car’s outside.”
“She was using her own car?”
“Aye, but they only started searching last night.”
“Come on, Dick,” said Hamish.
“Where are you going?” asked Jimmy.
“I’m going to check the road between here and Inverness.”
It was a steel-grey day, weeping drizzle. The mountains were hidden, and all colour seemed to have been bleached from the
sodden landscape.
“Why are you taking the Struie Pass?” asked Dick.
“If I wanted to dump a body, that’s the route I would take,” said Hamish. “Practically everyone uses the new road now.”
“Do you think she’s dead?” asked Dick.
“I cannae think of any other reason why the lassie wouldn’t turn up.”
“Could be anywhere,” said Dick gloomily.
“We’ve got to try. Keep looking.”
The Land Rover moved slowly up the twisting one-track road. They stopped from time to time. Hamish scanned the surrounding
landscape with binoculars.
The day dragged on as they slowly approached the viewpoint. Hamish’s phone rang. It was Jimmy.
“You’re never going to believe this. The CCTV cameras outside the hotel and inside weren’t working. The guests were at breakfast,
which is in the dining room at the back. No one saw her leave. What are you doing?”
“Still searching,” said Hamish gloomily.
“If she’s been hijacked, then whoever took her is right bold,” said Jimmy. “To take her off in broad daylight!”
“Someone was desperate,” said Hamish. “I’ll phone you as soon as I get anything.”
“We’ve got men over at the factory taking statements, finding out where everyone was this morning.”
“Pete Eskdale?”
“Over in Strathbane, drumming up publicity from a local paper.”
“Confirmed by the paper?”
“Aye. Mind you, his appointment was at ten in the morning.”
“What about the boss, Harry Gilchrist?”
“Down in Glasgow.”
“Where?”
“Got him on his mobile. He stayed with a friend. Strathclyde Police are confirming his alibi. He’s on his road back.”
“What about Freda?”
“At her desk all this morning.”
Hamish rang off and went back to searching.
He and Dick drove up to the viewpoint, parked, and got out. A wind sprang up, and the weather of Sutherland went in for one
of its mercurial changes. The cloud was blown into grey rags and sent flying off to the east. The blue mountains appeared,
range after range of them, stretching into Sutherland. The sun shone down on the purple heather. Rowan trees danced in the
brisk wind, their leaves glittering with raindrops. It has been called “the million-dollar view.” Down below lay the inner
arm of the Cromarty Firth. Over in the blue distance lay the Kyle of Sutherland.
“This is hopeless,” moaned Dick. “I’m hungry.”
“Let me think,” said Hamish. “Whoever took her was in a panic. So he wouldn’t go in for anything elaborate. He’d kill her
and toss the body out by the road. We’d better keep looking.”
To Dick’s horror, Hamish said they should start going along the road on foot. “I’m tired,” he wailed. “My legs won’t take
it.”
“You should lose weight,” said Hamish heartlessly. “Oh, take a seat in the car. I’ll go myself.”
Hamish trudged slowly along, looking to left and right.
The road began to descend. He stopped and stared around. She could be anywhere. Why had he thought of the Struie Pass? Because
there’s a bit of a murderer in all of us, he thought, and it’s where I would have got rid of her.
At a hairpin bend in the road, he noticed a stand of silver birch and, at the base of the trees, uprooted piles of heather.
He walked over and tugged away the heather. Hannah’s white face stared up at him. He bent down and felt for a pulse. It was
there, but very faint. He phoned Dick and howled for the Land Rover to be brought down the pass. He phoned for a rescue helicopter,
shouting that any long delay could kill her.
He then knelt down in the heather and
“She was using her own car?”
“Aye, but they only started searching last night.”
“Come on, Dick,” said Hamish.
“Where are you going?” asked Jimmy.
“I’m going to check the road between here and Inverness.”
It was a steel-grey day, weeping drizzle. The mountains were hidden, and all colour seemed to have been bleached from the
sodden landscape.
“Why are you taking the Struie Pass?” asked Dick.
“If I wanted to dump a body, that’s the route I would take,” said Hamish. “Practically everyone uses the new road now.”
“Do you think she’s dead?” asked Dick.
“I cannae think of any other reason why the lassie wouldn’t turn up.”
“Could be anywhere,” said Dick gloomily.
“We’ve got to try. Keep looking.”
The Land Rover moved slowly up the twisting one-track road. They stopped from time to time. Hamish scanned the surrounding
landscape with binoculars.
The day dragged on as they slowly approached the viewpoint. Hamish’s phone rang. It was Jimmy.
“You’re never going to believe this. The CCTV cameras outside the hotel and inside weren’t working. The guests were at breakfast,
which is in the dining room at the back. No one saw her leave. What are you doing?”
“Still searching,” said Hamish gloomily.
“If she’s been hijacked, then whoever took her is right bold,” said Jimmy. “To take her off in broad daylight!”
“Someone was desperate,” said Hamish. “I’ll phone you as soon as I get anything.”
“We’ve got men over at the factory taking statements, finding out where everyone was this morning.”
“Pete Eskdale?”
“Over in Strathbane, drumming up publicity from a local paper.”
“Confirmed by the paper?”
“Aye. Mind you, his appointment was at ten in the morning.”
“What about the boss, Harry Gilchrist?”
“Down in Glasgow.”
“Where?”
“Got him on his mobile. He stayed with a friend. Strathclyde Police are confirming his alibi. He’s on his road back.”
“What about Freda?”
“At her desk all this morning.”
Hamish rang off and went back to searching.
He and Dick drove up to the viewpoint, parked, and got out. A wind sprang up, and the weather of Sutherland went in for one
of its mercurial changes. The cloud was blown into grey rags and sent flying off to the east. The blue mountains appeared,
range after range of them, stretching into Sutherland. The sun shone down on the purple heather. Rowan trees danced in the
brisk wind, their leaves glittering with raindrops. It has been called “the million-dollar view.” Down below lay the inner
arm of the Cromarty Firth. Over in the blue distance lay the Kyle of Sutherland.
“This is hopeless,” moaned Dick. “I’m hungry.”
“Let me think,” said Hamish. “Whoever took her was in a panic. So he wouldn’t go in for anything elaborate. He’d kill her
and toss the body out by the road. We’d better keep looking.”
To Dick’s horror, Hamish said they should start going along the road on foot. “I’m tired,” he wailed. “My legs won’t take
it.”
“You should lose weight,” said Hamish heartlessly. “Oh, take a seat in the car. I’ll go myself.”
Hamish trudged slowly along, looking to left and right.
The road began to descend. He stopped and stared around. She could be anywhere. Why had he thought of the Struie Pass? Because
there’s a bit of a murderer in all of us, he thought, and it’s where I would have got rid of her.
At a hairpin bend in the road, he noticed a stand of silver birch and, at the base of the trees, uprooted piles of heather.
He walked over and tugged away the heather. Hannah’s white face stared up at him. He bent down and felt for a pulse. It was
there, but very faint. He phoned Dick and howled for the Land Rover to be brought down the pass. He phoned for a rescue helicopter,
shouting that any long delay could kill her.
He then knelt down in the heather and
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