carried cameras with long lenses. Callum couldn’t see the TV crew and wondered if they were sheltering in their van, waiting for something to happen.

The house he wanted turned out to be a particularly large bungalow on the seaward side of the road. It was finished in what its builder probably thought was artfully arranged stone cladding and beige render topped off by a grey slate roof. It had a generous paved area, effectively the whole front garden, with two cars parked on it, a yellow Audi TT on one side of the drive and a black Ford Kuga standing at an odd angle close to the front door.

There was plenty of room for him to park on the drive but Callum felt a lower-key approach might be desirable. He followed the road round to the left after driving past the TV van and another parked car he’d not at first noticed and brought the Audi to a halt out of sight of the house and the journalists mobbing it. Then he put on his hat and gloves, pulled up the collar of his jacket and walked back.

When he got to the house he found a way through the journalists, careful not to push or bump into any of them, then simply walked to the front door, keeping his back to the cameras and ignoring shouted questions asking who he was.

Callum rang the doorbell and, after a short pause, the door was opened by a slight man in a dark grey suit wearing glasses.

It was clear from the expression on the man’s face that he was about to slam the door shut so Callum leaned forwards and said, quietly, ‘Amanda Stirling sent me.’

‘Come in, quickly.’ The man stepped to one side, then closed the door as soon as Callum had entered.

‘Are you Callum Anderson?’

‘That’s right. I take it you’re Vikram Khan?’ Callum shook the man’s offered hand.

‘Thanks for coming, Callum. Miss Russell’s death has badly shaken everyone and you’ll understand that the direction the police are going with their investigation is making things much worse. And those vultures gathered out there aren’t helping either. Mrs MacDonald got no sleep last night and now we’re here she’s gone to bed. Gordon MacDonald is in the lounge, which is through here. Follow me.’

The lounge seemed to be at the rear of the house but it was difficult to be sure because the curtains were closed.

Callum gestured towards the curtains. ‘More problems with the press?’

‘Yes,’ said Vikram. There’s a path out beyond the back garden, above the shore. Mrs MacDonald saw a TV crew out there earlier and then she noticed a photographer pointing a telephoto lens over the garden wall. She had to close all the curtains in the house. When I arrived with Gordon we were mobbed while getting out of my car. Anyway, let me introduce you.’

Gordon MacDonald turned out to be a tall, muscular man in his mid-twenties, a couple of inches taller than Callum’s 6ft when he stood to shake hands. Callum could imagine him playing as a forward for his local rugby club in Edinburgh. His blond hair was tousled and needed a wash and he had deep dark rings under his blue eyes. Callum reminded himself that Gordon had probably not slept well during the night spent in police custody. His handshake was firm, however.

‘Do you want Vikram to make you a cup of coffee, Mr Anderson?’

‘No, thank you. Please call me Callum. May I call you Gordon?’

The lounge was large and merged seamlessly into an expansive dining area, also lit by filtered sunlight coming through closed curtains. The focal point of the lounge was an imposing stone fireplace which hadn’t been cleaned out since it had last had a fire in it. In front of it was a large square coffee table with two black leather L-shaped sofas surrounding three sides of it, leaving open only the side nearest the fire.

Gordon and Vikram each sat on one of the sofas and faced each other over the coffee table. Callum sat on the other end of Gordon’s sofa, where he could look across the corner of the coffee table and get a clear view of the man’s face in the dull light.

‘I’m a private investigator and I’ve been asked by one of Vikram’s colleagues to talk to you to see if there’s anything I can do to help.’

‘Is this my bloody father sticking his oar in where it’s not wanted again?’ asked Gordon.

Callum found himself fighting back a growing dislike of the young man. It had started when Gordon had offered his solicitor’s services as a coffee maker and there was something childish and petulant about what he’d said about his father. In Callum’s eyes, he oozed a deeply unattractive sense of entitlement.

‘Hang on, Gordon,’ said Callum, ‘I know almost nothing about what happened but I have been told that the police are behaving as if they know exactly who killed your girlfriend. As I see it, you need all the help you can get. I suggest you find another time to settle whatever grievances you feel you have with your father.’

Gordon looked down at the floor and then, after a long pause, back up again. ‘Very well. What can I tell you?’

‘Can you start by telling me a little about yourself? I’m told you live in Edinburgh. What do you do?’

‘I own a very successful nightclub called “The Farm” in the Cowgate,’ said Gordon. ‘The name comes from the children’s song, Old MacDonald Had a Farm.’

‘I’m surprised you can manage time away from it at Hogmanay,’ said Callum.

‘Hogmanay is a mixed blessing for the hospitality industry in Edinburgh. The city is mobbed by people who have a fixed idea of what they want to do and you’ll find quite a few businesses that don’t find it worth opening. It’s great for hotels and pubs, but less so for some of the better restaurants and establishments like mine. We closed our doors at 3 a.m. on Christmas Eve and will open them again at 10 p.m. this coming Tuesday night, the 2nd of January. It makes good commercial sense and it helps the staff recharge their batteries over the holidays.’

‘How about Amy? What did she do?’ Callum saw a flash of what looked like genuine grief on Gordon’s face as the implication of the past tense sank in.

‘She’s a graphic designer with an upmarket property and lifestyle magazine,’ said Gordon. ‘We met during the Edinburgh Festival in August this year. She was in the club one night with her boyfriend when they had a falling out. This developed into a shouting match and I was on my way over to intervene when he punched her. I dragged him outside and may accidentally have broken his arm.

‘Amy is… God, I’ve got to say “was” now, haven’t I? Amy was the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met and in my line of business I’ve met quite a few. She was quite tall for a girl and had long blonde hair, stunning blue eyes and a slim figure with curves in all the right places. She was grateful for what I’d done and I fancied her like hell. To cut a long story short she came back to my apartment that night and moved in a couple of weeks later.’

‘And then you came up from Edinburgh together to visit your mother in Wick?’ asked Callum.

‘Yes. Amy was Australian so had no family on this side of the world. We spent a lovely Christmas at my apartment in Quartermile, just the two of us. We made an obligatory visit to the mansion my father shares with his trophy wife and their two young children in Cramond on Boxing Day and then drove up here on Thursday, which was the 28th of December. I may owe my ownership of the nightclub and the apartment to Dad’s success but he’s a difficult man to like and I especially wasn't happy that he spent our entire visit ogling Amy, as if sizing her up as his next acquisition. The atmosphere soured and we left sooner than planned.

‘As I said, we drove up here two days later. Mum had visited Edinburgh with her boyfriend, for want of a better word, for a couple of days in October and she and Amy had got on well. Mum then split up with this guy, an air traffic controller at Wick Airport called Brian, and was going to be on her own over Hogmanay. Amy and I agreed it would be nice to come up and see her. I should perhaps say that Mum was originally from Wick and moved back up here after she and Dad got divorced. She got a good settlement from Dad and spent some of her money on this place. I thought she could do better, but she always says it’s ideal for her needs. She pushed the boat out a little further with the yellow Audi TT you probably saw outside.’

‘I’d wondered if that might be yours,’ said Callum.

‘No, the police have seized my Porsche Cayenne as evidence.’

‘So you drove up on Thursday,’ said Callum.

‘Yes. The long drive was made even longer because Amy kept wanting to stop, for reasons I’ll explain, and we got here well after dark on Thursday afternoon. Mum cooked dinner for the three of us that evening and we had a thoroughly enjoyable time.

‘On Friday we went with Mum up to John o’ Groats. The weather was reasonable, though cold, but the place itself was a huge disappointment. I think I visited as a small child when Mum was making one of her very rare visits to relatives living in Wick. Either it’s gone downhill since then or I’d forgotten what it was like. I can’t imagine what people who have travelled the whole length of the UK from Land’s End on a skateboard or pushing a ping pong ball with their nose make of it when they arrive.

‘On our way back, we stopped at the large Tesco on the north side of Wick near the airport. Mum stayed in the car while Amy and I did the shopping. We were in the wine aisle when she looked past me and went as white as a sheet. I turned around and there was Danny Ferguson, the scumbag who’d hit her in August. He looked shocked to have been caught following her.’

‘Was he following her?’ asked Callum. ‘Perhaps it was a coincidence he was in Wick and he was just surprised to see her or frightened to have run into you, the man who broke his arm. How could he have successfully followed you both over such a long distance? It’s not an easy thing to do.’

‘If you bear with me, I’ll come to that,’ said Gordon. ‘As background, you need to know that this guy started stalking Amy in Edinburgh after they split up. I said I’d talk to him and offer to break his other arm and both his legs if he didn’t stop, but she wanted it done properly and reported him to the police. She was later told that the police had seen him and the stalking appeared to stop. She was happy with that and got on with her life as normal.

‘Anyway, we both walked over to him in the supermarket and Amy demanded to know why he was there. He mumbled something incoherent and she asked why he was following her. He said something about missing her and needing to talk to her. He’s a skinny guy about the same height as Amy and I grabbed hold of the front of the neck of his fleece and sort of lifted him. I put my face in his and told him that if Amy or I ever saw him again I’d track him down and break his neck rather than his arm. Then I put him down. I’m sure it will be on CCTV but no one in the shop at the time seemed to notice. He just turned and walked quickly towards the exit.

‘Amy was badly shaken but recovered and the rest of the day went pretty well. That evening we went out to an Indian restaurant in the town and Mum asked Brian to join us, as their split hadn’t been quite as definitive as she had led me to believe on the phone.

‘It was a pleasant enough evening but I got the sense that Amy was getting more and more tense as time went on and she went to bed as soon as we got back, saying she was tired. I suspect she was thinking through the implications of Danny Ferguson following her the length of the country as that was a different league of stalking from anything he’d done before.

‘When I went to bed, Amy said that she wanted to leave the next morning and return to Edinburgh. I told her we couldn’t simply abandon Mum halfway through our visit because of some low-life who got his kicks from following beautiful women and that I would deal with Danny Ferguson if he ever came anywhere near her again.’

‘How did she react to that?’ asked Callum.

‘She was pretty pissed off,’ said Gordon. ‘She was angrier than I’ve ever seen her and she had a real go at me, about how useless and insensitive and uncaring I was, that sort of thing. What was bizarre was that she did it in loud whispers, to avoid Mum hearing. Mum was on her own as Brian said he had to go home when we left the restaurant. With no distractions, she would certainly have heard if Amy had been shouting at me.’

13: Sunday the 31st of December

‘What happened yesterday?’ asked Callum.

‘Amy was brighter when we woke up and she was no longer angry. I told her that if she still wanted to go back to Edinburgh I’d invent some sort of crisis at the club and tell Mum that we had to head south. Amy said that there was no need and that she’d go out on her bike instead. The exercise and fresh air would do her good and help her get some perspective on things. I’ve got to take you on a bit of a diversion here. Amy is a bit of a fitness freak. Was, I mean.’

Callum again saw an expression of grief on the young man’s face.

‘She did a lot of running and cycling around Edinburgh and wherever else she happened to be. She was also a great fan of a game that crossed the boundaries between the digital world and the real world called Turf. The idea is that people download an app onto their phones which displays lots of zones, which are small areas overlayed onto a seamless aerial photograph of the ground. I assume that you've used Google Earth?’

Callum nodded.

‘Well imagine a Google Earth aerial photograph displayed on your phone with yellow or red dots shown on top. As you zoom into the image, these dots resolve into an actual shape on the ground, usually a square or a rectangle covering an area maybe twenty or thirty yards across, but not always. I’d show you, but the police have kept my iPhone as evidence. The idea is that a player visits a zone and waits there for a short time, perhaps twenty seconds or so. The system registers their presence via the GPS on their phone and gives them ownership of the zone. Players get points for taking a zone and more points for the length of time they hold it before anyone else comes along and takes it from them. There’s a bit more to it than that, but not a lot. The aim is to amass points for taking and holding zones, to collect medals for a wide range of different achievements, and to increase your rank by building up your total number of points earned.

‘Amy’s enthusiasm for the game was sometimes quite endearing but her wish to add to her tally of unique zones, that is zones she’d never taken before, meant we had to stop quite a few times on the way up. There’s a zone at Dalwhinnie railway station near the A9, for example, and another near Dalwhinnie Distillery. We also had to detour into North Kessock to allow her to get zones on the old ferry slipway in the centre of the village and by the lifeboat station almost under the Kessock Bridge. It turned out there’s also one on the old bridge over the river in Helmsdale. I’m sure you get the idea.

‘Anyway, according to Amy, there are nearly 30 zones in or around Wick. Some are in the town itself, whether at the railway station or on the main bridge over the river, while others are at castles on the coast to the north and south of the town. There’s even one at a war memorial not far along the shore from here. Amy had a mountain bike that we carried on a rack on the back of the car and yesterday morning she cycled off to add to her tally of zones by taking as many as she could of those in the area. I set off to walk along the river into town with Mum, though it was so cold we turned back and sat in the kitchen chewing the fat instead.’ Gordon stopped talking.

‘What happened then?’ asked Callum.

‘There’s one thing about Amy’s infatuation with Turf that’s always worried me,’ said Gordon. ‘When you’re using it, your whereabouts can be tracked. Running the club means I’m often out at night and that’s when Amy liked to cycle around Edinburgh taking Turf zones. To take a zone you have to activate a link from the app to the GPS on your phone. Many users simply activate it at the start of a session and keep it activated until they’ve had enough. Anyone else can watch those users in real-time as little red figures on the map with their usernames underneath, actually moving from one zone to another, taking them, and leaving a trail behind them of zones they have taken, clearly identified as belonging to them.

‘I was worried about Amy being tracked while out at night on her own, especially when she was being actively stalked by Danny Ferguson. She did change the way she used her phone a little, only activating the link to the GPS from the Turf app on her phone to take zones and not leaving it activated while she was travelling between them, but that still left her fairly open to tracking. She also changed her username from “Amy” with some numbers after it to the less gender-specific “FirthOfForth”. But I was still worried and we argued more than once about the dangers.’

‘Is there any way of knowing at any given moment who else is using the app and able to track you as you are using it?’ asked Callum.

‘Not for sure, and that’s what worried me most. You can track someone by downloading the app, registering as a user, then starting to collect zones yourself, or just by looking at the map on the app without activating your GPS. But you don’t even need the app. Anyone who visits the website turfgame.com, on any device, can view the map and see any users who have GPS enabled, see who is actively taking zones, and see which of them a user has most recently taken. That’s enough information to allow you to track anyone whose username you know. And it would have been easy enough for Danny Ferguson to get hold of Amy’s new username by physically following her when she left work and checking which username was taking those zones he watched her take on her way home.’

‘Reading between the lines,’ said Callum, ‘you think that Danny Ferguson followed Amy from Edinburgh to Wick by watching her progress on the map on the Turf app or website as she took a series of zones en route?’

‘That’s it exactly,’ said Gordon. ‘She took the ones I mentioned on the way up. Then she took a couple of the zones in Wick, just incidentally, and on Friday she took one at the signpost in John o’ Groats and then another after a detour to Wick Airport immediately before we called in at Tesco. I think he guessed she’d go to the zone at the airport and followed us from there to the supermarket, perhaps hoping to talk to her on her own. I’m sure he knows my car.’

‘You said Amy set off on her mountain bike on Saturday morning,’ said Callum. ‘What happened then?’

Gordon closed his eyes and sat back on the sofa. ‘To ease my concerns about Amy riding around Edinburgh at night, we’d agreed to share our locations using “Find My” on our iPhones. That also meant she could see when I was on my way home after the club closed if she was still awake. I’ve got Turf on my phone but if Amy’s out and about I tend to use the “Find My” tracking instead.

‘I checked a couple of times and saw her toing and froing in Wick itself, both north and south of the river. She then headed south-west along the main road. When I next looked, her phone showed her on the coast near a place called Sarclet, but it wasn’t a current report. It said she had been at that location twenty minutes earlier. When I checked on the map on the Turf website it showed she had taken the zone at Sarclet Broch twenty-two minutes earlier but hadn’t taken the nearby zone at Sarclet Haven. She’d never have taken one without the other and I began to get worried. This was at 10.50 a.m. I tried ringing her but it went straight to voicemail. I decided she had to be out of range of a phone signal and there was nothing to worry about, though Turf zones are usually only set up within signal range or it would defeat the point.

‘I gave it another ten minutes but when I checked again she’d not reappeared so I decided I had to do something, even if it risked annoying Amy if there was a mundane explanation. I made my apologies to Mum and left her here while I drove to Sarclet, where I parked at the end of the road through the village. Amy was still showing as being at Sarclet Broch on “Find My” but the signal hadn’t updated. It was exactly as if she’d boarded a plane at an airport and switched her phone off or put it in Airplane Mode. I was really worried by this time and ran along a path above the cliffs to Sarclet Broch.

‘Amy’s bike was just outside the entrance to the central part of the broch and I went in, calling her name. I couldn’t see her at first but then went round a stone wall and there she was, lying on her side in a sort of foetal position in the centre of the broch. Her legs were drawn up and her arms were pulled together across her chest. She was facing me and I could see that her eyes were open. I knew she was dead.’

‘What happened then?’ asked Callum.

Gordon’s voice quivered and Callum could see that he was near to tears. ‘I called the police. Then I lifted Amy and sat so she was facing me and her upper part was resting on my lap. I know it was the wrong thing to do but I wanted to hold her one last time. When I moved her I could see that she’d been stabbed in the chest because the hilt of a knife was still sticking out. The knife got in the way when I tried to hug her so I took it out and she started to bleed. Not very much, but I’d not noticed any blood until then. I suppose I hoped that telling her how much I loved her might bring her back to life and make everything all right. It didn’t.’

‘So when the police arrived they found you cradling Amy’s dead body and with her blood on you? And with your fingerprints on the murder weapon?’

‘I know it must have looked bad, Callum, but I swear that what I’ve told you is true. I didn’t kill Amy. I loved her. They made me move away from her when they arrived and her bleeding seemed to get worse after I laid her down.’

‘After they arrested you, what happened?’

‘I contacted my father and sometime later Vikram arrived from Inverness.’

‘What about the police questioning?’

‘It went pretty much as you’d expect, Callum,’ said Vikram. ‘Gordon was in shock but got little sympathy from them. He was able to tell them pretty much what he’s told you.’

‘They didn’t believe me,’ said Gordon.

‘They did give every impression of thinking it was an open and shut case,’ said Vikram. ‘Especially to begin with. I think the one thing that was worrying them was the absence of Amy’s phone, which they couldn’t find at the scene. If Gordon had killed Amy and then sat with her body it’s hard to explain how her phone could have disappeared.’

‘Do you get any sense that they’re looking for Danny Ferguson as a possible suspect?’

‘They ought to be,’ said Vikram. ‘But the honest answer to your question is that I don’t know. That’s why I contacted Amanda Stirling to tell her about my concerns.’

‘What are you going to be able to do to help, Callum?’ asked Gordon.

Callum got the sense of the young man’s distress receding and his aura of entitlement reasserting itself.

‘I’m not sure at the moment, Gordon, but given what you’ve said I can't see any court anywhere convicting you. The police will know that too, however much they want you to think they’ve got a watertight case against you.’ He turned towards Vikram. ‘I’ll talk to Amanda Stirling and see where I might most usefully begin digging. Are you staying here?’

‘I think so. My chances of finding a hotel room on New Year’s Eve aren’t high. I spent last night at Wick police station while they questioned Gordon, going backwards and forwards over his story.’

‘Perhaps you could both do with some sleep,’ said Callum. ‘I’ll see my own way out, making sure I close the door properly to prevent the press from getting in.’

*

Callum wasn't surprised to find that the journalists were still outside on the street and knew they’d only get more curious if he tried to hide behind his collar and hat again.

There was a clamour of questions and as Callum stopped at the point where the drive became the pavement a microphone and a TV camera were thrust in his face.

‘Are you here to see Gordon MacDonald?’ asked the man holding the microphone.

‘My name is Callum Anderson and I’m a private investigator. I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you. Thank you.’

With that, Callum sidestepped the camera and headed off along the pavement towards the TV outside broadcast van. He’d half expected to be pursued and was pleased that he wasn't and that the tactic of giving out a small amount of information seemed to have worked.

The car Callum had seen earlier parked beyond the TV van was a blue Ford Focus. He could see two figures sitting in it and as he got closer he felt a start of recognition as his eyes met those of the man in the driving seat. Callum raised his hand in recognition and the driver gestured for him to get into the back of the car.

‘It’s good to be out of the wind,’ said Callum as he closed the door. ‘It’s difficult to sympathise with journalists but I don’t envy them standing outside on a day like this. Hello Detective Sergeant Jones and congratulations on your promotion.’

The driver had half-turned in his seat and smiled. ‘Trevor’s fine, but thanks for the congratulations. What do I call you? You’re no longer a detective inspector, are you?’

Callum was again struck by Trevor’s marked Welsh accent, ‘Callum’s fine. How’s Suzi doing?’

Trevor looked at his colleague in the front passenger seat. ‘This may be a good moment to have a check on things, Michael.’

‘Seriously? Come on sarge.’

‘I’m told some of the journalists have been sticking long lenses over the back garden wall, from the path above the shore,’ said Callum. ‘If the two of you are here to defend the cause of law and order then that might be a good place to start.’

Trevor’s colleague muttered something inaudible and got out of the car.

‘Suzi’s doing fine, Callum. Thank you for asking. She’s still a detective sergeant in Livingston. With me now in the Major Investigation Team in Inverness, we’re trying to work out a way of making ours slightly less of a long-distance relationship. She’s told me about the two of you, by the way.’

‘That’s good,’ said Callum, trying not to say anything out of place.

‘She told me about taking advantage of you at her flat and about following you around half of northern Scotland.’

‘Ah, that is good,’ said Callum, meaning it this time.

‘It’s quite a coincidence that you should turn up here today,’ said Trevor. ‘I was told to expect you to make contact about an 80-year-old murder at Sarclet Broch, and here you are talking to a suspect in a one-day-old murder at the same place.’

‘It might be better for both of us if we only discuss the earlier murder,’ said Callum. ‘I don’t want to get you into hot water with Chief Superintendent Cooper.’

‘I’m going to have to report back that you’ve been here, Callum.’

‘Of course, though as I’ve just done a ten-second TV interview outside the house that may not be news to anyone. Thinking about Violet Bain, though, I gather that there’s no trace of any physical evidence being retained?’

‘I’m sorry, no. You can take it from me that I did have a good look, but I couldn’t turn up anything at all.’

‘Your colleague will be back in a moment,’ said Callum. ‘I’d better go. It’s been good to meet you again, Trevor. Here’s my card, drop me a text so I’ve got your number too.’

‘I will, Callum. Please pass on my regards to Jenny, Sophie and Emily.’

‘I will. The girls have gone back down to Glasgow for the Hogmanay festivities.’

‘Can you answer me one question, Callum? I assume you came here to talk to Gordon MacDonald. What did you make of him?’

‘I didn’t like him, but I believed him. I won’t ask what you think as it could compromise your position.’

‘Thanks, Callum. I’ve not interviewed him myself but, for what it’s worth, you may not be alone in your assessment.’

*

Callum had just reached his Audi when he heard footsteps behind him.

‘Hang on, Callum, can I have a minute?’

He turned, ready to offer a polite rejection, and was surprised to see Yvonne Sinclair a few paces behind him. She wore a long red quilted coat that reached below her knees and a white hat that she had pulled down over her ears that contrasted strikingly with the black skin of her face. Yvonne was a journalist with the Highlands & Islands Observer and Callum had met her while investigating the death of a colleague and friend of hers during the summer. He assumed she still worked for the Inverness-based newspaper.

‘Yvonne!’ he said. ‘How are you? Hop in the car. Then we can talk in relative warmth.’

They both got in and Yvonne looked across at him, smiling. ‘You asked how I was, Callum. I think “bloody cold and utterly pissed off” probably covers it. I was hiding in my car when you went into the MacDonald house and still there when you came back out. My colleagues seem to be made of sterner stuff. What’s worse is that I had a hot date for Hogmanay in Inverness and I’m going to have to let him down.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that, Yvonne,’ said Callum.

‘Are you looking into yesterday’s killing of Amy Russell?’ asked Yvonne.

‘I didn’t think so until an hour or so ago but, strictly off the record, yes I am. I came up to Caithness to look at a different murder that happened in the same place. A young woman called Violet Bain was raped and murdered at Sarclet Broch in September 1943. I was brought in to look at the coldest of cold cases and have found myself involved in something altogether more contemporary.’

‘That’s a hell of a coincidence,’ said Yvonne.

‘It is, and still more so that when they excavated the broch a few years ago they found another young female murder victim at the bottom of the well who’d been there nearly two thousand years. That makes three in total.’

‘I feel a story coming on,’ said Yvonne, smiling.

‘If you add in the haunting of Sarclet Castle by the second victim then yes, I might have something for you, but you’re going to have to hold off until I know a little more.’

‘Fair enough. I’ll give you my card.’

They swapped cards.

‘Callum, I suppose you’re here to talk to the man the police arrested at the scene, Gordon MacDonald?’

‘Yes, I am, again off the record.’

‘I think all my colleagues have worked that out anyway. Can you tell me, just between ourselves, what you made of him?’

‘I thought that what he had to say was very believable.’

‘It seems you’re not alone in that.’

‘Someone else has just said the same thing to me,’ said Callum. ‘What makes you think so?’

‘A couple of minutes before you emerged from the house I got a phone call to say that Police Scotland had just issued a public appeal for help in finding a man called Danny Ferguson, who they want to interview in connection with the murder of Amy Russell. They’ve put out a photograph of him and a description and registration number of a green VW Golf he is known to have been driving. They’ve said he lives in Edinburgh but is known to be in the Wick area. Anyone recognising him is asked to dial 999 and not to approach him. Do you know who Danny Ferguson is, Callum?’

‘You didn’t get this from me, Yvonne, but someone else will leak it soon enough anyway. He’s an ex-boyfriend of the murdered woman whom the police spoke to about stalking her after they split and who seems to have followed her and Gordon MacDonald to Wick.’

‘Thank you, Callum, I really do owe you a favour.’

‘You do,’ said Callum smiling. ‘I hope your Hogmanay isn’t too bad. I’m wondering whether I need to brave the mob again to let Gordon and his solicitor know about the police announcement.’

‘There’s no need. Someone will have let them know already. One of my esteemed colleagues might even have knocked on the door to ask for a comment.’

As Yvonne got out of the car, Callum wondered why Trevor Jones hadn’t told him about the police announcement before realising that, at the time they spoke, he probably hadn’t known it had been made.

14: Sunday the 31st of December

The late lunch turned out to be a fabulous buffet served from a counter that had been set up at the far end of the great hall.

Jenny had never eaten gooducken before and was fascinated to watch the chef, very much looking the part in his tall white hat, cut a thick slice from one side of the bird and put it on a plate for her.

‘You can see all the layers,’ she said.

‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘That’s the stuffing at the centre, then the chicken, then the duck and finally the goose around the outside. Help yourself to everything else.’

Breakfast seemed a long time ago and all Jenny had consumed in the meantime was a hot chocolate and a Danish pastry in the café in Kirkwall. Cold weather always made her feel more hungry and she headed back to the dining table with a full plate.

‘May I join you?’ she asked Rose Balliol, who was sitting by herself on the side of the table nearest the wood fire burning in the fireplace.

‘Of course. I see you went for the bird. Perhaps I’m old-fashioned, but I opted for the beef myself.’

‘I’ve never had a bird quite like this one before,’ said Jenny. ‘I’m always a sucker for anything new or different on a menu.’

Rose smiled. ‘I thought we should call it a three-bird roast but the chef was quite affronted. Apparently “gooducken” is more correct because it differentiates the dish from “turducken”, where the outer bird is turkey. I’d draw the line at having anything called that on the menu but I did agree to “gooducken”.’

‘I was fascinated by what you said after dinner last night,’ said Jenny. ‘How did you feel when you realised that your mother had been keeping a journal?’

‘A bit shocked if I’m honest,’ said Rose. ‘I was amazed to find that she had been keeping a secret from her children and apparently from her husband for so many years. And it was more of a surprise that Sven, who was nearly three years older than David and more than four years older than me, had maintained that secret after her death.’

‘Perhaps she asked him to,’ suggested Jenny.

‘Perhaps, we’ll never know. I’m just grateful Eric approached me when he found the three volumes of the journal amongst his father’s things and realised their significance.’

The dining table was filling up and Rose turned to talk to her husband, who had sat on her far side. Jenny was relieved to see Callum come into the hall. He saw her and smiled, then handed his jacket to a waitress who had approached him before walking over to the table.

‘That looks good, he said. What is it?’

Jenny smiled. ‘Gooducken.’

‘What’s that?’

‘It’s complicated, but I can highly recommend it.’

*

‘It seems I just need to pick a username,’ said Callum. He was lying on his back on the bed with his shoes off, looking up at his phone. ‘It looks like “CallumA” is available.’

‘Hang on, Callum.’ Jenny was standing at the window overlooking the rose garden, though she was looking down at her tablet rather than admiring the view. ‘Given what you’ve told me about the visibility of anyone playing the game, wouldn’t it be better to go for something that isn’t so obviously based on your name?’

‘That’s true. I’ll copy Amy Russell and go for something neutral. How about “Achmelvich”, which is available?’

Jenny turned to look at Callum and nodded.

‘That’s it,’ said Callum. ‘Now I’ll tap the little white figure in the bottom left of the screen. It’s gone yellow and I’ve got a yellow message saying that the GPS has been activated. Now I see a green figure superimposed on the aerial photo of this end of Sarclet Castle, which represents me.’

‘I’m looking at the map on the Turf website and I’m not seeing you,’ she said. ‘Hang on, if I reload the page you come up as a red figure in the right place and tapping on you brings up a panel in the top left showing your username and other information. Given that anyone else looking at this website can also see that the player calling themselves “Achmelvich” is in this part of Sarclet Castle, perhaps you should find a way to turn off the GPS on your app. That’s it, you’ve disappeared.’

‘It looks like we’re good to go,’ said Callum.

‘Good to go where, and why?’ asked Jenny. ‘It seems to me that now the police are looking for someone other than Gordon MacDonald in connection with Amy Russell’s murder, you’ve done what Amanda Stirling asked you to do. Why are you still playing around with Turf? Surely your focus should move back to Violet Bain?’

She saw Callum frown. Since knowing him she’d occasionally seen an almost childlike stubbornness in him. It could be charming or infuriating, depending on the circumstances, but she had come to understand the signs and that frown was one of them.

‘I’m not sidelining Violet Bain,’ he said. ‘I’m meeting Rose and Gerald at 6 p.m. to talk about her. I can let you have the details later if you want and I do have progress to report. Come to think of it, perhaps you could sit in, as that will bring you up to speed too?’

‘That’s a good idea,’ said Jenny.

 ‘One of the things I’ll tell the Balliols is that I’ve spoken to Detective Sergeant Jones and I believed him when he said he’d done everything possible to find physical evidence from Violet Bain’s murder. It does seem to have been lost or destroyed. On a personal level, Trevor sends his regards to you and the girls and tells me that he and Suzi remain an item, though she’s still in Livingston and he’s in Inverness. I gather she’s told him about her efforts to restage Fatal Attraction this summer.’

‘That’s a healthy sign,’ said Jenny.

‘Yes, I thought so too. Anyway, back to Violet Bain. I might learn more later this afternoon. I need to talk to your genealogist friend and my contact at the British Library to add to the lists of information I need, and I’ll ask both if they’ve unearthed anything useful so far.’

Jenny smiled and held up her tablet. ‘You’ve avoided my question about Amy Russell and Turf.’

She saw Callum look at his watch. ‘I’ve done all I can on the Violet Bain case for the moment. Sunset’s due at about 3.30 p.m. and it will be dark a bit less than an hour later. You were being too generous just now when you said that I’d done what Amanda Stirling had asked me to do. She will know as well as I do that it was simply a coincidence of timing that the police revealed their hand about Danny Ferguson just as I finished talking to Gordon MacDonald. In practical terms, I’ve done nothing at all. I could just walk away, but something’s nagging at me about the case. I’m as sure as I can be that Gordon MacDonald didn’t kill Amy Russell but I have the sense I’m missing something and would love to know what it is.

‘Hence the interest in Turf. I want to understand how Danny Ferguson might have tracked and murdered Amy and I want to go to the broch, with you if you’ll come, to see whether what I’ve been told since I visited with Geoffrey earlier today makes sense. You’ve still got the Turf map on the website open on your tablet, haven’t you?’

Jenny nodded.

Callum got off the bed and walked over to where Jenny was standing, then put his arm around her waist. ‘We could spend the afternoon doing something completely different, of course.’

Jenny was tempted by the idea of a bath and then sex but… ‘It’s a nice thought, Callum, but I know that you’re not going to be happy until you’ve sorted this out.’ She lifted the tablet so he could see it too. ‘There’s a scatter of red dots representing Turf zones across Wick, both north and south of the river and bay, then a trail of four along the coast on the south side of the town, plus one in fields nearby. There’s also a yellow dot at a castle on the coast north of Wick.

‘What’s interesting is that if you tap on a zone you get a window popping up with information including the “latest takeovers”, in most cases the last five. The yellow zone further up the coast was last taken over a month ago, so I assume yellow means no one currently owns it. I saw something in the information about ownership of all zones resetting early each month. Of the two at Sarclet, the one at the haven is yellow and was last taken in late November while the one at the broch is red and was last taken by “FirthOfForth”, which you said was Amy’s username, yesterday. Before that, it was last taken on the same date in November as the zone at the haven, and by the same person.

‘Tapping on different zones in Wick reveals that Amy is the most recent owner of most of them, though the one on the bridge in the centre of the town was taken an hour ago by a username that had also taken it five days ago and in November. That same user also crops up in the recent takeover list for many other zones in Wick so must be local. It would appear that Amy missed the four I mentioned along the coast, which conclude at a zone called “OldWickCastle” on a finger of land sticking out into the sea. She also missed one between there and the main road south of Wick. Perhaps she was intending to get those five by doing a loop via the coast on her way back into Wick.’

Callum moved his arm from around Jenny’s waist. ‘According to Gordon MacDonald, he kept track of where Amy was by looking at “Find My” on his iPhone. If Danny Ferguson was tracking Amy using the map on a web browser like this one, what would he have seen? Amy turned off her GPS when travelling between zones to cut down the risk of tracking. But Danny could still have seen her red figure pop up each time she engaged her GPS and as she took a zone, and he would see the record of zones having changed ownership as she took them.’

 ‘It wouldn’t take a genius to work out that she was heading generally south,’ said Jenny. How far is it from Wick to here?’

‘Perhaps six miles,’ said Callum.

‘The two zones in Sarclet are the first you get to once you’re clear of Wick,’ said Jenny. ‘What if Danny took a gamble on Amy coming here next and got ahead of her in his car, then parked and walked to the broch to wait for her?’

‘I think this is where we have to get cold again,’ said Callum. ‘There is a path from the back of the castle down to the haven and then the broch. It’s the one Violet Bain would probably have taken. But for the moment, let’s pretend we’re Danny Ferguson and take the car down to the end of the road near the haven.’

*

‘That’s the first issue,’ said Callum as Jenny parked the Audi on the broader piece of tarmac near the end of the road.

‘What is?’

‘Amy and Danny had been together until August. If he’d parked his car here then Amy would have seen it as she arrived on her bike. Wouldn’t she have recognised it and made herself scarce? She knew he was in the area.’

‘When Suzi followed you in the summer she hired a car to avoid you recognising hers,’ said Jenny. ‘Perhaps Danny did the same, or borrowed one, or perhaps he’s replaced his car since they split up?’

Jenny and Callum changed into boots and then walked together to the start of the path towards the head of the haven.

‘Geoffrey said the people due to stay for Hogmanay in the house over there cancelled because they’d got Covid,’ said Callum. ‘That means it was empty yesterday. Perhaps there’s somewhere there for Danny to have left his car out of sight of Amy when she arrived, though it looks like the parking is in front.’

‘Surely he’d have felt under too much time pressure anyway,’ said Jenny. ‘He couldn’t have set off from Wick until he was sure Amy was coming this way, and because she skipped some of the zones in the south of the town she couldn’t have been far behind him, even allowing for the difference in speed between his car and her bike. If we assume he had the map on the Turf website open on his phone, he’d have realised she’d stopped taking zones in Wick and that she was probably on her way.’

‘True,’ said Callum, ‘and then he’d have to walk from here, always fearing she was going to catch him up. We know she rode her bike all the way to the broch.’

‘Come on, Callum, let’s go, I’m not looking forward to this.’

They followed paths above the haven and then beyond it. Jenny stopped when a slight dip ahead revealed the broch. ‘That’s amazing. It’s like an ancient fortified village.’

‘That’s pretty much what it is,’ said Callum. ‘It looks like we’re not going to have it to ourselves. There’s an Argocat parked at the beginning of the path from the far edge of the settlement back into the broch itself. Seeing it brings to mind the night we met at Sandwood Bay.’

Jenny had also noticed the low, eight-wheeled cross-country vehicle. She was pleased to see Callum smile. The delayed midsummer party at Sandwood Bay had been the last fling for the old Jenny, the drunk, and she was embarrassed by the memory, even if it was only partial, of how out of control she’d been that night.

Callum led the way into the heart of the stone settlement, where the massive presence of the broch itself awaited them.

‘You’ll need to watch your head and shoulders going through the entrance passage,’ he said. ‘And while you’re doing that, remember that Violet Bain’s killer dragged her back through it after stabbing her and before finishing her off.’

Jenny felt almost ill at the thought as she watched Callum’s rear end shuffling into the passage. She followed him.

‘That’s it, you’re clear Jenny. You can stand up now. Hello Geoffrey, I wondered if the Argocat was yours.’

Jenny stood to see past Callum to Geoffrey Gunn and another man, both carrying large translucent plastic canisters with one hand that were connected by clear tubes to black wand-like objects they were carrying in the other.

‘Hello Callum, hello Jenny. Having checked that the police don’t object, we’re having a go at cleaning the bloodstain left after yesterday’s killing. It’s not the most pleasant job I’ve ever done. This is my colleague John, who volunteered to help.’

‘Have you been successful?’ asked Callum.

‘Up to a point. The best advice I could get on a Sunday on how to clean the stain without damaging the monument was from Dr Lynne Grady at the University of the Highlands and Islands Archaeology Institute in Kirkwall, who led the 2019 excavation here. She advised me to spray the area with soapy water and then with clean water, then rely on sun, rain and time to finish the job. It’s less noticeable than it was and I suppose that’s the best we can hope for.

‘Incidentally, Callum, Dr Grady is the archaeologist I spoke to you about. She’s happy to talk to you on the phone and will let you have whatever background information about the skeleton they found here that you think might help. I’ll text you her number.’

‘Thank you, Geoffrey. As you know this site far better than I do, is there anywhere that you could climb to a higher level to watch for someone approaching?’

‘It depends on which murder you have in mind, Callum. In 1943, Violet Bain would have been able to climb up the outside of the mound enclosing the broch, as far as the circular stone wall. Today the answer is no. People walking around the top of the walls would pose a threat to themselves and the walls. But there’s plenty of cover amongst the structures surrounding the broch, so I imagine you could look out for someone without being obvious yourself. Anyway, we need to be on our way. Do you want a lift back?’

‘No thanks, Geoffrey. I think we should have a last look around while we’ve still got some daylight.’

After the two men left, the silence within the broch seemed profound to Jenny and she could feel the hairs standing up on her arms and the back of her neck. ‘This is seriously creepy,’ she said.

‘It is,’ said Callum. ‘I’m trying to work out what happened when Amy Russell arrived. Gordon MacDonald said her bike was left outside the entrance passage. She was lying on the central hearth, the pentagonal area of red gravel over there. She was in a foetal position and facing the entrance. The thing I don’t understand is this. You said that Amy had taken the Turf zone in the broch. To my mind, that means she didn’t feel threatened when she first arrived and had time to activate her GPS and take the zone.’

Callum took his phone out of his pocket and looked down at it. ‘I’ve opened the Turf app and activated my GPS and there’s a bar on the left side of the screen that’s filling up from the bottom with green segments. It takes a little time when you’re watching but it’s not that slow. That’s it. A message I didn’t catch flashed up at the top of the screen and now I’ve got a screen that confirms I own “SarcletBroch”. It was only after Amy went through that process that she was attacked.’

‘Not necessarily, Callum. It was only after she started that process that she was attacked. She could have been dead by the time the phone finished taking the zone.’

‘That’s true,’ said Callum. ‘Our theory depends on Danny Ferguson being here when Amy Russell arrived and then him attacking her. There are plenty of places he could have kept out of sight until she’d started taking the zone. As the interior was generally similar in 1943, Violet Bain’s killer could also have hidden from her when she first arrived.

‘The other big unknown for me is what happened to Amy’s phone. It seems to have been switched off, by which I mean completely powered down, or perhaps destroyed. The police searched the place but didn’t find it. But look around us. With the drystone construction of the broch walls and the surrounding structures, there are probably a million gaps between stones you could slide an iPhone into in a way that ensured it couldn’t be found without deconstructing the entire site stone by stone. But why would anyone hide it here? I suppose Danny Ferguson could have taken it away with him or simply thrown it over the cliffs, but again I have to ask why he’d bother. I’m sure that’s something the police will ask him when they find him.

‘Thinking about it, I’m not sure how hard the police could have looked anyway. They only had a few hours to do their forensics and search the place before it got dark yesterday afternoon and they’d moved out completely by the time Geoffrey and I visited earlier.

‘Incidentally, that odd-shaped grille over there is covering the well where the two-thousand-year-old skeleton was found. The mesh of the grille means that’s the one location where we can be sure Amy’s phone wasn't hidden.’ Callum looked around. ‘This place freaked me out earlier and it’s doing the same now. Come on, let’s go.’

Jenny made sure that she left the broch before Callum. There was no way she wanted to be in the place, even for a moment, on her own. She was even more grateful to get back to the Audi and then to the warmth and comfort of the castle. After they’d been questioned by two police constables about their movements the previous day they returned to their room. Callum then made himself busy on his phone.

When he’d finished there was still plenty of time before they were due to meet the Balliols. They chose to spend it enjoying mulled wine and mince pies in the drawing room, though Jenny switched to ginger beer after one glass of wine. The expedition to Sarclet Broch had taken away any inclination Jenny might have felt earlier for an afternoon in bed with Callum. She had the impression that his libido was likewise suppressed by visiting the scene of the three murders.

15: Sunday the 31st of December

Callum turned to look at Jenny as she followed him into the library, the room used by the Balliols as their office. He could see that she was as impressed by it as he had been the previous afternoon.

‘This is amazing,’ she said. She looked past him to where Rose and Gerald were standing by the fireplace and smiled. ‘If you ever want to auction off parts of the castle, I’ll be first in line for this room.’

‘Thank you, Jenny,’ said Rose. ‘I hope I’m not speaking out of turn but Carol said something about a castle wedding. This room would certainly be part of the package.’

Callum felt himself blushing.

Gerald laughed. ‘Looking at Callum’s face, I think you may have put your foot in it, dear.’

‘Not at all,’ said Callum, smiling. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Jenny was looking at him apprehensively. ‘We’ve not talked about it, but I couldn’t think of anywhere better to get married. That gives me an even greater incentive to help you still the restless spirit of the castle ghost.’

He saw Jenny smile and quickly look away from him, back at the Balliols.

Gerald laughed again. ‘I’d call that a very neat way of changing the subject to the one we’d agreed to discuss. Do the two of you want to sit on the far side of the table? I can never see the point of summoning the butler to do something I’m perfectly capable of myself so I’ll pour us all some coffee.’ He walked over to a side table and pressed down on the knob on the top of a cafetière that stood with crockery on a silver tray.

Jenny and Rose sat on opposite sides of the double leather-topped table in the centre of the room and Callum walked over to Gerald and picked up two full cups and their saucers, one for each of the women. Gerald then brought over Callum’s coffee and his own. The milk and sugar were already on the table.

‘I must say again how grateful we are to you for agreeing to look into Violet Bain’s death,’ said Rose. ‘Gerald and I know full well that as this is a Sunday and New Year’s Eve you might have found progress difficult but, as you suggested this morning, it’s helpful to touch base. I’m also aware that you were diverted from the case for at least part of the day.’

‘Thank you, Rose,’ said Callum. I’m currently pulling at several different strands in the hope that at least one of them will produce significant progress. I’m conscious that you will both want to get ready for dinner, but I think we’ve got plenty of time to talk through what I’ve discovered so far and what I hope to find out.’

