‘Are youinsane? In this weather, it’d be suicide!’ He jabbed a hand at the missing bridge. ‘WE NEARLY DIED!’
‘You Highland bunnets are a bit... sensitive, aren’t you?’
He hauled his soggy backside into the driver’s seat and sat there dripping. ‘Two climbers tried it last spring, and that was in thesunshine. Didn’t find their bodies till autumn.’ He started the engine and eased the Land Rover through a slow, oh-so-careful, three-point turn. Wincing every time they moved so much as an inch towards the ruined riverbank. ‘We’re going back to the castle.’
‘Moan, whinge, gripe, complain.’ Roberta let loose another fog of vape. ‘In my day, lowly police constables did what they were told.’
Muscles clenched along the side of his jaw, but he kept his gob shut and didn’t rise to it. Maybe the boy wasn’t as thick as he looked? Good for him.
She clicked off her e-cigarette and put it away as the forest swallowed the car again. ‘So, we’re right back where we started from. No phone, no backup, and fifty-one people to interview.’
‘Forty-sixpeople.’ Trying to sound all in control again, like she didn’t know he’d probably crapped himself when they’d nearly gone over the edge.
‘Oh aye? Let’s hear it then, Sherlock.’
‘I didn’t kill him, Sergeant Moore didn’t kill him.’ McKinnon risked a quick glance across the car at her. ‘I’m assumingyoudidn’t kill him, and neither did your wife or my Barbara. That makes it forty-six left to interview.’
True.
Roberta stuck her feet back on the dashboard. ‘What, noMrsSergeant Moore?’
‘Not any more. And we don’t talk about it if we know what’s good for us.’ The Land Rover splooshed through that huge puddle again, sending another wall of filthy water up over the bonnet and windscreen. McKinnon slowed them to a crawl, even though Certain Death at the Skirivour Rapids was in the opposite direction. ‘His wife was having an affair with the local butcher, amongst others.’
Roberta sighed. ‘I know you can judge a good butcher by the quality of their sausage, but you’re no’ meant to take that figuratively.’
‘Lives in Australia now, with her “partner”.’ McKinnon made one-handed air quotes. ‘Douglas, the bridegroom? Can’t stand her. Said he’d rather drive burning nails into his balls than invite, and I quote, “that two-faced duplicitous bitch” to his wedding. His own mum!’
‘Got to love a happy family.’
‘So, now the Sarge just sits at home, on his own, watching movies, reading books, and painting landscapes.’
‘Any good?’
PC McKinnon pulled a frog face and shook his head.
So much for Sergeant Moore the renaissance man.
The Land Rover turned onto a straight bit and the whole world lit up bright white as a massive slash of lightning ground-zeroed just ahead. The thunderclap slammed into the car before she could breathe, rattling the air in her lungs.
McKinnon slammed on the brakes again, the ABS’s tremble joined by the screeching crackle of punished wood as a huge oak tree timbered down onto the road in front of them, leaving its scarred white stump behind.
Hitting the road in slow motion, the bounce of its leavesand branches pounded in time with the blood in Roberta’s ears.
The Land Rover slid to a halt a good thirty feet from the smouldering trunk.
They sat there, looking at it for a bit.
That wastwiceMother Nature had tried to kill her today. Three times, if you counted the Hangover From Hell. Starting to feel a little personal, to be honest.
Roberta thumped McKinnon on the arm. ‘Don’t just sit there: get it shifted.’
He looked at her as if she’d just crapped on the dashboard. ‘Shift it withwhat?’
‘You’ve got a tow thing on the car. Use that.’
His mouth hung open for a moment, clearly absorbing her genius. ‘It’s amassiveoak tree! It’ll weigh at least fifteen, twenty tons – no way the Landy will pull it.’
Boy was an idiot.
