8

Ginny Horton took the left fork from the main road above Rosemarkie, trying to spot the house name she’d been given.

McKay had called her a few minutes earlier to break the news about Helena Grant and Bill Emsworth. ‘You understand I’m not just calling to spread trivial office gossip.’

‘The thought never entered my head, Alec.’

‘I just thought you ought to know. Before you speak to him.’

‘Does this complicate Helena’s role in the investigation?’ Horton asked.

‘It’s a good question. I didn’t think it was the moment to raise that, but it’s something she’ll need to think about.’

‘Knowing Helena,’ Horton said, ‘she’ll already be thinking about it.’

‘Aye, I imagine so. No flies on our Hel. And it’s probably okay. I’m the SIO, and I don’t think we’re seriously considering Emsworth as anything but a witness.’

‘I suppose he’s a possible suspect, but no more than anyone else with access to the bonfire. Which is pretty much anyone on the Black Isle or surrounding areas. Or further if they drove here especially to provide us with a body.’

‘The whole event was his idea,’ McKay pointed out. ‘I presume the bonfire was his idea too. That’s something for you to explore with him. But it doesn’t mean much.’

‘I’ll check what the background to the event was, and how widely it was publicised. The bonfire could have just been used opportunistically as a way of disposing of the body.’

‘It’s possible,’ McKay said. ‘Worth exploring, anyway.’

‘Anyway, give my love to Helena. She deserves a bit of good news on the relationship front. Presumably I shouldn’t say anything to Emsworth?’

‘Probably best not. Helena’s only just told me, and I’d hate her to think I was just itching to spread the news around the office.’

‘Heaven forbid. Okay, I’ll play it straight unless he says something. I’ll let you know how it goes.’

She’d ended the call with McKay before turning onto the single-track road that she’d been told led to Emsworth’s house. After another fifty metres, she spotted the house sign he’d described to her when she’d set up the meeting.

The house was an imposing place set high above the village, with a spectacular outlook over Rosemarkie Bay. Below, she could see the pale strip of the beach, the Moray Firth stretched out before her. On a bright winter’s day, with the sun low in the sky, the waters were a rich blue.

The front door of the house was already open, Emsworth waiting for her in the doorway. ‘DS Horton, I presume? I heard you arriving.’

He was a tall, slim man, probably in his forties, with a neatly trimmed beard and an impressive mop of greying hair that, to Horton’s inexpert eye, looked expensively styled. He’s a good-looking man, Horton thought, for those who liked that kind of thing. ‘Mr Emsworth. Good to meet you.’

‘Please call me Bill. Everyone does.’

Horton smiled. ‘Thank you, though it’s probably better if we keep things on a formal footing.’

‘Take your point. I’m used to dealing with the police in less formal contexts. Anyway, do come in.’

He led her into the hallway. Horton had been unsure about the age of the house. The frontage looked as if it might be nineteenth century or older, but the house had clearly been substantially extended at the rear. Emsworth led them through into a large airy living room with a vaulted ceiling and large windows looking out onto a small but well-maintained courtyard garden.

Emsworth – or someone working for Emsworth – had made a considerable effort with Christmas decorations. There was a large Christmas tree, tastefully adorned with colour co-ordinated baubles and tinsel, and a range of other Victorian-style decorations around the room. Horton wondered whether this was Emsworth’s customary practice, or whether he’d gone to additional trouble in honour of Helena Grant’s stay.

‘Can I get you some coffee?’ Emsworth said, adding with a smile, ‘Or would that be too informal?’

‘I’d love a coffee if it’s no trouble.’

‘No trouble at all. Like most writers, I live on the stuff. Take a seat and I’ll be back in a second.’

Horton took a seat and looked around. She presumed Emsworth worked elsewhere in the house. The only indication of his profession here were the bookshelves lining one of the walls, containing a substantial number of volumes. It was an attractive room, and one that she suspected reflected Emsworth’s character in its slight fussiness and attention to detail. She felt nothing in the room – the furniture, the décor, the pictures on the wall – had been chosen or positioned casually.