‘I’m sure we have,’ said Rose. ‘You probably heard over lunch that the start of dinner is being put back from 7.30 p.m. to 8 p.m., though at the time we didn’t broadcast why. Gerald and I had commissioned a group of actors to put on a murder mystery-themed interactive event over dinner, with scenes played out between courses and guests competing to solve the mystery. We talked about it last night and again while we were in Kirkwall and decided that staging a murder in the interests of entertainment so close to where that poor young woman was killed yesterday, and so soon afterwards, would be highly insensitive and could well cause our guests discomfort or offence.’

‘Yes, I can understand that,’ said Callum.

‘So what do you have for us, Callum?’ asked Gerald.

‘I’ll start with the one line of enquiry that’s pretty much reached its conclusion,’ said Callum. ‘One of the people I’ve got digging for me is an ex-Metropolitan Police colleague who now works at the British Library. He’s been looking into the service record of Sergeant Peter Bartlett, the pilot based at RAF Wick and the man Violet Bain thought she was going to meet on the afternoon she was killed. We know she didn’t meet him because he took off from RAF Wick early that morning on a reconnaissance flight to Norway and didn’t come back.

‘What we’ve found is that Sergeant Peter Bartlett was a pilot with 519 Squadron based at RAF Wick and he’d been at Wick since March that year. 519 Squadron was a meteorological squadron taking part in what’s been called the North Atlantic weather war, the battle with Germany to collect the best weather data, at a time when being able to produce accurate weather forecasts for military operations was often a matter of life and death.

‘Royal Air Force operations record books, in which squadrons reported every operation by every aircraft, are available to view online, as is a wealth of other material about military personnel. On the morning of the 15th of September 1943, Sergeant Bartlett took off from RAF Wick in a Spitfire with long-range fuel tanks and crossed the North Sea before flying back and forth along part of the Norwegian coast at high altitude, at medium height and then at low level, collecting weather observations. He then flew to RAF Scatsta in Shetland where he refuelled his aircraft before taking off and flying back to Norway to repeat what he’d done earlier in the day and then return to Wick.

‘He got to RAF Scatsta as intended and subsequently took off from there, but that’s the last that’s known of him. He failed to return to Wick and no trace has ever been found of him or his aircraft. There were no radio calls from him and if he was tracked by British radar as he flew to Norway, no one noted it anywhere. German combat records examined after the war shed no light on what became of him. As the police correctly concluded, whoever killed Violet Bain, it wasn’t Sergeant Bartlett.

‘I’d initially thought that flying to check on the weather must have been a much safer job than dropping bombs on Germany or shooting down enemy fighters, but it turns out that Sergeant Bartlett was only one of many men lost by the squadron while it was based at Wick.

‘I should add that the same researcher is looking into several other matters for me, but so far without concrete results. He’s trying to establish whether copies of telegrams were kept anywhere in the system as it seems important to know if the telegram addressed to Violet was phoned through to the postmaster at Thrumster as he claimed. If there is no record, then we only have his word in his statement to the police that he didn’t simply write the telegram himself as a trap for Violet. He has an alibi but it depends entirely on his wife backing him up.

‘One oddity I don’t know yet know what to do with arises from my discovery within the police file of a note about a witness who said she saw an RAF sergeant cycling through Sarclet towards the haven on the afternoon Violet was killed. The witness was written off as senile by the officer who interviewed her so the police never investigated her report. We know it couldn’t have been Peter Bartlett who she saw, assuming she did see someone, which leaves unanswered the question of who it was.

‘We’re also looking at whether there were any other murders of a similar kind in northern Scotland during the year before or after Violet’s death, and whether there are any post office records showing where the postmaster went after he moved away from Thrumster. This happened not long after the murder, possibly because at least one local, Calum Mackay, who worked in the gardens here at the castle and was one of Violet’s lovers, accused him of her murder.

‘My second researcher is a professional genealogist in Kinlochbervie and a friend of Jenny’s. I’ve got her looking into what became of Violet’s sister Elizabeth and whether she had any descendants. Elizabeth was the main source of information for the police about Violet’s love life. I’m sure she wanted to provide them with leads to pursue. Instead, what she told them simply persuaded the police that Violet wasn’t worth bothering about. Violet’s murder would have been a huge event in Elizabeth’s life and I’m wondering if she ever told any children anything she’d not told the police at the time.

‘The genealogist has also been looking at whether the 2nd Earl of Wick remarried and had any other children. The answer is “no” to both questions. She’s also still looking at the Mackay family who worked at the castle at the time, though I have uncovered information about one of them. Finally, as of this afternoon, she’s also looking for background on both the postmaster who wrote the telegram and the telegraph boy who delivered it.

 ‘Meanwhile, Geoffrey Gunn has been very helpful in finding people who worked at the castle when it was a hotel.’ Callum went on to give Rose and Gerald accounts of his meetings with Laura Kennedy and Shona and Dougie Scott.

‘It’s because of what Calum Mackay told Dougie Scott that I’ve got both of my researchers looking at the postmaster, Stewart Graham, from different angles. A short time ago Laura Kennedy texted me the names and addresses of two other people who worked at the hotel when she did, but they seem unlikely to add to what she told me so I’ll hold them in reserve. Finally, I met the detective sergeant who Mark Cooper asked to trace any remaining physical evidence from Violet Bain’s murder. I trust his assessment that it’s been lost or destroyed.’

‘I’m impressed,’ said Gerald, ‘especially given Amanda Stirling sent you off to look at yesterday’s murder part way through the day. I take it that your involvement in that is over now the police are looking for someone other than Charles MacDonald’s son?’

‘The honest answer is that I'm still intrigued by the case, but I’ll not let that get in the way of my work on Violet Bain’s murder.’

‘You’d best not tell Mark Cooper that. It was after Amanda and I took him to one side and told him she’d asked you to talk to Charles MacDonald’s son that the police decided they might have another suspect after all. Mark would probably not be happy to hear that you are, as you say, “still intrigued”.’

Callum leaned forwards. ‘For completeness, I should say that I’ve also talked on the phone to the archaeologist who found the Iron Age skeleton in the well at Sarclet Broch during the 2019 excavation. She’s emailed me copies of relevant papers and background material. There’s obviously no link to Violet Bain’s murder, but again I find the coincidence intriguing.’

‘You have been busy, Callum,’ said Rose. ‘Thank you.’

Callum saw her look at her watch and was about to return the thanks and get up when Jenny put her coffee cup down on its saucer.

‘Can I offer a thought, Rose?’ she asked. ‘Actually, two thoughts.’

‘Of course, Jenny,’ said Rose.

‘I was talking to Mary Knox and Anne Bellamy after dinner last night. We talked about Violet Bain’s murder and Mary suggested we might find out who killed her by asking her.’

‘Was she suggesting a séance?’ asked Callum.

‘Yes. Anne Bellamy was very sceptical but it seems to me that if so many otherwise perfectly rational people believe that Violet Bain’s ghost is haunting Sarclet Castle, including Laura Kennedy, who’s encountered the ghost, Geoffrey Gunn, who’s talked to people who’ve encountered it, and Rose, who’s asked you to try to do something to calm Violet’s restless spirit, then it has to be worth a try.’

‘Not so long ago I’d have come out with a very short response to that,’ said Gerald, ‘and it would have been neither polite nor positive. But perhaps I’m getting more open-minded in my old age. What do you think, Rose?’

‘I’ll talk to Mary,’ Rose said. ‘But as Jenny pointed out, it has to be worth a try. I’m assuming you’d be prepared to take part, Jenny. Would you, Callum?’

‘It would certainly be a new experience,’ said Callum. ‘So long as I don’t have to put it on my CV as an approach I recommend to clients.’ He smiled.

‘You said you had two thoughts, Jenny,’ said Rose.

‘The second may be more controversial in some ways,’ said Jenny.

‘More controversial than a séance?’ asked Rose. ‘To borrow Callum's phrase, I’m intrigued.’

‘You purchased Sarclet Castle because of the link with your parents but your enjoyment of it is marred by the presence of the unquiet spirit of Violet Bain. You’ve asked Callum to investigate her murder in the hope that placates her and I think we’ve just agreed to try to speak to her directly in a séance. How would you feel about doing something in the castle to commemorate Violet Bain and Peter Bartlett? I’m sure you could do it in a way that didn’t detract from your commemoration of your parents. In any case, there are connections. Violet’s murder was just under a year after your parents met at the castle and she’d worked here for two years. Perhaps she met them when they stayed, however much in passing? And though Peter Bartlett was a sergeant while your father was a senior officer, they were both RAF pilots. I hope Callum can solve the mystery of Violet’s murder but, either way, commemorating Violet and Peter within the castle might help her find peace.’

For a few moments, there was no sound in the room other than the crackling of the logs in the fire. Callum saw a look pass between Rose and Gerald that he found hard to interpret.

‘I’ll need to think about that,’ said Rose. ‘We both will. But it is a lovely thought and I can see why it might prove effective. Speaking of lovely thoughts, I’ll make a point of talking to Geoffrey Gunn about Shona and Dougie Scott. I’d like to meet them myself when he brings them to revisit the castle.’

Gerald stood up. ‘In terms of practical arrangements, you should feel free to continue your stay at the castle if you need a base in Caithness for your investigation, Callum, and you too, Jenny. Or you are welcome to return at any time if that works best for you. Rose and I will be flying back to Edinburgh on Tuesday when the other guests leave but the castle will remain staffed and open.’

‘Thank you, Gerald,’ said Callum. ‘I think that will have to depend on how things are shaping up by then but it’s helpful to know the option is available.’

Rose turned to look at Callum as he stood up. ‘Now, Callum, you’re a fine figure of a man. What’s your Scottish country dancing like?’

Callum wasn't sure whether the question was serious or not. The answer had to be the same either way. ‘Probably on a par with my English country dancing, if there is such a thing: absolute ignorance and two left feet.’

‘Don’t worry, Rose,’ said Jenny. ‘I’ve successfully taught two daughters how to avoid embarrassing themselves at ceilidhs. I’m sure Callum and I will manage.’

Callum caught Jenny’s eye. She smiled and he was surprised to see her wink.

16: Sunday the 31st of December

The great hall served as magnificently as a dining room as it had the previous evening. Two things were different. The first was the music. When Callum had come into the hall with Jenny for the pre-dinner champagne reception he’d not realised where it was coming from. It had taken her to remind him of the minstrels’ gallery above the entrance. She’d also built on his suggestion that it was a harp being played. Callum had never heard of a clarsach before, a particular type of harp central to early Gaelic culture and, Jenny had told him, Scotland’s oldest national instrument.

Whatever it was called, it was being played beautifully, providing a backdrop to the reception that for Callum evoked mental images of mountains, lochs and, most of all, white sand beaches flanked by rocky headlands being lapped by cold turquoise seas under clear blue skies.

The clarsach player paused during an announcement by Rose about what was planned for the evening and the following day. Callum noted that the decision to cancel the murder mystery-themed interactive event extended to not mentioning that one had been planned. He agreed wholeheartedly with Rose and Gerald’s decision, both for the reasons they’d made it and because the idea of taking part as a private detective offered the potential for embarrassment if he failed to identify the murderer. He imagined that Mark Cooper would feel the same way if he knew what had been planned.

Callum had spoken in passing to Gerald over a glass of champagne at the reception. Gerald raised his glass to the absent troupe of actors who found themselves unexpectedly back in Inverness that night with nothing to do except spend the fee they’d been paid. He hoped they’d have an enjoyable evening. Callum thought it was highly likely that they would.

The second thing that differed from the night before became apparent when everyone took their seats at the dining table. The place cards showed that the seating plan had been rejigged. Again, no one was sitting next to their wife, husband or significant other, but as Callum looked around the table he thought that no one except Rose and Gerald was sitting in the same seats and no one was sitting next to anyone they’d sat next to the previous night, though without notes he couldn’t be certain.

Callum thought this was impressive. Given the web of family relationships, getting the seating arranged must have been no mean feat. Callum had Eric Sutherland on his right, who was at the end of their side of the table. Beyond him, around the corner, was Mary Knox. On Callum’s left was Amanda Stirling, with Gerald Balliol beyond her. Jenny was in the seat diagonally opposite Callum on the far side of the table, with Margaret Sutherland on her right, nearest the corner of the table and Ellen Mitchell on her left.

Callum noticed that Jenny had a glass of tomato juice in front of her, which was what she’d chosen to drink instead of champagne at the reception. She said that she wanted to be sure she could enjoy some champagne when the time came to welcome the new year so was staying clear of alcohol for now. Callum was pleased for her, given how hard he knew she sometimes found her new relationship with drink. He was also quietly pleased for himself.

One or two others around the table were drinking orange juice or what looked like tonic but most were quaffing white wine. Callum reminded himself that he, too, needed to keep his wits about him tonight so after he finished his first glass of wine he asked for a pint of blackcurrant cordial and soda.

As the waiting staff served hors d'oeuvres of salmon terrine with samphire and caviar the clarsach gave way to a fiddle. Callum couldn’t see into the minstrels’ gallery so didn’t know if a different musician was now playing or whether the same player had changed instruments. Again the music was lyrical and evocative. He assumed the pace would be altogether different at the ceilidh they were promised later.

Amanda Stirling had been deep in conversation with Gerald Balliol but now leaned over towards Callum. ‘Thank you for going to see Gordon MacDonald earlier. It raised his spirits that you took what he had to say so seriously.’

‘I’m pleased to have tried to help,’ said Callum. ‘It appears that the police had already taken him more seriously than he or Vikram had thought. I ended up as the fifth wheel on the wagon.’

‘I’m not so sure,’ said Amanda. ‘After Gerald and I told Chief Superintendent Cooper that I’d asked you to talk to Gordon MacDonald I got the sense that he rattled someone’s cage in Wick. I’m sure the police would have got around to making their appeal for information about Danny Ferguson anyway, but I suspect your involvement might have brought that forward.’

‘It’s kind of you to say so,’ said Callum. ‘To me, it just felt like a coincidence of timing, with my being in the right place at the right time by happy accident.’

‘Gerald tells me that you are still intrigued by the case,’ said Amanda. ‘Can I ask why?’

‘I can’t tell you,’ said Callum. When he saw the look of annoyance that flitted across Amanda’s face he sought to clarify. ‘I would if I could, but there’s something about what Gordon MacDonald had to say that I can’t put my finger on but which left me wanting to dig more deeply. I spent some of this afternoon with Jenny trying to work out how Danny Ferguson could have tracked Amy Russell using the Turf app and the map on their website. We then went out to the broch to see how things might have happened on the ground.’

‘I’ve not discussed the case in detail with Vikram,’ said Amanda, ‘so don’t know much about Gordon MacDonald’s theory. But were you successful?’

‘We concluded that what Gordon is suggesting is credible,’ said Callum.

‘Do you think there’s any chance he might have done it?’

‘Do I think Gordon MacDonald killed Amy Russell?’ asked Callum. ‘No. I didn’t exactly warm to him but I did believe his account of what happened yesterday and I believed him when he said he didn’t kill Amy.’

‘That’s good. On that basis, I’d like you to remain interested in the case. I’m not asking you to do anything specific, but if you do feel the need to do anything, keep track of how long you spend on it and drop me an invoice when it’s convenient. That includes your time going to Wick and what you and Jenny were doing this afternoon.’

‘That certainly suits me,’ said Callum.

The starter, described on the menu as ‘traditional haggis neeps and tatties with whisky sauce’, was served as the musical accompaniment changed from a fiddle back to the clarsach.

Amanda leaned towards Callum rather conspiratorially and smiled. ‘The only time I’m ever tempted to share Ellen’s vegetarianism is when haggis is served at an event like this.’

‘I’ve been told that it’s best not to ask what the ingredients are,’ said Callum. ‘Jenny’s twin daughters had me try battered and deep-fried haggis from a chip shop in Ullapool a couple of months ago and I enjoyed it, perhaps because of my ignorance.’

The next course was a palate cleanser of champagne sorbet which Callum thought was exquisite. Amanda had returned to her conversation with Gerald Balliol and Callum found himself talking to Eric Sutherland about theatre shows that Callum had seen in London. It turned out that his tastes lay nearer the light end of the spectrum than the more serious productions Eric was involved in. They still had enough common ground to embark on a discussion that saw Eric recounting a series of increasingly scandalous stories about actors whose names Callum knew well. He realised that Eric was piling into the wine quite heavily and wondered how he was going to last the course until midnight. Callum was making his blackcurrant and soda last and could see that Jenny was onto another tomato juice.

The main course was a sublime fillet of Scottish beef Wellington with fondant potatoes, celeriac purée and rosemary jus.

At one point Eric put down his knife and fork and looked around. ‘The food is as amazing as the surroundings. I just wish I felt more comfortable with what Aunt Rose is trying to achieve here.’

‘Do you have doubts?’ asked Callum.

‘I do. I didn’t know about my grandmother’s journal until after Dad died. At first, I was surprised that he had kept the existence of the three volumes to himself after her death. He got on quite well with his younger brother and sister, Uncle David and Aunt Rose, and I thought it natural he’d have told them about the journal. But then I read it. I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but what the hell.’

Eric took a long drink of his red wine, then partly turned in his chair to attract the attention of a waitress for a refill. Callum wondered whether Eric would regret talking to him when he remembered the next morning but decided that it wasn’t his job to censor the older man.

‘To say it’s dark and disturbing stuff is an understatement,’ said Eric. ‘I had very fond memories of both Grandma Monique and Grandad Bob. I still do. It’s just that now I can’t separate those memories from the overlay of the very different people I read about in Grandma’s journal. She pulled no punches and the contrast between what she wrote and the very neat handwriting she wrote it in was very difficult to get to grips with, certainly at first. Based on her account, she was extremely promiscuous from an early age and used the physical attraction that most men and many women felt for her to her advantage, time after time. She also wrote about being a cocaine addict when she was a young woman.

‘But the most shocking thing was the very matter-of-fact way in which she wrote about the people both she and Grandad killed while working for military intelligence. She doesn’t boast about killing people, but neither did she ever express any regret. At one point she wrote about having to stop a female Soviet spy who was getting away in a car with important state secrets in 1943. This happened in the Highlands, at the end of a bridge at a place called Dornie, inland from Kyle of Lochalsh. When the woman wouldn’t stop, Grandma Monique and her colleague used submachine guns to fill the car, and the woman, full of bullets.’

‘Surely the Soviets were on our side during World War Two,’ said Callum.

‘They were, though there are passages in Grandma Monique’s journal where you’d not think so. And that’s even before the timeframe moves forward from World War Two to the Cold War. I kept a photocopy of the journal when I gave the original volumes to Aunt Rose. After the Covid lockdowns and travel restrictions had lifted I went to Dornie, on my own, to see for myself where the shooting had happened. The bridge you see today isn’t the one that was there in 1943, but using old maps I found online I was still able to work out exactly where my grandmother had killed the Soviet agent. I simply didn’t understand how this could be the person I remembered.

‘As another example, she recorded in detail what happened during a mission she and my grandfather undertook to Sweden, earlier in 1943. She encountered a senior German spy, a man she’d had an affair with before the war. He tried to kidnap her and revealed that the Gestapo had killed her father, my great-grandfather and the man my father was named after, in Paris after she’d come to Britain. While they were naked together in bed she eviscerated him and then cut his throat, and then she shot another man. She was covered in blood and guts and the house where this happened was in such a mess that MI6 had to burn it to the ground to destroy any evidence. I’m sorry, Callum, I’m not putting you off your dessert, am I?’

Callum looked down at what the menu said was Scottish cranachan with homemade shortbread, untouched on the table in front of him. ‘Not at all. I was simply so wrapped up in what you were saying that I’d forgotten I needed to eat as well. I can understand why you found the journal shocking.’

Eric was well into his stride now. ‘It wasn’t just what my grandmother said about herself that I found difficult to take. Her portrayal of my grandfather is mainly warm and loving but in places is just as difficult to swallow. He hadn’t exactly been a candidate for sainthood before getting together with my grandmother. Last night, Aunt Rose told everyone about the incident in this castle when he ended up in bed with the daughter of the household instead of my grandmother. She overlooked or decided not to mention that when Grandma and Grandad came back to Sarclet Castle two days later, Grandma tried to entice the young lady involved, Lady Alice Gough, into bed with both of them. She wrote that she planned to scare Lady Alice away, which is what happened, but there’s an odd edge to the way she wrote it that made me wonder.

‘A recurring theme that emerges from the early parts of the journal is that while Grandad Bob had killed many men by shooting down their aircraft as a fighter pilot, Grandma Monique had real concerns about the lack of what she called a “killer instinct” when he was on the ground. That changed when they made a second visit to Stockholm. They were ambushed on their way back to their hotel one night by a team of German agents. She was run over and knocked out and then bundled into a car which drove away. Grandad Bob rescued her. The Swedish Security Service told Grandma Monique that when the shooting stopped he had one bullet left in the magazine of his pistol, which started with seven. With six rounds he had shot and killed three men, including the driver of the car she was in, caused the death of a fourth in the crash that followed and wounded a fifth. She wrote that she never again complained to him about his lack of a killer instinct.’

Eric paused for long enough to drain another glass of red wine. ‘I think I might need to slow down. The night is still quite young and if there’s one downside to going out with a woman twenty years younger than yourself it’s that sympathy can be in short supply if you render yourself incapable in the trouser department by drinking too much.’

‘What do other family members think about your grandmother’s journal and Rose’s purchase of Sarclet Castle?’ asked Callum.

‘I’m an only child and I’ve never had children. David and Margaret have a daughter who lives in California and a son in New Zealand. I have no idea what they think, or even if they are aware of what’s happening. Rose and Gerald have a daughter, Carol, who I think you know and who is completely on board with her mother’s ideas. They also have a son, Andrew, who is four years older than Carol. He lives with a wife and three children in New York and is building a Balliol property empire there. I don’t know what he thinks about Sarclet Castle as a shrine to his grandparents, but perhaps the fact that he didn’t make the trip over for this event might be significant.’

Their conversation was brought to an end by Rose, who stood up and asked everyone to make their way to the drawing room for coffee and tablet, which Callum knew was a Scottish take on fudge, while the great hall was set up for the ceilidh.

17: Sunday the 31st of December

Jenny thoroughly enjoyed dinner. Ellen Mitchell, on her left, and Rose Balliol, sitting beyond Ellen, seemed to get on like a house on fire so Jenny found herself talking to Margaret Sutherland for much of the time. Having talked to her husband David the previous evening about his life as a military and then civilian pilot in different parts of the world, Jenny found it fascinating to hear another side of the same story.

When Jenny got to the door of the hall she turned to see Callum giving Eric Sutherland a hand to get up from his chair. She grimaced. A year ago it had been her who needed help standing up after drinking too much. Her husband Iain had been killed a few months earlier and she’d not coped well. It was on New Year’s Eve 2022 that she began to realise that she had a real problem with alcohol though it had taken another six months, and meeting Callum, for her to do something about it.

That night a year ago her daughters had been old enough to drive but not, legally at least, to drink. They had got her home and helped her retain some dignity and self-respect, not for the first or the last time during a very rough period for all of them. Jenny felt tears welling up as she thought about how different things were now.

‘It’s Jenny Mackay, isn’t it?’

Jenny turned towards the voice, hoping that whoever it was wouldn’t notice the state of her eyes.

‘Chief Superintendent Cooper, hello!’

‘It’s Mark, please. Would you care to accompany me to the drawing room? I’m sure Callum can find his own way.’

Jenny looked over at Callum and saw that Suzanne Cooper had linked her arm with his. There was an expression of surprise on his face as he saw Jenny looking at him. She shrugged and he smiled.

‘Of course, Mark. How are you enjoying Sarclet Castle?’

‘It’s a wonderful place and Suzanne and I are delighted to have been invited. After you, please.’ Mark Cooper gestured towards the door.

Getting from the great hall to the drawing room involved walking part of the length of the castle and descending one floor. Jenny led the way along the corridor and then down the main staircase to the lower level of the entrance hall.

‘Have you seen the library, Jenny, it’s not far from our route to the drawing room.’

‘Yes, I have, thanks, Mark.’

‘I was hoping to persuade you to take another look at it.’

Jenny stopped and turned to face Mark. Amanda Stirling and Ellen Mitchell had been ahead of them but had now moved out of the lower hall, while whoever was behind them hadn’t yet come into the upper hall at the top of the staircase. They were on their own, if only for a moment.

‘If you weren’t a senior policeman, Mark, I’d be getting worried about your motives right now,’ said Jenny.

‘Don’t ever trust anyone because of the uniform they wear, Jenny. That little act between Suzanne and I was contrived to allow me to talk to you on your own and the library is a good place to do that.’

Jenny looked at Mark Cooper without saying anything, then she heard a noise and looked up to see Carol and Martin Macleod beginning to descend the staircase towards where she and Mark were standing.

‘Hello Jenny,’ called Carol. ‘Are you lost?’

‘No, we’re fine, thanks. Mark wants to show me a book he’s seen in the library that he thought might interest me as a doctor.’ She saw Mark Cooper smile and decided she trusted him enough to be on her own with him.

‘It’s this way,’ he said, waving his arm. Then, more quietly, ‘That was nicely done, Jenny. We can talk but you’ve made sure someone knows where you are and who you’re with.’

The fire in the library had burned down and was heavily shielded by a mesh fireguard. Mark switched on the lights as he led her in. After a moment’s debate with herself, Jenny left the door slightly open.

‘Do you want to sit down?’ asked Mark.

‘Do we need to?’ asked Jenny. ‘This is where you ask me to warn Callum off any further involvement in the Amy Russell case and I tell you that our partnership is personal, not professional, and he will do what he considers is best, irrespective of what I say. There you go, that’s the whole conversation done and dusted in twenty seconds. Can we go to the drawing room now?’

Mark smiled. ‘You’re partly right but mostly wrong, Jenny. Yes, I want to talk to you about the Amy Russell case. But no, I’m not asking you to warn Callum off. Do you mind if I close the door?’

Jenny shook her head and Mark walked past her and quietly closed the library door.

Perhaps it was playing too many games of Cluedo with the girls when they were younger, but Jenny found it hard to stop thinking about her chances of being murdered by the chief superintendent in the library with… well, every other female murdered in the area for the last two thousand years had been stabbed, so why not her with the dagger?

‘I should apologise for the cloak and dagger stuff,’ said Mark.

Jenny felt a physical shock.

‘I’m sorry again,’ he said. ‘From the look on your face perhaps I could have chosen my words more carefully. I asked you here because I would like you to convey a message and some information to Callum. I know you’re not directly involved, but that’s the point. I’m talking to you because I need to be able to say, hand on heart, that I’ve not discussed any of this with him if anyone ever asks me. After dinner last night, before anyone had asked him to look at the Amy Russell murder, Callum tried quite subtly to sound me out about what I knew. I had to become the ultimate golf bore until he gave up and looked for someone more interesting to talk to.’

‘What do you want to tell him?’ asked Jenny, still feeling very on edge.

‘The news will be made public tomorrow morning but he might be interested to know that late this afternoon we found Danny Ferguson’s VW Golf parked not far from Old St Peter's Kirk, a ruined church in Thurso. It was spotted by a member of the public following our appeal for information this lunchtime. We think it’s linked to a report of a stolen car made this morning by a family who found theirs missing when they returned from spending Christmas with relatives in Orkney.

‘They’d left their car in an off-road parking area not far from where the Golf was later found and the theory is that Ferguson traded in his car for this family’s white Vauxhall Corsa. We don’t know when the swap was made because we’ve not been able to find anyone who noticed when the Corsa went missing or the Golf turned up. Danny Ferguson earned himself a criminal record in his youth for vehicle theft but I’m told that other than a warning for stalking Amy Russell this Autumn, he’s been on the straight and level for a few years now.’

‘What does he do?’ asked Jenny.

‘He works for an advertising agency in Edinburgh but it seems he’s not forgotten how to steal a car.’

‘Why not put out an immediate appeal for information?’ asked Jenny. ‘Why wait until tomorrow when Danny Ferguson’s trail will be that much older and colder?’

‘That’s a fair question. The Senior Investigating Officer has decided that the news would pass by without being noticed on Hogmanay and it’s better to make an announcement tomorrow morning. I think he’s right.’

‘Fair enough.’ said Jenny. ‘The Corsa might clear up something that’s been puzzling us. This afternoon, Callum and I took a detailed look at Gordon MacDonald’s theory about Danny Ferguson using a digital game to track Amy Russell’s movements and get to the broch ahead of her. We decided his theory was plausible. When we physically walked through what might have happened, the one thing we had difficulty with was the idea of Danny Ferguson leaving his car parked at the end of the road near Sarclet Haven and it being recognised by Amy Russell as she arrived on her bike. If he’d stolen the Corsa before he killed Amy Russell it would explain why she didn’t recognise the car parked at the end of the road.’

‘I think you may be right,’ said Mark. 'That would certainly tie in with something else I want to pass on to you. Our appeal for information has also led to the owner of a guest house in Wick making contact. Danny Ferguson arrived there without a booking last Thursday evening and paid in advance for three nights, which was all they had available as they were already fully booked for tonight. The guest house owner said that she’d seen Danny’s VW Golf when he arrived but hadn’t seen his car when he left this morning.’

‘Do you have traffic cameras that will pick the Corsa up if Danny has headed south?’ asked Jenny.

‘Some, so long as he sticks to the A99 and A9. As you know, his options for using minor roads are limited and take him a long way out of his way. We’ve got people checking that now. We’re also keeping watch on any phone or credit card use and have been since we identified him as a suspect.’

Jenny opened up a note-taking app on her phone. ‘Would you mind telling me the name of the owner of the Corsa the address it was stolen from and its registration number? The name of the guest house would also be helpful.’

‘The Corsa was taken from Wilson Lane, just south of the ruined church.’ Mark pulled a notebook out of his pocket and read out the information Jenny had asked for.

‘Thank you,’ said Jenny. ‘You’ve told me why you want to use me as a deniable conduit, but not why you want to pass information to Callum in the first place.’

‘My colleague Julia Sutton offered Callum a job with Police Scotland because of his reputation as a highly effective if sometimes rather prickly police officer with high moral standards. I now find him involved in a case which, to be frank, hasn’t been handled with the sureness of touch or alacrity I would ideally like from my people. His popping up unexpectedly earlier today had the effect of gingering up those handling the case. Short of bringing in a fresh Major Investigation Team, which would be seen as an admission of failure on my part, having him continue to provide some competition might be the best way to get my people to improve their game.

‘There is, additionally, the possibility he might discover something my people have overlooked entirely, which would be a real bonus. Your thought about Amy recognising Danny’s car may not be one that’s occurred to us. Meanwhile, I understand that Amanda Stirling intends to cover Callum’s costs and charge them to Gordon MacDonald’s father so it’s a win-win all round as I see it.’

‘Is your wife going to get worried if you and I hold any more covert meetings or start exchanging phone calls?’ asked Jenny.

Mark smiled. ‘Callum spoke to DS Jones this morning, who I understand is known to both of you.’

‘Yes, Trevor was assigned to guard my daughters during the drug case in Lochinver in the summer and he stayed at my house in Oldshoremore the night after the raid on the fishing boats.’

‘Good. Could I ask that if anything comes up you feel we should know about, you, and I mean you personally, talk to DS Jones on the phone? That allows both DS Jones and me to keep any contacts with Callum open and above board.’

‘And what if we need to know anything about the police investigation?’

‘I will ask DS Jones to keep you, again personally, in touch with any significant developments. If you have questions, you can ask him, but I’m sure you no more wish to compromise his position than I do. I’m told he’s a promising young officer with a great career ahead of him.’

‘Forgive me if I suggest this all sounds a little cynical,’ said Jenny.

‘I’m a senior police officer. If you ask my wife she’ll confirm that being cynical is a basic requirement of the job.’

*

Jenny had been to plenty of ceilidhs in her time but she couldn’t remember any as enjoyable or well organised as this one. The band was outstanding. The young man and two young women had set up at the far end of the great hall on a raised dais that had been installed in the short break while guests were gathered in the drawing room.

Each band member was multi-instrumental. One young woman mainly played the fiddle though she also did a little with a guitar and the clarsach, which had been positioned on one side of the dais. The second moved between a fiddle, a guitar and a small set of drums, while the young man led on an accordion but also played guitar and fiddle. It gave them a lot of flexibility and allowed the two young women to alternate as callers, directing the dancers and teaching steps to the less confident or able.

Callum did well, despite claiming earlier to have two left feet. Jenny got the sense he was genuinely enjoying himself.

At 11.20 p.m. the band stopped playing and Jenny had her first glass of champagne, or any alcohol, of the night. Fifteen minutes later, waiting staff brought in the hats, coats, gloves and scarves that guests had deposited with them at the start of the ceilidh.

When everyone looked as over-dressed as Jenny felt, Williams the butler led the way out into the corridor and then up some broad stairs within the old part of the castle. Finally, they climbed a spiral staircase that had a rope handrail hanging down the central stone column. Jenny wondered how those who’d been drinking since the start of the champagne reception were coping with the climb but wasn’t aware of any problems amongst those just ahead of or behind her.

The chill of freezing air flowing down the stairs showed they were close to the top and then Jenny led Callum out onto the flat roof on top of the oldest part of the castle, which they’d been told was surrounded by crenellated walls low enough to see over but high enough to avoid anyone falling off. She heard exclamations from those ahead of her but nothing prepared her for the sight that greeted her.

‘Oh, wow!’ she said as she grabbed Callum’s arm.

A large part of the sky to the north was a shimmering curtain of green light, topped off with a red fringe. She’d seen the aurora borealis often enough whilst living at Oldshoremore but it had seldom, if ever, been as spectacular as now.

‘There you are, ladies and gentlemen.’ Rose’s voice cut through the darkness and quietened the chatter. ‘We had intended to allow you a few minutes to enjoy the Milky Way before welcoming in the new year, but Mother Nature has gone one better and we’ve got the northern lights instead. I hope you don’t feel you want your money back.’

A few people laughed. Jenny had the sense others were simply transfixed by what they were looking at in the sky.

‘To avoid accidents with drinks being knocked off trays, the waiting staff will now pass amongst you to distribute glasses of champagne by hand to everyone who wants one. Please keep enough in your glass to ensure you can take a drink at the appropriate moment.’

There was movement on the rooftop and Jenny and Callum were given drinks by a waitress who looked very cold.

‘Five minutes to go!’ shouted Rose and somewhere a little distance away a bagpiper started playing. Jenny had never been a great fan of the instrument and was grateful that the piper wasn’t sharing the rooftop with them.

‘Fifteen seconds,’ shouted Rose.

Jenny heard the piper stop playing.

‘Count down with me and be ready to sing… Ten… Nine…’

People picked up the countdown. The champagne glasses made holding hands with those on either side impractical so Jenny snuggled up to Callum.

When the count got to five, the piper played a preparatory note and, whatever her feelings about the bagpipes, Jenny felt herself drawing in a breath as she was caught up in the moment.

When they got to zero everyone launched into a slightly ragged rendition of Auld Lang Syne to the accompaniment of the piper. After a couple of verses, this broke down into cries of ‘Happy New Year’ and Jenny hugged Callum and took a drink, then nearly dropped her glass as all hell broke loose.

What followed was one of the most intense fireworks displays Jenny had ever seen. It felt like they were at the heart of it but she quickly realised that all the fireworks were being fired from around the north end of the castle at ground level and directed away from their rooftop rather than towards it.

Jenny wasn't sure how long it lasted, perhaps only five minutes, and when it stopped the silence was profound. The strong winds of earlier in the day had gone and the smoke only slowly cleared in the gentle breeze to let the guests on the rooftop wonder at the aurora borealis once more. Jenny vastly preferred the natural light show to the artificial one of the fireworks but had to admit that the combination of the two had been an experience to remember.

Rose again took the lead. ‘As I said before dinner, we’ve now got hot bacon rolls and mulled wine, or champagne if you prefer, in the drawing room. Can those nearest the top of the stairs follow Williams down?’

Jenny started to move in the direction of the turret at the top of the stairs but Callum hugged her to his side and stayed where he was. Soon Jenny realised that only she, Callum and Rose remained on the rooftop.

‘Come on, you two, you’ll catch your death of cold.’

‘Wait there, Jenny,’ said Callum, who then took a few steps to where Rose was standing and leaned forwards to say something to her that Jenny couldn’t catch. Callum’s body obscured any response that Rose might have made and she then simply turned and went through the turret door leading to the top of the spiral staircase.

Callum walked back to where he’d left Jenny. He seemed to be trying to find something in an inside pocket and then leaned down to place his glass on the ground. ‘This is quite something, isn’t it?’

‘It’s an unforgettable experience, Callum.’

‘At the risk of spoiling it, this may be a good moment to ask if you like the idea of getting married here.’

Jenny wasn't sure if she’d heard him correctly. ‘What are you asking, Callum?’

He went down on one knee and held something up towards her.

‘Will you marry me?’

‘But you’re not divorced yet.’

‘The Conditional Order is through. The Final Order is only a technicality now.’

‘How much have you had to drink, Callum?’

‘Enough to give me the courage to do this. Not so much that I don’t know exactly what I’m doing. And I know you’re as near completely sober as makes no difference.’

‘Yes, of course I’ll marry you, Callum. And, yes, coming back here to get married would be perfect.’

‘Perhaps you should try this on,’ he said.

Jenny looked down and in the light of the aurora saw that he’d been holding up towards her an open ring box and that inside it was the amazing diamond ring that she’d looked at several times in a jeweller's shop in Inverness and fallen in love with.

‘How did you know about the ring?’ she asked, before the obvious answer occurred to her. ‘Have you already told the girls?’

‘I asked them, rather than told them. I wanted to have their permission to ask you. And when Emily suddenly needed to be in Ullapool on the Saturday before Christmas we were in reality driving down to Inverness to pick this up. I’m assured it’s the right size. Do you want to try it on?’

Jenny put her glass down next to Callum’s. The ring fitted perfectly and under the green and red lights of the aurora she thought she’d never seen anything so beautiful. Jenny looked at Callum. ‘I think a kiss would be nice.’

*

They found an anxious-looking Rose waiting for them outside the drawing room.

‘What did you say?’ she asked Jenny.

Jenny just smiled and held up her left hand so Rose could see the ring. ‘I don’t want to make a big thing of it,’ she said. ‘This is your amazing Hogmanay party, Rose, and I don’t want to overshadow it.’

‘You won’t, don’t worry, and it’s too late to keep it a secret.’ Rose swung open the drawing room door and led them in. ‘She said yes!’

There were cheers all around and the bagpiper started playing again. Jenny took a glass of champagne from an offered tray and began thanking people for their congratulations.

A few minutes later a grinning Callum took her to one side. ‘Emily and Sophie want to talk to you,’ he said, holding out his phone.

Later, quite a lot later, after just one more glass of champagne and two bacon rolls, Jenny allowed Callum to lead her back to their room. She was too tired to do more than just hold him but she did remember to ask one question that had been bothering her before she went to sleep.

‘Callum, what would you have done if I’d said no?’

‘It would have been a little awkward, wouldn’t it?’

They both laughed.

18: Monday the 1st of January

Even though the curtains were open it was dark in the bedroom when Callum awoke. At this time of year and this far north that wasn’t much of a guide as he knew sunrise wasn’t due until 9.00 a.m. He realised that Jenny wasn’t in bed and rolled over to pick up his watch from the bedside table. It was only 7.35 a.m. and New Year’s Day was an ideal opportunity for a lie-in after such a late night.

He heard the shower start in the bathroom and remembered how large it was, so got up and walked through. Jenny was lost in a cloud of steam and spray in the shower. They might have become engaged the previous night but their relationship was still sufficiently new for Callum to feel self-conscious about going to the toilet in her presence. But if he couldn’t see her in the shower then…

After he’d had a pee, Callum picked up a towel and walked over to the entrance to the shower, where he dropped it on a mat on the floor. There was no door, you simply walked around the end of the thick glass wall, at which point the large square chrome head of the rainfall shower was still some distance away. Jenny had her back to him and squealed when he put his arms around her, resting his hands on her stomach before sliding them up her body.

‘Happy New Year,’ he said. ‘Do you need any help washing your sensitive parts?’

She giggled and turned to face him and it was his turn to be surprised as she reached down. ‘Happy New Year to you, too. You can wash my bits if I can wash yours.’

‘That sounds like an ideal arrangement,’ said Callum, catching his breath.

Jenny smiled. ‘If this is what married life is going to be like then I certainly made the right decision last night.’

Jenny insisted on fully drying her hair before going back to bed with Callum. Once she’d joined him he lay her down and explored her body with his tongue, making her wait increasingly impatiently as he slowly closed in on the areas where the least stimulation would have the greatest effect.

Callum dozed afterwards and it was starting to get light outside when he awoke again. He rolled over to see Jenny lying on her side under the duvet with just her head sticking out, looking at him. She smiled when she saw he was awake.

‘That was a lovely way to celebrate our engagement,’ she said. ‘Can I look forward to every morning being like that?’

‘I wish…’ said Callum. ‘By the way, did you hear what time they’re serving breakfast?’

‘Is that it?’ said Jenny, sticking out her bottom lip. ‘You’ve had your wicked way with me and I’m cruelly cast aside the moment a full Scottish fried breakfast appears on the horizon?’ She laughed. ‘There’s a bus leaving for the private tour of Pulteney Distillery at 10.30 a.m. and breakfast is served right through until then. Do you fancy the idea of a distillery tour?’

‘I do, but we’ve only got 24 hours until the party ends. I feel the need to show as much progress as possible by then. I’m not sure how to respond to Gerald’s suggestion that we stay on at the castle after everyone else leaves tomorrow.’

‘Part of me thinks it would be lovely to have it to ourselves,’ said Jenny, ‘I’ve got no pressing need to be back in Kilmuir before the end of the week and I can’t imagine you’ve got anything more important on your plate than a job that’s offering double your normal daily rate and a possible bonus of 50%. And that’s before we talk about Amanda’s offer to pay you, and me, for anything we do on the Amy Russell case, which will certainly require our presence in Caithness. I know money’s not an issue, but both those jobs are for important and influential clients who are likely to be able to put more and better work your way in the future. I also know you don’t want to leap off one treadmill straight onto another, but it would be nice to have your pick of interesting jobs.’

‘All very true,’ said Callum. ‘I think courtesy demands that we let Rose and Gerald know whether we’re staying on before dinner at the latest. The question is how best to use the day until then. There’s no need for you to skip the distillery visit if you like the idea.’

‘There’s every need, Callum. It was fun taking the helicopter to Kirkwall yesterday but I did end up feeling very left out.’

‘Left out of what?’ asked Callum.

‘Left out of your search for Violet Bain’s killer and your involvement in the Amy Russell case. It was great to be back here yesterday afternoon and, while I’ll not claim I enjoyed our visit to the broch, I do love working with you.’

‘And besides,’ said Callum, ‘Mark Cooper has pretty much ensured you have to be involved in what I’m doing on the Amy Russell case as you’re the designated contact for Trevor Jones.’

‘Yes, that too. I must say that I still get shivers when I think of being alone with Mark in the library. Anyway, I’m thinking of getting another shower, though I don’t need to wash my hair again. Before you ask, that will be a much more efficient process if I do it on my own.’

*

Jenny came out of the shower expecting to find Callum waiting to follow her in or having a shave at one of the sinks. Instead, when she went through to the bedroom she found him sitting naked on the bed with the duvet pulled up around him and his tablet on his lap.

‘I thought everything else had taken a back seat as soon as the idea of breakfast occurred to you,’ she said, smiling.

Callum looked back at her and lifted his tablet slightly. ‘I thought I’d take a quick look at my email. There are two that are quite interesting, one from Jeremy Ryde in London and the other from Lucy Duncan in Kinlochbervie.’

‘Have you had them both working on this instead of partying?’ asked Jenny.

‘How they manage their time is up to them,’ he said, smiling. ‘Jeremy’s email was sent early yesterday evening, so not necessarily. Though now I come to think of it, he was never a great one for parties anyway. Lucy’s email was sent half an hour ago and doesn’t give the impression she’s suffering from a hangover, so perhaps. She wishes us both Happy New Year, so she does know what day it is.’

Jenny sat on the side of the bed. ‘Can you spare me some of the duvet?’

‘I wasn’t sure if you were cold or just pleased to see me,’ said Callum.

‘Pleased to see you, of course, but mainly cold after coming out of the hot shower. Now move over and tell me what’s in the emails.’

