nervous, eyes darting away towards Anna and back again. ‘I’m from the social work department in Stornoway. I’m compiling a background report for the Sheriff. Macaskill versus Maclean for the custody of young Anna Macaskill.’
Fin raised an eyebrow and turned his head towards Anna. ‘You’ve not met, then?’
Margaret frowned. ‘You’re Anna?’
‘Is there someone else here?’ Anna’s truculence had returned.
The social worker seemed confused. ‘I thought you and your father didn’t get on.’
‘Who told you that?’ Fin said sharply.
Now she was embarrassed. ‘I’m not at liberty to say.’
‘Well why don’t you ask the girl herself? Presumably you’ll be interviewing her anyway.’ Both he and Margaret turned their heads towards Anna, whose defiant facade was suddenly less impregnable. She stuck out her lower jaw and glared at them both. Fin caught her eye and raised his eyebrow an eighth of an inch. But still she hesitated, until the silence became almost embarrassing.
Then finally she blurted, ‘I fucking love my dad. Okay? Why else would I be here?’
In the ensuing silence, with only the sound of the wind whistling around outside the house, the social worker appeared entirely discomposed. It was clearly not what she had been expecting. She recovered a little of her composureand looked at Fin. ‘Perhaps, Mr Macaskill, we could make an appointment for a private interview?’
Fin said, ‘I’m sure John Angus would be happy to meet with you, Mrs Stewart. But you’ll have to ask him.’
Her face flushed red with embarrassment. ‘Oh. I thought . . .’ She paused. ‘You’re not Mr Macaskill?’
Fin smiled. ‘Let’s start over, shall we?’ He offered her his hand once more, and she took it uncertainly. ‘My name’s Fin Macleod. Ex-CID, Lothian and Borders police. Now head of security here on the estate. I live in Ness, and I’m one of John Angus Macaskill’s oldest friends. So if you’re looking for a character reference, I’ll be more than happy to give you one.’
CHAPTER TEN
Evening was wearing on by the time Fin got back to Ness. Having failed to find Whistler, the worry of his disappearance was starting to gnaw at him.
The lull in the wake of the storm was over. The sunshine respite of this single day was already spent, and legions of dark clouds were assembling out on the western horizon, where the last dazzle of the dying sun spilled its gold on distant waters. A gale was getting up, blowing through the heather like wind on water.
He turned his Suzuki off the main road at the Crobost Stores, and climbed the hill towards the bend in the road. The land fell away to his left, to the cliffs that dropped to the crescent of beach below. The Crobost Free Church rose darkly against the sky to his right, stark and unadorned. As he reached the turn-off to it, he could see Marsaili’s car on the road ahead, parked on the gravel above the bungalow. He had called her to let her know that he was all right, but she knew nothing of the discovery of the plane. That could wait.
He took the turn up towards the church instead, and rattled over the cattle grid into a parking area where neatlypainted white lines guided the faithful into orderly rows like so many drive-in pews. There was a solitary car parked at the foot of the steps leading up to the manse, and he saw Donald’s wife making her way down towards it bumping a large case from step to step.
She wore jeans and a knitted jumper, her coat hanging open, a satchel dangling from her shoulder. She reached the foot of the steps as Fin drew in beside her car. Her glance towards him was fleeting, a flick of auburn hair to get it out of her face, and she turned to open up the boot. By the time Fin got around to the back of her car she already had the suitcase inside it. Her face was flushed from the exertion, and perhaps embarrassment. She was reluctant to meet Fin’s eye.
‘Going somewhere, Catriona?’
She brushed past him and
Fin raised an eyebrow and turned his head towards Anna. ‘You’ve not met, then?’
Margaret frowned. ‘You’re Anna?’
‘Is there someone else here?’ Anna’s truculence had returned.
The social worker seemed confused. ‘I thought you and your father didn’t get on.’
‘Who told you that?’ Fin said sharply.
Now she was embarrassed. ‘I’m not at liberty to say.’
‘Well why don’t you ask the girl herself? Presumably you’ll be interviewing her anyway.’ Both he and Margaret turned their heads towards Anna, whose defiant facade was suddenly less impregnable. She stuck out her lower jaw and glared at them both. Fin caught her eye and raised his eyebrow an eighth of an inch. But still she hesitated, until the silence became almost embarrassing.
Then finally she blurted, ‘I fucking love my dad. Okay? Why else would I be here?’
In the ensuing silence, with only the sound of the wind whistling around outside the house, the social worker appeared entirely discomposed. It was clearly not what she had been expecting. She recovered a little of her composureand looked at Fin. ‘Perhaps, Mr Macaskill, we could make an appointment for a private interview?’
Fin said, ‘I’m sure John Angus would be happy to meet with you, Mrs Stewart. But you’ll have to ask him.’
Her face flushed red with embarrassment. ‘Oh. I thought . . .’ She paused. ‘You’re not Mr Macaskill?’
Fin smiled. ‘Let’s start over, shall we?’ He offered her his hand once more, and she took it uncertainly. ‘My name’s Fin Macleod. Ex-CID, Lothian and Borders police. Now head of security here on the estate. I live in Ness, and I’m one of John Angus Macaskill’s oldest friends. So if you’re looking for a character reference, I’ll be more than happy to give you one.’
CHAPTER TEN
Evening was wearing on by the time Fin got back to Ness. Having failed to find Whistler, the worry of his disappearance was starting to gnaw at him.
The lull in the wake of the storm was over. The sunshine respite of this single day was already spent, and legions of dark clouds were assembling out on the western horizon, where the last dazzle of the dying sun spilled its gold on distant waters. A gale was getting up, blowing through the heather like wind on water.
He turned his Suzuki off the main road at the Crobost Stores, and climbed the hill towards the bend in the road. The land fell away to his left, to the cliffs that dropped to the crescent of beach below. The Crobost Free Church rose darkly against the sky to his right, stark and unadorned. As he reached the turn-off to it, he could see Marsaili’s car on the road ahead, parked on the gravel above the bungalow. He had called her to let her know that he was all right, but she knew nothing of the discovery of the plane. That could wait.
He took the turn up towards the church instead, and rattled over the cattle grid into a parking area where neatlypainted white lines guided the faithful into orderly rows like so many drive-in pews. There was a solitary car parked at the foot of the steps leading up to the manse, and he saw Donald’s wife making her way down towards it bumping a large case from step to step.
She wore jeans and a knitted jumper, her coat hanging open, a satchel dangling from her shoulder. She reached the foot of the steps as Fin drew in beside her car. Her glance towards him was fleeting, a flick of auburn hair to get it out of her face, and she turned to open up the boot. By the time Fin got around to the back of her car she already had the suitcase inside it. Her face was flushed from the exertion, and perhaps embarrassment. She was reluctant to meet Fin’s eye.
‘Going somewhere, Catriona?’
She brushed past him and
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