A rumble of thunder growled in the distance.
‘Sounds like my stomach.’ She produced a pilfered carrot from her pocket and crunched off a bite.
‘Going to get soaked, aren’t we?’
Crunch, chew, chew, chew. ‘Already done thatthree timestoday. Don’t fancy another go.’
Moore had a rummage behind the reception desk, coming out with a little photocopied map. ‘You think it might be him? Our killer?’
‘With this lot? Might be anyone.’ She cracked off another carroty nugget. ‘If he’s the gamekeeper-slash-handyman, he’d know where those big ladders were, wouldn’t he?’
Moore nodded. ‘Yup.’
‘He comes and goes as he pleases, has access to weapons, and I bet he’s got keys to every room in the hotel too. In case they need fixing. I’d say he had to be pretty high up the suspect list.’
Sergeant Moore plucked a couple of hotel brollies from the stand by the doors and stepped out onto the gravel beneath the portico, skirting one of those spreading puddles in his sodden socks and soggy shoes. ‘Shame you didn’t bring the wellington boots in from the Landy. Would’ve come in handy right about now.’
She stared at him. ‘I traipsed across half the Highlands in my only dry shoes, and there werewelliesin the Land Rover?’
That was it, it was official now: next time she got her hands on PC McKinnon, she was going to bloody well kill him.
Fifteen minutes from the hotel and the woods thickened around them like something out of the Brothers Grimm. Dark and damp and deep, the canopy filtering-down the never-ending rain to plops and dribbles that pattered into the leaf litter coating the gloomy forest floor.
And, swear to God, it felt like the trees were watching them. Tiny little eyes in the darkness, staring as they made their way along the winding path, past jagged tangles of barbed-wire brambles and great drooping ferns.
Every now and then a drip would thunk into the fabric of her brolly, reverberating unnaturally loud in the arboreal silence.
Somethingclickedin the undergrowth – off to the right, where the shadows had congealed to almost total darkness – and Roberta froze. Beside her, Sergeant Moore did the same, and they stood there, listening. And listening. And listening.
Just the patter of those filtered raindrops.
Moore’s voice was barely a whisper: ‘You ever seeThe Deer Hunter?’
‘More like bloodyDeliverance.’
What if it was Nairn, the gamekeeper? Out there stalking them like they were a couple of deer. Just waiting for the best time to start shooting...
A minute passed. Then another one.
OK, they weren’t dead yet, so it probably wasn’t him. Just a badger or something. Nothing to worry about.
Ahem.
She hurried on, following the path. ‘So, a wee birdie tells me your ex-wife liked to put it about a bit?’
You could tell Moore was forcing the words out between gritted teeth, they had that kind of strangled sound. ‘I’mnottalking about this.’
‘Come on, tell your Aunty Roberta all about it.’ Because someone else’s troubles were always a lot more fun than your own.
‘And you can tell Constable Michael McKinnon, next time he shoots his mouth off about my personal life I’m going to park that Land Rover up his backside!’ And with that, Sergeant Moore marched off at double speed, leaving her behind. Cos Susan wasn’t the only world-class sulker.
Roberta stood there, grinning as his high-vis figure got smaller. ‘WAS IT SOMETHING I SAID?’
‘You sure we’re no’ just going round and round in circles?’
Sergeant Moore slogged on. ‘Maybe?’
If anything, the woods had got darker and deeper. The path had narrowed too, reducing them to shuffling along in single file. Moore in the front, Roberta bringing up the rear.