‘I’ll start with Jeremy. As you know, he’s been looking for other murders of young women around the time of Violet’s killing. He says that crime rates went up in Scotland during the war, which I suppose is to be expected with huge numbers of displaced people and a blackout in force at night. Despite that, unsolved murders of young women were few and far between.’

‘What about rape?’ asked Jenny.

‘He says he looked at that but the statistics are unhelpful. They suggest an increase in serious assaults involving rape, but rape on its own was either more unusual or, he suspects, unreported in the majority of cases.’

‘The problem with reporting is still true,’ said Jenny, ‘so I agree it would probably have been even more so eighty years ago. We know how the police treated Violet’s murder once they discovered her sexual history. How would they have treated a woman who wanted to report that she’d been raped?’

‘Very unsympathetically, I would imagine,’ said Callum. ‘It’s not hard to find male police officers who aren’t much more enlightened even now. As far as unsolved murders of young women are concerned, Jeremy says he widened the area of search to the whole of Scotland and found two more in the years on either side of Violet Bain’s killing. The first was an eighteen-year-old farm worker called Faye Watson who was murdered on Thursday the 18th of February 1943 in North Berwick in East Lothian, east of Edinburgh.’

Jenny felt shocked. ‘Eighteen! That’s the same age as Emily and Sophie!’

Callum put a hand on her arm. ‘It does bring it home, doesn’t it? Are you all right, Jenny?’

Jenny could see the concern on Callum’s face. ‘I’m sorry, I’m not helping, am I? Carry on.’

‘The second unsolved murder was on Saturday the 26th of February 1944 in St Andrews in Fife. This time the victim was a 25-year-old married mother of two young children called Catriona Murray who worked as a barmaid at a pub in the town while her mother looked after the children. Her husband was in the army, fighting in Italy at the time.’

Jenny again saw Callum look concerned.

‘Are you sure you’re up to this, Jenny?’ he asked. ‘These murders might have been eight decades ago but as soon as we start looking into them in any detail we’re going to get drawn into the real lives of the real women who were killed. That can take a toll and I’m worried about inflicting that on you.’

Jenny smiled at him. ‘I’m just beginning to realise that, Callum. But yes, you might have grown used to this sort of thing in London but you have to remember that I’ve not been completely insulated from the nasty side of life, both as a GP and personally. If you are up to this, then so am I. What else has Jeremy Ryde found out about the women?’

‘Not much. He says he got the basic information from crime data and managed to go a little deeper using online newspaper archives once he had names and dates. To go further than what I’ve told you we’ll need to get hold of the police files from the time.’

‘It looks like I’ll need to talk to Trevor Jones,’ said Jenny.

‘Yes, but hang on because Jeremy has uncovered something else that’s quite interesting. In his email, he says that the location of one of the murders brought to mind something he’d seen when looking at Peter Bartlett’s military record. He checked and confirmed what he’d remembered. He’d already told me that Peter Bartlett had been stationed at RAF Wick since March 1943. What may be significant, or just a coincidence, is that before then he’d been flying Spitfires as a fighter pilot with 65 Squadron based at RAF Drem in East Lothian. Helpfully, Jeremy says he’s checked on a map and RAF Drem was only about four miles from North Berwick.’

‘So Peter Bartlett was based near North Berwick when Faye Watson was murdered there?’ asked Jenny.

‘Yes, but he has the perfect alibi for when Violet Bain was murdered and he’d been dead for over five months when Catriona Murray was murdered.’

‘I accept that, but we still need to find out more about those poor women’s killings,’ said Jenny.

‘We do, especially because of something Lucy says in her email.’

‘What’s that?’ asked Jenny.

‘You know that yesterday I asked her to find out what she could about Stewart Graham, the postmaster who wrote the telegram. You’ll recall that Calum Mackay accused him of murdering Violet Bain and he moved away from Caithness a few months later.’

‘What’s Lucy found?’ asked Jenny.

‘She looked at the 1951 census and found a Stewart Graham living in Crail in Fife and working as the postmaster there. When she looked more closely she came across a death certificate for his wife, Abigail Graham, who drowned in Crail on Saturday the 4th of March 1944. We know from the police report that Abigail was the name of the wife of the Thrumster postmaster in September 1943 and it’s an unusual name. It seems almost certain that Stewart and Abigail Graham moved from Caithness to Fife.’

Jenny could see that Callum was looking at her expectantly, as if hoping for some sort of momentous response. Then realisation dawned. ‘Hang on, Callum. That means Abigail Graham drowned in Crail exactly a week after Catriona Murray was murdered in St Andrews. Can we look at the map on your tablet?’

Callum smiled. ‘I’ve already looked. Crail is about ten miles by road from St Andrews.’

‘That’s a hell of a coincidence,’ said Jenny.

‘It is,’ said Callum. ‘Suddenly we have an embarrassment of suspects, though neither of them quite works as we might ideally hope. Stewart Graham could have killed Violet Bain and we only have his wife’s word for it that he has an alibi. Add to that the fact that five months later he was living and working just ten miles away from where the murder of another young woman took place, and then his wife was drowned just a week after that.’

‘On the other hand,’ said Jenny, ‘we now know that Peter Bartlett was stationed only a few miles away from where the first young woman was killed, in North Berwick, a few months before Violet Bain was killed.’

‘That’s right, Jenny.’

‘Yet we know that Peter Bartlett couldn’t have killed Violet Bain as he had the perfect alibi, and the same alibi holds for the murder in St Andrews, only more so. He’d already been dead for five months when that happened. Even if Peter Bartlett had been alive, he doesn’t work as a suspect in Violet Bain’s murder because of the rape. He didn’t need to rape her as they were a couple.’

‘I’d not rule him out on that basis only,’ said Callum. ‘Rape is often as much about power or control or inadequacy as about sex. But I’ll admit that his being dead is pretty conclusive. For completeness, we should acknowledge that there is nothing to suggest Stewart Graham was within hundreds of miles of North Berwick when Faye Watson was murdered. We also need to remember that we might be adding 2 and 2 and 2 to make 666 here. The three murders and the death of Abigail Graham might all be entirely unrelated to one another.’

‘I need to talk to Trevor Jones to find out what records or evidence Police Scotland still has about the murders of Faye Watson and Catriona Murray,’ said Jenny. ‘And about the death of Abigail Graham because that seems highly suspicious in the circumstances.’

‘Agreed,’ said Callum. ‘But remember that those all took place outside the area that Chief Superintendent Cooper has responsibility for, so we might need to ask Trevor to put us onto someone more locally based. And what we’re looking for is going to take a bit of unearthing, and that might not be possible quickly, if at all.’

‘If we get dressed I can talk to Trevor straight away,’ said Jenny.

‘Yes, and once we’ve had breakfast we can take a drive up to Thurso.’

‘To see where Danny Ferguson dumped the Golf and stole the Corsa?’ asked Jenny.

‘Partly, but also partly because your friend Lucy says something else in her email. She’s found that a granddaughter of Violet Bain’s sister Elizabeth still lives in Thurso. While you’re talking to Trevor Jones I’ll phone the granddaughter and ask if she’s willing to talk to us.’

19: Monday the 1st of January

‘How did Suzi sound?’ asked Callum.

Jenny signalled to turn left onto the main road from Wick to Thurso after cutting north across country on a much more minor road from Sarclet. She’d encountered some mist patches on the way but these were soon replaced by blue skies and good visibility. It looked as if 2024 was going to start as brightly as 2023 had ended. Even better, the wind of the last couple of days had dropped.

‘She seemed pretty miserable,’ said Jenny. ‘They’d both worked over Christmas and were looking forward to some time together. Trevor had been driving down from Inverness on Saturday to be with her in Livingston over Hogmanay when they rang him to say that his leave had been cancelled because of Amy Russell’s murder.

‘She told me she responded by putting most of the food she’d brought into her freezer and volunteering to stand in for another detective sergeant who wanted to be with her family over the holiday. She’s kept busy and has been able to talk to Trevor but that doesn’t seem to have made her feel any happier.’

‘How did she react to your shopping list of unsolved murders and suspicious deaths?’ asked Callum.

‘It helped that Trevor talked to her first. When she called me, she seemed pleased to be able to help. I got the sense she welcomed the idea of something out of the ordinary that would take her mind off being lonely. She knew of the slightly dodgy position Trevor had been put in by Mark Cooper and she sounded to me as if she wanted to share the load with him. I just hope that she’s able to turn up something useful.’

‘Did you tell her that we’ve got engaged?’ asked Callum.

‘I thought that in the circumstances of the rotten time she’s having that would sound like gloating. I know I got off to a very rocky start with Suzi, for reasons we don’t need to revisit, but that’s water under the bridge. I certainly think we should invite her and Trevor to the wedding as they are both part of our story now.’

Callum was quiet and Jenny wondered, as she had quite often, whether he had any regrets about declining Suzi’s advances, though not before he had twice spent the night with her, once before and once after meeting Jenny.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Callum smile.

‘I’ve never been a believer in telepathy,’ he said, ‘but I know this is the right moment to tell you that I’m utterly certain that I got engaged to the right woman last night.’

‘Thank you, Callum. That was the right moment. Changing the subject, when I spoke to Trevor I asked him about the knife they found in Amy’s body as we agreed. The only fingerprints they found belonged to Gordon MacDonald and it’s too early to have analysed samples taken from it for DNA. Forensics have said that it’s a standard kitchen knife and that it’s probably new. They say that because it’s very sharp but shows no signs of having been sharpened since purchase.

‘I also asked him about blood. Gordon MacDonald had Amy’s blood on him because he removed the knife and hugged her. But they don’t think there would have been much blood on the murderer, if any. Amy only had one stab wound, in the chest and straight to the heart, and with the knife left in the wound there would have been very little bleeding.’

‘That’s useful to know, though perhaps not very helpful,’ said Callum.

‘Trevor volunteered one other piece of information that I think you’ll find more helpful,’ said Jenny. ‘The police have checked the CCTV from the supermarket where Gordon and Amy encountered Danny Ferguson on Friday. Footage from inside the shop confirms Gordon MacDonald’s account of what happened. Perhaps more interesting is that external CCTV shows Gordon MacDonald’s Porsche Cayenne being followed into the car park by the stolen white Corsa and not by the VW Golf. Danny Ferguson had swapped cars by then.’

‘That is helpful,’ said Callum. ‘It suggests he stole the Corsa early that morning, given the guest house owner saw him with the Golf the previous evening. It certainly confirms that he was driving the Corsa when Amy Russell was killed.’

The conversation lapsed while Jenny slowed down as they entered a small village of white-painted buildings whose name board said it was Watten.

‘How do you want to play it when we get there?’ she asked as the road opened up again.

‘It turns out we’re going to see two women,’ said Callum. ‘I told you before I made my call that Lucy Duncan has tracked down a granddaughter of Violet Bain’s sister Elizabeth living in Thurso. Her name is Andrea Alexander and Lucy’s email says she’s 51 years old. She reacted as if I was trying to sell her double glazing at first and I thought she was going to put the phone down on me. Then she told me to hang on and had a muffled conversation with someone else in the room.

‘When she came back on, she was a little less negative. She said she would talk to us and that her mother also wanted to talk to us. Her mother’s name is Violet Keith, and she’s 79 years old and Elizabeth’s daughter. I’m guessing she was named after the woman whose murder we’ve been asked to investigate.’

‘Wow,’ said Jenny. ‘Do you think they know that the original Violet’s ghost is believed by many to haunt Sarclet Castle?’

‘I may need to mention that,’ said Callum. ‘After Suzi called back and you left the great hall to talk to her, Rose came in for breakfast and told me that she’s agreed with Mary Knox to hold a séance up in the haunted room in the attic tonight. It’s due to kick off at 10 p.m. to give time to get dinner out of the way first. Rose asked me to contact Laura Kennedy, as someone who’s seen Violet’s ghost up there, to ask if she wants to take part. When I told Rose who we were going to meet this morning, she said I should consider inviting one or both ladies if I thought it was a good idea after speaking to them. I’ve tried to call Laura Kennedy but had to leave a voicemail.’

‘How do you feel about taking part in a séance, Callum?’

‘I’m open to the idea, but it’s an academic question as I’m not invited tonight.’

‘Why not?’ asked Jenny.

‘Mary Knox believes that as Violet was raped and murdered, there’s more chance of her spirit putting in an appearance if there are no men present. I know nothing about the spirit world, or even if there is one, but I can see the logic in that. Rose told me that Gerald had been prepared to take part but was very happy to be excluded. You are invited, however, and Carol will also be taking part. Do you have any problem picking up the role of what I suppose we should call “lead non-spiritual investigator” for the event?’

‘It sounds fascinating, Callum. As for me taking the lead for the investigation, it’s hardly a stretch as there’s only one question we want Violet to answer.’

‘That’s true,’ said Callum. ‘It would be very neat if she could give us the name of her killer.’

*

The address Callum had put into the GPS turned out to be a house on an estate of modern homes on the edge of Thurso in the angle between the main road heading west along the coast and the road leading to the harbour at Scrabster. There was a mix of houses and bungalows and the one they wanted was one of the larger properties, having an extension on one side and occupying a corner plot. There were two cars in the drive. One, Jenny was delighted to see, was an ageing silver SAAB that could have been the twin sister of her car Morag. The other was an even older Land Rover Defender.

Jenny parked on the quiet street and followed Callum to the front door.

The woman who answered the door had dark hair and, if she was Andrea Alexander, looked younger than her 51 years. She also looked slightly apprehensive.

‘Hello, Mrs Alexander?’

‘That’s right. Call me Andrea.’

‘Thank you for agreeing to see us on New Year’s Day. I hope we’re not intruding.’

Callum then introduced himself and Jenny. She was pleased that he now included her in the description ‘private investigators’, even if it was stretching the point a little.

‘Come on through. Mum has what the builders called a granny annexe at the side of the house. We’ll talk there. My husband works on the NorthLink ferry from Scrabster to Stromness but is off today and is in the lounge watching TV. It will be quieter in Mum’s sitting room.’

The sitting room was small but comfortable, with a floral fabric-covered suite, a display cabinet at one end, and a large window at the other that gave views along the street.

‘Mum, this is Callum Anderson, who rang earlier and this is Jenny Mackay. Callum, this is my mother, Violet Keith.’

Violet was a small, bird-like woman with permed white hair. She stood up from the sofa slightly uncertainly to shake Callum’s hand, but when she shook Jenny’s her handshake was surprisingly firm.

‘Do you want some coffee?’ asked Andrea Alexander.

‘No, thank you,’ said Callum. ‘We don’t want to take up more of your time than necessary.’

‘Very well. I know you covered it on the phone, but can you tell us why you’re here? Please, take a seat.’

‘Thank you,’ said Callum. ‘We’ve been asked to investigate the murder of Violet Bain on the 15th of September 1943. She was 21 at the time and worked as a live-in housemaid at Sarclet Castle south of Wick. She was murdered at Sarclet Broch, on the cliffs near the castle. The police investigated her murder but ran out of steam very quickly and never identified the murderer.’

‘It seems a little late to be trying to solve an 80-year-old murder,’ said Andrea.

‘It is,’ agreed Callum. ‘The castle was bought by new owners late last year, 2023, and Mrs Balliol is keen to get to the bottom of the mystery.’

‘Why would she care?’ asked Andrea.

‘The castle is where her parents met in 1942 and she has acquired it in their memory. There have long been stories of the ghost of a young woman haunting one of the attic rooms in the castle and the belief is that this is the unquiet spirit of Violet Bain. Mrs Balliol wishes to bring her peace by finding out who killed her.’

‘Do you believe in ghosts, Callum?’ asked Andrea.

‘I don’t know. I’d have said “no” not long ago, but I’ve talked to one perfectly rational woman who is certain she’s seen the ghost and I’ve talked to others who are likewise convinced. For me, it doesn’t matter. I was a detective inspector with the Metropolitan Police until last year and it’s clear from the police file that the investigators in 1943 didn’t try very hard. I would like to put that right.’

‘Fair enough. I’m a sergeant with the Civil Nuclear Constabulary based at Dounreay, a few miles west of here. Have you heard of us?’

‘Yes, you’re the UK’s only fully armed police force,’ said Callum. ‘I’m firearms trained and we had some of your people supplementing our numbers in the security operation for the London Olympics.’

‘Aren’t we getting away from the point a little?’

It was the first thing Violet had said since the initial hellos and Jenny could see that both Callum and Andrea were surprised by her intervention.

‘Yes, sorry Mrs Keith,’ said Callum.

‘Violet, please.’

‘I assume you were named after your aunt?’

Violet nodded. ‘My name was about the only worthwhile thing my mother ever gave me.’

Callum continued. ‘From reading the police file, it’s clear they got most of their personal information about your aunt from your mother. She obviously wanted to make sure they didn’t overlook anyone who might be a suspect and went into some detail about your aunt’s active love life. Unfortunately, the police appear to have concluded from what she told them that your aunt’s lifestyle made her at least partly responsible for what happened to her. They had limited resources but that’s no excuse for how easily they gave up.

‘As it seems that your mother knew your aunt better than anyone else, I’m here to ask whether she had other stories about your aunt, anything that she might not have told the police but which might help in the search for the killer.’

‘I’m sorry, young man, but you’ve had a wasted journey.’

‘Why’s that, Violet?’ asked Jenny, concerned to see tears in the old woman’s eyes.

Violet looked at Andrea. ‘You tell them, love.’

‘If you want, Mum.’ Andrea was sitting next to her mother on the sofa and now turned to look directly at Jenny. ‘Callum rightly said that Violet Bain was 21 when she was killed in September 1943. My grandmother, Elizabeth, was 18 at the time and the shock of the death sent her off the rails. Unlike her sister, she’d always been what they probably called at the time a “good girl”. That changed after the murder and at the end of 1943 she fell pregnant with my mother, who was born on the 17th of September 1944, just two days after the first anniversary of the death of Violet Bain. She never said who the father was, perhaps she didn’t even know. She named her daughter Violet in memory of her sister.

‘In March 1945 my grandmother met a US Navy rating called Thomas Clarkson who was based at Scrabster. They got engaged and she moved to the United States in September 1945 to meet his family and get married. Septembers are quite important in our family story. Elizabeth told her mother that she would return to collect her daughter Violet once she was settled. But she never did and Violet, my mother, was brought up by her grandmother.’

‘What happened to Elizabeth once she moved to the United States?’ asked Jenny.

‘We don’t know,’ said Violet. ‘It was like she sailed off the edge of the world and disappeared forever. And that’s why you’ve had a wasted journey. The bitch abandoned me and there’s no chance at all that we can help you fill in any gaps about my aunt because my mother’s nothing but a huge void herself.’

‘She never wrote and you don’t know if she got married to Thomas Clarkson?’ asked Jenny.

‘That’s right,’ said Violet.

Jenny got the sense that Andrea was uncomfortable and wasn't sure if that was just because of her mother’s obvious distress.

‘That may be as far as we can take it and I’m sorry if we’ve brought back upsetting memories,’ said Callum. ‘Given what you’ve said I’m not sure how you’ll feel about this, but Mrs Balliol, the owner of Sarclet Castle, is holding a séance there at 10 p.m. tonight to try to contact the spirit of Violet Bain. She has asked me to let you both know that you’d be very welcome to take part.’

‘I don’t think my aunt was any better than my mother,’ said Violet. ‘I’ve always liked having her name but I’ve no interest in having anything else to do with her.’

Andrea looked at Callum and shrugged. ‘Sorry, it’s her decision to make.’

20: Monday the 1st of January

‘That went well,’ said Callum as Jenny drove back towards the centre of Thurso.

‘Something didn’t ring true at the end,’ said Jenny.

‘I agree,’ said Callum. ‘I got the sense Andrea was hiding something and I’m not sure Violet was being completely honest either. I’ll email your genealogist friend Lucy to ask her to try to pick up the trail of Elizabeth Bain after she sailed to the United States in September 1946. We’ve got the name of the man she was planning to marry and I know there are passenger lists available online giving details of people sailing across the Atlantic.’

‘I assume you’re hoping that if Elizabeth didn’t tell her family in Scotland anything helpful about her sister, she might have told her new family in the United States?’

‘Yes,’ said Callum. ‘Or she could simply have got sick and died. I almost think it would be better for Violet to know that than to carry on thinking that Elizabeth abandoned her.’

‘Anyway, what now?’ asked Jenny.

She saw Callum look down at the map on his tablet.

‘Just beyond the open area on our left, there’s a junction, also on the left. We turn there and when that road intersects with the High Street we take another left and then a right, and that should take us to the ruined church.’

Jenny followed his instructions, up to a point, though they had to improvise to take account of one-way streets not identified on Callum’s map.

‘This is Wilson Lane we’re in and that looks like the wall of the ruined church over there,’ said Callum. ‘The address Mark Cooper gave you for the owners of the stolen Corsa is on our right, which I imagine means the car was stolen from one of the parking spaces here. Find somewhere to park and we’ll have a wander.’

Jenny stopped on the side of the road beside the pavement next to the church wall and they got out. ‘We don’t know where Danny Ferguson’s VW Golf was left, but Mark said it wasn’t far from the church.’

‘That narrows it down nicely.’ Callum walked to the parking spaces near the address Jenny had been given. ‘If the Corsa was here, then how about the VW Golf being left in the larger parking area we passed a little further back the way we came? Hang on a minute.’

He walked to a red Ford Fiesta parked in the same run of spaces and pulled a small green leaflet out from under one of its windscreen wipers. ‘This is interesting,’ he said, offering it to Jenny.

Jenny looked at the leaflet. ‘It’s promoting a “march for peace” starting at the Town Hall in Thurso High Street at 11 a.m. on Boxing Day.’ She smiled. ‘That’s a shame, we’ve missed it.’

‘That’s the point,’ he said. ‘I’ve been wondering how Danny Ferguson knew which car to steal. Maybe he just got lucky and stole a car belonging to people who were away. But if he’d taken the car of someone who needed it to get to the supermarket later that morning or the Chinese takeaway that evening, or who could look out of their window and see it was gone, then it would have been reported stolen much sooner and the police would have been on the lookout.’

‘On the other hand,’ said Jenny, ‘you and I know that this red Fiesta has been sitting here since before Boxing Day because of the leaflet advertising the march. That raises the probability that its owners aren’t going to be back for it immediately.’

‘That’s right,’ said Callum. ‘Now Christmas and Hogmanay are both over I suppose the Fiesta’s owners might be back from their holiday in Tenerife, or Orkney, at any time, but Danny had the odds in his favour when he stole the Corsa if it had one of these leaflets under its wipers. If anything, he might have been a little unlucky that the owners came back before the turn of the New Year. If he’d stolen this Fiesta instead, we’d have no idea what he’s driving because it wouldn’t have been reported stolen yet.’

‘We could do with finding out when the leaflets were distributed,’ said Jenny. ‘If it was after the owners of the Corsa left for Orkney, and we also need to know when that was, then I’m sure you’re right, Callum.’

Callum was looking at his phone. ‘We can ask Trevor Jones when the owners went on holiday. I don't want to have to knock on their door and explain to them who we are and why we’re asking. On the other hand, I am happy to go and talk to the people who organised the march about when they distributed the leaflets because I’m pretty sure we’ll not be on territory already trampled by the police.’

Jenny looked down at the leaflet again. ‘It gives a Facebook page for more information.’

Callum held up his phone. ‘It does, and this is it. It appears we need to talk to Max and Monica at an address in Thurso. We can put it in the GPS in the car but from the map on my phone I think we go to the end of the road in the direction we’re facing and turn right, then drive alongside the river to the main bridge and then towards the railway station.’

They got in the car. Jenny started to follow Callum’s directions while he entered the address in the GPS for a more detailed route.

The river on their left had just given way to a large car park when Callum shouted, ‘Jenny, stop the car!’

Fortunately, she checked her mirror first and was able to stop without causing the white van that was close behind them to pile into the back of the Audi. ‘What is it Callum, you nearly gave me a heart attack!’

‘Can you turn into the car park and then drive back to the other end of it, the part we passed first?’

Jenny complied.

‘This is it,’ said Callum. ‘Look, over next to the grass with its back to the rest of the car park.’

The car park had an uneven scatter of cars, vans and coaches parked along its further side, with grass beyond that extending towards the river. Jenny realised what Callum had seen and pulled in next to a white Corsa with no rear number plate.

Callum got out and walked around to the front of the vehicle. ‘This number plate’s missing too.’

‘Do you think this is the car that Danny Ferguson stole?’ asked Jenny.

‘There has to be a good chance. The odds of both number plates falling off by accident can’t be high. It looks like it’s been here overnight given the condensation on the outside of the windows on the shaded side of the car.’ He put the back of his hand on the bonnet. ‘And it's completely cold. It’s not been driven this morning. The odd thing is that it’s been left only a few hundred yards from where it was stolen.’ He stood back and looked around. ‘I can’t see any cameras covering the car park, which is a shame. I think you need to tell Trevor about this straight away. That seems reasonable payback for the information he’s been providing us with.’

‘You know what this means, don’t you Callum?’

Callum looked at her quizzically. ‘That we no longer know what car Danny Ferguson is driving?’

‘Yes, but it’s worse than just that. That Renault over there has got one of those green leaflets under the wiper blade. What’s the betting there was another like it under the wiper blade of a car parked where I’ve parked the Audi? I think Danny’s pulled the same trick again and stolen another car that’s not yet been reported missing and may not be for a while.’

*

The address on the Facebook page turned out to be a small second-hand bookshop cum café cum curio store on Princes Street, the main road leading from Thurso railway station back into the centre of the town.

‘There’s a flat above the shop,’ said Callum, pressing a doorbell beside a tatty blue-painted wooden door next to the closed and shuttered entrance to the shop. He stepped back. ‘A curtain twitched, someone’s in.’ After a moment he rang the doorbell again.

After a delay, Jenny heard heavy footsteps descending a staircase beyond the door. The door was opened by a bleary-eyed man with a beard and tousled dark hair who was wearing a dressing gown. The distinctive smell of cannabis billowed out past him into the street.

‘What do you want?’

Callum held out the leaflet. ‘Are you Max?’

‘Who’s asking?’

‘I’m a private investigator and I’d like to know when these leaflets were distributed around Thurso.’

‘Why?’

‘Because if you tell me I’ll go away and completely forget to suggest to my friends in Police Scotland that they should come and turn this place over for drugs.’

‘Ah… All right. Don’t get your knickers in a twist. We distributed them over the weekend before the march, on the 23rd and 24th of December.’

‘Thank you,’ said Callum.

‘Is that it?’

‘Yes, and I’m sorry if we disturbed your New Year’s Day lie-in.’

*

Callum didn’t pair his phone with the Audi while Jenny was driving and it rang shortly after they’d left the edge of Thurso. Jenny heard him greet Laura Kennedy and then tell her about the séance planned for later. He didn’t have to try very hard to convince her, perhaps because he threw in an offer of a tour of the castle and a coffee for her husband if he wished to accompany her, though noting that he couldn’t take part in the séance.

‘She sounded quite keen,’ said Jenny after Callum had ended the call.

‘Her husband’s working tonight so she would have been at a loose end and the idea of seeing how the castle has changed sold it to her.’

A few miles further on there was another call. This time Callum greeted ‘Vikram’, who had to be the solicitor Vikram Khan, and after listening for a couple of minutes he simply agreed to be there as soon as possible.

‘I assume that means we’re going to Wick?’ asked Jenny after the call was over.

‘It does. I hope you didn’t have your heart set on the falconry display or the clay pigeon shooting,’ said Callum.

‘No,’ said Jenny. ‘But missing one of Sarclet Castle’s superb lunches will leave a gap.’

‘I’ll do you a deal,’ said Callum. ‘I got the impression yesterday that lunch was pretty flexible and that if I’d been later there would still have been plenty to eat. Once we’ve found out why Vikram and Gordon are so keen to see us we can head straight back to the castle. I’ve obviously no idea how long that will take but there should still be some gooducken or whatever left.’

‘It’s usually steak pie for New Year’s Day lunch in Scotland,’ said Jenny. ‘That’s certainly something to look forward to.’

The conversation lapsed for a few miles and it was Jenny who restarted it. ‘Thinking back to Thurso, it was interesting to have Trevor’s confirmation when I spoke to him that the owners of the Corsa headed off in a taxi to catch the noon sailing from Scrabster to Stromness on Saturday the 23rd of December. That means the Corsa probably did have one of the peace march leaflets put under its wiper blade.’

‘Yes, at least that part of it makes sense,’ said Callum. ‘I just wish I could work out a plausible sequence of events that explains why Danny Ferguson would have brought the Corsa back to the same part of Thurso to exchange it. That seems an unnecessary risk.’

‘Hopefully, the police can ask him when they find him.’

‘I just hope they can find him,’ said Callum. ‘As they have no idea what he’s driving, or how long he’s been driving it for, he could be anywhere by now.’

21: Monday the 1st of January

The journalists and their cars had gone, as had the TV van and the unmarked police car. The yellow Audi TT was still where it had been the previous day but the black Ford Kuga was now parked next to it rather than by the front door. Jenny pulled in and parked on the other side of the paved area in front of the bungalow.

The door was again opened by Vikram Khan.

‘Hello Vikram,’ said Callum. ‘At least you don’t need to keep the curtains closed today. This is my partner, Jenny Mackay.’

Out of the corner of his eye, Callum saw the surprised look on Jenny’s face, and then the beaming smile that replaced it. He knew she recognised the deliberate ambiguity in what he’d said but wondered whether they might have stumbled into something worth thinking about for the future.

Vikram showed Callum and Jenny into the lounge. With the curtains open it was possible to see the superb view out over the garden and its wall to the bay beyond.

This time Vikram and Gordon sat on one of the L-shaped sofas while Jenny and Callum sat on the other.

‘Do you want some coffee?’

Callum looked around to see a blonde woman in jeans and a red jumper standing in the doorway leading to the hall.

Vikram introduced her as Claire MacDonald and Callum did some mental arithmetic starting with what he assumed to be her son’s age. She looked far younger than seemed feasible.

Claire served the coffee and then sat down next to Gordon.

‘I hope you don’t mind me joining you,’ she said. ‘Those parasites may have disappeared from the street outside but I still feel wary about going out. Half the town still thinks my son murdered his beautiful girlfriend. I’m grateful to you for being the first person other than Vikram and me to believe him, Callum.’

Callum put his mug back down on its coaster on the table. This didn’t seem like the time to decline credit for what happened. ‘I’m just pleased the police now appear to have a more open mind than they did at first,’ he said. He looked at Vikram. ‘You said on the phone that it was urgent.’

‘That’s right,’ said Vikram. ‘Gordon, this might be best coming from you.’

Gordon MacDonald moved forwards on the sofa. ‘When I was arrested the police took my phone as evidence. After they made their announcement about Gordon Ferguson yesterday I got in touch to ask when I might get it back.’

‘You’ll not believe what they said!’ said Claire.

‘I’d imagine they came up with something unhelpful that included the phrase “in due course”,’ said Callum.

Claire reacted angrily. ‘Yes, but…’

‘Hang on Mum. Callum was just answering your question. Calm down and let me tell him what’s happened.’

‘What has happened?’ asked Callum.

‘When the police released me they did so with conditions attached, effectively putting me under house arrest here. I can’t find anyone prepared to tell me if the conditions still apply now the police accept that I didn’t kill Amy. Amongst the conditions was that I didn’t use social media or communicate more than absolutely necessary with people in the wider world. But I’m supposed to be opening up the club in Edinburgh again tomorrow night and need to make arrangements on the assumption I’m still going to be here. Trying to do that on Mum’s mobile or the house phone wasn’t a sustainable way forward so we thought laterally.

‘Mum has a cousin who lives in Wick who has a teenage daughter who got a new iPhone 14 Pro for Christmas, which is the same model as mine. It was still in its unopened box and Mum did a deal on my behalf which means that the daughter now has enough money to buy an exact replacement, Amazon delivery times this far north permitting, with two hundred quid extra for her trouble. Meanwhile, I got a new phone a couple of days earlier than I otherwise would and while I might not have chosen deep purple as a colour, it’s not bad and I’ll put it in a case anyway.’

Vikram sat up and started to say something.

Gordon MacDonald cut him off. ‘Yes, for the record I should add that Vikram advised me against sailing so close to the wind on my police conditions, but I’d argue that they didn’t tell me I couldn’t replace my iPhone. I am aware I’m on thin ice, though. I got the phone yesterday evening and set it up using my iCloud backup. I’m having to use a different mobile number because my old SIM card is still in the phone the police have but in lots of ways what I’ve got is a clone of my original phone.’

‘I’m no expert,’ said Jenny, ‘but I recall a step in the process of migrating to a new iPhone involving the need to approve the new login on the old device. How did you manage that if the police have your old phone?’

‘On Thursday night I logged in to my iCloud account on Mum’s PC to show her some photos from my phone on her large screen. As a result, I could approve the change of iPhones from there.’

‘I assume the police searched the place on Saturday,’ said Callum. ‘I’m surprised they left your PC here, Claire,’ said Callum.

‘They took Amy’s MacBook and said they wanted to take my PC but backed off when I got upset,’ said Claire, smiling. ‘I told them Gordon hadn’t been near it since he got here, and he hadn’t, not really.’

Callum could see Vikram looking off to one side, presumably wishing he’d not heard Claire admitting to lying to the police.

‘Anyway,’ said Gordon, obviously wanting to change the subject, ‘it worked and I’m back in business as a result. Mainly I’ve used my access to a phone to untangle things in Edinburgh. But that’s not what I need to talk to you about.

‘In a pause this morning and while feeling a little sorry for myself, I took a look at “Find My” on the new phone. I wasn’t sure if it would work with the changed SIM card but it did. I’d expected to see Amy still showing at Sarclet Broch two days ago, in other words where she was when she was killed and when her phone stopped transmitting her location. Instead, it reported her phone as being somewhere else entirely and gave the timing of the most recent location report as yesterday rather than two days ago.’

‘What do you take that to mean?’ asked Jenny.

‘That Danny Ferguson took Amy’s phone when he killed her, that he turned it fully off at the time, but that he turned it on yesterday while he was parked in the car park near Castle Sinclair Girnigoe, only a couple of miles north of here. Then he turned it fully off again and hasn’t turned it back on since.’

‘Did she protect access to her phone?’

‘Yes, she had face ID enabled and a four-digit PIN as a backup. Danny Ferguson wouldn’t know the PIN because Amy changed her passwords for everything, including her phone, when she split up with him.’

‘Would just switching on the phone without being able to access it fully have been enough to set off the location reporting on “Find My”?’ asked Callum.

‘Presumably,’ said Gordon. ‘I don’t know the technicalities, but that’s what seems to have happened.’

‘Have you told the police?’ asked Callum.

‘That would be difficult,’ said Vikram. ‘It would reveal to them that Gordon had replaced his iPhone, which they might or might not think breaches the conditions of his release. That’s not a risk I’d advise Gordon to take and that’s why I rang you.’

‘Will anyone else have noticed that her phone has been switched on?’

‘No,’ said Gordon. ‘Amy only shared her location with me and the police would have had no reason to check it on my original phone. I should add that though Amy and I shared locations, we’d not set up as what Apple regard as a family so I don’t have the option to mark her phone as lost or erase it altogether. I checked to see if I could when I realised what had happened. And I don’t know her Apple ID password so I can’t do it via the Apple website.’

Callum raised a hand. ‘Even if you could, I think you should be very cautious about doing anything the police might later consider to be destroying evidence. You talked about the police probably not noticing Amy’s changed location. Does that mean they can access your phone?’ asked Callum.

‘Yes they can,’ said Vikram. ‘Gordon assured me he had nothing to hide on his phone and in the interests of being seen to cooperate fully with the police investigation I advised him to volunteer the PIN to the police during one of the first interviews. Given the seriousness of the crime, I’m sure they’d have quickly got a warrant anyway.’

‘Let’s return to Amy’s phone,’ said Callum. ‘Can you show me where its location popped up?’

Gordon stood up and came around the coffee table to show Callum his phone. ‘Look, it’s here. From the north side of Wick Bay, a minor road heads around the coast to Papigoe and then Staxigoe, then inland to the edge of the airport, then north and north-east. The letter “A”, for Amy, is shown in a circle over a car park which is about a half-mile walk from the castle.’

‘Hold your phone steady.’ Callum took a photograph of the screen on Gordon’s phone. ‘We’ll go and take a look.’

‘Thank you,’ said Gordon. ‘I’m not sure you’re going to find anything but the thought of that murdering bastard wandering around with total impunity is utterly unbearable.’

‘Can I ask a final question?’ said Jenny. ‘Claire said that the police took Amy’s MacBook. Will they be able to access what’s on it?’

‘She was always careful about passwords,’ said Gordon. ‘She had a lot of work stuff synchronised on her MacBook as well as her personal stuff so took particular care of it. I don’t know if the police can break into locked computers but she never told me her password so I couldn’t help when they asked.’

*

There were four cars and an old campervan in a parking area off to the right of the minor road, which continued in the direction of a lighthouse that could be seen on the skyline ahead of them. Opposite the parking area, two tracks diverged, with the left-hand one passing a pair of information boards. When Callum and Jenny walked over they found that these set out the history of Castle Sinclair Girnigoe.

‘That wind may have dropped but it’s still cold,’ said Jenny. ‘I’m not sure what to make of this. Why would Danny Ferguson drive to the car park here, turn on Amy’s phone, then turn it off again?’

‘Perhaps he wanted to see if he could get full access to it,’ said Callum. ‘Perhaps he knew her pin when they were a couple and hoped she hadn’t changed it since they split up. Perhaps there was something on the phone from back then that he wanted to access. I’m no wiser than you are, Jenny.’

‘If he did want to look at her phone more closely, then coming somewhere like this might not have been a bad idea,’ Jenny said. ‘He probably didn’t know that she and Gordon were sharing locations, or that her phone would give out its location if he turned it on, but coming here suggests he wanted to minimise any risks. No one would think twice about a man in a car looking at his phone.’

‘Very true,’ said Callum. ‘I’m sure we could get hold of photos of Danny Ferguson from his Facebook page or somewhere online, or the police appeal for information, but I don’t see the point in walking out to the castle to look for him. He’s not going to be here a day after his visit. I’m increasingly attracted by the idea he came with a particular purpose in mind, did enough to realise he couldn’t access Amy’s phone, and then left.’

‘We’ve got to get Gordon to report this to the police,’ said Jenny.

‘There would be a risk,’ said Callum. ‘I understand why Vikram’s advising against it.’

Callum had expected Jenny to be impatient about what seemed, even to him, to be a technicality and was surprised when she smiled at him.

‘I’ve got a better idea,’ she said. ‘What would happen if a member of the police Major Investigation Team took it into his head to take a look at “Find My” on Gordon’s original phone? We know the police have full access to it. He’d see the changed location and realise the implications, without putting Gordon at any risk at all. Well, so long as that same policeman was prepared to overlook any messages that might pop up when he switched the phone on warning that Gordon’s Apple ID had been used to log in to a new device.’

‘Did you have anyone particular in mind?’ asked Callum, smiling.

‘Let’s go back to the car and I’ll make the call. Then I think we should head back to Sarclet Castle in search of some steak pie.’

‘That’s a fine idea,’ said Callum. ‘On the way, I’ll ring Vikram to say we’ve found a way of alerting the police to the issue without any risk to his client.’

‘Let’s hope that turns out to be true,’ said Jenny.

22: Monday the 1st of January

They could see the falconry display taking place on the lawn when they returned to Sarclet Castle. Jenny would have liked to get involved but was pleased that Callum agreed with her that food was the higher priority.

There were no other guests in the great hall and staff were more than happy to rustle up generous helpings of what Jenny thought might be the nicest steak pie she’d ever eaten, complete with mashed potatoes or chips and green beans. Jenny went for the chips and got a reaction from Callum when she held one in her fingers and dipped it in the meat and gravy oozing out of the pie.

‘I take it that’s not the done thing in the polite London society you’re used to?’ she asked.

Callum smiled. ‘Each to their own. I just have a thing about soggy chips.’

‘I suggest you look away, then,’ said Jenny, laughing. ‘Right, let’s talk business. If I’m going to be cast as Dr Watson to your Sherlock Holmes, what’s next on the agenda?’

‘You’re a lot more beautiful than Dr Watson in any of the films I‘ve seen,’ said Callum. ‘And a lot more intelligent too. Meanwhile, I don’t own a deerstalker hat and know nothing about violins.’

‘You know what I mean, Callum. I have the slightly unsettling feeling that we’ve done everything we reasonably can in both cases and now we’re waiting for Suzi to come back to us with information about the three further wartime deaths and for Lucy to respond to your email about Elizabeth Bain, who might have become Elizabeth Clarkson in the United States. As far as Amy Russell’s murder is concerned, we’re waiting for the police to catch up with Danny Ferguson. They’re keeping a lookout for him in Edinburgh but a lot will depend on someone reporting a stolen car in Thurso and giving the police an idea of what Danny is driving, or him being stupid enough to use his phone or any credit cards. They will also watch for him turning on Amy’s phone again, but I suspect he’s found out what he can by turning it on once and won’t do so again.

‘And then there’s tonight’s séance, of course. While I’m trying to keep an open mind, I find it hard to hold out any great hope that Violet’s going to turn up and name her killer, however convenient that might be. Have I missed anything?’

‘I’m wondering which of us is Holmes and who’s Watson,’ said Callum, smiling. ‘That was an excellent summary and I can only add a couple of very minor points. Jeremy Ryde is still looking into how the telegram system worked and whether any copies were kept. Lucy Duncan still has tracing the telegraph boy on her to-do list. Last, and possibly least, I still need to look at the material the archaeologist Dr Grady sent me about the victim of the two-thousand-year-old murder in the broch. That probably can’t help with the two more recent murders but it might throw up something interesting.’

‘I take it we’ve agreed that we do need to stay on at the castle after tomorrow morning?’ asked Jenny.

‘It does feel like we’d only be giving Violet Bain’s murder the attention she deserves if we stay here rather than retreating a hundred miles back down the country to Kilmuir,’ said Callum. ‘I don’t know what’s left for us to do in the Amy Russell case, but again it feels like being on the spot is best.’

‘We’ve got dinner to look forward to,’ said Jenny, ‘so I’m happy to forgo dessert after my steak pie. I don’t know how long the falconry and clay pigeon shooting are due to last. Should we see if there’s anyone in the drawing room?’

They found Rose Balliol and several of the other guests in the drawing room enjoying an afternoon tea of sandwiches, assorted amazing cakes and hot drinks or champagne. Jenny’s resolution weakened and she enjoyed sampling the cakes while she and Callum brought Rose up to date with what they’d done and why they needed to remain at the castle. Rose was delighted they were taking Violet Bain’s murder so seriously and said they could stay as long as they wanted.

Callum said he needed to return to their room to read what he’d been emailed about the skeleton in the well and Jenny stayed in the drawing room talking to Carol Macleod, who was likewise at a loose end because Martin had opted to take part in the shooting. It was the longest conversation she’d had on her own with Carol in a very long time. They spent part of the time swapping impressions of the way Jenny’s late husband Iain had worked so hard to keep the different parts of his life separate and the effect this had had on both of them and their families, who’d been deprived of holidays in one other’s homes on opposite sides of the country for years as a result.

The clay pigeon shooters drifted in as it was getting dark and Jenny went back up to the room. She found Callum sitting on a chair he’d pulled around so he could look out along the length of the darkening rose garden from one of their windows.

‘Was that enlightening?’ she asked.

‘It was depressing. It seems nothing has changed in two thousand years. Young women were being killed by men with bladed weapons back then, just as they were in 1943 and just as they still are now.’

‘To be strictly accurate,’ said Jenny, ‘we only know that Violet Bain was killed by a man as she was raped. The jury’s still out on both Amy Russell and our nameless Caledonian princess, though I’m sure you’re right in both cases.’

‘That’s a fair point. A young pregnant woman could have been stabbed to death as easily by a jealous wife or angry mother-in-law as by the man who got her pregnant and didn’t want that fact revealed to the rest of the tribe. Why do you think of her as a Caledonian princess? There was nothing associated with the skeleton, no jewellery or remains of clothing or artefacts, to tell us anything about her, though her bones and teeth were in excellent condition which did suggest a good diet.’

‘The poor woman spent nearly two thousand years dumped and buried at the bottom of a deep well with her unborn child inside her,’ said Jenny. ‘Now we know she existed I think she deserves better than to be thought of as just a nameless skeleton. Perhaps I’m serving her no better by referring to her as a Caledonian princess. I doubt if the idea would be popular with the archaeologist who found her, but I think that you and I should give her an identity and some dignity. Let’s call her Fionhula.’

