Flotsam and Jetsam by Keith Moray

recovery position.
    ‘Strange that the midges don’t seem to land on him,’ Ewan remarked. ‘They just home in on us.’
    Dr McLelland knelt beside the body, ignoring the fact that brackish peat water had soaked into his corduroy trousers. ‘It is because they only feed off the living. They are attracted to the carbon dioxide that animals breathe out.’
    ‘I didn’t know that, Doctor McLelland,’ Ewan said.
    ‘Nor did I until the other day; Doctor Dent here told me himself.’
    Torquil said nothing, but watched as the doctor opened his bag and pulled out his stethoscope and an ophthalmoscope. He knew from experience that he would perform his examination strictly to the letter, leaving nothing to chance and risking no error in his analysis.
    The doctor was one of Torquil’s oldest friends. Along with Calum Steele, the three of them had thought themselves to be like the Three Musketeers when they were attending the Kyleshiffin School under Miss Bella Melville’s watchful eye. Then they had grown up and gone their separate ways: Torquil to study law and become a police officer; Calum to throw himself into journalism; Ralph to study medicine. After graduating from Glasgow University Ralph had fully intended becoming a pathologist and had studied forensic medicine and medical jurisprudence, until his uncle had suddenly died. Family loyalty had then overcome personal academic ambition and he returned to West Uist to take over the old boy’s medical practice, as well as his post as honorary police surgeon to the West Uist Division of the Hebridean Constabulary. On several occasions in the past his forensic skills had come in very handy.  
    ‘So can you give an estimate on how long he has been dead?’ Torquil asked, as he looked over Ralph’s shoulder. 
    ‘Hard to be precise,’ he replied pensively. ‘What with the chance of accelerated rigor mortis if he had been in this cold peat water for any time, it could be as little as two hours or as long as twenty-four.’
    ‘You … you mean that I didn’t kill him with the hammer?’ Ewan blurted out.
    ‘No, you definitely did not. He has been dead for a good while,’ Ralph replied. ‘I don’t think that your hammer even touched him. It just happened to land in the bog beside him. It looks as if he fell and bashed his head on this jagged rock here.’ He pointed to a blood-soaked rock that was protruding from the pool. ‘As I say, he could have been here for a whole day.’
    ‘Except that he was in police custody last night,’ Torquil said. ‘You must have heard about the rumpus he created on the Flotsam & Jetsam TV show that they were filming?’
    Ralph looked round and shook his head. ‘I was out on an emergency case all evening. The devil’s own job I had in stabilizing the patient.’
    ‘Well, we didn’t release him until ten-thirty,’ Ewan volunteered. ‘Morag reckoned he had sobered up enough by then.’
    Ralph bent over the dead man’s lips and sniffed. He clicked his tongue. ‘I’ll need to check his alcohol level when I do the post-mortem. Assuming you want a post-mortem, Torquil?’
    ‘Are you able to say how he died?’ Torquil asked. ‘Not meaning to be facetious, Ralph.’
    ‘I would guess that he’d gone for a walk up here on the moor, still inebriated, and tripped and bashed his head. Could have been the head injury that killed him, or he could have drowned in the bog.’ He pushed himself to his feet and gave a thin, humourless smile. ‘But that is not my brief, is it? It is only my initial opinion. I would need to do a post-mortem todetermine the cause of his death.’
    They all turned at the sound of a click. Calum Steele and Cora Melville were standing a few paces behind them. Calum had a digital camera in one hand and his customary spiral notebook in the other. He was gripping his pen between his teeth.
    ‘Calum! What do you mean by sneaking up on us like that?’ Torquil snapped. He knew only too well that his friend was