‘Why Fionhula?’ asked Callum.

‘Have you ever read The Eagle of the Ninth by Rosemary Sutcliff?’

‘I think so, a long time ago,’ said Callum.

‘The central character Marcus disguises himself as a Greek oculist and goes north of Hadrian’s Wall looking for traces of the Ninth Legion. While there he stays with Dergdian, a young chieftain of the Seal Clan, part of the Epidii tribe of western Scotland. His wife is called Fionhula and their child is suffering from an eye infection, which Marcus treats. Perhaps given names were different in western and northern Scotland but the timing is about right and I think we should call the young woman who became our skeleton Fionhula.’

‘That’s a lovely idea,’ said Callum. ‘When I thank Dr Grady for what she sent me I’ll tell her what we’ve done. As you say, she may not approve but I share your view that we owe the poor woman an identity.’

‘Does what we know about Fionhula’s death tell us anything useful about the deaths of Violet Bain and Amy Russell?’ asked Jenny.

‘As we expected, the answer to that is “no”,’ said Callum. ‘But it would have been an oversight not to have checked to make sure. Amy’s killer could have read about the discovery of Fionhula’s skeleton but there’s nothing to suggest an attempted reenactment of a two thousand-year-old murder. There’s also nothing in the police report about Violet Bain to say she was pregnant at the time she was killed. No one has suggested Amy Russell was, but it will be interesting to see what her post-mortem shows up. She split up with Danny Ferguson in August, which was over four months ago. I’m assuming if she had been carrying his child it would have been pretty obvious to the world by now.’

‘Very likely,’ said Jenny, ‘and Gordon MacDonald would certainly have known by now.’

 Jenny saw Callum look at his watch. ‘I’m assuming that Suzi’s access to historical police archives might have been made more difficult as today is a public holiday,’ he said. ‘I do hate twiddling my thumbs and it’s quite a while until dinner.’

‘You need to remember that tomorrow is also a public holiday in Scotland, Callum.’ Jenny smiled. ‘Sorry if that adds to your frustration but let me see if I can compensate in some way. Rose said we’ll need to change rooms tomorrow when the other guests leave so the staff can put the old part of the castle into hibernation. It would be a shame not to get the maximum value from our huge oval bath while we’ve got it.’

‘You’re thinking of a bath and then some more orgasms as hors-d'oeuvres?’ asked Callum, grinning.

Jenny felt her cheeks colour in embarrassment, which was bizarre in the circumstances. ‘Yes, that would be very nice.’

*

Dinner was different in one significant respect from the two previous nights. There was no set seating plan, leaving guests to sit where they pleased. Callum and Jenny sat at one end of a long side of the dining table, with Callum in the seat nearest the corner. Around it, to his left, was Eric Sutherland, with Danielle Kingston sitting beyond him. Beyond Jenny was Carol Macleod, with Martin beyond her. Rose and Gerald Balliol were sitting in the two central seats of the six on the far side of the table.

The food was as magnificent as it had been on the first two nights.

Once plates had been cleared and glasses topped up, Rose stood up and gave a short speech thanking everyone for being there and for taking part with such enthusiasm in all the activities. Then she paused and looked around the room. Callum could feel the atmosphere change.

‘Two nights ago I talked about my mother and father and how their relationship blossomed, after an initial stumble, following their visit to Sarclet Castle on Thursday the 10th of September 1942. As I said, my mother’s journal served as her account of her life and charted their personal and professional lives together and it is very much “warts and all” with moments of intense personal loss and unbelievable savagery, all set out in a very matter-of-fact and dispassionate way.

‘The journal follows my mother and father through World War Two and then the Cold War. When Eric passed it to me there was one episode I particularly wanted to know more about. In May 1973 I was 22 years old and my brother David was 24. Mother and father were both 60 at the start of the month though Father’s birthday was in the middle of it. The stories Mother told us as children about their exploits were highly edited for a young audience and always seemed set in the past. I was blissfully unaware that they both had continuing links with military intelligence, fully three decades after they began working together in a rather obscure part of it.’

Rose paused to take a drink of what looked like orange juice. Callum assumed she wanted to keep her head clear for the séance.

‘My ignorance was rudely shattered when our parents simply disappeared off the face of the earth. Then an anonymous man in a dark suit knocked on the door of my flat one evening and said he was with the Foreign and Commonwealth Office, which I later learned was the cover used by members of MI6 at the time, and he was sorry to have to tell me that my parents had been killed in a plane crash.’

Callum felt as well as saw the ripple of shock that passed around the table.

Rose raised her hands. ‘Don’t worry, they hadn’t been, but that only emerged later. As background, it’s worth noting that even during World War Two, my parents spent almost as much time working against the agencies of the Soviet Union as those of Germany. This of course became much more marked once we entered the Cold War. Both Mother and Father ended up high on the Soviet Union’s “most wanted” list and in 1943 an attempt was made on their lives by a Soviet agent with a submachine gun on a London street.

‘It is therefore quite bizarre that, on the 11th of May 1973, Mother and Father were booked under false identities on Aeroflot Flight 6551, an Ilyushin Il-18 turboprop airliner flying a domestic scheduled flight from Tashkent in Uzbekistan in Central Asia to Novosibirsk in south-western Siberia. The aircraft broke up in mid-air at a height of 16,000 feet and all 63 passengers and crew were killed.

‘That was what Sven, David and I were told by MI6 two days later and two days before Father’s 61st birthday. There was no explanation offered about how or why our parents came to be in the middle of what amounted to an enemy country or what had caused the plane to crash. The only thing we could think of at the time was that the site of the crash wasn’t all that far from our mother’s birthplace at Barnaul in Siberia and they might have been visiting it. But she’d left Siberia as an infant and had no roots there, so that wasn't an adequate explanation.

‘It took some time for Mother and Father to reappear, with profuse apologies for worrying us but no convincing explanation for what had happened. When Eric passed me Mother’s journal it brought me full circle and, as I’ve said, one of the first things I did was look at what happened in May 1973. What I found was a story that would have sounded incredible if it had been the plot of the first Indiana Jones movie when it came out eight years later.’

Jenny paused to sip her drink again. ‘I could spend the next half hour telling you about it, but some of us have a séance to attend and I am sure that everyone will be happy to move down to the drawing room for coffee or cocktails. I will therefore leave the story unfinished for you, much as it was left for me in 1973. If you do want to find out how Mother and Father avoided being killed in the crash of Aeroflot Flight 6551, and read the rest of their amazing story, then I strongly recommend you get hold of a copy of Carol’s book about her grandparents when it comes out.

‘And with that shameless plug, I’ll bring the dinner to an end. I’d like to conclude as I did two nights ago, by proposing a toast to Monique and Bob Sutherland.’

Everyone stood, raised their glasses and then drank.

23: Monday the 1st of January

Callum was talking to Mark Cooper about the pros and cons of armed policing when he looked up to see Williams the butler showing Laura Kennedy into the drawing room. She was dressed for the occasion in a black dress that contrasted strikingly with her long blonde hair but she looked nervous, as if unsure that she’d fit into a very different Sarclet Castle from the one she’d worked in a decade earlier.

He made his excuses and walked over to greet her and made sure she had a drink. Laura opted for orange juice as she was driving and Callum then introduced her to Rose Balliol.

‘I’m so pleased you could be with us tonight,’ said Rose. She looked at her watch. ‘I understand Callum enticed you here with the offer of a tour of the castle?’

Laura smiled. ‘It’s no problem, honestly. I’m just glad I could come.’

‘Nonsense. A promise is a promise and I’m the best person to conduct your tour. Besides, I do love showing the place off and we’ve got time before the séance starts. Bring your drink with you or put it over there, it’s up to you.’

With that, Rose took Laura by the arm and led her out of the drawing room. Callum saw Martin Macleod standing by the display cabinet containing the model aircraft and walked over to talk to him.

A little later Rose and Laura returned, looking as if they had become the best of friends. Rose began to collect together those due to participate in the séance, giving a fine impression of a teacher rounding up her pupils on a school outing. She then led them out of the drawing room, leaving Gerald to rally the remaining guests and ensure everyone had drinks.

Callum accepted Gerald’s offer of a glass of 25-year-old Highland Park 2022 Release whisky, which Gerald said was the best bottling ever produced by the Orkney distillery. Callum thought it was superb, but he couldn’t help wondering just how much more superb it was than, say, the two bottles of Highland Park 12-year-old whisky he’d bought in the SPAR shop in Kinlochbervie to take to the beach party at Sandwood Bay the previous summer.

He had no idea how much more expensive the 25-year-old was than the 12-year-old but guessed the differential might be significant. Perhaps the benefit of an uneducated palate, he concluded, was that it allowed you a finer appreciation of some of the less expensive things in life.

Gerald went to offer some of his expensive whisky to Anne Bellamy and Amanda Stirling, who were standing near the fireplace.

Callum heard the door open again and was surprised when he saw a waiter ushering Andrea Alexander into the room.

He again made his way over to greet the newcomer. ‘Hello Andrea. I’m pleased you changed your mind.’

Andrea accepted the offer of a drink from another waiter and opted for sparkling water, which was then brought to her. ‘Mother insisted she drove so I could drink,’ she said. ‘But I’ll stick with water just in case.’

‘Your mother decided to come too?’ he asked.

‘Yes, the mind that was changed was hers rather than mine,’ said Andrea. ‘As I said this morning, it’s her decision to make and she’s had second thoughts about not taking part in the séance you mentioned. A man who said he was the butler has taken her to where it’s being held.’

‘Spiritualism isn’t your cup of tea then?’ asked Callum.

‘Not really. I assume the same goes for you?’

‘I wasn’t invited,’ said Callum, smiling. ‘The lady who persuaded Rose Balliol to hold the séance decided that given the nature of the crime, it would be better if men were excluded.’

‘I suppose I can understand that. Anyway, I’m pleased to be able to have this chat with you, Callum. There are a few things I’d like to revisit from our conversation this morning.’

‘You didn’t seem entirely comfortable when we spoke,’ said Callum.

‘No. Perhaps that’s because I wasn’t happy that Mother lied to you and I was complicit in her lies. On the other hand, she is my mother and what my grandmother did to her was appalling by any standards.

‘The truth is that when you rang before visiting, my mother was in the room and agreed we should speak to you. By the time you arrived, she’d had a severe attack of cold feet. I won’t go as far as saying that she’s spent her whole life in denial about what happened, but it’s not far short of that. The story we told you was the story she always told me, which I had no reason to doubt until a year or so ago.’

‘What changed?’ asked Callum.

‘My daughter Samantha, who lives with her husband and two-year-old son Benjamin in York, got curious about her family tree after Benjamin was born. She was particularly intrigued about her grandmother Elizabeth Bain and what might drive someone to abandon their child. She started using online ancestry sites and traced records of Elizabeth’s passage to the United States in 1945, her subsequent marriage to Thomas Clarkson and her divorce from him a year after that. Elizabeth then married twice more. She only really settled down once she’d married her third husband, Lincoln Rodriguez, and she had three children with him.’

‘Does your mother know?’ asked Callum.

‘Yes. Samantha told me and the two of us sat Mother down one day and told her. She didn’t react, not immediately. Then she said, and I quote, “I didn’t want you to know”. That was the cue for a long, tearful and at times angry discussion that lasted for hours and several bottles of wine.’

Andrea took a sip of her water. ‘It turned out that after Elizabeth left Scotland she sometimes wrote to her mother and sent small amounts of money to help with the cost of bringing her daughter up. When she did finally settle down she tried to make arrangements to have her daughter, my mother Violet, taken over to the United States. But by then my mother was five years old and my great-grandmother refused to let her go.

Mother only found out when she was thirteen that the woman who had loved her and brought her up was her grandmother and not, as she had thought until then, her mother. It came out in an argument between them. Despite having had a happy childhood she chose to interpret the revelation to mean that she had been rejected in the most absolute sense imaginable by the one person in the world who was meant to care for her more than any other, her real mother. My great-grandmother did tell Mother what she knew about Elizabeth’s new life, but I think she shut it away from herself most of the time and from everyone else all the time. My great-grandmother died when I was quite young, so I only ever had my mother’s account of what happened to go on.

‘When Samantha uncovered the story it collapsed the whole pretence. Then you turned up today. Before you arrived, I had agreed with Mother that we had to tell you the truth. She might not have any information about what Elizabeth knew of her sister’s life before she was murdered, but there could be someone in Elizabeth’s US family who did. I think that’s what probably triggered her to retreat into the state of denial you found her in this morning.’

‘I’m just hugely grateful that you talked her around. I assume that’s what happened?’

‘It was a team effort,’ said Andrea. ‘Mother and I had a video call with Samantha this afternoon and Mother ended up convinced that she was the one who wanted to make a fresh start and relate to her mother’s memory differently. She agreed I should talk to you this evening to tell you the truth and she decided, and I think this was down to her rather than to Samantha and I pushing, that she had to take part in the séance and try to understand her aunt better.’

‘Do you have any idea if the US side of the family has information that might be useful about Elizabeth and Violet?’ asked Callum.

‘I don’t know but I have been expecting you to ask,’ said Andrea. ‘Samantha doesn’t know either, but if you give her a call she’ll be happy to give you the name and email address of one of the grandsons of Elizabeth Rodriguez whom she’s been in touch with. She’s also happy to let him know that you are making contact with the blessing of the UK side of the family.’

‘I’m very grateful,’ said Callum. ‘I don’t want to appear rude, but would it be all right if I rang her immediately?’

‘She’s expecting your call,’ said Andrea. ‘I’ll text you her number.’

*

Gerald was happy for Callum to make his call from the library, on the sole condition that he accepted another drink of 25-year-old Highland Park from a now much-depleted bottle before leaving the drawing room.

‘Hello, is that Samantha Beattie?’

‘Who’s this?’

‘My name is Callum Anderson, Your mother gave me your number. I understand you have information about your great-grandmother, Elizabeth Bain?’

‘Yes, and I must say how pleased I am that your investigation into the death of Violet Bain has brought this to the fore again. Grandma spent so long living a lie that I think it often seems real to her. Did Mother tell you the story?’

‘Only some headlines. If you have a slightly fuller picture that might help,’ said Callum.

‘Of course, I’ve got my notes here. Elizabeth Bain sailed to the United States in September 1945. In February 1946 she married Thomas Clarkson in Chicago, which is where he was from. It couldn’t have been a happy marriage. Almost exactly a year later, in February 1947, Elizabeth and Thomas were divorced. Elizabeth resumed using the name Bain and moved to Las Vegas as a dancer, apparently in a show in one of the casinos that were springing up at the time.

‘In September 1948 she was married in Las Vegas to a gentleman called Ernest Wilson. That marriage was annulled three months later, in December 1948, after it became clear firstly that Wilson wasn’t his real name and secondly that he was already married to a woman in Denver, Colorado. The gentleman involved was jailed for bigamy and Elizabeth Bain found herself single once more.’

‘She didn’t have a lot of luck with men,’ said Callum.

‘Not until then, but it did get better,’ said Samantha. ‘In July 1949, Elizabeth moved to San Francisco in California and in September that year she married Lincoln Rodriguez. He was a car salesman by profession and I’ve been told that they met when he attended a sales convention in Las Vegas early in 1949. It was, apparently, love at first sight.

‘When she got married for the third time, Elizabeth was 24 years old. The wedding between Elizabeth and Lincoln took place a few days before Violet’s fifth birthday and Elizabeth hadn’t seen her daughter in four years. She’d been writing intermittently to her mother in Thurso since leaving Scotland and had been sending some money to help with Violet’s upbringing.

‘Now her prospects were at last looking brighter and more secure, she wanted to put things right and wrote to her mother to say that she wanted Violet to travel to San Francisco to live with her. She had a specific proposal about how that could be done. Lincoln Rodriguez had a younger brother who had been serving in the United States Air Force in Germany and was due to return to the USA by air via Prestwick in Scotland. I gather that at the time children could travel on relatives’ passports and the idea was that Violet would travel to San Francisco with her uncle.

‘It didn’t happen because my great-grandmother said no. I can only speculate as to why and that’s not what you want to hear from me anyway. Elizabeth and Lincoln went on to have three children, a boy born in 1952, another born two years later and a girl born in 1957. The oldest boy was called Andrew and he was killed in Vietnam in 1972 just before his 20th birthday. The younger son was called Cameron and he in turn had two sons. The girl was called Grace and she had two children, a boy and a girl. Cameron and Grace are still alive but Lincoln died in a car crash in the 1990s and Elizabeth was 93 when she died in 2018.

‘I found out parts of this, the bare facts, using online resources. I’ve found out more by making contact with John Rodriguez. John is the older son of Cameron Rodriguez and a grandson of Elizabeth Rodriguez. He’s 45 years old and is a captain in the Burbank Police Department in Los Angeles. I’ve found him great to get on with and we’ve discussed the possibility of him and his family coming to visit my family in York and perhaps Mum and Grandma in Thurso.’

‘Do you think John Rodriguez would be prepared to talk to me about any memories his grandmother might have had of her sister Violet Bain?’ asked Callum. ‘Something, anything, that she didn’t tell the police at the time Violet was murdered that might help track down her killer, even eighty years after the event.’

‘We’ve mostly kept in touch by email,’ said Samantha. ‘Mum said you used to be a policeman?’

‘Yes, I was a detective inspector with the Metropolitan Police until last year.’

‘That might help you find common ground with John. I’ll send him an email as soon as we’ve finished talking to introduce you to him.’

‘If I give you my email address could you pass it on and ask him to let me know if I can phone him?’ asked Callum. ‘That would be the best way of allowing me to explain what I’m looking for.’

‘Yes, of course, and I’ll send you a copy of my email to him. Mum said Grandma was going to a séance tonight to try to contact Violet Bain. Do you know how that’s going?’

‘No, sorry,’ said Callum. ‘I’m as keen as you to find out.’

24: Monday the 1st of January

The room on the attic corridor had been rearranged since Jenny and Callum had their first meeting in it with Rose Balliol. The sideboard across the end of the room was still there, as were the freestanding bookshelves near the curtains covering the window, though the books had been removed. The rest of the furniture had gone. Jenny assumed that the substantial circular table covered in a maroon cloth that now occupied much of the centre of the room had been moved from elsewhere in the castle. It was surrounded by eight dining chairs. As on her first visit, the internal door that she thought must lead to an ensuite bathroom was closed.

Jenny found herself wondering how some of the other items in the room had been sourced by Rose or, perhaps more likely, by Mary Knox during the New Year holiday and in Caithness. She’d never seen a Ouija board before but she’d have known that the rectangular wooden board placed nearer the window side of the table was one, even if it hadn’t been inscribed with the word “OUIJA” written, like everything else on the board, in an old-fashioned script. She couldn’t believe that Mary carried one around with her, just in case, so this had to be one acquired for tonight’s séance.

The only light in the room came from three cylindrical candles that had been placed on circular wicker mats on the table close to one long edge of the Ouija board, one near each corner and one between the other two. One was blue, a second purple and the third orange. The candles were perhaps four inches in diameter by six high and judging from the large pools of liquid wax around the wicks, within the unmelted outer rims of the candles, they had been alight for quite some time.

Jenny stood, uncertainly, between the door and the table, wondering what would happen next. Other participants appeared equally unsure of what was expected of them.

Mary Knox walked round to the far side of the table, between it and the curtained window. ‘Hello, and thank you for being here. We need to set a few rules and make some preparations before we start. Can I ask everyone to turn off their mobile phones? By that I mean completely powering them down, not just putting them to sleep.’

Jenny complied and saw other women doing likewise.

‘Thank you,’ said Mary. ‘That will ensure that we are not disturbed. It will also keep the level of electrical activity in the room to a minimum. I know people who believe that a séance should be recorded and filmed but I very strongly do not as in my experience that simply deters spirits from taking part. If you have any other electrical devices with you, please turn them off too, though not any hearing aids or pacemakers you may have.’

In the candlelight, Jenny saw Mary smile and several women laughed at the joke. It eased the tension that Jenny had felt building since they’d entered the room.

‘There are eight of us here tonight. That number is fine, though it’s a shame we couldn’t find one more because I always consider nine to be the perfect number for a séance…’

There was a knock on the door and Jenny saw a look of irritation pass across Mary’s face.

‘I said we shouldn’t be disturbed,’ said Mary, looking at Rose.

‘I know, I’m sorry Mary. I’ll see who it is.’

Rose moved towards the door and Jenny stepped to one side to let her pass.

‘I think we’ve found the ninth member you wanted for the group,’ said Rose as she came back into the room after a brief conversation in the corridor.

Jenny saw Violet Keith follow Rose into the room, looking apprehensively around in what, after the lights of the corridor, must have seemed a very dark space.

Jenny took a step forwards and gently placed a hand on the woman’s upper arm. ‘Violet, I’m so pleased you came.’

‘Is that Jenny Mackay? Yes, it is. When I thought about it after your visit I decided I couldn’t let you try to contact my aunt and namesake without at least offering to help.’

Jenny turned. ‘Can I introduce Violet Keith to you all? Violet is the niece of Violet Bain, who we are here to try to contact tonight. Do you want me to tell you who everyone is, Violet?’

‘No, thank you, dear. I have enough of a problem remembering names and faces when I can clearly see the faces. And I don’t want to hold you up. I’m sorry I’m late.’

‘We hadn’t really started, said Jenny. ‘Mary Knox, who’s standing on the other side of the table, is leading the séance and has just got us to turn off our mobile phones.’

‘I left mine in the car.’

There was another knock on the door and Rose opened it again, this time taking a chair from someone Jenny couldn’t see outside. A couple of the others helped shuffle the eight chairs around the table so there was room for a ninth.

‘Welcome, Violet,’ said Mary. ‘The next thing I would like to do is assign roles for the séance. Can I ask anyone present who knows what happened to Violet Bain and, in particular, who knows the names of anyone else involved to raise their hands?’

Jenny raised her hand and three others did too.

‘Thank you,’ said Mary. ‘I want to minimise the chances of the Ouija board being influenced by anyone who already knows names. That means Rose, Violet, Jenny and Carol can’t touch the Ouija board once we get going. Jenny, can I ask you to take notes? There’s a notepad and pen on top of the sideboard over there.

‘The other four will help channel the Ouija board. That’s Suzanne, Ellen, Margaret and, I’m sorry, we’ve not been introduced.’

‘That’s my fault,’ said Rose. ‘This is Laura Kennedy, who worked at the castle when it was a hotel and who has encountered the ghost of Violet Bain in a room that used to be roughly where this one is now. That’s right, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, Rose,’ said Laura. ‘The rooms have changed a lot, but I think this is where I saw her.’

‘That’s excellent and I’m extremely pleased you’re with us,’ said Mary. ‘I will sit on this side of the table, nearest the window and furthest from the door to the corridor. Suzanne, can you sit to my right, please and can you sit next to her Ellen? Laura, can you sit to my left and will you sit to her left, Margaret? Thank you. You might need to shuffle your chairs closer to mine because we need to ensure that the four of you can comfortably reach the planchette, that’s the tear-drop-shaped object with the hole in it, wherever it is on the Ouija board.

‘Can I ask the four remaining participants to sit on evenly spaced chairs around the far side of the table from me?’

Jenny took the nearest chair and found herself sitting with Carol Macleod to her right and Rose Balliol to her left. Violet Keith was sitting beyond Rose.

Mary had pulled the Ouija board a little closer to herself so the other four on her side of the table could reach all parts of it. Jenny found herself fascinated by the device.

It was upside down from her point of view but the main elements were still obvious. They comprised two arcs of letters across the middle of the board, with A to M in the top row and N to Z in the lower row. Below them, beyond them from Jenny’s perspective, was a straight row of single-digit numbers from 1 to 9 and then 0. Beyond that, on the far side of the board, were the words “GOOD BYE”, while in the corner nearest Jenny was a black disc and the word “YES”. Its corresponding corner to its left had a crescent moon, a star and the word “NO”. Given this, she assumed the black disc in the “YES” corner was meant to represent the sun. Other than the name of the device on the centre of the edge facing her and two black stars in the far corners, that was it.

‘Now we are all seated,’ said Mary, ‘I would like everyone to try to relax. Take deep breaths. Try not to focus on your everyday cares. Just look at the candles. The blue candle will help us communicate with the spirit world. The purple candle will enhance the psychic power of everyone in the room. And the orange candle is there as a safeguard, to attract good spirits and repel bad spirits.’

Jenny saw Mary turn and reach behind herself, towards the bookshelves. When she turned back she placed a small bundle of sticks and leaves, bound with a white ribbon, on the table between herself and the Ouija board.

‘That’s a bundle of sage which will help cleanse the room of distractions,’ said Mary. ‘I’ve placed it there so it doesn’t get in the way of the operation of the Ouija board. Some of you probably expect me to start lighting incense sticks at this point. I’ve never found them effective and they don’t help with my asthma.’ She smiled.

Jenny thought it was odd that Mary should tell another joke at that point, then wondered if it was to test the atmosphere around the table. Unlike earlier no one laughed.

‘We’re almost ready to begin,’ said Mary. I would like everyone to join hands with the person on either side of them. That won’t work for us all, of course. Could the people sitting on either side of Jenny each place a hand on her nearest forearm, firmly enough to make sure contact is maintained but not so firmly that you prevent her from taking notes?

‘The four of you nearest me should form two pairs. Reach out with your right hand Margaret and your left, Laura, and each put your index and middle finger of that hand on the planchette on the Ouija board. That’s it. Now each of you should hold hands with the person on the other side of you. That’s Carol in your case, Margaret, and me in your case Laura. Now I would like the two of you on the other side of me to form a mirror image of that.

‘Thank you. We now have an unbroken ring around the table with everyone either holding hands or touching Jenny or touching the planchette.’

Mary closed her eyes. When she spoke again it seemed to Jenny that her voice had changed. Her tone was deeper and smoother. ‘We are here tonight to reach out to Violet Bain, whose life was taken away so cruelly not far from here. Please join us when you are ready, Violet. We know that you feel at home in this room and we would like you to feel at home here with us tonight. We know you have never truly been at peace, perhaps because of what was done to you. We would like to learn more about what happened that day and help you find the peace that has been denied to you.’

The silence that followed seemed to Jenny to last a long time.

Mary repeated what she’d said.

There was more silence that seemed to stretch and stretch.

Jenny thought she saw the central candle, the purple one, flicker ever so slightly. She couldn’t be sure and began to wonder if she had built herself up to such a pitch of anticipation that she’d started to imagine things.

Then there was a gasp. Jenny could see Laura Kennedy had lifted her head and was looking across the room at a point somewhere near the closed bathroom door. Jenny turned he head without moving enough to break the hold on her by her two neighbours. She couldn’t see anything but shivered as the temperature in the room suddenly dropped sharply.

‘She’s here. Violet’s here.’ Laura’s gaze was still fixed on the same part of the room.

‘We should all keep as still as we can,’ said Mary. ‘We don’t want to frighten our guest away. Hello Violet. Thank you for joining us tonight. Please forgive us for intruding into a space that I know you consider your own. We are here because we may be able to help you find the peace that has eluded you for so long.

‘My friends will use their fingers to move the planchette, the pointer, around the Ouija board in a clockwise circle, just to get used to the idea of it moving. That’s right. Now they will move the pointer so the hole in it is above the letter “G” in the middle of the top row of letters. That’s it.

‘Now it’s your turn, Violet. Can you tell us if you are happy for us to help you? Try to move the pointer so the hole in it is over the “YES” or the “NO” in the corners of the board.’

Jenny could scarcely believe her eyes when, very falteringly, the planchette moved towards the corner of the board nearest her and, after an agonising pause just a few inches short of the “YES”, it completed its journey. She thought that someone had to be deliberately pushing or steering the planchette but the four women touching it looked as amazed as she felt.

‘Thank you, Violet,’ said Mary. ‘For us to be able to help you we simply need you to answer one question for us. Who killed you? Try to move the pointer to the first letter of that person’s name.’

Nothing happened and Jenny could see the women touching the planchette looking at each other and at Mary anxiously. Then the planchette started to move, though not in the obvious direction of a specific letter. Instead, it went on a circuitous ramble around the board that crossed over letters but never stopped. Jenny tried to keep a note of each letter that passed under the planchette, in case Violet was trying to spell out a whole name. But moving from “YES” to C then S then G then the word “OUIJA” then G again and then T before moving down to the 7 and 8 then the W and the K and finally “NO” made no sense at all. When it reached “NO” the planchette stopped moving.

Jenny realised that Rose, on her left, was looking to her left at Violet Keith who had closed her eyes and tilted her head back.

Then Violet shouted, ‘Please… No!’ After a pause, she shouted, “Peter!” Then she opened her eyes and looked around the room as if startled by what she’d just done.

‘Look at the planchette,’ said Margaret Sutherland.

Jenny looked and saw it had moved across the Ouija board and was now over the “D” of “GOOD BYE”.

‘Goodbye, Violet,’ said Mary. ‘Thank you for being with us.’

Jenny’s sense of coldness had gone while the planchette was moving around the Ouija board but now it returned, more intensely than at first.

‘We are only here to talk to Violet Bain tonight,’ said Mary. ‘I’m sorry but we cannot help anyone else and I ask any other spirits to leave.’

There was a sudden gust of icy wind and all three candles went out together, leaving the room in complete darkness. Then there was a clatter and a bang and someone screamed.

The room light came on and Jenny saw Rose Balliol standing by the door to the corridor, her hand on the switch.

‘Look at the Ouija board,’ said Carol Macleod.

Jenny looked. The planchette had been flipped over so it was upside down. And the blue candle, the one that had been standing near the corner of the board closest to Jenny and whose colour was meant to signify communication, had toppled over. Its top lay on the edge of the Ouija board and the pond of wax that had surrounded its wick now formed a narrow stream that extended in a straight line across part of the board, stopping just short of the letter “P”, as if it was a finger pointing at that letter.

‘Is everyone all right?’ asked Mary. ‘We should consider the séance ended. Take a few moments to catch your breath and then we can talk about what just happened.’

It seemed everyone was all right. Jenny got out her phone and switched it on, then looked across at Mary. ‘May I take a photograph of the candle and the board?’ she asked.

Mary smiled and shrugged, which Jenny took as a yes. She stood up and made sure she got clear photographs of the table as a whole as well as the rapidly solidifying trail of blue wax that extended across the “B” in the top row of letters before stopping short of the “P” in the bottom row.

Jenny looked around the room and while no one was objecting she took more photographs. Then she stood up and walked over to the bathroom door, which was now very slightly ajar. With some trepidation, she pushed it open and realised that the room beyond was very cold and lit only by the glow of the castle floodlights coming in through the window. The light switch was outside the door and she turned it on, now able to see that the bathroom was just large enough to accommodate a toilet, a sink and a shower. Jenny half expected to find someone in the room, but there was no one there.

The bathroom also had a sash window. Like others she’d seen in the castle this was a modern high-tech double-glazed replacement made to look exactly like a wooden original. The window was closed but the catch that would have locked it was not fastened, meaning the lower panel could have been lifted open from the inside or outside. Yet they were on the top floor of the building so no one could have reached the outside of the window to push it open. She took a photograph of the window, then another of as much of the rest of the bathroom as she could fit in from the doorway.

Jenny turned back to face the others in the room, then she walked over and took a photograph of the notes she had made before handing the notepad and pen to Mary.

Rose was still standing by the light switch and the door to the corridor. ‘Mary, I fully understand why you want to discuss what just happened,’ she said. ‘But will it matter if we go down to the drawing room or, if you prefer to keep our discussion private, the library first? I need a whisky and I suspect others might too. It will be easier to arrange drinks there.’

25: Monday the 1st of January

Jenny and Callum were lying side by side on their backs under the duvet. The curtains were open and there was a cosy glow caused by the indirect light from the floodlights outside.

‘Wow,’ said Callum. ‘Now I understand why you all looked a little shellshocked when you came back into the drawing room.’

 ‘Yes,’ said Jenny, ‘and that was after a couple of stiff drinks while we talked things through in the library.’

‘What did people make of the experience?’

‘I think most people believed they’d had a genuine encounter with the spirit world.’

‘Including you?’ asked Callum.

‘I tried to remain detached and sceptical, but it was hard to avoid being caught up in what was happening.’

‘You neatly sidestepped my question,’ said Callum.

‘I don’t know, to be honest. I’m trying to set aside the question of my feelings and beliefs so I can understand whether anything that happened might help us. To my mind, there are a couple of things that we need to consider.’

‘I thought that while I was listening to your account of what happened. But you were there, Jenny. What do you think are the key points for us?’

‘I was shocked by Violet Keith shouting out. She said afterwards that she knew she was doing it but that it felt like someone else, presumably Violet Bain, was acting through her. When we talked about it in the library, opinion was split between those who thought that Violet Bain was naming her killer, Peter, or whether she was calling out for Peter to help her while someone else was attacking her.’

‘What did you think?’ asked Callum.

‘At the moment it happened I thought she was naming her killer. Now I’m less sure. I’m sorry, that’s not very helpful. The other thing that particularly struck me during the séance was Laura Kennedy being so sure she could see Violet Bain in the room when the rest of us could see nothing at all. Afterwards, she described seeing a young woman in a 1940s dress, looking exactly as she had when Laura had seen her previously.’

‘But you did feel something when Laura saw Violet Bain,’ said Callum.

‘Yes, I did, but how much of the sudden chill I felt was just down to suggestion? I certainly think that what then happened with the planchette and the Ouija board was unhelpful and random. I showed you my photograph of my notes and they make no sense at all. I even wondered if the physical movement of the planchette was meant to outline a letter, but that didn’t work either. The planchette initially settling on “YES” when Mary asked if Violet Bain wanted our help could easily have been the unconscious action of one or more of those touching the planchette. When I was telling you about it, it occurred to me that the planchette had just finished its wander across the Ouija board at the word “NO” when Violet Keith called out, and “no” was one of the words she shouted. Again it may only be a coincidence.

‘The part that’s most difficult to rationalise is what happened at the end when it went dark. I felt the sudden gust of icy wind that blew out all the candles. That wasn’t my imagination. In the short time before Rose turned the light on, the door to the ensuite bathroom, which had been closed, was slightly opened. The window in the bathroom, which could have been the source of the gust of wind, was closed but not secured. I checked and there was no one hiding in the bathroom.’

‘What did others think?’ asked Callum.

‘Mary said she felt another spirit presence arrive before Violet Bain left,’ said Jenny. ‘She tried to tell it to leave but before that had any effect the candles were blown out. Mary had been looking at the planchette when the candles were extinguished so knew where it was in the dark. She immediately reached out and flipped it over, which is meant to act like an emergency off switch for the séance.

‘No one had any explanation for the candle falling over. Simply geometry meant it was very stable, being quite wide and not all that tall. It would certainly have taken quite a bit of knocking over. Thinking about the seating positions, the only people who could realistically have knocked it in the direction it went were me, Carol Macleod to my right and Rose Balliol to my left. They had both drawn the same conclusion and, in the library afterwards, each of us swore, hand on heart, that we’d not touched the candle.

‘What’s even odder is the line of wax. I’ve shown you the photograph. It does look like a finger pointing directly at the letter “P” on the Ouija board.’

‘Yes,’ said Callum. Or you could take the view that the wax had flowed far enough to cover the letter “B”, in the same way that the pointing device would cover it.’

‘But we don’t know anyone with the initial “B” who might have killed Violet,’ said Jenny.

‘There is William Brodie, the telegraph boy,’ said Callum. I’m sure he’d have been known as “Bill” to his friends, so both his initials were “B”. Your friend Lucy is still looking for records of him but I’m not convinced about him as a suspect. He took the telegram to Sarclet Castle and handed it to Violet Bain, so could have known she was due to be at the broch later. But I don’t see how he could have been involved in faking the telegram in the first place, and that’s how Violet was led to her death.’

Callum saw Jenny turn towards him in the bed. ‘What if we’ve got this all wrong? What if Violet Bain was killed by Peter Bartlett? Remember that “B” was his second initial too. That could also tie in with the witness report of an RAF sergeant with pilot’s wings on his uniform cycling through Sarclet on the afternoon Violet was killed.’

‘You’d need to get around the problem of Peter Bartlett being dead at the time she was killed,’ said Callum. ‘We’ve called it the perfect alibi, and it is.’

‘Perhaps,’ said Jenny. ‘Just bear with me on this Callum. What if Peter Bartlett was a psychopathic killer who had killed Faye Watson in February 1943 and was lining up Violet Bain as his next victim? We only have assumptions that he was dead at the time Violet was killed. No trace was ever found of him or his aircraft. What if, just for the sake of argument, Peter Bartlett sent the telegram that lured Violet to her death from a telephone box while he was on the ground in Shetland, after his first flight that day to Norway and before he was due to make his second flight?

‘When he took off from Shetland everyone thought he was going to go back to Norway and would then return to Wick. But what if he didn’t? What if he flew directly back to Wick without anyone there realising what had happened and then got on a bike, just as Amy Russell did eight decades later, and cycled to Sarclet Broch to wait for Violet Bain to respond to his telegram?

‘I know there are problems with that. It assumes he was prepared to misuse an aircraft and desert from the RAF, but both are relatively minor crimes when you think about the death sentence he’d receive for murder. Is it beyond the bounds of possibility that he might have prepared an alternative identity for himself that would allow him to disappear forever? This was in the days before biometric identification, remember? I admit that I can’t think of a way around him being found out when his aircraft turned up unexpectedly somewhere, at Wick or anywhere else and either in pieces or intact, but I just want to float the possibility.’

Callum was quiet for a while. Then he reached out to take Jenny’s hand. ‘A large part of me wants to simply dismiss what you're saying as inconceivable. But I think that’s because it undermines what has seemed the only certainty we’ve had in this case, that whoever killed Violet Bain, it wasn’t Peter Bartlett. I still don’t believe that he did kill her, but I agree with you that we can’t rule it out altogether.’

‘Thank you for that, Callum. That’s all I wanted. We’ve talked about my evening. How was yours?’

Callum talked Jenny through his discussion with Andrea Alexander, and then his phone call to her daughter Samantha.

‘That’s excellent. Having a lead to Elizabeth Bain’s family in the USA might produce something useful.’

‘I hope so,’ said Callum. ‘I’ve since seen the email Samantha sent to the Los Angeles policeman and I hope he’ll send me his phone number sooner rather than later. Incidentally, the evening was notable in one other way.’

‘What was that?’ asked Jenny.

‘Gerald Balliol was offering round 25-year-old Highland Park whisky which, when I checked online later, turned out to cost £500 per bottle.’

‘Did you like it?’

‘It was superb, but I’m not sure it was twelve times better than the 12-year-old they sell in the SPAR shop in Kinlochbervie at a twelfth of the price.’

‘Your problem is that you just have plebian tastes,’ said Jenny, laughing.

‘I think my taste in women is better than that,’ he said, running the fingertips of one hand up her arm and slowly across her shoulder before changing direction towards her nearest breast.

‘I’ll give you that,’ she said, smiling. ‘And I’m very glad about it.’

26: Tuesday the 2nd of January

The other guests left after breakfast. Before the helicopter arrived to take Rose and Gerald back to Edinburgh, Jenny and Callum had a brief meeting with them in the library. Callum was pleased that they could add the discovery of Elizabeth Bain’s US family to the list of positive developments. On checking his email after waking up he’d found one from John Rodriguez saying he’d be happy to talk to Callum, giving a telephone number, and reminding him that Pacific Standard Time was eight hours behind Greenwich Mean Time. Callum took that as a hint not to ring too early.

They also discussed with Rose and Gerald what had happened at the séance and Rose agreed that they should no longer exclude Peter Bartlett as a suspect. Before breakfast, Callum had emailed Jeremy Ryde in London to ask if there would be any chance of Peter Bartlett somehow returning to Wick undetected by the RAF, murdering Violet Bain, and then changing identity.

As soon as the helicopter took off into a mild and grey morning, a van and a minibus pulled up outside the main door of the castle. Staff began loading bags and boxes into the first before most of them got into the second and both departed.

Callum and Jenny watched through a window beside the front door in the lower hall. It seemed to Callum that Sarclet Castle was suddenly beginning to feel very empty.

‘Hello, I’m glad I caught you both.’

Callum turned to see Geoffrey Gunn coming down the main staircase.

‘Hello Geoffrey,’ said Callum. ‘I’m not sure we thought this through when we said we’d stay. We’re going to be a bit of an encumbrance if all the staff have left.’

‘Not at all. Mr and Mrs Balliol have travelling staff who accompany them between different residences, under the direction of the head chef and Steven Williams, the butler. You just saw most of them leave, though Steven and the driver have been on the road from very early to make sure Steven can be at Mr and Mrs Balliol’s house near Edinburgh in time to ensure everything is right for their arrival and to greet them when their helicopter lands.

‘We also have a core of permanent staff based here as well as temporary and agency staff who we brought in for Hogmanay. Running the castle falls to me and a senior housekeeper when Mr and Mrs Balliol are not here. I believe Mrs Balliol mentioned that we put the oldest part of the castle into hibernation when there’s no need for it. That’s mainly on environmental grounds. There’s no need for you to pack anything. We’ll move your belongings to new accommodation in the less ancient part of the castle during the day, once we’ve prepared it for you.

‘As far as food is concerned, we have a rota ensuring someone is on duty in the kitchen whose main role is to cook for other staff here. You are welcome to order from the menu you’ll find in your new room during the day and early evening, though you’ll need to give us thirty minutes' notice. The alternative is to dine in the small staff restaurant we have on the ground floor at the rear of the building which is open from 8 a.m. to 7 p.m. when the castle is in care and maintenance mode. That can be relied on to produce something tasty at almost any time between those times.’

Callum saw Jenny look at him.

‘I think we’d feel more comfortable simply pitching in with the others,’ she said. ‘We are working for Rose and Gerald, like everyone else here, and it wouldn’t feel right being waited on as we have for the past few days. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed it, I know we both have, but in the changed circumstances I think the staff restaurant sounds ideal.’

Geoffrey smiled. ‘I admit that will make life easier. The drawing room and the library will be available to you while you’re here as they are in parts of the castle that we keep immediately usable. The key cards you already have will continue to give you access to the castle via the back door and will work for your new room, which is the Forsinard Suite, named after a tiny settlement in the heart of Caithness. You may work for Mr and Mrs Balliol like others here, but you are also their guests and we will make your continuing stay as comfortable as possible.’

‘Thank you, Geoffrey, we’re both very grateful,’ said Jenny.

‘Do you have plans for the day?’ asked Geoffrey.

‘We’re mainly waiting for people to get back to us with information we’ve asked them to gather,’ said Callum. ‘As the weather looks reasonable we thought we’d take a look at a castle we weren’t far from yesterday on the coast north of Wick.’

‘Castle Sinclair Girnigoe?’ asked Geoffrey. ‘It’s an amazing place with a remarkable history. Even the story of how it got its name is fascinating. Anyway, I hope you have a good day. My office is in the same place it was in July, Callum, though I guarantee that the welcome is friendlier. Drop in when you get back and I’ll take you to your new room.’

*

They had passed close by Claire MacDonald’s house and left Wick when the Audi’s touchscreen display indicated that Jenny had an incoming call from Trevor Jones. Jenny pulled over at the side of the road next to a pavement and just opposite a sign informing them they were entering Papigoe. To their right, beyond the place sign, was some scrubby grass overlooking the head of a narrow bay defined by rocky headlands that were covered in a scatter of modern housing.

‘Hello Trevor,’ she said.

‘Can you talk?’

Callum recognised Trevor’s Welsh accent.

‘I’ve got Callum with me in the car but if you’re all right with that then yes, I can talk.’

‘That’s good,’ said Trevor. ‘We’ve not yet had a report of another car theft in Thurso but I’m sure you’re right that when we do we’ll know what Danny Ferguson is driving. In the meantime, my colleagues have lost interest in the white Corsa and its whereabouts while it was stolen. That’s a shame because a report came in yesterday evening that I think is significant but which I can’t get anyone whose opinion matters to take any interest in.’

‘What was it?’ asked Jenny.

‘It would be easier to show you rather than tell you,’ said Trevor. ‘Where are you?’

‘We’re on the coast just north of Wick at a place called Papigoe.’

‘You lost me after “just north of Wick”. But I think you’re reasonably handy for where I have in mind. On the south side of Wick, there’s a minor road that runs close to the coast past a headland called South Head then ends at a parking area.’

Jenny saw Callum hold up his tablet, on which he’d displayed an Ordnance Survey map. ‘I think we’ve got it,’ she said.

‘We’ll have to drive back through Wick but it can’t be more than three or four miles,’ said Callum. ‘We can be there in fifteen minutes at the most.’

‘I’ll see you in the parking area,’ said Trevor.

27: Tuesday the 2nd of January

The road that joined and then hugged the coast south of the mouth of Wick Bay ended in a broad area of tarmac that curved to the left. At its far end was a low stone wall with a view of the sea. The parking area was empty save for a silver Ford Mondeo pulled over to the right, on the outside of the curve, a little short of a metal gate that Jenny could see barred access to a gravel track. She pulled in behind the Mondeo.

Trevor Jones got out of the driver’s side and walked back towards them, smiling and raising a hand in greeting. Callum had said that Trevor reminded him of a ‘smiling James Dean’ after they first met him and she had immediately seen the likeness. Even with the cares of a detective sergeant on his shoulders he still looked much younger than his thirty years and she could understand why her twin daughters Sophie and Emily had been so attracted to him. She was grateful that Detective Sergeant Suzi Buchanan had also been attracted to him and that the attraction turned out to be mutual. There had been a time when Jenny had seriously thought she was going to lose Callum to Suzi, but that threat disappeared the moment that Suzi met Trevor.

Suzi’s gain was Emily and Sophie’s loss but they learned a valuable lesson about the perils of falling for an older man and very quickly put their disappointment behind them.

Trevor got into the back of the car behind Callum. ‘It’s good to see you again, Jenny. I hope the girls are well. Hello Callum.’

Jenny smiled. ‘The four of us had a quiet Christmas in Oldshoremore and I’m told the girls had a much less quiet Hogmanay in Glasgow. They’re doing very well thank you, Trevor. I’m sorry you missed out on your Hogmanay with Suzi.’

‘I wanted a high-profile job on promotion and I got one,’ said Trevor, ‘so I can’t complain. Anyway, thank you both for coming so quickly. As I think you know, we put out an appeal for information about the stolen white Vauxhall Corsa yesterday morning. You then found the vehicle in Thurso and our focus shifted to trying to trace Danny Ferguson via friends and contacts or phone and card use while we waited for a report of another stolen car. As I said on the phone, we’re still waiting.

‘However, at about 7 p.m. yesterday we did get a call from a farmer called David Bremner who wanted to report that he had seen the white Corsa on Saturday. It was no longer a priority and the job was handed to me as one of the junior members of the Major Investigation Team. I went with a detective constable to see Mr Bremner at a farm between here and the main A99 as it heads out of Wick towards Inverness. He farms the land round here and told me that his Christmas present from his wife had been a new quad bike.’

Jenny laughed. ‘I wonder if he gave her an ironing board in return?’

She saw both Trevor and Callum smile.

‘Actually, he’s delighted with it,’ said Trevor. ‘On Saturday morning he rode it from his farm to the coast near here so he could check on some sheep in the fields to the south of us.

The thing you need to know is that this is the parking area for visitors to the Castle of Old Wick, a ruined castle that stands, according to a sign on the wall over there, 800 metres along the track from the gate. According to the photograph on the same sign, the castle is a ruin standing above sheer cliffs. You can see the castle, though not the cliffs, from the gate.

‘David Bremner said that he hadn’t been doing whatever he was doing with his sheep for long when he saw a man running along the track from the parking area towards the castle. Mr Bremner was a little distance away but thought this was odd as the man was dressed for walking rather than for running. He also thought the man seemed anxious about time as he looked down at his watch and stumbled. This caused David Bremner to check his watch and see that it was 9.55 a.m. We showed Mr Bremner a photograph of Danny Ferguson and, though he couldn’t be sure, he thought it was the same man.’

‘Why did you think it might be Ferguson?’ asked Callum.

‘I’m coming to that. When Mr Bremner had done his checks on his sheep he came here on the quad bike to pick up the road round the coast into Wick because he wanted to get some milk and a newspaper. He was at pains to tell me that the vehicle is fully road-legal.

‘To get from the field to this parking area he had to unlock and open the gate that’s in front of where I’m parked. He said that although the parking area was otherwise empty, a white Vauxhall Corsa had been parked partly across the gateway and he only just had room to get past it on his quad bike. Mr Bremner was not happy about that and took a photo with his phone as a record shot. This subsequently revealed that the car was the stolen Corsa, though he didn’t know that at the time, and the attached data showed that the photo was taken at 10.33 a.m.

‘Mr Bremner then went into Wick as intended. His most direct route back to the farm is along minor roads inland from here but he said he came back this way to see if the Corsa was still obstructing the gateway. As it happened, he passed it being driven away a couple of hundred yards back along the road towards Wick. He said that the driver was definitely the man he’d seen running along the track earlier. He said that this was at 11.45 a.m.’

‘That’s interesting,’ said Callum. ‘Am I the only one who thinks that an hour and a quarter is quite a long time for Mr Bremner to spend riding his quad bike the short distance into Wick, buying some milk and a newspaper, and then riding it back here?’

‘That thought also occurred to me, Callum, and there did seem more to Mr Bremner’s trip into Wick than he was saying, perhaps tied with the fact he didn’t want to discuss it in front of his wife. But that didn’t seem relevant to why we were talking to him. I should add that Mr Bremner appears to have celebrated Hogmanay enthusiastically because he says he only became aware of yesterday morning’s police appeal for information about the Corsa just before he contacted us yesterday evening.’

Jenny saw Callum puff out his cheeks before speaking. ‘What you’re saying is that Danny Ferguson’s lousy parking means he has an alibi for the time of Amy Russell’s murder?’

‘That’s right, Callum,’ said Trevor. ‘It seems likely that Amy Russell was killed between her capturing the Sarclet Broch Turf zone at 10.28 a.m. and her phone being turned off which, from Gordon MacDonald’s statement, was at exactly 10.30 a.m. I should say that this fits well with the pathologist’s estimate of the time of death and that in turn was one of the factors that led us to accept that Gordon MacDonald wasn’t the killer. His mother’s statement says he left her house not long after the kitchen clock chimed 11.00 a.m. His car was then seen jumping a red light on the road out of Wick a little before 11.10 a.m. by two police officers who were on foot so unable to do anything about it at the time. That also supports his alibi.

‘Gordon MacDonald dialled 999 from Sarclet Broch at 11.25 a.m. and Amy had been dead for nearly an hour by then. But I’ve strayed a little because we were talking about Danny Ferguson. Mr Bremner’s statement places Danny Ferguson here at 9.55 a.m. and the stolen Corsa here at 10.33 a.m., and then he saw it leaving at 11.45 a.m. It’s hard to see how Danny Ferguson could have killed Amy Russell at Sarclet Broch.’

‘Why are you telling us rather than your Senior Investigating Officer?’ asked Callum. ‘Isn’t this meeting going beyond what Jenny agreed with Chief Superintendent Cooper and aren’t you putting yourself at risk by talking to us?’

‘I have tried to talk to my elders and betters about it,’ said Trevor. ‘My detective inspector is very good but she’s also newly promoted and doesn’t want to rock the boat. My detective chief inspector has seen it all, done it all, and knows it all. In his view, it is not the job of the police to produce an alibi for our only suspect. My argument that we might be wasting resources and time by pursuing the wrong man was shut down firmly by him, and then extremely firmly when I persisted.

‘I discussed my concerns with Suzi last night and she suggested that I should talk to the two of you. She said she trusted you not to jeopardise my career and I very much hope she’s right.’

 ‘What can we do, Callum?’ asked Jenny. ‘I don’t think that my talking to Mark Cooper would be a good idea.’

‘Absolutely not,’ said Callum. ‘The police didn’t cover themselves in glory by going so hard after Gordon MacDonald immediately after the murder, especially given what we’ve just learned about his alibi. Putting all their resources into the pursuit of a second man who now also seems to have an alibi is going to make them look even worse. When it comes to protecting their careers, it would be easy to concoct reasons to blame a junior member of the team.

‘The first thing we need to be clear about is whether what we’ve just heard really does give Danny Ferguson an alibi for Amy Russell’s murder. Looking at the detailed Ordnance Survey map on my tablet it appears that the footpath that goes from the parking area here to the Castle of Old Wick carries on roughly parallel to the shore along the coast as far as Sarclet, which, from a count of the grid squares, is perhaps five miles away.

‘The first probable sighting of Danny Ferguson was at 9.55 a.m. Could he have followed the track across fields and along the tops of cliffs fast enough to cover five miles in the 35 minutes he had before Amy Russell was killed? Then he’d have had to get back to the Corsa in time to drive away an hour and a quarter later. The return trip is less of a challenge but it doesn’t sound likely he’d get there in time. But what if he’s a champion cross country runner or had hidden a bicycle or had an accomplice?’

‘Do you think any of those things is likely?’ asked Jenny.

‘No, I don’t,’ said Callum. ‘I’m just testing what we think we know. The most objective assessment I can come up with is that David Bremner’s statement makes it highly unlikely that Danny Ferguson killed Amy Russell, but not impossible. We also need to remember that Mr Bremner saw the Corsa here at 10.33 a.m. and again at 11.45 a.m. Given the distance, it could easily have been driven to Sarclet and back between those times, but Danny Ferguson would have got there too late to have killed Amy Russell given what’s known about her time of death.’

‘What you say is reasonable,’ said Trevor, ‘but where does that leave us?’

‘Would it help if we knew why Danny Ferguson had come here?’ asked Jenny.

‘It would,’ said Callum. ‘From the look on your face, I get the feeling you’ve worked it out.’

Jenny smiled. ‘I’ve got an idea. Can you remember when we looked at the map on the Turf website to work out how Danny might have tracked Amy and then got ahead of her while she was cycling to Sarclet so he could kill her? It would have been straightforward for Danny to see that Amy was taking zones in Wick and heading generally south. We concluded that he’d taken a gamble that she would then aim to take the two zones at Sarclet and that he’d driven ahead of her in what we later learned was the stolen Corsa.’

‘It appears we were wrong,’ said Callum.

‘I think we were mainly right,’ said Jenny, ‘but that we got one important detail wrong.’

‘You’re going to have to explain that to me,’ said Callum.

‘It’s not as easy to see on my phone as on a tablet but look at the pattern of Turf zones on the south and south-east side of Wick.’ Jenny held out her phone so that both Callum and Trevor could see. Look at this curve of four red zones around the coast. The third one down is not far along the track from this parking area in the direction of the castle and the fourth covers the castle itself. The first two are on the coastal side of the road we drove along to get here. Then there’s another red zone on its own on a track between here and the main road running south from Wick.

‘I remember saying to you at the time that information about zone ownership on the website showed that Jenny had skipped these five zones before heading towards Sarclet. I wondered if she intended to take them by doing a loop to the coast when she came back into Wick after her excursion south.’

‘Forgive me for being dim,’ said Callum, ‘but I’m not sure where you’re going with this.’

‘You think that Danny Ferguson came here to try to intercept Amy Russell, don’t you Jenny?’ asked Trevor.

‘Ah,’ said Callum. ‘I may be slow but I do get there in the end. If that is what happened then you were right about Danny Ferguson tracking Amy Russell on the map on the Turf website and you were right about him wanting to get ahead of her. But he didn’t go to Sarclet, he came here instead. Then he missed her because she’d decided not to visit these zones until she returned to Wick after she’d been to Sarclet. Is there anywhere else she might have been intending to go?’

‘I suppose it depends on how keen she was,’ said Jenny. ‘The next zone down the coast from Sarclet is only a couple of miles further, at “WhaligoeSteps” and then there’s nothing for quite a long way. There’s one a little distance north-west of there, but realistically I’d say she was intending to go to Sarclet, then perhaps to Whaligoe Steps, then come back to Wick and cut across via the zone inland from here to the four along the coast, starting with the castle and working up towards the town. That would have given her a pretty clean sweep of the zones in the area.’

‘But Danny Ferguson read her wrongly,’ said Callum. ‘When he spotted Amy’s southward trend he rushed to get here ahead of her, parked as close as he could to the start of the track to the castle and then ran along it. Wouldn’t it have been better to wait here for her? It was bloody cold on Saturday and he’d have been a lot more comfortable in his car.’

‘I agree,’ said Jenny. ‘But you could get to the castle directly from the inland zone without coming through the parking area. Perhaps he wanted to wait out of sight for her at the castle to be certain he’d be able to talk to her whichever route she took.’

‘Is there anywhere to hide at the castle?’ asked Callum.

‘Search me,’ said Trevor. ‘I’m not from around these parts. As I mentioned, the sign says it’s 800 metres from here. I’m going to regret it if I don’t take this opportunity to go and look.’

‘Me too,’ said Jenny.

‘At least it’s milder today,’ said Callum. ‘You do realise of course that if Danny Ferguson didn’t kill Amy Russell it reopens the question of who did.’

28: Tuesday the 2nd of January

It only took Jenny and Callum a few moments to don boots and jackets taken from the rear of the Audi while Trevor did the same at the back of the Mondeo. Jenny was pleased it wasn't as cold as it had been over the past few days. And while Scotland always looked at its best in the sunshine, she was grateful that the layer of grey cloud meant they’d not be squinting into the low sun to see their way ahead.

Trevor led them through the stone stile next to the gate and then turned towards them. ‘There’s the castle, visible on the skyline ahead of us.’

Beyond the gateway and stile, the coarse gravel made for easy walking on the track.

‘I have to ask, Jenny, is that an engagement ring?’ asked Trevor. ‘I thought it might be when I saw it in the car but I wasn't sure.’

‘It is,’ said Callum smiling. ‘Jenny said “yes” under a wonderful display of aurora borealis on the top of the tower at Sarclet Castle a few minutes into the New Year.’

‘That’s brilliant! Congratulations! Have you told Suzi?’

Jenny caught Callum’s eye before replying. ‘To be honest, Trevor, she sounded so miserable about your plans for Hogmanay going pear-shaped that I didn’t have the heart to tell her when we spoke.’

‘She’ll be delighted! Is it all right if I tell her?’

‘Yes, of course.’ Jenny hoped that Suzi would be as delighted as Trevor thought. She decided it might be a good idea to change the subject. ‘That looks like a small bus shelter by the gate ahead of us.’

‘According to the sign it’s guarding access to a military firing range,’ said Callum. ‘Though you get the sense it’s no longer in use. And it’s certainly not in active use today. From the gate, you get the first idea that the castle is sitting on top of cliffs. It looks like the track leads to the inland end of the inlet guarding this side of the castle and then back along the far side.’

A little further on they passed structures that they thought were associated with the disused firing range, which was served by a narrow road leading inland.

‘I’m guessing that leads in the direction of Mr Bremner’s farm?’ asked Callum.

‘Yes,’ said Trevor. ‘I imagine that would have been the way he came on Saturday, and how he returned afterwards.’

‘Changing the subject, did the post-mortem on Amy show that she was pregnant?’ asked Callum.

‘Access to the full report is above my pay grade but I’m sure that would have been mentioned, so I don’t think so. Do you have a reason for asking?’

‘No, not really,’ said Callum. ‘We were just discussing possible motives.’

They reached the head of the inlet and continued back along the path on its far side.

‘Here’s where the route to the castle leaves the coast path,’ said Jenny. ‘The aerial photo used as the basis for the Turf map on their website shows the castle standing on a finger of rock sticking out into the sea. This is the first time we’ve been able to see the inlet on the south side of the castle and appreciate just how incredible the location is. When you see it in three dimensions you appreciate that the promontory is more of a fin than a finger.’

Trevor led the way along the short path to the castle itself. When he reached the high stone wall on the landward side of the building he walked to the left of it. ‘There isn’t all that much here,’ he said. ‘It’s just a square of stone walls that have collapsed on two sides. I suppose you could stay out of sight of anyone approaching the castle if you were in the interior corner over there, but that wouldn’t allow you a view of the approach path.’

‘I’m sure Danny Ferguson would have wanted to be able to see Amy before she got here,’ said Jenny. She walked a little further along the grassy top of the fin of rock. ‘The ground here has lots of bumps and hollows with a fair bit of vegetation despite the time of year. Could he have lain amongst it? Before you ask, it’s wet and I’m not going to demonstrate. It would have been much colder here than in the shelter of the walls, but you’d see anyone coming without being obvious yourself.’

‘Have we seen enough?’ asked Callum.

Jenny nodded and she saw Trevor do the same. Callum led the way back to the landward end of the fin of rock and then along the path towards the head of the northern inlet.

‘I’ve been thinking about what might have been going through Danny Ferguson’s mind when he was here on the day Amy was murdered,’ said Jenny.

‘What do you mean?’ asked Callum.

‘He thought there was a chance she’d approach along the coast from Wick and catch up with him before he got to the castle, or perhaps that she’d approach from the inland Turf zone and he’d miss her altogether. That must be why he felt so pushed for time that he parked as close as he could to the start of the path and was running when David Bremner saw him. Remember he could only track Amy when she took a Turf zone and not while she was in transit between them, so he wouldn’t know exactly where she was.

 ‘Let’s assume he hid amongst the vegetation out beyond the walls of the castle itself. He’d have arrived there not long after 10.00 a.m. and would then have had to wait, out of sight, in the hope that Amy turned up. In the supermarket, he’d told her that he missed her and needed to talk to her. Perhaps that really was all he wanted to do?’

Jenny paused to gather her thoughts, then resumed. ‘When she didn’t show up within a fairly short time of his getting to the castle, Danny would have started to realise his mistake. He’d be able to see on his phone that she’d taken all the zones in Wick apart from the five I talked about. I imagine he’d have asked himself at that point whether Amy had given up for the day. But he knew her well and probably worked out what she was intending to do in the same way that we did. At that point, he had to decide whether to give up or commit to a much longer wait in an exposed location on a very cold day than he’d originally planned. He chose to wait for her to visit the castle on her return to Wick.

‘At 10.28 a.m. he’d have seen her take the Turf zone at Sarclet Broch, confirming that his second guess about what she intended to do was correct. But he’d also have seen that she didn’t take the nearby Turf zone at Sarclet Haven, which would have seemed odd. But while Gordon MacDonald could see from “Find My” that Amy’s phone had been fully turned off, which is what really alarmed him, Danny Ferguson didn't have that information. Perhaps he assumed there was an access problem preventing Amy from taking the Sarclet Haven zone, so he simply had to wait to see which way she went then, either down the coast towards Whaligoe Steps or back here to collect the remaining zones in Wick.’

‘He’d not picked an ideal location for a long wait,’ said Callum.

‘That’s true,’ said Jenny. ‘He’d have been getting colder and colder given the temperature and wind on Saturday and I imagine that he’d had enough by about 11.30 a.m., or a bit more than an hour after Amy took the Turf zone at Sarclet Broch. Whether Amy was heading down the coast or back here, she should have shown up on the map or in person by then. He would have been wondering if she had given up and returned to Claire MacDonald’s house or perhaps if something had happened to her. That’s when Danny Ferguson headed back to his car and drove off.’

‘You’ve sold me on the story so far,’ said Callum. ‘Where do you think he would have gone then?’

‘My crystal ball gets a bit hazy at that point,’ said Jenny, smiling. ‘You said that Gordon MacDonald dialled 999 at 11.25 a.m., didn’t you Trevor? When would the police have got there?’

‘The first two police officers to respond were in a patrol car on the A99 and got to the end of the road through Sarclet within five minutes of the call and to the broch itself as quickly as they could from there. Other emergency responders arrived soon afterwards.’

‘That makes the timing interesting,’ said Jenny. ‘What if Danny Ferguson drove from here to Sarclet, as the last place that Amy Russell had taken a Turf zone? If he drove away at 11.45 a.m. he’d have made his way across the south side of the town and then driven to Sarclet, which you said was six miles, Callum. What’s the betting that he’d have arrived just as the police presence was ramping up? He was driving a stolen car, remember, and would have made himself very scarce indeed.’

‘That sounds about right,’ said Callum. ‘I don’t know how long it would have taken for news of the murder to have come out, but the media was crawling all over the place by the time we arrived in Sarclet early that afternoon. Let’s assume that later that day Danny heard there had been a murder of a young woman at Sarclet and added 2 and 2 to make 4. He would also assume that as he’d been caught by Amy and Gordon while stalking her at the supermarket the previous day, the police would be looking for him as a suspect.’

‘Surely if he’d thought he was a suspect in a murder case he’d have disappeared immediately,’ said Trevor. ‘What if he simply assumed Amy had given up for the day and did likewise, then went back to his guest house to warm up and give himself a chance to decide what to do next? As you say, Callum, the news of a murder would have started to come out that afternoon, but would Danny have been paying attention to TV or online news? What if he didn’t know Amy was dead until that evening or the next morning? And when he did find out, he’d have probably heard at the same time that we already had a man in custody.’

They passed the little guard hut for the firing range and began the gentle descent down the track back to the parking area.

 ‘You may be right, Trevor,’ said Callum. ‘His spending that night in Wick is consistent with him not hearing about Amy’s murder on the day it happened. If we assume that’s the case, what would he have done the next day to try to talk to Amy?’

‘What if he decided to try to pick up Amy’s trail again at Claire MacDonald’s house the next morning?’ asked Jenny. ‘He had no accommodation by this point, remember, and he would know his chances of finding any on New Year’s Eve were poor. You said the street Claire MacDonald lives in was crawling with journalists and a TV crew, Callum. However little interest Danny Ferguson had taken in the news, seeing that would have been enough to make him turn on his car radio or check a news website.’

They reached the gate that Danny Ferguson had partly blocked with the Corsa and negotiated their way through the stile to the parking area.

‘That would work,’ said Callum. ‘What I don’t understand is why Danny would then have driven the Corsa back to Thurso. We assume that he stole a second car after dumping the Corsa, but why didn’t he make any obvious effort to conceal any forensic evidence that he’d been in the Corsa? He didn’t even take the basic step of torching the car before leaving it. He simply removed the number plates to delay its identification.’

‘Hopefully, when we catch up with him we can ask him,’ said Trevor.

They said their farewells. Trevor turned the Mondeo around and drove off while Callum and Jenny were removing their boots at the back of the Audi.

The grey day had turned steadily gloomier while they’d been walking and it started to rain almost as soon as they got into the car.

Jenny could sense Callum’s frustration, as she had the previous afternoon. She was coming to realise how much he hated sitting back and waiting for others to uncover information and pass it on to him.

‘Perhaps we should return to Sarclet Castle and see if our room is ready?’ she suggested. ‘Then we can take stock of where we are with the various strands of both investigations and perhaps see what the food in the staff restaurant is like. I also want to talk to Geoffrey Gunn about taking another look at the haunted room and, if they aren’t currently occupied by staff, at the rooms on either side of it.’

‘That’s a good idea,’ said Callum. ‘You’re still thinking about what happened at the séance, aren’t you?’

‘It would be nice to have a look in the cold light of day, or what passes for the cold light of day in dismal weather like this.’

29: Tuesday the 2nd of January

Sarclet Castle felt oddly deserted when they returned and Jenny parked in the area where previously there had been a line of guests’ cars. Callum led her around the back of the castle and used his key card to gain entry.

Geoffrey Gunn’s office looked as if it was intended to accommodate several members of staff at desks equipped with computers. There was also a utilitarian meeting table at one end and the walls were largely covered in maps and plans. Today, Geoffrey was on his own and the other computers in the room appeared to be switched off.

He looked up as they entered. ‘Hello again, how was Castle Sinclair Girnigoe?’

‘It’s funny you should ask,’ said Callum. ‘We ended up at the Castle of Old Wick instead.’

‘Ah, I see. It has a spectacular location but I’ve always found it underwhelming as a building. Anyway, do you want me to show you to your room? Incidentally, you may not have noticed but the staff restaurant is just a little further along the corridor from here.’

Geoffrey led them along the same corridor and through a door at the end. On the other side of it, they emerged on the ground floor of the main part of the castle. There they encountered a young woman vacuuming the carpet who exchanged greetings with Geoffrey. Jenny smiled and said hello.

‘I’ve noticed the door we came through when going to and from the drawing room but never thought about where it led,’ Jenny said.

‘I suspect that’s the idea,’ said Geoffrey. ‘I imagine the same goes for this door here.’ He pulled open a panelled wooden door that Jenny had passed when she’d visited the library.

‘It’s a bijou lift lobby,’ she said.

‘It is. I’m afraid the lift it gives access to is no larger than the one at the other end of the castle near your old room. Callum, can you press the button for the third floor?’

They emerged into a carpeted corridor whose wood-panelled walls were generously decorated with what appeared to be original abstract paintings.

‘This is the door to the Forsinard Suite,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Jenny, can you do the honours to check your key card works as intended?’

Jenny opened the door and walked in. Beyond it, she found a room that was even larger than the Strathmore Suite they’d occupied in the older part of the castle. The bed was the same but the sitting area was larger and better furnished and there was a small kitchen in one corner. There were also more windows, with two on one side and another on the second. The slope of the ceiling and the shapes made by the exposed beams suggested they were in the attic of the building.

‘Wow!’ she said. ‘The last thing I was expecting was an even grander room!’

‘This is the suite Mr and Mrs Balliol use when they are staying at the castle,’ said Geoffrey, smiling. ‘She is keen to impress on you the benefits of the castle as a wedding venue and asked me to tell you that this will be the bridal suite. She wants you to have the chance to enjoy it while you’re staying at the castle. My belated congratulations on your engagement, by the way. I’m extremely pleased for both of you.’

‘Thank you,’ said Callum.

‘You’ll find the bathroom through the door over there. There’s a large fridge which is well stocked in the kitchen area with a fuller range of drinks and snacks than was available in your old room and you will also find the cupboards offer a variety of options if you need anything to eat outside the hours that the staff restaurant is open. Please use whatever you want. The room will be restocked daily.’ Geoffrey held out a card to Jenny. ‘This card has an emergency contact number if anything does arise out of hours. There is always at least one member of the security team and one member of the housekeeping team on duty at night.’

‘Can you pass on our thanks to Rose?’ asked Jenny.

‘Of course, and if you can help resolve the mystery of Violet Bain’s murder then I am sure Mrs Balliol will feel your stay has been an excellent investment.’

‘No pressure, then,’ said Jenny, smiling. ‘On that subject, do you mind if Callum and I take a look at the room where the séance was held last night before it gets dark? I’d like a chance to see it again and I’d also like to look, if possible, at the rooms on either side.’

‘That’s no problem. That part of the castle remains nominally in use but there’s no one staying there at the moment. The duty staff have overnight rooms nearer the office. The rooms in the attic corridor are usually kept locked and I’m happy to take you now if you like.’

‘That would be great, Geoffrey, thank you.’

Geoffrey led them back out of their room and along a shorter route than Jenny had been expecting to the staff quarters in the attic of the rear range of the castle.

‘Do you want to start in the room itself?’ Geoffrey opened the door. ‘Please lead, Jenny. I can come in or stay out here if you prefer.’

‘No, come in. Frankly, after last night, the more the merrier. I’m not sure I want to spend time in here by myself.’

The room Jenny led the two men into had been returned to its role as a staff sitting room, with what appeared to be the same sofas, armchairs and other furnishings as when she’d first seen it. The books had been returned to the bookshelves and the microwave and TV were back. The large circular table had gone.

‘What did you want to look at?’ asked Callum.

‘Now I’m here I’m not sure,’ said Jenny.

‘I know you told me what happened last night, but would it help to talk me through it again? And Geoffrey of course.’

Jenny closed her eyes and gave a brief account of what had happened at the séance. ‘It’s the gust of cold wind that blew out the candles that is hardest to explain, and the bathroom door being ajar when Rose switched the light on whereas it had been closed until then. It’s also odd that the window in there was unlatched, though closed.’

She took a step towards the now-closed bathroom door and then stopped, uncertainly.

‘Would it help if I went into the bathroom first?’ asked Callum.

Jenny smiled, ‘Yes, please. I’m not usually scared of my own shadow, but something about this place feels very creepy.’

Jenny watched as Callum opened the bathroom door, then went to stand in the doorway as he entered the room. ‘The window is latched now,’ he said.

‘Can you open it?’ she asked. ‘I’d like to know if there’s anything outside that someone could have used to access the room, like a drainpipe or a ledge.’

Callum opened the window and leaned out. ‘Sorry, there’s nothing. The window of the room further along the corridor isn’t far away, but I don’t think anyone who isn’t built like an orangutan could have climbed from one to the other, and there’s nowhere to put your feet. And we’re far too high to make a ladder a practical proposition.’

Jenny turned back into the room. ‘Can you think of any way someone could have got into the bathroom window last night, Geoffrey?’

‘I’m sorry, no. We do have a self-propelled cherry picker that we use to clean the outside of high-level windows but it’s locked away in a workshop at the back of the castle. I will check that it’s still there of course.’

‘Can we look in the rooms on either side, starting with the one on this side as its window is nearest to this one?’

The two rooms were twins with small ensuite bathrooms. Their windows were latched. Geoffrey explained that they had both been in use until that morning when the travelling staff left and they had since been cleaned. To Jenny’s mind, that meant there was little to learn from them about what had happened the previous night.

Geoffrey then took them down to the staff restaurant where they found two more members of staff, one serving and the other eating. Callum and Jenny enjoyed a filling lunch of cottage pie followed by Christmas pudding and custard. While they were eating Geoffrey went out. When he returned he confirmed that the cherry picker was still where it was meant to be and showed no signs of having been used the previous night.

Jenny felt a little disappointed. She’d hoped to find a solid, real-world explanation for what she’d witnessed at the séance. If there wasn't one, then it made it more likely that the explanation was neither solid nor real-world, and Jenny found she was quite scared by that idea. She was even more scared when Geoffrey said he’d add the door to the room where the séance had been held to the list of doors that could be opened by their key cards. She consoled herself with the thought that being able to return to the room didn’t mean they would.

*

Callum watched as Jenny went through to the bathroom of the Forsinard Suite.

‘Come and look at this, Callum! It’s even better than the last one.’

Callum went to stand in the doorway.

Jenny looked at him, beaming. ‘We’ve got the same double shower and twin sinks, but the bath is even larger and has a whirlpool effect. And we’ve got two windows, one looking out over the walled garden and the other towards the sea.’

‘It’s impressive,’ said Callum. ‘The whole suite is impressive. We appear to have been given the north end of the top floor of the four-storey central section of the castle. Two of the windows in the main room are at the front of the castle and look out over the lawn, while the third looks out over the walled garden.’

Jenny gave him an exaggerated impression of a come-hither look. ‘Do you like the idea of giving the bath a try?’

‘It’s not as if we’ve got a hugely pressing to-do list this afternoon,’ he said.

‘I had hoped for a little more enthusiasm,’ said Jenny, smiling.

Callum had used whirlpool baths before but had never found a reason to do more than fill them with water and bathe in them. He was amused by Jenny’s keenness on the full water jets and bubbles experience though didn’t think he’d ever share it.

He found it much more interesting when Jenny, by now obviously aroused, turned off the bath’s whirlpool function and suggested that he should wash her. He did, gently and in ways he knew would ensure that her level of arousal would build rather than diminish. Afterwards, they dried each other and Jenny led Callum into the bedroom and over to the bed.

Callum pulled back the duvet and lay Jenny down. Then he picked up her right leg before kissing the bottom of her foot and nibbling her toe. Jenny seemed happy to lie back as Callum kissed her ankle, then moved up her leg, kissing and licking her as he went, paying particular attention to the sensitive back of her knee and then the soft skin on the inside of her thigh. Jenny moved her legs wider apart to make room for him and he could feel her tensing with anticipation as his kisses moved further and further up the inside of her leg.

He had almost reached his intended destination when her phone rang.

‘Shit!’ Jenny sat up straight and brought her legs together, trapping Callum for a moment. ‘I’m sorry, Callum,’ she said as he extricated himself. ‘I should have left it on silent.’

‘Just ignore it,’ he said. ‘You can ring them back after we’ve finished.’ The phone stopped ringing. ‘They’ll leave a message.’

‘I’m not sure I’m going to be able to recapture the mood if I’m wondering who’s trying to get in touch,’ she said. She rolled over and reached for the bedside table, then picked up her phone and looked at it. ‘It was Suzi. I’ll call her back.’

‘You should double-check you don’t FaceTime her by accident,’ Callum said, smiling. ‘We don’t want to give her the impression we are being less than entirely professional this afternoon.’

Jenny giggled. ‘That would be awful, wouldn’t it? Especially with her and Trevor apart.’ She shuffled over so she was sitting against two pillows at the top of the bed and pulled the duvet up so it covered her modesty.

Callum sat next to her. ‘I think this looks fairly professional, don’t you?’

‘Stop it, Callum. I can’t risk bursting out laughing in the middle of a serious conversation. And while the idea of making a FaceTime call by mistake would never have entered my mind, now you’ve mentioned it I can almost feel myself drawn to doing exactly that. Here we go, I’ll put her on speakerphone.’

Suzi picked up the call almost immediately. ‘Hello, Jenny? Thanks for calling back.’

‘That’s no problem,’ said Jenny. ‘I’ve got Callum here with me and you’re on speakerphone.’

‘I do have another reason for calling, but I should start by congratulating you both on your engagement. Trevor told me. It’s wonderful news!’

Jenny raised her eyebrows at Callum and he had to suppress a laugh.

‘Thank you,’ said Jenny. ‘We’ve no dates in mind but we’re thinking of getting married here at Sarclet Castle and we want to invite you and Trevor.’

‘That’s lovely, thank you. We wouldn’t miss it for the world. As I said, though, I do have another reason for calling and it’s about something much less pleasant. I have an appointment to visit the archives people at Police Scotland’s Fife Division in Glenrothes tomorrow morning. I’m sorry it’s taken a little time but as you know most people are only back at work tomorrow. I’m not sure what’s going to be left in the way of records and evidence from the murder in St Andrews and the other death in Crail in 1944 but there have been fewer police reorganisations in Fife than elsewhere in the country so I’m hopeful.’

‘Thank you, Suzi,’ said Jenny. ‘We’re very grateful. I hope it goes well tomorrow.’

‘Hang on! That wasn't my main reason for calling. It has been very quiet here today and the only thing that’s kept me sane has been the other puzzle you set me.’

‘Do you mean Faye Watson?’ asked Callum.

‘Yes. I’ve just returned to Livingston after an interesting hour and a half at a warehouse in Leith where the really, really cold cases watch the decades pass from their cryogenic storage. That was the poor joke told by the gentleman I met there and I felt obliged to laugh because he fancied me and was keen to help. And before you ask, no, Trevor’s not got anything to worry about.

‘I should start with a quick word about the history. In 1943 Faye Watson’s murder was investigated by the East Lothian Constabulary. This became part of the Lothians and Peebles Constabulary in 1950, which became part of Lothian and Borders Police in 1975, which became part of Police Scotland in 2013.

‘When I first tried to track someone down to talk to about this yesterday, I was told there was zero chance of anything meaningful surviving from a case in 1943 simply because of the repeated upheavals caused by those reorganisations. I persevered because I thought something as serious as an unsolved murder had to have been treated more respectfully, especially as police records are covered by the Public Records Act and ought to be safeguarded by law. Yesterday afternoon I was able to find a case reference number on our online system and a single-paragraph description that was enough for me to be sure this was the case you had in mind. However, there was a note on the entry that when someone had tried to find the files and evidence in 1983 for a 40-year review of the case, they were unable to do so.

‘To cut a long story short, my admirer in Leith was able to turn up a five-page summary of the police file on the investigation into Faye Watson’s murder that was typed up and then signed by an inspector in 1945, apparently after they concluded they’d gone as far as they could with the case. I took photos of the five pages and will let you have them attached to an email. The rest of the file is lost.’

‘What did you make of what you saw?’ asked Callum.

‘It’s hard to say without the full file because the best way of getting a feeling for how much effort was put into the investigation would be the volume of interview notes. But it did sound like they took the rape and murder of an 18-year-old woman very seriously. Her body was found in the ruin of the Old Parish Kirk which is close to the centre of the town. She’d been raped and repeatedly stabbed. There were no witnesses and no one owned up to having heard anything. The attack took place late on a Thursday night in February and, being wartime, there was a blackout in force.

‘Faye Watson had been seen with another woman earlier that night drinking with a group of men in RAF uniform in a pub in North Berwick. The men were identified as non-commissioned officers serving at nearby RAF Drem. They were interviewed by the police but all said that Faye had left before closing time and that they left together later, after the pub had closed, and returned to RAF Drem in a lorry the RAF had laid on for the purpose. None of them knew where she had gone after leaving the pub. The other woman was also interviewed. Faye was born and brought up near North Berwick and this woman was a school friend who left the pub not long after Faye with a young man she knew from school who was back on leave from the army. She didn’t know why Faye had left or with whom as she was in the toilet at the time.

‘It rained that night and was very cold and there was considerable uncertainty about the time of Faye’s death after her body was found the next morning. I should add that Faye Watson worked on a farm at East Fenton, which was very close to RAF Drem. From what you said, Jenny, you were interested in this case partly because of an RAF connection to your case in Caithness, so that might be significant.’

‘Thank you, Suzi,’ said Callum. ‘Did your summary give the names of the men the victim was drinking with that evening? I’d like to know if one of them was Sergeant Peter Bartlett, the lover of our Caithness murder victim who we know was stationed at RAF Drem at the time.’

‘I’m sorry, no,’ said Suzi. ‘The summary was clearly intended to be read in conjunction with the rest of the file and the names weren’t included. A lot of other people were also interviewed but nothing else leapt out as of obvious interest.’

‘Thanks again, Suzi,’ said Callum. ‘I’ll take a look when I get your email and best of luck for tomorrow.’

‘There is one more thing,’ said Suzi.

‘What’s that,’ asked Jenny.

‘My admirer in the archives in Leith was able to produce what looked like a shoe box inside a much more recent plastic evidence bag. When we cautiously opened it, with gloves and masks on, it turned out to contain items of blood-soaked clothing including a dress and underwear and a dozen or so cotton wool balls that looked like they’d been used to swab blood and other liquids before drying very hard over the decades. He presented it to me much as a cat might gift its owner a dead mouse.’

‘You found physical evidence?’ asked Callum.

‘Yes, and I’ve sent it off to the lab for DNA analysis. I’m told there’s usually a lot of contamination with very old samples but as Faye Watson was raped the lab will focus on any semen that turns up. That should narrow it down to her killer.’

30: Tuesday the 2nd of January

‘I know that was good news,’ said Jenny. ‘But it could have kept until later and I do wish I’d thought to turn my phone to silent. Discussing the rape and murder of an 18-year-old woman has derailed my sex drive completely.’

‘You and me both, my love,’ said Callum. ‘If you want more good news it’s that a first look at the kitchen area reveals there are three full-size bottles of champagne in the fridge. Not sparkling wine, but actual champagne. There’s also enough in the way of what you might call party food in the fridge and cupboards to ensure we’re not going to go hungry before breakfast.’

‘We can’t just guzzle the Balliols’ champagne,’ said Jenny.

‘Not all of it, certainly, but do I get the feeling it’s intended to be used. I suggest a return visit to the bath tonight and then back to bed, having ensured we’ve both turned our phones to silent first.’

‘That would be very nice,’ said Jenny, smiling. ‘In the meantime, I could do with checking my emails to see if anything back in the real world needs my attention. I don’t expect it to, but I will feel happier if I take a look.’

‘I’ve used the type of coffee maker we’ve got in the kitchen before,’ said Callum. ‘Do you fancy a cup? Then I’ll also check my emails.’

Jenny found a way of playing music via Spotify on her phone through the room’s sound system and then sat back on the extremely comfortable sofa she was sharing with Callum. She found the quiet domesticity of doing ordinary things, even in these extraordinary surroundings, very pleasant. It also helped take her mind off what had happened to Faye Watson, who had only been the same age as Emily and Sophie when she’d been killed.

There was nothing in her emails that demanded her immediate attention, or even her attention before the end of the week. She looked up to see Callum looking at her, almost expectantly. She was starting to know him better, which was perhaps as well given they were now engaged.

‘Have you found something?’ she asked.

‘I’ve got three emails of interest,’ he said. ‘Jeremy Ryde has responded to the question I asked him this morning about Peter Bartlett and whether he could have changed identity or returned to Wick directly from Shetland without anyone knowing so he could kill Violet Bain. Jeremy says that given the huge turnover of personnel and the standards of individual identification at the time, in principle it might be possible for one man to impersonate another if they started out looking reasonably alike in terms of hair colour, eye colour, build and height. It therefore might be possible for Peter Bartlett to have killed Violet Bain and to have swapped his identity with another man and be presumed dead himself, but only if he’d killed the other man first. If he could get away with it at the time he might also get away with it long-term, depending on family circumstances.’

‘That is interesting,’ said Jenny. ‘I get the sense there’s a “but” coming?’

‘There is. Jeremy can’t think of any way that Peter Bartlett could solve the problem of hiding his aircraft. Each one had a unique serial number and there would be further identification marks on the engine and airframe. There’s no chance Peter Bartlett could have landed at any airfield without a record of his aircraft’s arrival being made and kept. And if he’d parachuted out somewhere inland the wreckage would have been identified, whereas a deliberate crash landing or parachute descent just off the shore would also be reported and one further out at sea would be hugely risky and also recorded when he was rescued. The bottom line is that while the man could theoretically have changed his identity the uniqueness of his aircraft would be impossible to circumvent.’

‘It was worth asking,’ said Jenny. ‘You said there were two other emails of interest.’

‘Yes, your genealogist friend Lucy Duncan has been looking for traces of the telegraph boy, William Brodie. He was seventeen at the time of Violet Bain’s murder and appears to have had an unblemished record. He continued to work at the post office at Thrumster until he was conscripted into the army on his eighteenth birthday in March 1944.

‘He volunteered for the Parachute Regiment and completed his training in time to take part in Operation Market Garden, the Allied attempt to capture bridges across the major rivers in the Netherlands in September 1944. On Monday the 18th of September he was holed up with other paratroops in buildings at the north end of the bridge over the Lower Rhine River at Arnhem, fighting off determined efforts by German armoured units to cross the bridge from the south. On three separate occasions, he ran out into enemy fire to drag wounded comrades into cover from where they’d fallen on the northern bridge approach. When he tried it a fourth time he was killed.’

This wasn’t what Jenny had been expecting to hear and she felt a physical sense of shock. ‘Is that it?’

‘I’m afraid so. Another young life was lost. He was posthumously awarded the Distinguished Conduct Medal, which for junior ranks was only one down from the Victoria Cross. I imagine his parents appreciated the medal but would have preferred to have their son back. The fact that William Brodie died as a war hero doesn’t say anything one way or the other about whether he killed Violet Bain just over a year earlier, but it does bring that line of enquiry to an abrupt end.’

There was a long pause.

‘I’m almost afraid to ask about your third email,’ said Jenny.

‘You might find this one easier to take,’ said Callum. ‘It’s from Dr Lynne Grady, the archaeologist in Orkney who found the skeleton of the first murder victim and her unborn child in the well. She is delighted to hear we have given the woman a name and thinks that Fionhula is perfect. She says that she’d like to borrow the idea for lectures and talks, though perhaps not for academic papers. Are you all right if I tell her we’re very happy with that?’

‘Of course, Callum. We can’t do much for Fionhula and we will certainly never find out who killed her, but giving her a name means she’s got more than she’s had for the past two thousand years.’

At that point, Callum’s phone rang.

‘That’s less frustrating timing than when mine rang,’ said Jenny, smiling.

She listened to Callum’s end of a short conversation with ‘Gordon’, presumably Gordon MacDonald.

‘I’m sure you picked up who that was,’ said Callum. ‘The police have said he no longer needs to remain in Wick and have returned his car and phone to him. He’s driving down to Edinburgh in the morning and asked if I could drop in this afternoon, to touch base and to allow him to say thank you. As you heard, I said we’d both call in. I hope that’s all right with you, Jenny.’

‘We might as well go into Wick now,’ said Jenny. ‘We’re still on Amanda Stirling’s payroll so, as with our visit to the ruined castle earlier, it’s all chargeable.’

*

‘I’m glad you thought of the phone,’ said Callum as Jenny drove back through a dark, dismal and very wet Wick. ‘That had passed me by completely.’

‘I just thought it might come in useful,’ said Jenny.

‘It might,’ said Callum. ‘Perhaps I was distracted.’

‘What by?’ asked Jenny.

‘By the thought of how upset Amanda Stirling would be if she knew I’m going to suggest to the police that they trace the movements of her highly influential client Charles MacDonald over the last week. If we accept that Gordon MacDonald and Danny Ferguson are both innocent of Amy Russell’s murder then someone else must have done it. What about the man who spent Boxing Day ogling the murder victim?’

‘Hang on, Callum,’ said Jenny. ‘You’re only involved in this case because of Charles MacDonald. He brought you in because the police appeared to be fixated on his son as the sole suspect and were ignoring what he had to say about Danny Ferguson. If Charles had done it himself he’d hardly engage a private detective to shift police focus away from their prime suspect.’

‘But that’s not how it happened, is it Jenny? Gordon phoned his father on Saturday after he was arrested. Then Charles MacDonald phoned Amanda Stirling to ask her to provide legal support and she dispatched Vikram Khan from her firm’s office in Inverness.

‘Amanda learned of my existence and of my role in investigating the murder of Violet Bain from you over dinner on Saturday night. On Sunday morning, Vikram Khan texted Amanda to alert her to the police’s apparent fixation on Gordon MacDonald and she and Gerald agreed in Kirkwall that she should ask me to help. As far as we know, Charles MacDonald was only involved on one day, Saturday, when he was phoned by Gordon and then phoned Amanda. If he had killed Amy Russell himself earlier that day, refusing to provide his son with legal support would run the risk of attracting attention to himself.’

‘I can see your line of logic,’ said Jenny, ‘but I’m not entirely convinced by it.’

31: Tuesday the 2nd of January

Callum tried to ring Trevor Jones from the car while Jenny was driving back through Wick but it went to voicemail. While Jenny’s agreement with Chief Superintendent Cooper that she would be the only point of contact with Trevor had been overtaken by events, Callum still thought it best not to leave a message. It was enough that Trevor would be able to see that he’d tried to call.

As Jenny turned left in Thrumster, Callum was reminded of a conversation they’d had when they first arrived. ‘We’ve not tried the Old Smiddy Inn. There was no point given the amazing hospitality at Sarclet Castle.’ He looked at his phone. ‘According to their Facebook page, they’re open from 5 p.m. until 11 p.m. on a Tuesday.’

‘I seem to remember you saying it was probably further to the castle than the mile and a quarter the signpost at the junction claims it is to Sarclet,’ said Jenny. ‘Remember, too, that neither of us will want to drink and drive, that it’s pouring with rain, and that it’s a narrow road with no lighting at all. If you are set on the idea, though, I’d be happy to play the part of chauffeur and stick to tonic water.’

‘Thanks for the offer but on reflection I think that perhaps we will be best guzzling the Balliol’s champagne in our suite after all,’ said Callum.

A man wearing a dark grey suit was waiting for them when they entered the door at the rear of the castle. Callum thought back to his discussion with Geoffrey Gunn about security during his visit in July when the castle had a very different owner. He suspected the Balliols were just as interested in keeping the buildings and surrounding estate secure as Mr Suleimenov had been. The Audi’s approach had doubtless been observed via the discreetly located cameras dotted around the house and grounds. The man greeted them by name and introduced himself as Adam Black, the duty security officer.

‘Would you like to use the drawing room or library at all this evening? You’d be welcome to use either or both, but knowing in advance means we can ensure there’s a fire lit.’

‘We’d thought of staying in our room,’ said Jenny, ‘but would love to be able to sit in front of the fire in the library.’

‘No problem. And will you want to use the staff restaurant? After the excitement of the last few days most permanent staff have finished early this afternoon.’

‘No, thank you,’ said Jenny. ‘We enjoyed our meal there earlier and have seen how well-stocked our room is.’

Adam Black smiled. ‘I’ll pass that on, thank you. The chef will appreciate the chance to close down early.’ He held an arm out to his side to indicate that Callum and Jenny should proceed towards the lift.

Back in their room, Callum watched as Jenny took off her shoes and sat at one end of the sofa.

‘You didn’t mind my opting for the library, did you, Callum?’

‘Not at all, It sounds like a lovely idea.’ Callum looked at his watch. ‘It’s too early for me to ring John Rodriguez. I feel he’s my last chance to learn anything from Elizabeth Bain’s family about what was going on in her sister’s life before she was killed so I want to tread very carefully with him. I don’t feel I can ring before 9 a.m. Pacific Standard Time, which is 5 p.m. here.’

‘Do you fancy some more coffee?’ asked Jenny. ‘Like you, I know how to operate a coffee maker and it’s too early for alcohol.’

‘That would be great. While you’re doing that, I’ll try Trevor again. Actually, I’ve got a better idea. I’ll give Yvonne Sinclair of the Highlands & Islands Observer a call.’

‘Why?’ asked Jenny.

‘She owes me a favour for giving her background information about Danny Ferguson when we met outside Claire MacDonald’s house. I want to leave her thinking she owes me two more when I tell her, off the record of course, why Danny Ferguson probably didn’t kill Amy Russell and why it might be worth her while discreetly digging into the movements of Charles MacDonald over the last week.’

‘That's highly manipulative of you,’ said Jenny, smiling.

‘It is, but I’ll be honest with Yvonne about why I’m telling her. It’s up to her what she then does with what I’ve told her.’

‘And all you’ll want in return is for her to let you know if she finds anything of interest.’

‘Exactly. That way we both win,’ said Callum.

‘Fine, but I want a chance to talk to her before you finish your conversation.’

‘Of course,’ said Callum.

‘Thank you for not asking why, but I’ll tell you anyway. Like Suzi and Trevor, Yvonne is part of our story and I want to give her advance notice that she’ll be getting an invitation to a wedding here later this year.’

‘We’d best make it a “plus one” invitation. When I saw her she was very unhappy that she’d had to let down her hot date for Hogmanay in Inverness. I’m sure she’d welcome the chance to return to Caithness in better circumstances and when it’s less cold.’

*

Their conversation with Yvonne Sinclair had gone well. They quite quickly passed beyond the messages Callum wanted to convey. Having told her about the wedding, Jenny agreed with Yvonne that she and the man in her life would come to the house at Kilmuir for dinner as soon as Jenny and Callum had returned to the Black Isle from Caithness.

Callum hoped his conversation with John Rodriguez would be as productive. He looked at Jenny, sitting next to him on the sofa and took a deep breath before making the call. Then he put the phone on the sofa between them.

‘Hello.’

‘Hello, is that John Rodriguez? It’s Callum Anderson here. You emailed to say it was all right for me to ring. I hope this is a convenient time.’

‘Hello Callum, it’s good to hear from you. I’ve got a meeting in half an hour but I’m all yours until then. What can I do for you?’

‘I’ve been asked to investigate the murder in September 1943 of Violet Bain, who was the older sister of Elizabeth Bain, your grandmother.’

‘Samantha Beattie tells me you used to be a policeman. Is that right?’

‘Yes, I was a detective inspector with the Metropolitan Police in London until a few months ago.’

‘What changed?’

Callum had decided that total honesty was the only course if the conversation reached this point. ‘My wife, an inspector with the Metropolitan Police, decided she preferred my boss to me and moved in with him. I subsequently fell in love, first with Scotland, the country my parents left when I was a baby, and then with a lady I met here. Police Scotland offered me a transfer from London but I was rethinking my life by then and decided that becoming a private investigator was a better option.’

‘What happened with the lady?’

Callum found it hard to read the expression on Jenny’s face. ‘Jenny is now my business partner and is sitting here next to me, listening to our conversation. And we’ve just become engaged to be married.’

‘Congratulations! Hello Jenny! I hope you don’t mind my prying but it goes with the job and I like to know who I’m dealing with.’

‘It’s no problem,’ said Callum.

‘How can I help you with the murder of Violet Bain?’

‘The police investigation into her rape and murder was superficial. They interviewed the obvious suspects but gave up very easily when they didn’t have an early breakthrough. The witness who gave them the most information about Violet was her younger sister Elizabeth, who lived with their mother in Thurso, about 25 miles from where Violet worked as a live-in maid at Sarclet Castle.

‘It seems that Violet Bain was something of a free spirit. She had a number of lovers, including three connected with Sarclet Castle. She appears to have told her sister Elizabeth about the details of her love life because Elizabeth gave the police a list of possible suspects. The police took this as evidence that what happened to Violet was her own fault and they had better things to do than pursue her killer.’

‘That’s appalling,’ said John Rodriguez, ‘but I’ve worked with cops like that in much more recent times and I bet you have too. Who has asked you to investigate Violet’s death?’

‘Mrs Rose Balliol, who purchased Sarclet Castle with her husband late last year. You may find her reason for asking me to investigate weird. She believes that identifying the killer might bring peace to Violet’s ghost, who is believed by many to haunt the part of the castle where she lived.’

‘What do you think about that?’

‘You aren’t the first to ask me, John. The answer is that I’ve got an open mind about the ghost but I strongly believe the superficial police investigation was a wrong that needs to be put right. Call it professional pride, if you like.’

‘I can go with that, Callum. How can I help?’

Callum felt the tension drain out of him. His relief must have been obvious to Jenny, too, for she smiled and reached out to put a hand on his shoulder.

‘I know that your grandmother Elizabeth Rodriguez died in 2018. But she remains my only link back to her sister Violet Bain and from what she was able to tell the police the two of them must have been very close, even if Violet did work away from home.

‘There is no one on the Scottish side of her family who can tell me anything about Elizabeth. She left for the United States when her daughter was barely one and her mother never said anything that might help. That means that if Elizabeth ever told anyone anything that might identify Violet’s killer, it must have been someone on the US side of her family.’

It took John Rodriguez a moment to respond. ‘You want me to interview my relatives to find out if any of them ever had a conversation with Grandma Elizabeth that might help you identify who killed her sister Violet Bain?’

‘That’s it, exactly,’ said Callum.

‘My father and my Aunt Grace, Grandma Elizabeth’s two surviving children, both live in San Francisco, as do Grace’s son and daughter, my cousins Elliot and Bethany. My younger brother Bart lives in Sydney, Australia. San Francisco and Los Angeles are 380 miles apart, something I know all too well and, of course, Sydney is considerably further away. What you’re asking ought to be done face-to-face but I think the best I can offer is to telephone each of them individually, at least initially. You said that people believe that Violet Bain’s ghost haunts Sarclet Castle. Her ghost also haunts our family and we were all brought up with the story of her loss, though from what you say we were given a carefully edited version that as far as I recall omitted the part about her sleeping around and the part about her being raped. My family will all be as keen as you are, and I am, to find out what happened and I’m sure will do their best to help. It might take a day or two but I’ll send you an email as soon as I have anything to report.’

‘Thank you, John, I’m very grateful.’

After he ended the call Callum leaned back on the sofa. ‘That went about as well as it could have done.’

‘It did,’ said Jenny. ‘I trust him to do everything he can to find out if anyone knows anything useful. I am a little concerned about Elizabeth spreading a sanitised version of the story around the family, though. To my mind that makes it less likely she’ll have told anyone any of the gritty details that I think we need to make progress on Violet’s murder.’

‘I trust him too,’ said Callum. ‘But I share your concern about Elizabeth’s version of the story of the murder.’

They sat in comfortable silence for a while.

‘I do love the way you talk about me to other people, Callum. That’s twice now you've talked about me being your partner professionally as well as personally. Do you mean it?’

‘It seems to work well in practice,’ said Callum. ‘Why not? Neither of us fits the mould of either Sherlock Holmes or Dr Watson, but we do complement each other extremely well.’

‘We do, don’t we?’ said Jenny, smiling.

A little later Trevor Jones returned Callum’s call but beyond confirming what Gordon MacDonald had said he had nothing significant to impart. Those leading the investigation still believed Danny Ferguson was their only suspect and the police were still hoping for a report of another stolen car in Thurso. Callum decided not to mention Charles MacDonald to Trevor. Yvonne would find out where the man had been for the last week and at that point he’d either become a strong suspect or an irrelevance to the investigation.

*

The fire in the library cast a beautiful flickering light across the room, even with the mesh fireguard in place. They had carried a chilled bottle of champagne and two glasses down from their room with them but found them surplus to requirements as an ice bucket with a bottle and glasses had been left on a small table away from the fire.

Jenny took the glass that Callum had poured for her and went to sit on one of the two large green leather wingback armchairs that flanked the fire. Callum sat on the other. Then they talked.

She’d have been hard-pressed afterwards to say in any detail what they talked about but it felt good and it seemed to last forever. It certainly lasted long enough for the fire to burn down to dull embers, even though Callum had used the logs placed in a brass bucket on one side of the fireplace to feed it. Their discussion also lasted long enough to prove that the second bottle of champagne wasn't surplus to requirements after all.

Afterwards, they returned to their room. Jenny was too tired to be interested in the bath they’d discussed earlier or the sex they’d intended to follow it with. She was comfortable that Callum felt the same and she chose to take his suggestion that they might return to the séance room to see how it felt when they were on their own as a joke, which she hoped it was.

32: Wednesday the 3rd of January

The staff restaurant was only large enough for four pine tables, each capable of accommodating four diners. There were six members of staff eating breakfast when Callum and Jenny went down the next morning and, after greetings of ‘good morning’ all round, they ordered at the servery, porridge for her and a full Scottish fried breakfast for him, then sat down at the only empty table.

Callum found the atmosphere more comfortable than he’d expected. After the initial welcome, the staff ignored him and Jenny while the unintrusive background music, which he realised had also been playing the previous day, was just loud enough to allow conversations between diners to be private.

‘What’s on the agenda for today?’ asked Jenny.

‘More thumb twiddling while we wait for others to do our work for us, hopefully at least,’ said Callum.

‘You’re not very good at that, are you? There was frost on the lawn when I looked out of the bedroom window just now so it’s cold outside. But the sky was blue and the branches of the trees didn’t appear to be moving. How do you feel about dressing up warmly and visiting Castle Sinclair Girnigoe, the castle north of Wick that we didn’t manage to get to yesterday?’

‘I’ve got no better ideas,’ said Callum.

Jenny smiled and Callum felt himself responding.

‘Your enthusiasm is overwhelming,’ she said. ‘Come on, eat up. It’s as well we ordered a hot breakfast.’

It took a little while to clear the frost off the Audi’s windows but Callum felt there was no hurry. He tried to put aside the sense of frustration he’d felt since waking up that there was nothing to do but wait.

While Jenny drove towards Wick, Callum took Gordon MacDonald’s purple iPhone out of the glove compartment of the Audi and turned it on, then entered the PIN and navigated to “Find My”.

‘Is there anything?’ asked Jenny.

‘No, the location of Amy Russell’s phone hasn’t been updated since it was switched on at the Castle Sinclair Girnigoe car park on Sunday. I keep hoping.’ Callum switched the phone off again and sat back to watch as Jenny drove through the north side of Wick, then through Papigoe and Staxigoe and along the minor roads leading to their destination.

‘You can tell that people are back at work,’ said Jenny. ‘There were more visitors here on Monday.’ She parked in the large space between the only two cars in the car park.

‘The old campervan at the end was here on Monday, wasn’t it?’ asked Callum.

‘Yes, the green and white VW. I noticed it at the time because Iain and I talked about buying one just like it when the girls were young. With hindsight, I think he was only humouring me and never intended to go through with it. It’s odd that it’s still here, isn’t it? And I’m pretty sure it’s in the same place.’

Callum got out of the Audi and walked over to the VW, then bent down and looked under it. ‘It’s not moved since yesterday morning. The ground is dry underneath and we know that it rained from late morning yesterday, then froze overnight. The rest of the area is still wet or icy, depending on whether it is in sunlight or shadow. It’s at times like this that I miss being able to query the Police National Computer. It might be interesting to find out who owns the vehicle and ask them why it’s been left here.’

‘At least the curtains are open so we can see there’s no one inside,’ said Jenny. ‘We can ask Trevor or Suzi to trace the owner next time we speak to one of them. If someone had hidden Amy’s stolen iPhone in the van they’d have left it out of sight of the windows.’

‘You think that’s why her phone was switched on and then off again here? I did wonder, but it wouldn’t be any safer to keep it in a vehicle that can be traced back to its owner than it would be if the killer had held on to it. Come on, let’s put on our coats, hats, gloves and whatever else we’ve got in the car. There may be no wind but there’s no warmth when the sun’s this low and it’s bitterly cold this morning.’

‘It looks like we’re meant to pay for parking at the machine over there,’ said Jenny. ‘I’m not sure it’s enforced, though, because I didn’t see any sign that the camper owner had either paid for parking or been fined. We can claim it on expenses, so it’s better to be safe than sorry.’

The castle came steadily more clearly into view as they walked gently downhill towards it along a track that became a broad grassy path.

‘That’s amazing,’ said Jenny as they found themselves walking along the landward side of an inlet that had the castle on its far side, built along and on top of another fin of rock.

‘There’s far more left standing here than there was at the other castle,’ said Callum. ‘Access is from the far end. We follow the path around and then turn back on ourselves and cross the wooden bridge over the ditch that’s been cut in the rock.’

They had entered the ruins of the castle and were exploring the partial remains of a room that was roofless and open to the sea on one side when Jenny’s phone rang.

‘It’s Trevor,’ she said. She looked around and then answered the call. ‘Good morning, Trevor.’

‘Hello Jenny. Is Callum with you?’

‘Yes, we’re exploring another ruined castle and there’s no one else here so I’ve put you on speakerphone.’

‘We’ve got Danny Ferguson,’ said Trevor.

‘Did someone report their car stolen?’ asked Callum.

‘No, but we found it anyway. On Monday morning someone dialled 101 to report a freshly burned-out car on an old industrial site at Shotts in North Lanarkshire. It wasn’t considered a priority and it took until yesterday afternoon for a couple of officers to take a look at it. It was, or had been, a blue Mini with a white roof and its registered owner lives in Thurso. They passed word up here and police officers went to the owner’s address last night. It’s a flat in a house only a couple of streets from where the white Corsa was stolen.

‘There was no one in and a neighbour said the owner lives alone and works on an oil rig. He’s been offshore since the middle of the week before Christmas. The neighbour hadn’t noticed the absence of the Mini so couldn’t say when it had gone.

‘When we looked again at our records on Danny Ferguson we saw that a close associate during his misspent youth lives in Shotts and we had someone visit them this morning. Danny Ferguson was there and was arrested. He’s being driven up to Wick as we speak and ought to be here in the middle of the afternoon.’

‘That’s ironic,’ said Callum. ‘Yesterday I was asking why Danny didn’t take the basic precaution of torching the stolen Corsa. Now he’s been caught purely because he torched the Mini. Hearing his account of what happened will clarify some of the details. Your senior officers are going to look very stupid if his alibi holds up once they’ve had a chance to talk to him.’

‘I know,’ said Trevor. ‘We’ve got him bang to rights on two counts of car theft and one of criminal damage but I’m fairly sure my detective chief inspector is hoping for much more than that. Meanwhile, the knife that was used to kill Amy was clean of DNA other than hers and Gordon MacDonald’s, the only blood was hers and I think I’ve already told you that the only fingerprints on it were his. That means we have very little to go on if the three of us are right about needing to add Danny Ferguson to our discarded pile with Gordon MacDonald.’

‘Thanks for letting us know, Trevor,’ said Callum. ‘While I’ve got you on the phone, it’s worth mentioning something that Jenny and I noticed at the car park where Amy Russell’s phone was turned on on Sunday.’ Callum went on to describe the campervan and give Trevor the registration number.

*

They had another look at the VW campervan when they got back to the car park but agreed that they’d done all they could by telling Trevor about it.

‘What now?’ asked Jenny when they got back in the Audi.

Callum looked at his watch. ‘We’re still in thumb-twiddling mode. Do you fancy a drive up to John o’ Groats? It doesn’t look far on the map. Gordon MacDonald sounded pretty unimpressed when he talked about visiting with Amy and his mother but it’s somewhere that’s always had an important place in my consciousness of Scotland.’

‘I went with the girls a few years ago,’ said Jenny. ‘They were on school holiday and Iain was supposedly working in Inverness so we did the whole of the north coast in a morning, then drove back to Oldshoremore via the east coast and Lairg. If you have an image in your mind of John o’ Groats being somewhere exotic and alluring then it would be a huge shame to spoil it by exposing you to the reality of going there. After all, it’s not the most northerly or even most north-easterly point in mainland Scotland. If you’re happy to put yourself in my hands, I’ve got a better idea.’

Callum followed on a map on his tablet as Jenny drove back into Wick and then cut cross country to the north-west. The first real settlement they arrived in was Castletown, where Jenny turned right onto the main coast road.

‘I’m guessing that Dunnet Head is the most northerly point in mainland Scotland,’ said Callum.

‘You’ve got it in one. It also offers fine views north towards Orkney on a clear day, which this is.’

The roads became narrower and more tortuous as they neared their destination but Callum had to admit that once they’d parked, the view through the windscreen, taking in a lighthouse in the foreground and a hilly island bounded by cliffs in the distance, was amazing.

Callum had just opened his door when his phone rang. He closed it again. ‘At least we can talk in the warmth of the car. It’s Yvonne Sinclair. Hello Yvonne. Jenny’s here with me.’

‘Hello Callum, hello Jenny. Thanks for the tip-off about Charles MacDonald. I’ve turned up some weird stuff about him and I thought I should share it with you.’

‘What have you found?’

‘I talked to some people in Edinburgh, journalist friends and contacts. On Boxing Day evening a concerned dog walker called the police after hearing an argument taking place outside a large house in Cramond, an expensive western suburb of Edinburgh on the south shore of the Forth Estuary. A man and a woman were shouting and kids were crying. The police arrived pretty quickly. The woman and kids were nowhere to be seen and the man behaved aggressively towards the two police officers who, when they looked more closely, found that the large black Mercedes parked on the drive had damage consistent with having run over the pushchair whose remains had been left in the open garage standing a little way from the house itself.

‘When confronted with this the man, Charles MacDonald, said that he’d argued with his wife who had left with the two children in her car and gone to her parents’ home in Linlithgow. He said that she’d left one of the children’s pushchairs in the drive when she’d driven away and he had accidentally run into it in the dark while moving his car out of the garage after she’d gone.

‘The police found this odd given the good visibility provided by the floodlights covering the drive and garage. They subsequently spoke to Mrs MacDonald in Linlithgow. She confirmed there had been an argument but wanted to play down its significance. When asked, she said her husband had taken a pushchair out of the boot of her car after she’d packed to leave and thrown it on the ground, but then she had second thoughts and said his account of what had happened must have been right.’

‘So his wife left him after a fight late on Boxing Day,’ said Callum. ‘I’m guessing she’s not made a complaint herself? Has she moved back or is she still in Linlithgow?’

‘You are right about her not wanting to make a complaint,’ said Yvonne. ‘I believe she’s still in Linlithgow but it’s something else that I think will interest you most. As far as anyone outside his business can tell, Charles MacDonald has disappeared off the face of the Earth. He’s not been reported missing and there’s a sense of those working for him trying hard to cover for his absence in a way that feels like he had a hand in his own disappearance.

‘Boxing Day was a Tuesday and he was due to host a charity lunch at Prestonfield, a top Edinburgh hotel, on the Thursday. He didn’t show up and someone else stood in for him. He then failed to attend a prizegiving ceremony at his exclusive golf club in East Lothian last Saturday and a party he and his wife were throwing at their home on New Year’s Eve was cancelled, apparently on the preceding Wednesday, the day after the argument. I’m told he’s not been seen in public so far this week either.’

‘Thank you, Yvonne, that’s food for thought.’

‘From what you said yesterday, you seem to think he might be involved in Amy Russell’s murder. It does look possible, doesn’t it?’

‘It’s more of a possibility than if he’d remained in public view and had a firm alibi for the day Amy was killed. On the other hand, you should be aware that he took a telephone call from his son after Gordon was arrested for Amy Russell’s murder on Saturday, and he then made a call to his legal adviser to arrange for a solicitor to travel from Inverness to Wick to represent Gordon. You also need to remember that you are dealing with a rich and highly influential man. It may not be career-enhancing for you to publish allegations about him without clear proof.’

Yvonne laughed. ‘Thanks, Callum. Do you teach your grandmother how to suck eggs, too?’

‘Sorry, Yvonne.’

‘Not at all, Callum. I’m just grateful for your call yesterday and I’ll keep you in touch if anything else comes up.’

‘There is one other thing,’ said Callum. He went on to tell Yvonne about Danny Ferguson’s arrest by the police.

Callum exhaled deeply when he’d ended the call with Yvonne.

‘That’s put the cat amongst the pigeons,’ said Jenny.

‘It has,’ said Callum. ‘It sounds like Charles MacDonald has deliberately dropped off the radar. When I did it last summer it took a lot of planning, effort and money. But he’s not short of resources and could easily do the same. He could buy an untraceable car with cash and burner phones in the same way if he needed them. Having said that, we know he was contacted by Gordon on Saturday, which is a weakness in the theory.’

‘It’s too much of a coincidence that he was first publicly missed on the day that Gordon and Amy drove up to Wick,’ said Jenny. ‘It does feel like he’s involved in her murder. As you said when I queried it, he couldn’t refuse Gordon’s request for assistance on Saturday without risking it looking suspicious.’

‘His involvement is a possibility, certainly,’ said Callum. ‘On the other hand, if his marriage was unravelling because his wife refused to overlook his ogling of Amy on Boxing Day then there could be another explanation. Perhaps he has a yacht at an exclusive yacht club somewhere on the Clyde Estuary and has set off to sail single-handedly to Tahiti to get over his deep sense of loss? Perhaps Gordon’s call to him on Saturday was forwarded to a satellite phone on a yacht somewhere west of Ireland? Who knows?’

‘If he was completely innocent then you might have expected him to reappear when he heard from Gordon that Amy had been killed,’ said Jenny.

‘That’s true,’ said Callum. ‘Though perhaps he’s keeping in touch with a private secretary or a business partner or even his wife behind the scenes. We’ve no way of knowing. On the other hand, perhaps we do have a way of finding out.’

‘You’re wondering if Gordon knows anything?’ asked Jenny.

‘That’s right, and there’s no time like the present.’

Callum listened as the call was connected.

‘Hello Callum. I wasn't expecting to hear from you.’

‘Hello Gordon. I’m here with Jenny. I’m sorry to bother you, but have you heard from your father since you visited his house on Boxing Day?’

‘I told you I contacted him after I was arrested on Saturday,’ said Gordon.

‘Yes, you did. Presumably, you just rang his mobile number?’

‘Yes, though that went straight to voicemail. I then tried him on his home number, which just rang out, and then I rang his office. I didn’t expect to find anyone there on a Saturday but the call was answered by his secretary Michaela. I explained what had happened and she said I should leave it with her. I assumed Dad was in a meeting or something but he must have acted straight away to get Vikram sent up from Inverness.’

‘Didn’t that seem a little odd at the time?’ asked Callum.

‘I’d been arrested on suspicion of murder. I panicked when I couldn’t get Dad at first and was just deeply grateful to talk to someone who could get him to help.’

‘And you’ve had no other contact with your father since Boxing Day?’ asked Callum. ‘Neither of you rang to wish the other “Happy New Year!” on Sunday night or Monday morning?’

‘That’s not how my relationship with my father works. Why are you asking?’

‘Your father appears to have had a major row with his wife late on Boxing Day, after which she and their children left and went to stay at her parents’ home in Linlithgow. Since then he has cancelled all his diary commitments. As far as the outside world can see, he has disappeared.’

There was a long pause on the line. Callum looked at Jenny. ‘Hello Gordon, are you still there?’

‘Yes, I am, Callum. I think I know, but I’d like you to tell me why you’ve been looking into my father’s whereabouts.’

‘I just find it interesting that a man who took such a close interest in Amy during your Boxing Day visit has disappeared from view over the period in which she was murdered.’

‘Do you think he killed her?’ asked Gordon.

‘I don’t know. But it’s more possible than it would have been if he’d attended a prizegiving ceremony at his golf club in East Lothian last Saturday, as he was meant to do. That would have given him a perfect alibi.’

‘I may hate the bastard but I can’t believe he’s a murderer. Hang on a minute, I’ll call you back.’

The connection dropped.

‘It is a hell of a view from here,’ said Callum. ‘I wish I was enjoying it more.’

‘I know what you mean,’ said Jenny.

Callum’s phone rang fifteen minutes later.

‘Hello Gordon.’

‘I’ve just tried to ring my father,’ said Gordon. ‘His mobile number is still going to voicemail and the home number isn’t being answered. When I rang his office I got Michaela again. She’s been a fixture there for years and I’ve never heard her sound so uncomfortable or evasive. When I asked point blank where Dad was, she said he was taking a break and refused to elaborate when pushed. When I asked how long he’d been away, she sidestepped the question. I then asked how he’d arranged a solicitor for me on Saturday if he was away at the time. She said that she’d done that herself, acting on his behalf because she knew it was what he would have wanted. That means he’d dropped off even Michaela’s radar before Saturday.’

‘You know him better than I do,’ said Callum. ‘What do you think?’

‘I don’t know. But if he has flipped his lid and is in Caithness then the thought uppermost in my mind is that my mother is on her own in that bungalow and terribly vulnerable. If my father killed Amy he could easily hurt Mum. I’m just crossing the Kessock Bridge near Inverness. I’m going to drive all the way around the roundabout at the far end and head north again. Thank you for telling me.’

‘That’s no problem. If I hear anything else I’ll let you know, Gordon.’

Callum looked at Jenny after ending the call. ‘I’m trying to remember exactly what Amanda Stirling said to me about Charles MacDonald asking her to help Gordon on Saturday. I had the impression that he’d spoken to her on the phone but now I’m not so sure. If someone Amanda knew to be Charles’s trusted and long-standing secretary rang and said she was asking for assistance on his behalf, then I’m sure Amanda wouldn’t have questioned it.’

‘That means Charles MacDonald might have dropped off the radar any time from the evening of Boxing Day onwards,’ said Jenny.

Callum’s next phone call was to Trevor Jones. He told the detective sergeant everything he knew about Charles MacDonald’s disappearance from view and suggested that Claire MacDonald might be in danger. Trevor said he’d feed the information about Charles MacDonald to others in the enquiry team and that he’d try to get someone posted outside Claire MacDonald’s bungalow, at least until Gordon MacDonald returned.

33: Wednesday the 3rd of January

They spent a while standing together beside the Audi admiring the view, the silence and the sheer sense of remoteness at Dunnet Head. Callum had his arm around Jenny and the moment would have been perfect apart from the cold. Then she saw him look at his watch and guessed he was wondering how Suzi’s visit to the police archives in Fife was going.

‘Should we get out of the cold?’ she asked.

The comfortable silence continued inside the car.

This time it was Callum who broke it. ‘I wonder if we’ve pushed our welcome at Sarclet Castle as far as is reasonable. We’ve run out of positive things to do. This morning has been interesting and you've been great company, but we don’t need to be based in Caithness any more. We could just as easily keep our various plates spinning from Kilmuir or Oldshoremore.’

‘I have a slight confession to make,’ said Jenny. ‘I spoke to Carol Macleod before she and Martin left yesterday morning and agreed we’d stop off and spend a night with them in Dornoch when we leave here. Their kids are staying with Martin’s sister until the weekend and he’s promised Carol that he’ll stay away from the office this week. I’ve got enough clothes packed to last me a couple more days.’

‘It would be nice to have a chance to get to know them a little better,’ said Callum. ‘We need to pick up our stuff from the castle and let Geoffrey know what we’re doing. I’d also like to fill in the one gap we’ve got left in following Violet’s trail.’

‘What’s that?’ asked Jenny.

‘If you’re up to a walk in the cold I’d like to follow the route Violet took on the day she was killed, from the back of the castle to the haven and then to the broch. I know we’ve done the walk from the haven to the broch but it somehow feels better to follow what we think is the exact route she took. A final look at the broch before we go might also be useful, though in this light a lot of the interior is going to be in dark shadow.’

‘That’s a good idea,’ said Jenny. ‘It appeals to my sense of tidiness.’

On the way back to Wick she phoned Carol Macleod from the car. Carol sounded enthusiastic and said she’d book dinner. Jenny knew that was Carol’s way of locking the arrangement in place, which was fine with her.

They arrived back at Sarclet Castle just as a metallic green Subaru Outback was leaving.

‘That’s Geoffrey!’ said Callum. ‘Flash your lights.’

Callum walked over to the Subaru and had a brief discussion with Geoffrey, who had lowered his window.

‘He’s happy with that,’ said Callum when he got back into the car. ‘He says that we are welcome to return at any time if we need a base in Caithness again.’

Jenny found the walk from the back of Sarclet Castle to the corner of the haven and then to the broch deeply poignant.

‘This was the last time that Violet Bain was happy,’ she said. ‘She was young and in love and on her way to meet the young man in her life.’

‘It makes what happened to her all the more horrible,’ said Callum.

As they approached the outer end of the broch’s entrance passage Callum stopped and turned towards her. ‘You don’t have to come into the broch itself if you don’t want to.’

‘We’re partners remember,’ said Jenny. ‘Besides, the whole place is deserted and despite the sunshine, it has a brooding, oppressive feel. I’m certainly not going to stand around out here on my own. I’d much prefer to go inside with you.’

There were no revelations to be had inside the broch itself but the threatening atmosphere Jenny had felt outside became even worse. Callum said he felt it too and she was relieved when he suggested they leave. As on their previous visit, Jenny made sure she was the first out.

The sun had never risen far above the horizon and had made driving tricky ever since they’d turned south at Dunnet Head. Though it was only the middle of the afternoon when they reached Helmsdale the sun had dropped sufficiently to be obscured by roadside trees in places and then by a low edge of distant cloud.

Having decided that Carol would expect them to have eaten during the day, they called in at the same café in Helmsdale that they’d visited on the journey north. Jenny had seen Callum look at his watch a couple of times on the journey down the coast and he did so again while she was finishing off her Danish pastry.

‘Have you thought that the longer it takes Suzi to ring you, the better the outcome might be?’ she asked.

‘How do you work that out?’ asked Callum.

‘If she’d turned up a blank in the police archives in Fife she’d have let you know straight away. If she’s found something more, she’ll want time to return to Livingston and digest what she’s found. She’s thoroughly professional and will want to be on top of the material when you start asking questions, which you will.’

Callum smiled. ‘Thank you, Jenny. I’m sure you’re right.’

They were at the south end of Golspie’s main street when Callum’s phone rang.

Callum picked it up. ‘Hello Suzi. I’m in the car with Jenny and I’ve put you on speakerphone.’

‘Hello to both of you. The police in Fife were able to find the case files relating to both Catriona Murray’s murder and Abigail Graham’s death. They also turned up a trove of physical evidence that had been gathered after Catriona Murray was killed. Catriona Murray’s death was very like both Faye Watson’s and Violet Bain’s in that all three had been raped and repeatedly stabbed. I’ve had the physical evidence from Catriona’s murder sent to the lab for DNA analysis, with a request they cross-refer to any results they get for Faye Watson.’

Jenny had turned off the main road when Suzi called and now found a space in a car park that offered views over a wall and a small park to the sea.

Suzi continued. ‘I’ve had a chance to take an initial look at the files and will read them more thoroughly as soon as I can. You should know that I’ve also talked about this to my detective inspector, Adrian Brown. He sends his regards to both of you. His initial view is that in light of what I’ve turned up on the Faye Watson and Catriona Murray cases, we need to talk to Police Scotland’s Homicide Governance and Review people. We don’t use the term “cold cases” in Police Scotland, we call them “unresolved and undetected homicide cases”. But you can think of the HGR unit as our cold case review people. Given the age of the cases, there’s very little chance of the killer or killers still being alive, which would usually mean HGR wouldn’t be interested. But we do have three similar cases here, which may persuade them to take a look.’

‘What about Abigail Graham’s death?’ asked Callum.

‘Her death is connected but in one important way is quite different. I’ll come to Abigail when I’ve told you about Catriona.’

‘No problem,’ said Callum. ‘The floor is yours.’

There was a pause and Jenny could imagine Suzi looking at notes she’d taken.

Suzi coughed to clear her throat. ‘Catriona Murray worked as a barmaid in a pub in the centre of St Andrews. She was 25 years old and had two young children who were looked after by her mother at the home they all shared near the harbour in St Andrews. Catriona’s husband was a lance corporal in the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders and was in Italy when she was killed on Saturday the 26th of February 1944.

‘The pub she worked in was on Market Street, right in the centre of the town in a building that is no longer a pub. It was called the Cathedral Bells. That particular Saturday night was especially busy in St Andrews. The town lies just across the mouth of the River Eden from what at the time was RAF Leuchars. One of the units stationed there, 540 Squadron, was due to transfer to a base in southern England three days later, on the 29th of February. From the witness statements it appears that every man on the squadron was in St Andrews that night trying to drink Scotland dry before they left.

‘The Cathedral Bells was extremely busy all night, with Royal Air Force personnel, students, other military personnel and civilian customers. There were other military units in the area, including elements of the Polish Army, and there were several other airfields. The police threw everything at this case and interviewed a large number of witnesses. No one who was interviewed who had been in the pub had any recollection of Catriona Murray interacting unusually with anyone, nor of any incidents involving her.

‘After the pub closed, Catriona Murray left and walked home alone, as she did every night. Her preferred route took her through the ruins of St Andrews Cathedral to the harbour. I must say I don’t think I’d have fancied a walk like that at night and in the wartime blackout but she had a torch and knew her way. It was a windy night but reasonably mild and not raining.

‘Catriona must have become aware of being followed because she lost one of her shoes, presumably while running. A little further along her route, there was evidence that she’d been stabbed. She was then dragged twenty yards into the doorway at the foot of St Rule’s Tower, a tall tower that dominates the ruins. There she was raped and repeatedly stabbed. The police could find no witnesses who were in the cathedral ruins at the time and no one heard Catriona scream, which she must have done.’

‘It sounds very like what happened to Violet Bain,’ said Callum.

‘Yes. It seems that the officer in charge of the investigation into Catriona Murray’s murder saw similarities with the murders of both Violet Bain and Faye Watson and wrote to both the East Lothian and Caithness-shire constabularies. They wrote back confirming the similarities but the investigation eventually just petered out. It didn’t help that a large contingent of possible suspects moved from RAF Leuchars to RAF Benson in Oxfordshire just three days later and as there was a war on the police had no power to stop them.’

‘It’s odd that copies of that correspondence never made it onto the Caithness-shire Constabulary file about Violet Bain’s murder,’ said Callum. ‘I wonder what else they forgot to file? Anyway, it appears that the Fife police did a much better job, though they were still unable to catch the killer.’

‘I agree,’ said Suzi. ‘That brings us to the drowning of Abigail Graham in Crail on Saturday the 4th of March 1944, a week after Catriona Murray was murdered.’

‘You said there was a connection,’ said Callum.

‘I did. There was a bad storm blowing in from the east that day and nothing sailed into or out of Crail or other harbours along the coast. The waves were so fierce that they were breaking over the harbour wall at Crail. At a little after 6.30 p.m., a Home Guard reported seeing a woman walking out onto rocks just to the east of the harbour. The light was fading but they tried to go after her. They were beaten back by waves that were sweeping right across the rocks.

‘That night the postmaster, Stewart Graham, reported his wife Abigail missing and the following day, the Sunday, her body was found a few miles along the coast at St Monans, which you know only too well, Callum.

‘On the Monday, the day after Abigail’s body was found, her sister in Perth received a letter from her. In it, Abigail said she had decided to end it all because she couldn’t remain married to a murderer. She said Stewart had told her to tell anyone who asked that he was at home with her the previous Saturday night, the night she subsequently discovered that Catriona Murray was murdered in St Andrews. The truth was that he had been out all night and had only returned the next morning.

‘She went on to say that the same thing had happened the previous September. He’d been absent from the post office in Thrumster on the afternoon that Violet Bain had been killed and had begged her to lie to cover for his absence. She did, but so many people believed he was the murderer that their lives had become unbearable and they had moved to Crail to start afresh. Now he had killed again.’

Jenny couldn’t read the expression on Callum’s face and felt she needed to say something in case he’d not spotted the obvious problem. ‘There’s a “but” coming, isn’t there Suzi? The Fife police didn’t arrest Stewart Graham, which must mean that Abigail got it wrong in her suicide letter.’

‘I’m afraid so,’ said Suzi. ‘When questioned, Stewart Graham said he was having an affair with a young widow in the village and when she was interviewed by the police she confirmed that he had spent the night with her. He’d told Abigail to lie for him because, after coming under suspicion in Caithness and being forced to leave, he couldn’t take the chance of people thinking he’d killed Catriona Murray in St Andrews and the same thing happening again.’

‘But he was 52,’ said Callum. ‘Why would a young widow be interested in him?’

‘Perhaps men were in short supply,’ said Suzi.

‘None of this means he didn’t kill Violet Bain in Sarclet Broch,’ said Callum. ‘And now we know that his alibi for that murder was false. It sounds like others knew so too at the time, which is why he was forced to move. It’s a shame the Fife police didn’t contact the Caithness-shire Constabulary when they saw Abigail’s letter to her sister.’

‘They did,’ said Suzi. ‘It turns out that Stewart Graham had a way with women, despite his age. When he was interviewed by Fife police about his wife’s letter he said that on the afternoon of Violet Bain’s murder, he was with the wife of a police sergeant who lived on the south side of Wick. Stewart Graham had cycled there from Thrumster. This woman later confirmed his alibi. Perhaps she had incurious neighbours, but it all seems very brazen. I’m guessing here, but I imagine that when this came to light months after Violet Bain’s murder, that same police sergeant had a hand in ensuring that documents referring to his wife’s infidelity were not put on files that might be read by his colleagues.’

‘That’s convincing in a twisted sort of way,’ said Callum. ‘What I can’t get over is Stewart Graham allowing his wife to think he was a murderer in order to avoid her thinking he was an adulterer.’

‘He probably hoped she was dim enough to believe he was neither,’ said Jenny. ‘Wives can sometimes be terribly myopic when their husbands consistently lie to them, as I know to my cost.’

Callum reached across and took her hand in his. ‘You’ve done a great job, Suzi, thank you,’ he said. ‘We now know the three murders have enough in common to believe they could have been done by the same man. We also know there’s a strong RAF link to all three deaths. And you’ve turned up physical evidence that might confirm whether Faye Watson and Catriona Murray were killed by the same man.’

Callum sat back in the car seat after he’d ended the call and closed his eyes.

‘Are you all right?’ Jenny asked.

‘It’s beginning to feel like every step forwards is accompanied by two steps backwards.’

‘I don’t agree,’ Jenny said. ‘We may have lost Stewart Graham as a suspect, but as you said yourself at the end of the call, we know much more than we did in other ways. Will it be a problem for our investigation if Police Scotland decides to reopen the three murders as cold cases?

‘Not at all. It would mean a lot more resources being devoted to finding the killer, and I think it is only one killer, of the three women. It’s the ideal outcome short of actually identifying the murderer ourselves.’

‘We’re looking at four deaths of women at the hands of men, not three,’ said Jenny. ‘Abigail was just as much a victim as Faye, Violet and Catriona. I wonder what became of her bastard husband?’

‘We could ask Lucy Duncan to find out,’ said Callum.

‘I’m not sure I want to know,’ said Jenny. ‘If he married the young widow in Crail and lived happily ever after it would be more than I could bear.’ Jenny realised she’d been gripping the steering wheel so hard her hands were hurting. She relaxed and then released her grip.

34: Wednesday the 3rd of January

Callum liked Dornoch but for reasons that were entirely his own fault, he felt on edge coming here with Jenny.

The town itself was unlike anywhere else he’d seen in Scotland. The central area appeared to have been built entirely from a honey-coloured stone that wouldn’t have looked out of place in the Cotswolds. Right in the centre was the impressive sight of a castle, simply standing beside the main street. This was the Dornoch Castle Hotel.

The hotel looked across the road to a small grassy park, with trees that were now bare of their leaves. Beyond the park was a beautiful church that bore the name but not the status of a cathedral.

Carol and Martin Macleod lived in a substantial stone house located on the far side of Dornoch. It stood on a minor road opposite a golf course, beyond which was the sea. On Callum’s first visit, Martin Macleod had confided that they could only afford the house because Carol had rich parents. At the time Callum hadn’t known who they were.

Carol and Martin’s welcome was warm. Callum quickly felt at home and he was soon enjoying a beer with Martin in armchairs positioned to enjoy the golf and sea view through the large bay window in the lounge and talking about life, the universe and almost everything. Jenny and Carol headed off to a different part of the house with a bottle of red wine and two glasses.

The next few hours passed comfortably. Then Carol announced they had forty-five minutes until a taxi picked them up to take them to dinner. Callum knew from his first visit in the summer that Martin was a non-playing social member of the Royal Dornoch Golf Club, which was easily within walking distance of the house, even on a cold evening. He had assumed they would be dining there and now began to feel slightly uncomfortable.

His fears were confirmed when the taxi dropped them off outside the Dornoch Castle Hotel. He had no complaint about the choice of venue from the point of view of the ambience of the hotel restaurant or the quality of the food. The problem was that the last person he’d dined there with was Suzi. He’d then gone on to share a bed with her in one of the hotel’s finest castle rooms. That this had been entirely platonic, at his insistence, didn’t make him any more comfortable now.

The food was great and the company excellent, but Callum thought he saw Jenny looking at him slightly oddly a couple of times. Or perhaps that was just his imagination?

As they were waiting for dessert to be served both Martin and Carol headed off to the toilets. Jenny leaned towards him and put her hand on his on the table. ‘Would it help to talk about it?’

‘With Martin and Carol here?’ asked Callum.

‘They’re friends, and it does involve Sarclet Castle.’

After Martin and Carol returned, Callum told them about his brief relationship with Detective Sergeant Suzi Buchanan the previous summer and then her efforts to follow him when he returned to northern Scotland to help Jenny investigate her husband Iain’s death. He told them about his visit to Sarclet Castle and about being attacked while returning to his car afterwards, then about Suzi rescuing him and the two of them coming to Dornoch to consider whether they had a relationship or not.

After a deep breath and a drink of red wine, he went on to talk about spending the night with Suzi in the hotel, making clear that nothing happened physically between them because he’d decided his future lay with Jenny.

‘Beyond stopping me being kicked more than I was, Suzi did help me in one other way,’ he said.

‘What was that?’ asked Jenny.

Callum had the sense that Martin and Carol were caught between fascination and embarrassment. He hoped he could get to his point without the second overwhelming the first.

 ‘At the time I was trying to immerse myself in Iain’s life. I felt that if I could understand him better as a man then I might find it easier to work out what had happened to him and why. This was proving increasingly difficult as more and more unpalatable truths and contradictory facets of his character emerged.

‘And then I found myself in this restaurant eating dinner with Suzi. We were sitting at that table over there.’ He looked at Carol and Martin. ‘I had met both of you by this time and it suddenly crossed my mind that you lived just up the road and could walk in at any moment. What if you did come in and then rang Jenny to tell her you’d seen me here with another woman?

‘Then it hit me like a lightning bolt. That feeling of doubt, of real fear, that I’d just experienced was an insight into the world that Iain Mackay had lived in constantly for years. He must have spent every waking moment looking over his shoulder to see whether this indiscretion or that indiscretion had been seen and whether the result would be leaks in the supposedly watertight walls surrounding the different parts of his life. It struck me that was a truly appalling existence for anyone to have to endure, even if it had been entirely of his own making. At that moment I almost felt sorry for the man.’

‘Thank you for telling us, Callum,’ said Carol. ‘You shouldn’t think ill of the dead but I’ve often found myself doing exactly that of Iain. Your sharing your insight with us does help. Are you all right, Jenny?’

Callum looked and saw Jenny had tears in her eyes. He put his hand on hers.

‘Yes I am,’ she said. ‘I’m just grateful that circumstances came together in a way that allowed me to exchange that man for this man. Thank you for being so honest with us, Callum.’

There was an inevitable tussle about who would pay the bill at the end of the meal. Carol settled it by saying that Martin would pay and that if Jenny and Callum agreed to stay a second night they could buy dinner then.

*

Callum’s phone rang in the taxi on the way back to the Macleods’ house.

‘Hello Trevor. No, it’s no problem you ringing at this time. It’s just that I’m in a taxi. Can I call you back in five minutes?’

Carol suggested that he’d be comfortable returning the call in the lounge while she and Martin made gin and tonics in the kitchen.

‘Sorry about that Trevor. I’ve got Jenny with me. What can we do for you?’

‘I thought it might be helpful to bring you up to speed on a couple of things,’ said Trevor. ‘Thank you for the tip-off about Charles MacDonald this morning. Colleagues in Edinburgh have been trying to track him down but without any success. We have established that he was last seen a week ago today, Wednesday, which was also the last time anyone spoke to him and the last time his phone was switched on. That means we’ve no location data for where his phone has been or where it is now. He’s also not used any of his cards that we know about to buy petrol or anything else.’

‘That’s awkward,’ said Callum. ‘You’re saying he could be anywhere, including Caithness?’

‘He could be,’ said Trevor. ‘We’ve put an armed protection officer with his ex-wife and Gordon MacDonald is there too. The second thing I want to update you about is Danny Ferguson. I took part in his questioning when he arrived in Wick this afternoon. The story he told is remarkably consistent with what we’d worked out between us. He admitted following Gordon and Amy to Wick using the Turf zones she captured as confirmation of where they were. He said he stole the Corsa in Thurso first thing on Friday morning to be sure Amy didn’t recognise his VW Golf. He chose Thurso rather than Wick because it lessened the chances of the car’s owner or anyone who knew the car identifying it in Wick, where he expected to be during his stay. He said he chose that car because it had a leaflet under the wiper blade showing it had been there for some time, so the theft was less likely to be discovered quickly.

‘He was back in Wick in time to follow Gordon’s car when it left Claire MacDonald’s house and he trailed it to John o’ Groats then back to Wick Airport and the Tesco supermarket.

‘He seems to have taken Gordon MacDonald’s threats during the confrontation in the supermarket seriously and backed off a little. On Saturday he decided to try to track Amy using the map on the Turf website. He said he knew she’d taken her mountain bike to Wick because he’d seen it on the back of Gordon MacDonald’s car on Thursday. He thought she’d try to take the Turf zones in the area and he set out to establish where she’d been and where she was planning to go so he had a chance to talk to her without Gordon present. As he tells it, that’s all he ever wanted to do.

‘Danny did almost exactly what you thought, Jenny. He decided the Castle of Old Wick was the best place to intercept Amy and waited there for her. When she didn’t appear he thought she must have given up because it was so cold that day. Danny went back to his guest house and after eating in a pub in the town he had an early night. My detective chief inspector pushed him quite hard on ways he might have got to Sarclet in time to murder Amy Russell but without success.

‘As Danny tells it, he spent the early part of Sunday morning parked in the car park near Castle Sinclair Girnigoe on the coast north of Wick.’

‘The car park where Amy’s phone was turned on and turned off again on that same day?’ asked Jenny.

‘That’s the one. He swears he knows nothing about that. He also swears that at that point he didn’t know Amy had been killed the previous day. He said he decided to wait there because Amy hadn’t taken the Turf zone at Castle Sinclair Girnigoe and he felt she was bound to go there sooner or later. But he’d left the guest house without having breakfast so drove into Wick to get something, knowing he could keep an eye on the castle Turf zone on the website and quickly get back there if necessary.

‘On the way into the town, he took a slight diversion and drove past Claire MacDonald’s bungalow. The scrum of reporters and TV crew alerted him that something wasn’t right and he says he then drove to a beach north-west of Wick and checked the news. That was the first time he knew that Amy Russell had been murdered.

‘He says he didn’t know what to do so just drove north. He parked at John o’ Groats and sat in the car for hours, trying to come to terms with Amy’s death. When it began to get dark, he decided he needed to do something. He drove the stolen Corsa to Thurso and left it in the car park where you found it. He then walked back to where he’d left his VW Golf with the intention of driving back to Edinburgh in it.’

‘Surely he’d have known the police had put out an alert about him and the Golf?’ asked Callum.

‘Not necessarily,’ said Trevor. ‘If the only time he checked the news was after he went for breakfast and saw the scrum of reporters, then that was before his name or the car had been mentioned. When he got to the VW Golf he found the police taking a very close interest in it as by then someone in Thurso had spotted and reported it. He therefore walked a street or two away and stole a blue and white Mini which had the same leaflet under the wiper blade showing it had been there a while. He knew better than to go home if we were looking for him so he drove to Shotts instead.’

‘It all makes sense and I think the timings work,’ said Callum. ‘Your detective chief inspector can’t be a happy bunny at the moment.’

‘I think he’s still trying to find flaws in Danny Ferguson’s story and he’s also got Charles MacDonald to think about, so he’s in reasonably good humour.’

‘Thank you, Trevor, we’re grateful,’ said Callum.

‘No problem. There’s one final thing I need to mention.’

‘What’s that?’ asked Callum.

‘It’s about the other VW, the campervan you saw at the Castle Sinclair Girnigoe car park on Monday and again this morning. It belongs to a young couple who live in a small terraced house in Wick with her parents and her three younger sisters. They leave the campervan parked there and drive out to it at night in her car when they want to enjoy each other’s company in ways that might not be compatible with thin walls and shared bedrooms.’

‘God, that must be cold,’ said Jenny.

Trevor laughed. ‘I thought so, too, but it’s quite sweet in a way.’

Carol and Martin were sitting in the kitchen with two full gin and tonics and two almost empty ones.

‘The full ones are for you,’ said Carol. ‘We’ll top ourselves up. How’s it going?’

Callum sat down, picked up one of the drinks and started to tell Carol and Martin about the two investigations.

35: Thursday the 4th of January

Jenny had difficulty remembering where she was for a moment when she awoke the next morning. She could hear Callum’s familiar breathing in the bed beside her and felt comfortable and secure. But the greens and browns of the large-scale bamboo pattern wallpaper on the bedroom walls were hard to place. She knew that she must have slept in for there to be enough light coming through the bamboo-patterned curtains to see the detail so clearly.

Then she remembered they were in Dornoch. All four of them had drunk quite a lot the previous night but Jenny didn’t feel anxious about that. It had been great to get to know Carol and Martin better again after the damage done to their friendship by the life that Iain had chosen to impose on her and the girls.

It was a new year and she was making a new start with her new man and her old friends. What could be better?

Callum stirred and then wished her good morning before going to the ensuite bathroom. When he returned he sat on the side of the bed, still naked, and switched on his tablet. Jenny kissed him on the nearest shoulder and went to get showered.

He smiled when she came back into the bedroom with a towel wrapped around her body and another swathing her head. ‘Would it be impolite to our hosts if I took those towels off and we got back into bed?’

‘I’m sorry to say that I think it would,’ said Jenny, returning his smile. ‘I don’t know if they’ve got anything planned for today but it’s not early and we do need to show our faces for breakfast at some point.’

‘You’re probably right,’ he said. ‘In other news, I’ve had an email from John Rodriguez.’

‘What does he say?’

‘Let me see if I can work the timing out. We spoke to him early evening on Tuesday, which was Tuesday morning his time. This email arrived in my inbox just after 2 a.m. this morning, which was 6 p.m. on Wednesday his time. He says that he’s spoken on the phone to key family members including his brother Bart in Australia. It would appear that Elizabeth Rodriguez told each of them the same highly edited version of the story of Violet Bain’s murder. He finds that disappointing, though probably not as disappointing as I do. However, he also found out something else that might be of interest. He doesn’t say what and cautions us against getting our hopes up, but he says he’s taken leave from the Burbank Police Department for the next few days and was intending to set off to drive to San Francisco with his wife as soon as he’d sent this email. He says he will be in touch again as soon as he can.’

‘That’s exciting,’ said Jenny. ‘It must be something significant for him to embark on a 380-mile drive at night and after a day at work.’

‘That’s how I read it too,’ said Callum, ‘despite his caution about not getting our hopes up.’

Jenny watched as he closed the email.

‘Ah,’ he said. ‘I’ve had a reply from Jeremy Ryde in London to the email I sent him last night. It looks like at least two people had sleepless nights on our behalf.’

‘What does he say?’ asked Jenny.

‘He confirms that the RAF’s 540 Squadron, which was mentioned in the police file about Catriona Murray’s murder, moved from RAF Leuchars in Fife to RAF Benson in Oxfordshire on the 29th of February 1944. It was a photo reconnaissance squadron flying twin-engined Mosquitos. I think that’s the type of aircraft that Rose’s father flew and which she has a model of in the drawing room at Sarclet Castle.

‘I also asked Jeremy to look at the likelihood of individual servicemen being based at RAF Drem in February 1943, at RAF Wick in September 1943, and at RAF Leuchars in February 1944. He says it’s entirely possible. He points out that we know that Sergeant Peter Bartlett served as a fighter pilot at RAF Drem flying Spitfires with 65 Squadron before moving to a meteorological squadron at RAF Wick flying a different version of the Spitfire. According to Jeremy, it would take no great stretch of the imagination to see him then become a photo reconnaissance pilot flying twin-crew Mosquitos. Except, of course, for the slight inconvenience that he was killed on the same day as Violet Bain.

‘Finally, I asked Jeremy if there was a simple way of trawling through records to see if there were any men who could be placed at Drem, at Wick and at Leuchars at the right times. In his view, that would be a huge job without much chance of success. He points out that units moved around frequently and that there were usually several different squadrons as well as a wide range of support functions based at any given RAF station at any given time. That’s a lot of personnel. He says that one source he looked at says that the RAF and the WAAF, the women’s arm, had 1,807 men and 374 women stationed at RAF Drem, 3,062 men and 544 women stationed at RAF Wick, and 1,470 men and 381 women stationed at RAF Leuchars. That’s a snapshot and the actual numbers would have varied over time but it gives a sense of the scale of the task.’

‘That’s not a practical proposition, is it?’ asked Jenny.

‘No, I’ll email back to thank him and say we don’t want to attempt a large-scale analysis.’

Breakfast was enjoyable. It had turned into another sunny but cold day with little wind. Martin and Carol suggested a walk along the long stretch of east-facing beach that could be accessed from the house via a path across the golf course. They walked as far as Dornoch Point at the mouth of Dornoch Firth and then returned via a track that ran slightly inland and crossed a grass airstrip. This turned into a minor road that led them through some badly flooded areas of the golf course on its way back into the town.

The four of them then got changed and had an enjoyable lunch at the Royal Dornoch Golf Club. Jenny was interested to see that though the club had been formed in 1877, it proclaimed a history of golf in the area that could be traced back to 1616.

Carol wasn't happy when Martin said he needed to do some work from home that afternoon and walked with Jenny and Callum into the centre of Dornoch, where she showed them around the beautiful but remarkably small Dornoch Cathedral.

They then went for a drink in the bar of the Dornoch Castle Hotel. Jenny was relieved to see that Callum’s baring of his soul the previous night seemed to have removed his anxiety about the place. She’d taken a malicious pleasure in his discomfort the previous summer on their first visit to Dornoch after his stay here with Suzi, but she was glad they could now put that behind them.

That evening Carol let Jenny help her prepare an elaborate dinner, admitting that she’d made a special trip to one of the supermarkets in Tain the previous day on the assumption Jenny and Callum would be staying for two nights. She smilingly dismissed Callum’s mild protest that he was meant to be buying dinner.

Their second evening in Dornoch was a perfect end to what Jenny would later look back on as a peaceful and enjoyable interlude in a week that was memorable for all the right and some of the wrong reasons.

36: Friday the 5th of January

The contrast in the weather the next morning was striking. The blue skies and sunshine of the previous day had been replaced by a deep frost, freezing fog and dark clouds. To Callum it felt like one of those days when it was never going to get properly light. He’d become used to the shorter winter days in northern Scotland over the previous couple of months but he hated the permanent dismal gloom of days like this.

After saying their farewells and clearing the ice off the windows of the Audi, Jenny and Callum headed for the bridge over the Dornoch Firth and the road south towards the Black Isle and Kilmuir. Callum knew it wasn’t much more than 40 miles but the fog was patchy and very thick in places. The roads had been gritted but were still coated in white where the salt hadn’t been ground in by the tyres of passing traffic.

Jenny and Callum refuelled the Audi at the petrol station next to the Asda supermarket on the edge of Tain. Then they stocked up on essentials in the supermarket itself. If Kilmuir had one drawback it was the absence of anywhere to buy even a carton of milk. There was a useful shop in North Kessock but as often as not ‘going shopping’ meant a trip across the Kessock Bridge to one of the supermarkets in Inverness.

They’d just got back into the car when Callum’s phone rang.

‘Hello, Callum Anderson.’

‘Hello Callum, it’s Andrea Alexander in Thurso.’

‘It’s good to hear from you, Andrea. How are you? I’ve got Jenny here with me and I’ve put you on speakerphone.’

‘Are you still at Sarclet Castle?’

‘No, we’re in Tain at the moment. We’re heading down to the Black Isle, where we live.’

‘I’m sorry about this, but I need to ask you to come to the house in Thurso tonight.’

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing’s wrong. I can’t explain it on the phone but it’s important. I promise you won’t regret it and you are both welcome.’

Callum looked at Jenny, who smiled and shrugged.

‘Yes, we’ll be there. Do you have a particular time in mind?’

‘8 p.m.’

‘We’ll see you then.’

Andrea cut the call and Callum looked at Jenny. ‘I don’t know about you but I found that intriguing.’

‘I suppose there’s no point speculating about why she wants to see us,’ said Jenny. ‘But she said it was important and I think it must be. Ordinarily, I’d see no problem driving from Thurso to Kilmuir at night but if this fog sticks around all day it might make for a difficult journey home after we’ve seen her.’

‘That’s true,’ said Callum. ‘I’ll give Geoffrey Gunn a ring to see if he can put us up at Sarclet Castle again. I’ve no qualms about asking as whatever Andrea wants to see us about, it has to be connected with Violet Bain. We’d still have to drive to the castle from Thurso but it’s a much shorter journey. How’s your clean clothes supply holding up? Mine’s a bit low.’

‘It’s getting critical, I fear.’

Callum watched as Jenny entered Kilmuir into the GPS.

‘It’s only 33 miles home from here,’ she said. ‘But that means 66 extra miles to call in and repack and then get back this far. If the fog gets any thicker that could be difficult.’ She manipulated the GPS again. ‘Then it’s another 75 miles to Thurso. I’d prefer to head north now, even if it means we’re back in Caithness with half a day to kill.’

‘And the clothing situation?’ asked Callum.

‘I’ve never shopped for underwear in Asda but this seems a good time to start.’ Jenny smiled. ‘I’m sure they’ll have something that fits your image and flatters your manhood too.’

*

They stopped in Helmsdale for coffee and cakes in what Callum was now beginning to think of as ‘their’ café.

The fog became extremely thick on the twisty upland stretch of the A9 north-east of Helmsdale and traffic slowed to a crawl. Visibility improved a little after the steep descent and climb at Berriedale.

Detective Sergeant Suzi Buchanan rang as they were crossing the curving bridge at Dunbeath.

‘I can’t talk and think and drive in this,’ said Jenny. ‘Can we call her back in five minutes?’

She turned off the A9 at the far end of the bridge and they followed a loop of road back round and under the bridge and then to the harbour.

‘That’s better,’ Jenny said after she’d stopped the car in an open tarmac area at the end of a large stone warehouse. ‘I recall there being a great view along the coast from here to Dunbeath Castle, which is perched on the cliffs. Today you can’t see much beyond the far side of the river.’

Callum rang Suzi back and put her on speakerphone.

‘I’m sorry about that,’ said Jenny. ‘We’re driving in fog and I didn’t think I could give you the attention you deserve.’

‘That’s no problem, Jenny. Where are you?’

‘We were on our way to the house at Kilmuir,’ said Callum. ‘But we’ve turned round and are heading north again because we got a call asking us to go and see Elizabeth Bain’s granddaughter in Thurso tonight.’

‘Elizabeth was Violet’s sister, wasn’t she?’ asked Suzi.

‘That’s right,’ said Callum.

‘In that case, my timing is excellent,’ she said. ‘I’ve had the first DNA results back on the physical evidence from the murders of Faye Watson and Catriona Murray. Semen was found in both cases. The DNA was quite degraded in the case of Faye Watson but rather less so for Catriona Murray. I've been told that it's highly likely that the two women were raped by the same man, which in turn means it’s highly likely they were killed by the same man. It’s not the one-in-billions level of certainty you sometimes read about in court cases using pristine DNA samples, but it’s good enough to be sure for all practical purposes.’

‘Is there any way of identifying the murderer?’ asked Jenny. ‘I know that systematic collection of DNA data doesn’t go back all that far. If this was a TV drama you’d tell me that there’s been a match with a grandson whose DNA is on the database and it would be a straightforward job to identify the murderer of those two women and then establish if he could also have killed Violet Bain.’

‘Sadly, it's not quite that simple,’ said Callum.

‘That’s right,’ said Suzi. ‘The UK National DNA Database was set up in 1995 and now holds the DNA profiles of around six million individuals. Scotland has a slightly separate system but for practical purposes, it is integrated with the UK database. Familial DNA searching has been taking place since 2003 and has proved successful in solving serious crimes that would otherwise have gone unsolved.’

‘I can hear another “but” coming,’ said Jenny.

‘You can,’ said Suzi. ‘It’s not an exact science. The degree of similarity of DNA profiles in families drops off quickly the less directly related the individuals are. Familial searching can work well between siblings and between parents and children but is otherwise of little use. The other big limitation from our point of view is that it is only reliable if you start with a full target DNA profile. We don’t have that. Both profiles we have are degraded, though to different degrees. Given that there are enough similarities to know that the profiles very probably came from the same man, it might be possible to combine the two profiles to come up with one that is less degraded than either of them on their own. But we still wouldn’t have enough to do a normal familial search. The concern is that we’d end up with a list of possible familial candidates that was so long it wouldn’t be of help.

‘If you had the name of a suspect then it might be possible to come at it from the point of view of what is called “genetic genealogy” and, in effect, work backwards from a pristine modern DNA sample of someone we know to be the child of the historical suspect to see if there are similarities with the degraded DNA sample from the historical murder and establish if the parent was the murderer. But without that, we’ve taken it about as far as it can go.’

‘It was worth asking,’ said Jenny. ‘Thanks for the explanation.’

‘That’s no problem,’ said Suzi. ‘Trevor sends his regards. I spoke to him a short time ago and he’s been promised the weekend off. In the hope it doesn’t jinx it, I’ve booked a room tomorrow night at a nice hotel in Pitlochry that’s roughly halfway between us.’

‘Is he still in Wick?’ asked Callum.

‘No, he returned to Inverness late yesterday with Amy Russell’s MacBook. The enquiry team have been wanting to look at her emails since she was killed but couldn’t access the machine because of the way she secured it. Gordon MacDonald claims he doesn’t know how to access it and they believe him. The hope is that the Police Scotland tech people in Inverness will have more success. Trevor thought they should do this days ago, but as you know he’s not running the investigation.’

‘Has anything been heard of Charles MacDonald?’ asked Callum.

‘No,’ said Suzi. ‘It’s exactly as if the world has opened up and swallowed him. I keep thinking of the time you “went to Brighton to think things over” after returning to London from your first trip to Scotland last summer.’

‘Funnily enough, the similarity has occurred to us too,’ said Callum. ‘It does feel like he’s deliberately dropped off the radar with a specific aim in mind. The question is whether that aim was to kill Amy Russell and then make good his escape, or something else entirely.’

‘It’s partly for that reason the detective chief inspector running the enquiry is now so keen to see Amy’s email account,’ said Suzi. ‘His working theory is that Amy Russell and Charles MacDonald had formed a relationship in Edinburgh and that the shit hit the fan because his wife realised what was going on when Amy and Gordon MacDonald visited on Boxing Day.’

‘I’m sure Gordon would have suspected something if that was the case,’ said Callum. ‘This detective chief inspector seems oddly incapable of looking at more than one theory or suspect at a time. Where do things now stand with Danny Ferguson?’

‘The spotlight of suspicion for Amy’s murder has moved firmly on to Charles MacDonald,’ said Suzi. ‘Though they intend to throw the book at Danny Ferguson for a range of more minor offences.’

37: Friday the 5th of January

The Forsinard Suite was as sumptuous as ever. Jenny watched as Callum walked over to the kitchen area.

‘They’ve even been kind enough to restock the fridge with champagne,’ he said. ‘How would you like to spend the rest of the day?’

‘In the same way as you, Callum. In the bath and then in bed. But I honestly don’t think we can. I didn't get any sense that Andrea Alexander was inviting us for dinner tonight. I know we could eat in the staff restaurant here but I wondered about heading into Wick and finding somewhere serving lunch. We can see what time it is when we’ve eaten and decide what to do until we set off for Thurso. We’re going to need a fair bit of time to get there because, although it’s very patchy, I get no sense of the fog clearing. There's certainly no chance of the temperature getting above zero today. The gritters we saw on our way up are ample evidence of that.’

‘That sounds sensible, however much I prefer the alternative.’

Once they were back in the car, Callum opened the glove compartment and took out the purple iPhone.

Jenny had just pulled away from where she’d parked next to Geoffrey Gunn’s Subaru on the castle drive when Callum jerked forwards in his seat.

‘Look at this!’ he said.

‘What?’

‘Amy Russell’s phone has been turned on and is showing in a slightly different location on “Find My”.’

‘When was that?’ asked Jenny.

‘It’s showing her location as “now”, which means her iPhone must be switched on at the moment. It’s close to where it’s been showing since Sunday, near the car park for Castle Sinclair Girnigoe. How fast can you get us there? Perhaps I should drive?’

Jenny set the Audi in motion. ‘You might be faster than me in a vehicle with blue flashing lights and a siren but I bet I can get us there at least as quickly as you in this car. And we don’t have time to argue.’

For a moment Jenny thought Callum was going to try to do exactly that and hoped their relationship wasn’t going to founder because of an argument about who should drive the car. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw him smile.

‘I wouldn’t want to take you up on that bet, Jenny. I’ll tell Trevor that Amy’s phone is back on. He should be able to organise some help, even though he’s in Inverness.’

There was a pause. ‘Hello Trevor. It’s Callum Anderson. I’m calling because we’ve just seen that Amy Russell’s iPhone has been switched on near the car park for Castle Sinclair Girnigoe. That suggests that her killer is there at the moment. Jenny and I are going to take a look and could do with some backup.’

‘I take it he’s not there,’ said Jenny.

‘No, it went to voicemail.’

‘Couldn’t you just dial 999?’ asked Jenny.

‘And try to explain the significance of a phone being switched on to an emergency operator?’ asked Callum. ‘We don’t have much choice, do we?’

Jenny glimpsed Callum lift his phone again.

‘Police, please. Hello, my name is Callum Anderson and I’m a private investigator. Is it possible to pass on to the team investigating Amy Russell’s murder in Caithness the information that the man who killed her is currently in the car park of Castle Sinclair Girnigoe on the coast north of Wick? I am on my way there now but this man is dangerous and I need help.’

There was a pause. ‘Look, this is extremely urgent. Please just pass my message on to the appropriate people.’

Callum lowered the phone and Jenny saw him look at her. ‘Did I sound like a crank caller to you, Jenny? I got the sense that young man thought I might be.’

‘Does that mean they’re not sending help? I’ve faced enough armed men since meeting you to last me a lifetime and don’t want to add to my tally.’ Jenny smiled. ‘I do wish I’d not phrased it quite like that.’

‘I’m sure that when they’ve thought about it they’ll feel they have no option but to send help,’ said Callum.

‘I’d prefer it if they sent help first and thought about it afterwards.’

Jenny found Wick’s remarkable number, intensity and severity of potholes was more of a constraint on progress than the 20mph speed limit, but she still made quite good time through the town. She had to slow down on the single track roads beyond Staxigoe because of what felt like the thickest fog they’d encountered all day.

‘There’s no one here,’ said Callum, when they arrived at the car park. ‘Even the VW campervan has gone. Perhaps the amorous young couple decided to relocate their love nest after the police took an interest.’

‘You said Amy’s phone was near the car park rather than in it,’ said Jenny.

Callum looked down at the purple iPhone. ‘Yes, her phone is still switched on and still here. I can’t say I noticed them on our previous visits but there are two buildings on the right of the approach road twenty yards or so before it gets to the car park. One of them is a long rectangular structure that’s end-on to the road while the other is smaller and irregular in shape. I saw them in the fog just now. There’s a gate off the road near the larger building that gives access. Amy’s phone seems to be jumping around, sometimes in one or other end of the rectangular building and sometimes outside it. It’s not giving a consistent location signal. Let’s take a look.’

‘Shouldn’t we wait for the police?’ asked Jenny.

‘There are no cars here so despite what I said on the phone to the police the chances of her killer being here right now aren’t high. I just want to look. If we encounter anything or anyone dodgy we can back off. If you prefer, you can wait for the cavalry while I go.’

There was no way Jenny was going to allow Callum to go off on his own. She smiled. ‘You know as well as I do that the first rule in horror films when the protagonists find themselves in a strange place in the fog is “never split up”. You lead, I’ll follow. I think we need our boots on.’

The walk back along the road wasn’t a long one but it was eerie. The buildings Callum had identified had been no more than vague shapes when seen from the car park but now began to take more solid form in the fog. They were single-storey in height with flat roofs and had greyish render.

The metal gate giving access to the scrubby field around the buildings was slightly ajar and Callum went through.

Jenny followed. ‘The buildings look ex-military,’ she said.

The obvious way into the rectangular building was through a large gap in the right-hand wall. The building was divided in two by an internal wall with a heavy wooden door.

‘Mind your feet,’ said Callum. ‘There’s rubble and rubbish and all sorts of stuff on the floor.’ He looked at the purple iPhone. ‘You could hide something a lot bigger than an iPhone in here without anyone ever finding it. The location given for Amy’s phone is still jumping around. The signal seems to spend more time in the end further from the road, beyond this door.’

He pushed the door, which opened reluctantly and with a loud creak. The room beyond had been used as an office and still had rusting metal filing cabinets lined up along the far wall with metal desks against two other walls. The floor in this room was as cluttered as its counterpart in the first room they’d been in.

Jenny jumped as the door banged shut behind them, but she heard another noise as well.

‘I think I just heard a car door outside,’ she said.

‘Stand still, let’s listen. It might be the police,’ said Callum in a hushed voice.

‘Surely we’d have heard a siren?’ asked Jenny.

Callum bent down to pick up a hollow metal bar with a wire running through it that had been lying at his feet. He put his finger to his lips and walked towards the door they’d entered by, holding the bar as a weapon in his right hand. Jenny could see him wincing as his feet crunched on bits of stone and broken glass on the floor.

Identical noises were coming from the other side of the door. Someone was there. Callum reached out and grasped the door handle with his left hand. Jenny could see he intended to pull it open and go through the door using the metal bar to protect himself.

Callum pulled on the door handle just as there was a clang and a thud from its far side. The door didn’t move. ‘Damn! Someone’s stopped it from opening.’

Jenny heard the sound of feet running across the glass and debris on the floor of the other room.

‘Let’s try to open the window,’ said Callum.

Jenny heard a car door slam. The window was on the wrong side of the building to see a car driving back towards Wick and she doubted if she’d see much in the fog anyway.

The room’s only window had no glass in the panes but did have external bars intended to prevent unauthorised access or an exit of any sort at all.

Callum went back to the door. He found a heavier piece of metal rod on the floor and used this end-on to attack the door handle which eventually gave way, allowing the door to open. Back in the other room, Jenny realised someone had wedged a metal bar to prevent the door handle from being moved. That was how they’d been trapped.

They’d just gone back through the gate and onto the road when a police patrol car approached slowly from the direction of Wick, its blue lights flashing but no siren sounding.

‘Are you Mr Anderson?’ asked a woman police constable who had got out of the driver’s side of the car.

‘That’s right,’ said Callum.

‘We had a report that Amy Russell’s murderer was here.’

‘He was,’ said Callum, ‘but he trapped us in the far room in that building while he got away. You obviously didn’t run into him on the single track road between Staxigoe and here. Did you see anyone heading the other way on the road between Wick and there?’

‘There was traffic, but nothing of particular note. We’d have been here sooner but we were at a serious collision in the fog that’s blocked the Thurso road at Watten.’

*

Callum and Jenny had to give statements to a humourless woman who arrived at the car park and said that she was Detective Inspector Bowden. She introduced her sidekick as Detective Constable Banks. This was the ‘Michael’ whom Callum had first met sharing a car with Trevor Jones outside Claire MacDonald’s bungalow. The detective constable didn’t acknowledge that they’d met in front of his boss and Callum followed his lead.

DI Bowden advised Callum and Jenny to stop sticking their noses into police business. Then she said that they could go, after warning them that she might want to speak to them again.

When they got into the Audi, Callum sat back in the front passenger seat and closed his eyes. ‘We were within inches of Amy Russell’s murderer and he got away because the police were too slow to respond. And because I fouled up by failing to go for him quickly or aggressively enough.’

He saw the concern in Jenny’s eyes when she looked at him. ‘You did everything you could, Callum. We both did. The man in that building was a killer and I’m sure he wouldn’t have thought twice about killing you or me if he felt threatened by us.’

Callum held up the purple iPhone. ‘The worst thing is that Amy Russell’s phone has been turned off again. The killer must have hidden it in the first room we went into. Now he’s turned it off and I’m sure will have taken it with him when he left.’

‘Let’s go and find that lunch we promised ourselves in Wick,’ said Jenny.

The fog was still very thick. Callum remembered that there was a right-angled corner on the single-track road back to Staxigoe that had signs suggesting it was at the back of the airport. They’d just reached the corner when Jenny swore and did an emergency stop. A light blue car coming the other way passed them with squealing tyres, just missing the right-hand front corner of the Audi.

‘Shit, he was travelling,’ said Jenny. ‘If we’d met him a hundred yards before or after the corner, where the road is properly single track, the police would have had another serious collision to deal with.’

‘That’s Gordon MacDonald’s car,’ said Callum, getting out.

The Porsche Cayenne had gone straight on at the corner and come to a halt a little way along a track.

Callum walked up to the back of it just as the driver’s door opened and Gordon MacDonald got out.

‘Callum! I’ve just seen that Amy’s phone has been turned on again. It’s off again now but was close to where it was before, at the castle car park. If you turn around and I reverse out of this lane then we can both go.’

Callum spent a moment trying to decide whether this might be some elaborate double-bluff by Gordon. Perhaps he did kill Amy after all and this was an act he was putting on having retrieved her phone from where he’d hidden it. But Callum found that he couldn’t accept that, mainly because the question of the location of Amy’s phone had only come to light because Gordon had noticed it and then told Callum. What multiple of bluff would that amount to?

‘The murderer has gone, Gordon and the police are there. That’s the last place you need to be right now. Turn your car around and we’ll follow you back to your mother’s house. We need to talk.’

38: Friday the 5th of January

A log fire was burning in the fireplace of Claire MacDonald’s lounge. Callum could see that Gordon MacDonald was badly on edge and suggested he sit on one of the L-shaped black leather sofas. Callum sat with Jenny on the other.

‘Isn’t your mother here?’ asked Jenny.

‘No, she’s gone out shopping and taken Derek with her,’ said Gordon.

Callum’s confusion must have shown on his face for Gordon then added, ‘Derek is the police protection officer who’s been assigned to her until Dad’s been found. He must be fifteen years younger than her but they are getting on very well.’ He smiled.

‘How do you feel about that?’ asked Jenny.

Good luck to her,’ Gordon said. ‘Good luck to both of them. If it makes Mum feel less lonely and vulnerable, even temporarily, then that has to be a good thing.’

‘Why didn’t you ring me when you saw that Amy’s phone had been switched on?’ asked Callum. ‘Jumping in on your own was foolhardy.’

 ‘It was only just up the road and I had no idea where you were.’ Gordon stopped speaking and looked at the fire. ‘The truth is that I saw it as my chance to avenge Amy. I’m a big bloke and I can look after myself. I thought that if I could get my hands on Amy’s killer then I could save the nation the cost of trying and imprisoning him.’

‘You’d have killed him?’ asked Callum.

‘I’d not thought it through that far. I’d certainly have given him reason to regret killing Amy.’

‘I suppose you know that Danny Ferguson isn’t a suspect in her murder any longer?’ asked Callum. He saw Gordon nod. ‘What if you’d found your father with Amy’s phone at the car park when you arrived?’

‘I don’t know.’ Gordon appeared close to tears. ‘I’ve been sitting around for days and just wanted to do something.’

Callum felt Jenny put her hand on his leg and bit back his next question.

‘We’ve been trying to work out what’s so important about Amy’s phone,’ said Jenny. ‘Perhaps you could help us out. We know the killer took it with him when he left the scene of Amy’s murder. Then he turned it on and off again at the Castle Sinclair Girnigoe car park the following day, last Sunday. Now it seems the killer has returned to that car park, or more accurately to a disused building near it, five days later. When we saw it on “Find My” on your purple iPhone, Amy’s phone was switched on. When we arrived at the car park there was no one there but her phone was still transmitting location information and we looked for it in the building where the signal appeared to be coming from. The killer came back and trapped us by blocking a door. He then left after turning her phone off and we assume he took it with him.’

‘How can I help?’ asked Gordon.

‘There must be something on Amy’s phone that the killer needs,’ said Jenny. ‘Why did he take it in the first place? Why did he turn it on and then off on Sunday and why has he kept it hidden since then? My best guess is that he returned this morning to its hiding place in that building and turned it on again. Why would he do that? I assume that when he then put it back in its hiding place he forgot to turn it off properly. He returned when he realised his mistake and found Callum and me in the building. If he has any sense he’ll have destroyed the phone or thrown it into the sea by now, but I’ve got a feeling that he still needs it and I don’t know why.

‘When I first came here you told me that Amy had face ID enabled on her phone with a four-digit PIN as a backup. What I’m wondering is whether the killer had a go at getting into her phone last Sunday and discovered he needed a PIN. A lot of people use pins that are memorable because they are based on their birthday, their child’s birthday or a lover’s birthday.’

‘That’s true,’ said Gordon. ‘If it had been me trying to get into her phone, I’d have done some research on her social media. I’d have tried to discover her birthday and mine and her parents’ birthdays and the registration number of her first car in Australia, that sort of thing. That wouldn’t have taken five days, but it might explain why it took a while.

‘If you think about it, the problem the killer has is that if you use the wrong passcode on an iPhone six times in a row it locks you out. You can even activate a setting so that if someone tries the wrong passcode ten times it totally erases the phone. I don’t know if Amy had set that up, but I have and I wouldn’t be surprised if she had too. Following your theory, the killer would have used what he’d worked out to be the most likely PINs and then stopped when he got it wrong four or five times to prevent the phone from locking him out.’

‘Did Amy synchronise her phone with the iCloud?’ asked Jenny. ‘You do. And on Monday you told me that she had work and personal stuff synchronised on her MacBook. What about her iPhone? The police are working on the theory that there might be something in her email that would reveal a link with the killer. They are having problems accessing her email account via her MacBook because they can’t get into it. Perhaps the killer knows there are messages there that will incriminate him and he’s trying to access her account to delete the evidence?’

‘She did synchronise the stuff on her phone,’ said Gordon. ‘I couldn’t help the police with the MacBook because she normally accessed it with a combination of face ID and her fingerprint, with a password that I don’t know as a backup. I didn’t ask if they’d tried to unlock it using her corpse. The thought crossed my mind but I decided I didn’t want to know.’

Callum leaned forwards on the sofa. ‘So the killer is stuck because he’s probably run out of attempts to guess the PIN for Amy’s iPhone and the police are stuck trying to access the MacBook. It wasn’t my area of expertise but I had the impression that while it’s possible to compel a suspect to allow access to a locked laptop, there’s no way of gaining access to one of their machines via Apple. I have heard of Apple providing some data to the police, but there are lots of hoops to jump through to get it.’

‘Hang on,’ said Gordon. ‘There’s another possibility. All her stuff will be on the machine she uses in her office, too.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Callum.

‘I told you that Amy worked as a graphic designer for a magazine in Edinburgh. She synchronised stuff between her iPhone, her MacBook and the Mac Studio in her office. She took lots of photos on her iPhone of scenes, signs, textures and so on that she thought might be useful at work and they were instantly synchronised across the three machines.

‘I’m sure the same was true of her email. She had an office email account that got synchronised from her office machine to her MacBook and iPhone, which caused some friction between us if she started answering office emails in bed at 2 a.m. when she couldn’t sleep and I wasn’t at the club. She also synchronised her personal email account the other way, so she had access to it when working in the office.’

Callum looked at Jenny, who caught his eye and raised her eyebrows. ‘So if the police went to her office they might be able to see her personal email account on her Mac Studio?’ he asked. ‘What about password protection on that machine?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Gordon. ‘I assume the magazine must have a back-door way of getting into its own IT kit in case a member of staff is run over by a bus.’ There was a pause. ‘Or gets murdered.’

‘Are you all right, Gordon?’ asked Jenny.

‘I keep forgetting, momentarily, that she’s dead. Then I remember and I feel her loss all over again.’ Callum saw Gordon take a deep breath. ‘The police might also want to talk to Wendy Forsyth. She and Amy worked together and were best friends. They shared a flat for eighteen months when Amy first arrived from Australia. I know they covered for each other at work and I’m sure they must have had access to one another’s office computers.’

Callum could see the excitement on Jenny’s face. ‘Would you mind if we pass that on to our police contact?’ he asked.

Gordon didn’t mind and Callum immediately called Trevor Jones. He would have phoned him anyway, but Gordon’s agreement meant he didn’t have to go out to the car to make the call.

‘Hello Callum. I’m sorry I missed your call earlier. By the time I picked up your message, I’d already heard what had happened. The two of you seem to have made a positive impression on Detective Inspector Bowden.’

‘She concealed that very well at the time,’ said Callum. ‘But that’s not why I’m calling now. I’m with Gordon MacDonald and Jenny at the bungalow in Wick and I’ve put you on speakerphone.’

Jenny took the lead in explaining what they’d discovered. Callum was finding the idea of their working together more and more appealing.

‘Let me get this straight,’ said Trevor. ‘Amy Russell used a Mac Studio at the magazine she worked at in Edinburgh and we think that everything on her iPhone and MacBook, including her personal email account, will have been synchronised to it. Moreover, we think that someone there will know how to access the machine.’

‘That’s it,’ said Jenny.

‘I could go through official channels within the Major Investigation Team and hope that my detective chief inspector appreciates the significance of what you’ve told me. Then he’d have to do something about it in time to have the computer checked by colleagues in Edinburgh before everyone goes home for the weekend. I’m conscious it’s a Friday afternoon.’

‘You don’t sound attracted by the idea,’ said Callum.

‘I’m not. Suzi is at a leaving do in the Oxford Bar in Young Street in Edinburgh’s New Town. It’s risking us both getting a bollocking for jumping the gun but if she could quietly check Amy’s work computer this afternoon we’d know whether this is as promising as it seems or another dead end. Hang on, I’ll set up a conference call with Suzi.’

After Trevor had added Suzi to the discussion, Callum did the introductions and then Jenny repeated what she’d said to Trevor.

‘Are you prepared to go and look, love?’ asked Trevor.

‘It beats standing here on a street that seems perfectly aligned to funnel the freezing wind, and the party was getting a bit boozy for my taste anyway,’ said Suzi. ‘Where did Amy work?’

Gordon told Suzi the name of the magazine and gave her an address on Queen Street, then repeated what Jenny had already said about Wendy Forsyth being the best person to contact. ‘It’s quite literally the next street north from Young Street, though a little way along it from where you are.’

‘Wish me luck,’ said Suzi. ‘I’ll let you know how it goes.’

Suzi ended the call and then Trevor did too.

‘Now we just sit and wait,’ said Callum. ‘Why have I heard of the Oxford Bar?’

‘It regularly features in the books and TV shows about the fictional detective John Rebus,’ said Gordon. ‘It sounds like a soon-to-be ex-policeman in Edinburgh thought it would be an amusing place to have his leaving drinks.’

‘There are women police officers, too,’ said Jenny, smiling.

‘There are,’ said Gordon, ‘but I can’t see any of them trying to emulate John Rebus. Do either of you want a cup of coffee?’

Time passed very slowly for Callum. He’d not previously noticed the clock on the mantlepiece but now he could hear it ticking and was able to watch as the minute hand swept very, very slowly around its face.

Callum had put his phone down on the coffee table and snatched for it when it rang, nearly knocking over his empty coffee mug.

‘I’m putting you on speakerphone, Suzi,’ he said. ‘Jenny and Gordon are with me, as before.’

‘Hello,’ said Suzi. ‘Trevor is also on the call.’

‘Did you find anything, love?’ asked Trevor.

‘I did.’

Callum could hear the satisfaction behind the two words and when he caught Jenny’s eye he could tell that she could too.

‘What?’ asked Trevor.

‘Wendy Forsyth is lovely and was concerned to know how you are, Gordon. I suggested she might ask you herself. There was no fuss and I’m not sure anyone else in the open plan office was aware of what we were doing. Wendy said that Amy’s Mac Studio hadn’t been switched on since she was last in the office, which was the Wednesday before she travelled up to Wick with Gordon.

‘Wendy switched on the machine and got me in as Amy. Then she helped me find Amy’s office email account. Quite a lot had built up but there wasn’t anything that looked relevant. After that, we did the same for Amy’s personal email account. Wendy didn’t want to look at that and I went through it on my own. Again there had been a build-up, this time since early last Saturday morning when Amy presumably last checked it. I went through her emails quite carefully, both those in her inbox and those she'd filed under various headings but again there was nothing that looked or felt like it had any relevance to her murder.’

‘That’s disappointing, said Trevor. ‘But you started by saying that you’d found something.’

‘Give me a chance, Trevor, I’m coming to the interesting part. I told Wendy that I’d seen what I needed to see and asked her to turn the machine off. She asked if I was going to look at Amy’s pictures, as she took lots on her iPhone that then got synchronised to the Mac Studio so she could use them in her work. I said that might be useful. Again, Wendy said she didn’t want to look at anything Amy might have wanted to keep private so she left me to look through the photographs on my own. I’m glad she did.’

‘Why?’ asked Jenny.

‘I’m going to text to Trevor and Callum’s phones a photo I’ve taken with my phone of one of Amy’s images as displayed on her screen here. The quality isn’t great but it’s good enough. It was dated in October.’

Callum saw the notification of an incoming text and opened up the image attached to it. It took him a moment to work out what he was looking at. A middle-aged dark-haired man with a beard was standing and facing the camera. What made the photograph unusual was the fact that he was holding the sides of a dressing gown wide apart, revealing that he was naked underneath it and had an erection.

‘Good grief!’ said Jenny, who had shuffled up beside him so she could see.

Gordon MacDonald had moved to sit on Callum’s other side so he could also see the phone. ‘That’s Brian Devine!’ he said. ‘And that’s the main bathroom in my apartment in Edinburgh. He was flashing Amy and she took a photograph of him. It’s when he and Mum came down to Edinburgh in October.’

‘Can I just confirm that Brian Devine is your mother’s ex-boyfriend?’ asked Callum.

‘That’s right,’ said Gordon.

‘Thanks, Suzi,’ said Trevor. ‘I’ll get him picked up. Do you have an address for him, Gordon?’

‘I’ll ring and ask Mum,’ said Gordon. ‘I won’t tell her why I’m asking.’

It only took a moment and then Gordon gave Trevor the address. ‘It’s in Staxigoe, just up the coast. Now we know why Amy’s phone was hidden where it was.’

‘Thanks,’ said Trevor.

‘Hang on, everyone,’ said Suzi. ‘I’ve got another photo to show you and it might be best if Gordon didn’t look at this one.’

‘No way!’ said Gordon.

‘Very well,’ said Suzi. ‘The original of this image was timestamped at 10.29 a.m. last Saturday. That’s it sent.’

Callum opened up the image on his phone. ‘That’s the interior of the broch at Sarclet.’

‘And that’s Brian Devine holding a knife!’ said Gordon. ‘Amy would have had her phone in her hand to capture the Turf zone and took a photo of Brian Devine as he attacked her.’

‘Thanks, Suzi,’ said Trevor. ‘I’ll ring off and get people round to Brian Devine’s address straight away.’

Gordon stood up and headed towards the door.

‘That won’t do any good, Gordon,’ said Jenny.

‘I can’t let you go to Staxigoe,’ said Callum.

‘Please don’t try to stop me, either of you. I don’t think you could, anyway.’

Callum decided Gordon was right and followed instead.

Gordon was getting into the Porsche Cayenne as Callum and Jenny came out of the front door of the bungalow. He reversed at speed from the drive onto the road and then pulled away in a squeal of tyres, quickly disappearing into the murk.

‘You drive, Callum,’ said Jenny. ‘We don’t have a blue flashing light but this is one of those moments when your training might help.’

The fog was as bad as it had been earlier but Callum pushed the car hard enough to make him think he’d damaged the suspension more than once in potholes. He then had a near miss with a white van in Papigoe and then another anxious moment as he drove into Staxigoe.

‘The main part of the village is on the right at this crossroads,’ said Jenny. ‘We need to look out for Gordon’s car.’

‘That’s it there,’ said Callum.

As he pulled to a halt behind the Porsche, Callum saw that the front door of the nearest house, a detached bungalow, was wide open.

39: Friday the 5th of January

Jenny followed Callum through the open front door into the bungalow. She tried to see past him, expecting to find Brian Devine’s dead or injured body on the floor. Instead, there was complete silence.

An open door at the far end of the hall revealed a segment of a kitchen. Callum walked to the doorway, then moved quickly into the room, out of Jenny’s view. She followed and saw Callum kneeling beside Gordon, who was lying on the floor with blood coming out of a head wound and staining the white floor tiles.

She went over and stooped down to feel for a pulse. ‘He’s alive,’ she said.

‘Is that everyone?’ asked a voice from behind her.

Jenny whirled around and saw that the kitchen had a dining extension that had been out of view from the doorway. Standing in it was Brian Devine, easily recognisable from the photographs Suzi had sent. He was holding a shotgun that he was pointing in their direction.

‘The police are on their way,’ said Callum. ‘Put the gun down before things get any worse than they are already.’

‘They can’t get much worse, can they?’

There was a groan and Jenny was relieved to see Gordon MacDonald sitting up.

‘Why did you kill Amy?’ asked Gordon.

‘I’m sorry, lad. I didn’t want to. She gave me no choice,’ said Devine.

‘How do you work that out?’

‘She took a photograph of me in Edinburgh which she threatened to show you if I went near her again.’

‘You flashed her in the main bathroom,’ said Gordon.

‘I didn’t know she was in there, having a bath,’ said Devine. ‘She didn’t lock the door and I just walked in by accident. When I saw her in the bath, well, I was only being playful.’

‘By exposing yourself to her?’ asked Gordon, standing up unsteadily.

‘She didn’t see the funny side. She was doing something on her phone and then said she’d taken a photograph of me that had been instantly sent to the cloud. I stayed clear of her for the rest of our stay and when your mother and I got back to Wick we broke up. We’d never been right for each other anyway.

‘When your mother invited me to join the three of you at the Indian restaurant last Friday night I thought it couldn’t do any harm. You might not have noticed but Amy freaked out. She told me when the two of you had gone to the toilet that I was meant to stay away from her and as I hadn’t she was going to show you the photograph she’d taken in Edinburgh as soon as you got home. She said the only reason she wasn’t going to show it to you straight away was that she knew you’d kill me and she didn’t want my blood on your hands.’

‘And then you followed her on Saturday morning,’ said Gordon.

‘Not exactly,’ said Devine. ‘You may not remember but you both talked about her enthusiasm for the Turf game when I was visiting with your mother in October. Amy even mentioned that she’d changed her username and said what it now was. On Saturday I just watched to see where she was going on the map on the Turf website. It was a little like watching aircraft on a radar screen. I worked out that she had to be intending to go to the harbour and broch at Sarclet. I got there ahead of her. We drove down to Edinburgh in your mother’s Audi TT so I knew Amy wouldn’t recognise my car in Sarclet and I waited for her at the broch.’

‘And then you killed her,’ said Gordon.

‘That wasn’t what I wanted. I just wanted her to delete the photograph she took in your bathroom in a way that ensured that all copies of it everywhere were also deleted.’

‘But she took another photograph of you instead,’ said Jenny. ‘She told you that had also been uploaded to the cloud and you decided the only thing to do was to kill her and take her phone. You hoped to access it and find a way of deleting the photographs from everywhere they’d been sent.’

‘Everyone’s a genius today, aren’t they?’ said Devine, pointing the shotgun directly at Jenny. She wished she’d not spoken.

‘I should have changed the settings on her phone as soon as I stabbed her to stop it shutting down,’ he said. ‘But hindsight is a wonderful thing and I turned it off instead. By the time I remembered that I needed a PIN to get back in it was far too late. I tried some likely PINs today but will be locked out of the phone if I get it wrong again.’

Jenny could hear police sirens getting steadily louder. It sounded like the cavalry were coming in force, but that didn’t make her feel any happier about the shotgun that Brian Devine was still pointing at her stomach.

‘Tell your mother I’m not a bad man at heart, Gordon,’ said Devine. Then he turned the shotgun around and reached down for the triggers while moving the muzzle towards his face.

‘No!’

Jenny was knocked to the floor from behind as Gordon MacDonald leapt for the man. There was a deafening blast that left her ears ringing. It took a moment to gather her thoughts and check to see if any parts of her were missing. When she looked up she saw that Callum was holding the shotgun, which he had broken open. Gordon MacDonald was pinning Brian Devine down on the floor.

There was a ragged hole in the ceiling that hadn’t been there before and the only blood Jenny could see was coming from Gordon’s head wound.

‘You saved his life, Gordon,’ she said.

‘He’s a murderer but he was telling the truth as he saw it,’ said Gordon. ‘When he said that Amy didn’t want his blood on my hands I took it as her last message to me from beyond the grave. I knew I had to stop him killing himself to make sure she gets the justice she deserves.’

40: Friday the 5th of January

Jenny had left plenty of time to get to Thurso in the dark and the fog and it was perhaps inevitable that they arrived too early. Callum was just grateful that the road at Watten had reopened after the crash earlier in the day.

They found a bar open in the centre of Thurso and stopped for a cup of coffee and to kill some of their excess time.

‘Do you think Gordon’s going to be all right?’ asked Callum.

‘I think so,’ said Jenny. ‘That was quite a crack on the head he got from Brian Devine’s shotgun. When I rang before we left the castle, the hospital said he’d been discharged so I imagine he’s gone to make sure his mother is all right now her protection officer has gone. With Brian Devine in custody and Charles MacDonald no longer a suspect, Claire doesn’t need protection any more. Speaking of Charles MacDonald, I have to admit that he timed his reappearance perfectly.’

‘Where is Scarp?’ asked Callum.

‘Apparently, it’s where you go if you want to drop off the radar in a way that ensures no one can trace you. He made your efforts to disappear last summer look positively amateur.’

Jenny smiled and put her hand on top of his on the table. Callum smiled back.

‘To answer your question,’ she said, ‘I’ve never been to Scarp. I did get quite close to it once, with Iain and the girls when they were small and we still lived in Inverness. It’s an uninhabited island with a few holiday cottages just off the west coast of Harris, in the Western Isles. We got as far as a place called Huisinis, which is just a short rowing boat crossing from the island.’

Callum saw Jenny look at her watch and instinctively did the same.

‘Should we go?’ he asked.

 The silver SAAB was parked on the drive of Andrea Alexander’s house but the Land Rover Defender was absent. Jenny parked on the street close to where she had on their first visit.

‘Thank you both for coming,’ said Andrea as she opened the front door. ‘Can we go through to the dining room? It’s just on the left.’

Callum followed Jenny into a pleasant room with a dark wood wall unit occupying most of one end. There was a sideboard against the far wall and much of the room was occupied by an eight-seat dining table with three seats down either side and one at each end. The dark green curtains at the front of the room were closed.

Two laptop computers were open back-to-back on the dining table, one facing either side. They looked incongruous but gave Callum his first clue about why he and Jenny had been invited.

The room had only one occupant. Andrea’s mother, Violet Keith, had been sitting on the far side of the dining table and stood and smiled a greeting when they walked in.

 Andrea followed them into the room. ‘Can I ask you both to sit on this side of the table? We aren’t due to start until 8 p.m. Can I offer you a coffee and some cake?’

They’d only just had coffee but Callum followed Jenny’s lead in accepting.

Andrea returned a few minutes later with a tray and then distributed mugs and plates bearing slices of Christmas cake.

‘I’m assuming we’re here for a Zoom meeting?’ asked Jenny.

‘That’s right. We had a trial run a little while ago and it works fairly well, give or take the occasional pause or lag caused by dodgy connections or sheer distance.’

‘Is this connected with John Rodriguez’s decision to drive from Los Angeles to San Francisco on Wednesday night?’ asked Callum.

‘It is,’ said Andrea. ‘But it would be better if I let him tell you himself. It’s nearly time. Let’s switch on the laptops.’

Callum and Jenny sat on one side of the dining table looking at the laptop in front of them and visible to its built-in camera. Andrea and Violet were on the other side sharing the second laptop and visible on Callum and Jenny’s laptop.

Next to pop up on their screen was a woman who Andrea introduced as her daughter Samantha in York. Then two men appeared, sitting together. Callum guessed that one was John Rodriguez, who confirmed that and then introduced the other as his father Cameron. Two women were next. John said they were his Aunt Grace and his cousin Bethany and that the four of them were in the same room in his aunt’s house in San Francisco. He said he had hoped his brother Bart in Australia could join them, but that hadn’t proved possible.

Callum introduced himself and Jenny.

‘Thank you for travelling to Thurso to join us,’ said John.

‘That’s no problem,’ said Callum. ‘We’ve had a shorter drive to get here than you had to get to San Francisco and it’s great to be able to meet everyone and put a face to your voice.’

‘After you and I spoke, Callum, I rang each of the members of my family who are taking part in this meeting as well as my brother Bart and my cousin Elliot. I also spoke to others in the family who knew Elizabeth, in particular, my mother Anne-Marie and my uncle, Grace’s husband, Joseph Minnelli. What I heard from everyone I talked to was consistent with my own memories of Grandma Elizabeth. I told you that we were all brought up with the story of Violet Bain’s murder. What I heard confirmed my recollection that Grandma Elizabeth only ever gave us a version of the story of Violet’s murder that she’d edited to the point where it would be of no help to you in finding the killer. I discussed with some of those I spoke to whether Grandma consciously changed her account of Violet’s death or whether what she told us was a version of events that she had come to believe over the years. We are undecided about that.’

Grace Minnelli raised her hand and then activated her microphone. ‘Mother was a wonderful woman in many ways but when I got older I did spot inconsistencies in the stories she told about her younger life, in Scotland as well as in Chicago and Las Vegas. She also kept important secrets. When we were younger, Mother never told either Cameron or me that we had a half-sister in Scotland. We only found out after our father died in 1994. Father’s brother Jefferson told me at the funeral that he had been meant to bring Mother’s Scottish daughter back with him after Mother and Father got married but that the arrangement had been blocked by her Scottish relatives.’

Callum could see Cameron nodding in agreement on the screen.

John spoke again. ‘I must admit that after my first round of phone calls with this side of the family, I concluded that there was nothing we could do to help you lay your ghost to rest or ours either. But then my Uncle Joseph called me back. He said that after Elizabeth died in 2018, he and my cousin Elliot had cleared out her belongings. There were a lot of old documents that they’d never gone through in any detail. They simply put them in a couple of boxes which had ended up in the attic of Uncle Joseph and Aunt Grace’s house. He’d not given them any thought when I first spoke to him. But after I’d also spoken to Elliot the two of them realised there might be something significant there. On Wednesday morning, Uncle Joseph went into the attic to take a fresh look at the boxes of documents.’

‘And nearly killed himself on the ladder,’ said Grace, smiling. ‘It took him a while but when he came back down he brought with him two bundles of letters, each tied up in grubby white ribbons that held them lengthways and crossways. Joseph and I untied the bundles and looked at what they were.

‘The thicker bundle contained letters written in beautiful handwriting and sent by Violet Bain to her sister Elizabeth, my mother, at an address in Thurso. They were all written on paper that had printed Sarclet Castle letterheads. The thin bundle was two dozen letters from my grandmother in Thurso to my mother, under different surnames and at different addresses in Chicago and Las Vegas before finally settling on her as Elizabeth Rodrigues at the address she and Dad lived at in San Francisco. I’ll let Andrea pick up the story there.’

Callum realised that the meeting was being carefully choreographed and had perhaps even been rehearsed by the two parts of Elizabeth’s family. On balance, he felt that was a good thing if it made their account easier to digest. He’d witnessed Zoom meetings in the early part of the pandemic where things became so chaotic it was difficult to work out what was happening.

When Andrea started speaking, Callum heard a slightly odd echo as the sound of her coming from the laptop’s speaker wasn’t exactly coordinated with her voice coming across the table. This wasn't marked enough to get in the way of understanding what she was saying.

‘John photographed all the letters, in both bundles,’ she said. ‘Yesterday evening, our time, he emailed copies to family members, including the three of us on this side of the Atlantic. We’ve all spent as much time as we could reading them last night and today.

‘I want to talk about the letters sent to Elizabeth by her mother after she moved to the USA first. Many of them are deeply personal, as you might expect, and they open up a window into their relationship that is very touching and in places very surprising. The family has agreed that there is nothing in any of those letters that can be of help to you in your search for Violet Bain’s killer so we will not be showing them to you.’

‘That’s fair enough,’ said Callum, though he was slightly disappointed.

‘Can I say something?’ asked Violet Keith.

Callum heard her across the table but not via the laptop.

‘Let me turn the microphone on,’ said Andrea.

‘Sorry,’ said Violet Keith. ‘It was mainly me who wanted to keep those letters within the family, Callum. The first time you and I met, I said some unpleasant things about my mother abandoning me. I’ve now seen the letters that her mother sent to her and it’s obvious that it wasn’t that simple. We will never know in detail what was in the other half of the correspondence, in my mother’s letters to her mother, because they weren’t kept. But it’s easy enough to work it out in general terms. She might have had an odd way of showing it but I now know that my mother did love me. I am grateful to you, Callum, for being the reason why I’ve seen those letters and why I now know that I was loved by both of those women, not just by one of them.’

Callum felt a lump in his throat. ‘Thank you for saying so, Violet.’

‘That brings us to the larger bundle of letters,’ said John Rodriguez. ‘Over the two years before her death, Violet Bain wrote regularly to her sister Elizabeth in Thurso.’

Callum nodded. ‘I had wondered how Elizabeth had stayed so closely in touch with the details of Violet’s life that she could give the police as much information as she did. I’d assumed they must have met regularly, but 25 miles must have seemed much further in 1943 and in wartime than it would now. I should have thought of letters but didn’t.’

John continued. ‘There are 91 letters in the bundle, which means that Violet wrote not far short of once each week for two years to her sister. I thought that civilian letters sent in wartime might have had to go through a censor in the UK as they would have done here in the USA. Perhaps Violet never thought of that because her letters are remarkably frank, almost shockingly so in places. She even commented on how proficient some of her lovers were in bed.

‘You will understand that the family hasn’t had very long to digest all this material but, as Andrea said, we have been reading both bundles of letters quite intensively over the past 24 hours. Andrea has printed off copies of all 91 of Violet’s letters and she will let you have them before you leave at the end of our discussion.’

‘Thank you,’ said Callum.

‘That’s no problem,’ said John. ‘I hope it helps. You will want to form your own impression of what Violet says in her letters but I know from an earlier discussion between family members that there are a couple of things we’d like to draw to your attention. I’d like to start by flagging up comments that Violet makes in several of her letters about the local postmaster, Stewart Graham. She told Elizabeth that he had slept with half the women in the village and obviously wanted to add her to his tally. He made her feel very uncomfortable whenever she went to the post office and seemed to be trying to undress her with his eyes. She said he was over 50 years old and however attractive other women found him, she thought he was repellent.’

‘Stewart Graham was considered by the police as a suspect,’ said Callum. He went on to talk about the telegram, about the murder in St Andrews, and about Abigail Graham’s suicide and letter. ‘So while the alibi he originally gave was false, he did have another, provided by the wife of a police sergeant in Wick, six miles away.’

‘Do you know how hard the police tested that?’ asked John Rodriguez. ‘He’d provided one false alibi. Could there have been a second? As it was the wife of a police sergeant, would they have been as rigorous as they might have been if it was someone else?’

Callum was caught slightly off-guard by the question. ‘The truth is that “rigorous” isn’t a word I’d apply to any aspect of the police investigation into Violet Bain’s murder. I’ll take another look at Stewart Graham.’

‘Thank you,’ said John. ‘There was also quite a lot in her letters about the Royal Air Force station at Wick and men based there. In her later letters, Violet had a lot to say about a sergeant pilot called Peter Bartlett who she told Elizabeth she was in love with.’

Callum explained the background and talked about Peter Bartlett and his death. He also talked about the Royal Air Force links that had been thrown up by the murders of Faye Watson and Catriona Murray and the DNA connection between those murders. ‘I think that Violet Bain’s murderer probably served with the Royal Air Force, but I can’t find a way of narrowing down the search. I will read the letters myself of course, but did Violet say anything in them that might help?’

‘Are you happy for me to tell him, Dad?’ asked John.

Callum saw Cameron Rodriguez nod.

John looked at a notepad on the table in front of him. ‘We all spotted it, but Dad was the first to come out and say that Violet had a taste for men in Royal Air Force uniform. The son of the man who owned the castle where she worked was an RAF officer and she had a relationship with him. Sergeant Bartlett, who she was seeing at the time of her murder, was the last of a series of men she’d been involved with at RAF Wick. They included another sergeant pilot in his squadron called Simon Fuller, who she’d been seeing immediately before she’d started going out with Peter Bartlett, and a third called Edward Mercer who she’d been seeing in April and May that year but dropped when he became too possessive.

‘What I think we all found very interesting was that in her last letter to Elizabeth, dated Sunday the 12th of September 1943, Violet said that she had been at a dance in the sergeants’ mess at RAF Wick the previous night when Simon Fuller drunkenly accused Peter Bartlett of stealing Violet away from him two months earlier. He’d then called Violet a slut and Peter Bartlett attacked him. The fight was broken up by others who were there and Simon Fuller left.’

‘That was just four days before Violet’s murder,’ said Callum. ‘I wonder why that incident wasn’t noted in the police file. Elizabeth was very open with the police about Violet’s love life and that was what led them to decide that, to use my client’s memorable phrase, she was too free with her virtue to be worth bothering about. Surely if Elizabeth had told the police about the fight they’d have taken a look at Simon Fuller and he’d be on their file? The police file did refer to a witness who claimed she’d seen an RAF sergeant in the village that day but they dismissed her as senile and never followed it up which seems even more bizarre in light of the fight.’

‘Sergeant Fuller wouldn't be the only important omission from the police file, would he?’ asked Jenny. ‘Perhaps it was a timing issue. I don’t know when the police interviewed Elizabeth, but what if she’d not received or not read Violet’s last letter by then? It was dated on the Sunday before she was killed but unless the envelope was also kept we can’t know when Violet posted it. If Elizabeth only read it after her interview then the reception she’d received from the police would hardly encourage her to come forward with further information about Violet’s love life.’

‘That’s a good point,’ said John Rodriguez. ‘Only the letters were kept, not their envelopes. I’m not sure there’s much more we can tell you, but there is one more thing we want to show you. Aunt Grace and Uncle Joseph found this amongst the letters from Violet.’

He held a small black and white photographic print with white borders up to the camera. It showed a man in an RAF uniform and a woman in a summer dress standing side by side with their arms around each other. Behind them was part of what Callum recognised as a Spitfire.

‘There’s an inscription on the back in pencil,’ said John. ‘It reads “Sergeant John Bartlett and Miss Violet Bain, RAF Wick, 21 August 1943.” Violet refers to it in a letter dated Sunday the 5th of September 1943, which was the penultimate in the series.’

Jenny leaned towards the screen. ‘They look so happy!’

‘They do,’ said John. ‘Andrea will let you have a printed copy of the front and back of the photograph. The quality isn’t great but it will do for the moment. We’ll get higher definition copies made so everyone can have one.’

Callum had the sense that John Rodriguez thought the meeting had gone as far as it could and tended to agree. ‘Is there anything else you want to discuss, John?’

‘I think those are the main points. We’re just grateful to you for talking to us.’

‘No, it’s me who should be grateful to all of you for finding Violet’s letters to Elizabeth and for agreeing to let us have copies,’ said Callum. ‘We will take a close look and I’ll send you an email as soon as I’ve got anything to report.’

*

‘You were hoping we were going to be able to tie up Violet Bain’s murder as neatly as we tied up Amy Russell’s, weren’t you?’ asked Jenny.

Callum was deeply tired after what felt like a very long day. The fog on the road back towards Wick was still thick and progress was slow. Jenny had already said that for safety she was going to stick to the main road to Wick and then the one south out of it, rather than take the cross-country shortcut on minor roads.

‘It was too much to hope for,’ he said. ‘But yes, I did think there was going to be another dramatic revelation, like the photo of Brian Devine flashing at Amy, when they started talking about Violet’s letters to Elizabeth. At least the photograph we saw this time was a happy one and while we didn’t get an instant result I’m hopeful there might be something in the letters that gives us a new lead.’

‘I still think Stewart Graham has to remain a suspect for Violet’s murder,’ said Jenny. ‘Even if he couldn’t have done the other two.’

‘You don’t like him, do you Jenny? I agree. I don’t know how we can test his second alibi, the one from the police sergeant’s wife, but I’d like to try. We also need to get Jeremy Ryde to do some more digging for us, this time into Sergeant Simon Fuller.’

‘Do you fancy a glass of champagne when we get back to Sarclet Castle?’ asked Jenny.

‘Yes, but we should go steady. I think we both need to read and reread Violet’s letters tomorrow to extract everything we can that might be of value. I can’t think of anywhere better to do that than the castle library. It’s as well we purchased extra underwear because I don’t see us going home tomorrow.’

Epilogue: Sunday the 3rd of March

When the time came, Jenny and Callum made their way from the Strathmore Suite to the drawing room. At first sight, the room seemed much as Jenny remembered from their Hogmanay visit two months earlier, but then she noticed there were differences.

Rose Balliol came over to say hello and make sure a waiter had served them drinks. Jenny asked for a tonic water as she wanted to keep her wits about her. Rose then steered them to the far corner of the room, the corner at the opposite end of the long wall to the case displaying the large model of her father’s aircraft. A new display case had been placed here. This housed a beautifully lit white statue of a woman’s head and shoulders that was rather larger than life-size.

When Jenny saw that the panel on the wall beside the case displayed photographs of the archaeological dig at Sarclet Broch she realised who was in the case.

Rose’s friend Mary Knox was looking at the bust and talking to a woman in her thirties. Both turned as they approached.

Rose smiled. ‘You both know Mary. Can I also introduce Dr Lynne Grady of the UHI Archaeology Institute in Kirkwall? Lynne, can I introduce Jenny Mackay and Callum Anderson? Would you do the remaining introduction?’

‘I’m pleased to meet you both,’ said Lynne. ‘It was you who alighted on the name “Fionhula” for the young lady we found in the well at Sarclet Broch, Jenny.’ She stepped back and held an arm out towards the bust in the display case. ‘Can I introduce you to her?’

‘She’s beautiful,’ said Jenny. ‘Is she made of marble?’

‘It looks and feels like it,’ said Lynne. ‘But we needed something we could cast. Rose commissioned a facial reconstruction based on Fionhula’s skeleton. Once we had her image we agreed that something looking like a classical Greek statue would show her off at her best without the possibly creepy effect of an actual reconstruction with hair, eyes and skin tones.’

‘What a stunning way to bring her back to life,’ said Callum. ‘I see that Fionhula and your parents aren’t the only people you’ve remembered on this wall of the drawing room, Rose.’

‘Well spotted,’ said Rose. ‘Come and have a proper look.’

Jenny smiled at Lynne and Mary and followed Rose and Callum to a position mid-way between Fionhula’s display case in one corner and the case exhibiting the model of Rose’s father’s aircraft in the other.

Rose took Jenny by the arm. ‘It was your idea to do something in the castle to commemorate Violet Bain and Peter Bartlett. When I saw the photograph that her American family had found of the two of them standing next to an aircraft at RAF Wick I asked if I could display a copy here. They agreed. I had the original digitally enhanced to allow it to be blown up and look as good as possible. I’ve given the family copies of this larger version, of course.’

Jenny was looking at a framed black and white photograph hanging at eye level on the wall that must have been three feet in width by two in height. ‘I thought they looked so happy when I first saw a much smaller version on the screen of a laptop. I’m delighted that they still do.’

‘Is this Amy Russell?’ asked Callum, pointing towards a neighbouring framed photograph that was the same size as the one of Violet Bain and Peter Bartlett but oriented as a portrait rather than a landscape.

‘It is,’ said Rose. ‘I contacted Gordon MacDonald to ask if he minded. He sent me that photograph and said it was Amy’s favourite of herself in Scotland.’

‘It was taken on the summit of Suilven, over near Lochinver, wasn’t it?’ asked Jenny.

‘It was,’ said Rose. ‘Can you excuse me? I’ve got to make sure arrangements are in place. Gordon MacDonald is over there if you want to ask him about the photograph of Amy.’

Jenny looked and saw Gordon standing and holding a drink. He was talking to a dark-haired young woman.

‘Let’s see how he’s doing,’ said Callum.

Gordon introduced his companion, hesitantly, as Wendy Forsyth.

‘You helped Detective Sergeant Buchanan access Amy’s office computer, didn’t you?’ asked Jenny.

Wendy smiled brightly. ‘Yes. She sort of suggested I should talk to Gordon. We’ve found out since that we have more in common than Amy’s memory, though we have that too.’

‘Amy looks amazing in the photograph taken on top of Suilven,’ said Jenny. ‘I’m sure she’d love the idea that the two of you are now together.’

‘Thank you, Jenny,’ said Gordon. ‘No one’s said that since we became an item and I think we’ve both been feeling very guilty.’

‘Laura Kennedy has just come in,’ said Callum. ‘Will you excuse me? I’ll go and say hello.’

Gordon and Wendy said they wanted to take another look at Amy’s photograph and Jenny found herself on her own and able to look around the room properly for the first time.

Rose had assembled an interesting cast list for the occasion.

The largest group in the room was standing near the fireplace. This comprised three generations of Violet Bain’s British family, Violet Knox, Andrea Alexander and Samantha Beattie, plus two of her American family, John Rodriguez and his aunt, Grace Minnelli. Carol Macleod was with them, talking to Grace.

Jenny watched as Rose Balliol walked over to Mary Knox. After a brief discussion, the two of them went to talk to Callum.

Rose clapped her hands together and the room fell silent. ‘Thank you all for coming to Sarclet Castle. I hope that those of you who are staying tonight have settled into your rooms and I am sure you are all looking forward to dinner. I promise you won’t be disappointed.’

The door to the room opened and the butler, Williams, entered and stood beside Rose.

Rose smiled at him and then continued. ‘First, though, we have a more serious matter to attend to. I’d be grateful if everyone would follow Williams. Carol and I will stay at the back to mop up any stragglers.’

*

Despite the poor light, Jenny saw that the staff lounge in the attic corridor of the castle’s rear range had been set up just as it had been for the séance on New Year’s Day. The only difference was that in addition to the nine seats around the circular table, there were five more set up in a line immediately in front of the sideboard that occupied one end of the room. Jenny already knew there was a second difference. Mary Knox had put aside her objection to men taking part.

The Ouija board looked to be a slightly more upmarket model than they’d used last time. Jenny wondered if Mary had brought her own this time rather than relying on one sourced locally at short notice.

The blue, purple and orange candles were back where they had been in the first séance, though this evening’s three looked like fresh replacements. With the curtains closed the candles provided the only light in the room, apart from some spilling in from the corridor through the open door.

Jenny leaned towards Callum and whispered in his ear. ‘Back in a minute’

People were still milling around in confusion and she made her way over to the door to the ensuite bathroom, entered and closed it behind herself. The room felt extremely cold and Jenny checked there was no one there, then stood for a moment, struggling to keep her fear under control. After taking a deep breath, she went over to the sash window and in the glow from the castle floodlights checked it was closed and latched. Then she slipped back into the main room, making sure the door to the ensuite was firmly closed behind her.

Rose was busy organising people in the near darkness and Jenny didn’t think anyone except Callum had noticed her going into the bathroom.

As before, Mary Knox took the seat at the table nearest the curtained window. She asked Rose Balliol, Samantha Beattie, Violet Knox and Grace Minnelli to sit at the four seats nearest her and checked they could each reach the planchette on the Ouija board. Three of the other four seats around the table were taken by John Rodriguez, Laura Kennedy and Jenny herself, who was again asked to take notes. Mary asked Callum to take the final seat at the table and he sat to Jenny’s right, while Laura was on her left.

The extra five seats at the end of the room were assigned to Gordon MacDonald, Wendy Forsyth, Andrea Alexander, Carol Macleod and Lynne Grady.

‘I will get the séance underway shortly,’ said Mary. ‘Rose, Callum and I have agreed that Callum should first give us a brief update on the hunt for Violet Bain’s murderer.’

‘Thank you, Mary,’ said Callum. ‘I think most people know the story up to the point where Jenny and I were given copies of letters written by Violet to her sister Elizabeth while she was working at Sarclet Castle and, we think, living in a room in this part of the building.

‘By then we had unearthed two further murders in Scotland that had many similarities with Violet’s, one in February 1943 and the second in February 1944. There was a strong RAF connection to all three murders and we had established through historical DNA evidence that the same unknown man had killed both of the other women. The quality of the DNA samples had degraded over the years and, as a result, familial searching of the DNA database was not possible. Without a strong suspect to narrow down the DNA search, we were at a dead end.

 ‘Violet’s letters to Elizabeth led us to revisit an earlier suspect, the local postmaster, but he had a strong alibi for her murder and he wasn’t a credible suspect for the murder of Faye Watson in North Berwick anyway. Her letters also allowed us to identify three additional suspects, servicemen based at RAF Wick with whom she had relationships.’

Jenny saw Callum look at her in the candlelight. She knew he’d been undecided about what to say next.

He continued. ‘I should say, as an ex-policeman and as a human being, that one thing that has angered me about this case is how ready people were at the time to judge Violet. When Rose first told me about this case she said that the police had concluded that Violet was too free with her virtue to be worth bothering about.

‘When the police interviewed Violet’s sister Elizabeth, she wanted to help and told them about a number of men who were or had been Violet’s lovers, including three connected to Sarclet Castle. Perhaps if the police hadn’t responded so negatively, Elizabeth might have told them about more ex-lovers, including the three additional RAF servicemen we identified from Violet’s letters. If they had known about these men then they might have recognised the significance of the witness who told them she had seen an RAF sergeant with pilot’s wings on his uniform cycling through Sarclet on the afternoon Violet was killed. But they dismissed her as a senile old woman and decided she was confused or had invented the sighting so didn’t follow it up. That was another huge opportunity missed by the Caithness-shire Constabulary.

‘We looked at the service records of those men. One of them, Sergeant Ronald Morrison, lied to Violet about his status and turned out to have a wife in London. He and Violet split up very acrimoniously at the end of 1942. He was posted away from RAF Wick early in 1943 and was killed that summer when his aircraft was shot down over Denmark by an enemy fighter. He couldn’t have murdered Violet for the same reason her last boyfriend, Peter Bartlett, the man shown with her in a photograph hanging on the drawing room wall, couldn’t have murdered her. He was already dead.

‘A second man, Sergeant Simon Fuller, emerged as of particular interest because, on the Saturday night before Violet’s murder, he fought with Peter Bartlett after insulting Violet and accusing Sergeant Bartlett of taking her from him two months earlier. I had high hopes for Simon Fuller as a suspect until we discovered that two days after the fight and two days before her murder he flew his Spitfire into high ground while trying to land in low visibility at RAF Vagar in the Faroe Islands and was killed.

‘That left us with the least obvious of the RAF suspects, 22-year-old Sergeant Edward Mercer from Bristol. From her letters to Elizabeth, Violet was seeing Sergeant Mercer in April and May 1943. However, he only appeared in the background until they argued because he thought she was flirting with someone else and she ended things with him. Her two-word analysis of his character was “too possessive”. Violet was at heart a free spirit who was twenty-five years ahead of her time and there was no way she was going to allow any man to tell her how to live her life.

‘I imagine Edward Mercer didn’t feature on the “most likely” list Elizabeth gave to the police because he was several months in the past and was never mentioned again in Violet’s letters. We looked at Sergeant Mercer’s service record and found that he had been based at RAF Drem in February 1943, when a young woman was murdered in nearby North Berwick. He was also based at RAF Leuchars in February 1944, when a young woman was murdered in nearby St Andrews.

‘At this point, the part of Police Scotland that deals with cold cases became actively involved. There’s usually little police interest in cold cases that are so old the perpetrators are unlikely to be alive, but three murders by the same man would make him a serial killer and identifying one of those is going to be of enduring interest to any police force.

‘Edward Mercer died after a stroke in Cardiff in 1995. The police undertook genealogical research to find out if he had children and if any of them were on the UK National DNA Database. They found that he had three daughters and that one of them was convicted of defrauding investors in a timeshare scheme in 2005. When her DNA was compared with the historical samples from the murders in North Berwick and St Andrews, the match was strong enough to be sure for all practical purposes that Edward Mercer had killed those two women.

‘That left the police, and us, with a serious problem. The other two cases had been solved by starting with a suspect identified through Violet’s letters. Yet there was no way of proving that Edward Mercer killed Violet as no physical evidence remained from the initial investigation into her murder. It also meant the police had only cleared up two historical murders, which wouldn’t look nearly as good in their annual report as tying in a third and trading in their double-murderer for a serial killer.

‘Which is why, as most of you know, Police Scotland exhumed Violet Bain’s remains from her grave in Thurso. I don’t think anyone involved saw that as anything more than a desperate last throw of the dice given she had been buried for eight decades. It surprised everyone when samples they took from her remains allowed the production of quite a good DNA profile of her murderer. This was compared with the DNA profile of Edward Mercer’s daughter and has shown beyond any reasonable doubt that Mercer killed Violet Bain.

‘Most of us who are here this evening will be at Mount Vernon Cemetery in Thurso tomorrow morning for Violet’s reburial. Jenny and I hope that will bring some long overdue peace for Violet and her family on both sides of the Atlantic.’

John Rodriguez, sitting on the other side of Laura Kennedy from Jenny, coughed. ‘I’ve been asked by both sides of the family to thank you, Callum and Jenny, for what you’ve done. We would also like to thank you, Rose, for setting this process in motion. I know that Rose and Mary now want to see whether Violet still has a presence in this place. I would ask anyone here who, like me, is normally sceptical about these things to suspend judgment and try to remain as open and positive as possible.’

Mary took control of the séance, exactly as she had on New Year’s Day. Jenny, with one forearm held by Laura Kennedy and the other by Callum, found herself looking around, trying to work out how others in the room felt about the experience.

For what felt like ages nothing happened. Mary had changed her spoken invitation to Violet to join them to reflect the resolution of the case. She repeated herself three times, with periods of absolute silence between.

Then the purple candle flickered, as it had last time, and Jenny felt the temperature drop. She also heard Laura gasp and felt the young woman’s grip on her left forearm tighten so much it hurt. Out of the corner of her eye, Jenny could see Laura staring fixedly towards the door to the ensuite bathroom, which remained closed.

‘What can you see, Laura?’ asked Mary, softly.

‘It’s Violet. She’s standing over by the door again. But she’s much fainter now. And she looks happy, like in the photograph of her in the drawing room. The dress she’s wearing is the same one she had on last time and when I first saw her. It’s also the one she’s wearing in the photograph. She’s gone. She sort of shimmered and faded even more and then disappeared.’

Jenny felt Laura’s grip on her arm ease.

‘Look at the Ouija board!’ said Samantha Beattie.

Jenny looked. They’d started with the hole in the planchette above the letter “G” in the middle of the top row of letters. Now it was over the “D” of “GOOD BYE”.

‘Did anyone feel it move?’ asked Mary.

Grace and Violet shook their heads.

‘Not me,’ said Rose. ‘I was paying attention to Laura and didn’t feel anything.’

‘Goodbye Violet,’ said Mary. ‘I hope you can find peace now.’

Jenny saw the bathroom door open slightly just before she felt an icy gust of wind. The three candles flickered badly but then settled, still alight.

‘There’s someone else here with us,’ said Mary. ‘It’s the same spirit who visited when Violet left last time. Tell us who you are and how we can help you.’

After a moment, Jenny felt the temperature rise.

‘Whoever it was has gone,’ said Mary.

Mary closed the séance and asked Rose to turn on the light in the room.

It took a moment for Jenny’s eyes to become used to the brightness. Then she stood up and walked over to the bathroom door, turned on the light and pushed the door further open, far enough to see that the latch on the window was now unlocked and that there was still no one in the bathroom.

When she turned back into the main room she saw that Gordon MacDonald was crouching in front of Wendy Forsyth.

Jenny made her way around the table. Without Gordon blocking her view she saw that Wendy was holding a hand to her forehead and had tears running down her cheeks.

‘Are you all right, Wendy?’ asked Jenny.

‘I saw Amy standing in front of me while the candles were flickering. She only stayed a moment and then she smiled and disappeared.’ Wendy broke down in sobs and Gordon hugged her.

Jenny turned around to look at Mary.

‘It must have been Amy who was here and who knocked the candle over last time,’ said Mary.

‘Jenny’s photographs from the last séance showed that the trail of wax left by the candle when it was knocked over ended on the letter “B”, for Brian,’ said Callum. ‘Amy was trying to identify her killer but none of us realised.’

Rose was still standing by the door, next to the light switch. ‘That’s an interesting observation for someone who told me the first time we met that he didn’t believe in ghosts, Callum.’

Jenny saw Callum smile.

‘Very true, Rose’ he said. ‘But I did say that was the short and simple answer. Ask me again tomorrow if I believe in ghosts and I might give you the same reply. Right now, though, the only thing I can be certain of is an urgent need for a large gin and tonic.’

Jenny wasn’t sure what to make of what she’d just witnessed but she did know that she shared Callum’s desire for a strong drink.

Author’s note

This novel is a work of fiction and should be read as such. All characters are fictional and any resemblances to real people, either living or dead, are purely coincidental. This includes characters occupying posts that might have real-world counterparts such as Chief Superintendent Mark Cooper.

Likewise, the events that are described in this book are the products of the author’s imagination.

Many of the hotels and other businesses that feature in this book are loosely based on their real-life counterparts, including the Dornoch Castle Hotel. Homes that appear in the story are similar to homes in their areas but are not based on particular buildings. The shop visited in Thurso is fictional, as is the café in Helmsdale.

The settlements that are described, such as Dornoch, Helmsdale, Wick, Thurso, Papigoe and Staxigoe are generally based on their real-life counterparts. Castle Sinclair Girnigoe is real and stands as a ruin on the coast north of Wick. The old buildings near its car park exist but have been adapted for the story. The Castle of Old Wick is also much as described. At the time the book is set, The Castle of Old Wick was closed to visitors with access prevented by a barrier of Heras fencing across the promontory on which it stands. I have made it accessible in the book to allow the story to work. The Emigrant’s Statue in Helmsdale does exist, as does the plinth near the site of Helmsdale Castle. Sadly, the story of the castle’s demise is also true.

The village of Sarclet is real, as is Sarclet Haven. Sarclet Broch is fictional and is based on the Broch of Gurness in Orkney. Sarclet Castle (like the Earldom of Wick) is also fictional, though the castle is in some ways based on the Castle of Mey, on the north coast of Caithness, with a great hall borrowed from Eilean Donan Castle. Both the Castle of Mey and Eilean Donan Castle are open to the public and, like the Broch of Gurness, are well worth visiting. Other geographical features around the haven and the sites of the castle and broch have been changed to suit the story.

Anyone who has read my first novel, Eyes Turned Skywards, a thriller set in Scotland during the Second World War, will find Sarclet Castle very familiar. The castle also made a more minor appearance in my second novel featuring Callum and Jenny, A Tangled Web.

The weather has been adapted to suit the story and, in the real world, the aurora borealis did not put in an appearance on New Year’s Eve, 2023.

Technology plays an important part in this story and descriptions of the way it works are generally based on reality. Turf is a real game with a worldwide following that is particularly strong in Scotland. Apple devices and operating systems work much as described here, as does DNA profiling. My thanks are due to Carolyn Henry, who knows much more about how larger Apple devices work than I do.

The crossovers between this story and my series of World War Two thrillers featuring Bob and Monique Sutherland, Rose Balliol’s mother and father, are there to make sense of Rose’s desire to buy Sarclet Castle and because I hope readers will find them entertaining. Monique Sutherland’s journal entries have also allowed me to make use of a partly written story about her and Bob set in 1973 that is otherwise unlikely to see the light of day. As background, Aeroflot Flight 6551 was a real plane that broke up over Central Asia in May 1973.

Parts of this book are set in 1943 and 1944. The telegram system worked much as described in the story. Train times on the Wick and Lybster Light Railway and between Wick and Inverness are as set out in the June 1943 edition of Bradshaw’s Guide. RAF squadrons and stations that are mentioned did exist and were generally as I describe them at the time.

To conclude, in my view a writer of fiction has to create a world that seems right to his or her readers. I hope you feel I have succeeded and I hope that you have enjoyed this novel.