Emsworth returned bearing a tray with a cafetiere, two mugs, milk and sugar, which he placed on the low table between them. ‘Please do help yourself.’

She did so and pushed the tray towards Emsworth who had taken a seat on the sofa opposite her. ‘How long have you lived here, Mr Emsworth?’

‘About eighteen months. Before that I’d led a very peripatetic existence. A few years in the US, a few years in Manchester, too long in London. It all seemed a good idea at the time.’

‘What brought you here?’

‘It’s a question of what brought me back,’ Emsworth said. ‘I’m a local lad. Well, local-ish. Born in Dingwall. But my parents moved to England for work when I was still small, so I’ve no real memories of it. But the link was enough to bring me up for holidays for many years. I’d been vaguely thinking about the idea of buying a small place I could use for writing, but which I could also let to holidaymakers. Then I thought why not go the whole way and actually move up here. There was nothing keeping me down south. I can write anywhere, and I can do all the business with my agent and publishers remotely.’ He laughed. ‘Of course, now they’re all working remotely.’

Horton was forming the impression that Emsworth was keen on the sound of his own voice. It was quite an impressive voice, a mellifluous mix of Scots and American she could imagine working well at public readings. ‘You must be settled in now, then?’ For the moment, she was keeping the conversation light, wanting to build up a rapport with Emsworth before she moved on to the more challenging topics.

‘I must say, I kept myself to myself for a few months because I was head down working to a deadline. And then of course there was the lockdown. But over the last few months everybody’s been very welcoming. I’m starting to feel part of the community now. People are pleased I’ve moved here permanently rather than buying a property as a holiday home.’

Horton took a sip of her coffee. ‘That’s good to hear. I’ve been here a good few years now but it’s been my experience too.’ She paused. ‘I don’t want to take up any more of your time than I have to, but I need to check out the background to the solstice event and the bonfire. We haven’t yet succeeded in identifying the body, so we need to collect as much information as we can.’

‘Take as much time as you need. I’m fascinated to be in the middle of the real thing after writing about it for so long. I did speak briefly to DCI Grant and DI McKay on the night, but you’re presumably aware of that?’

‘I’ve seen a note of those discussions. I may go over some of the same ground. You might recall something now that didn’t occur to you in the immediate aftermath of the discovery.’

‘That might well be true,’ Emsworth agreed. ‘I wasn’t thinking very clearly on the night. I was just in shock really.’

‘Understandably. It might be helpful to go back to the beginning. Can I ask about the inspiration behind the solstice event?’

Emsworth shrugged. ‘Inspiration’s a big word for it. It was one of those wheezes that a few people came up with over a few pints. A lot of people round here had a tough time over the summer because of the lockdown. The tourist season just didn’t happen, and even when things began to open up, there was nothing like the volume of visitors you’d normally expect. They’ve tried in various ways to extend the season and there’s been an effort to keep things going, as far as possible, over the winter. The solstice thing was just intended to support that effort. Another attempt to bring in visitors and create a sense of something going on even during the dark months. It was part of a series of December events we put on. Generally they went pretty well. A lot of the local traders were involved, and we brought more people into the restaurants and cafes, so we were pleased with that. The solstice event was supposed to be the climax of it. Even more so after they’d announced we were going to be locked down again after Christmas. Big bonfire, music, stalls with the various local hospitality businesses represented. It was going well. Pity it ended like it did.’ He shook his head, his expression suggesting he was visualising what had been found in the bonfire.

‘Who was involved in setting it up?’

‘A group of us. All locals. I can’t even remember how I first got involved. Just got chatting to someone in the shop or the pub, I imagine. We had a small steering committee, but there was a wider group of volunteers who did the legwork. Mostly people from the village or the surrounding area. I’m struggling to imagine that any of them would have been involved in something like this.’

‘We can’t disregard any possibility,’ Horton said, ‘but it’s also possible they might have talked about the bonfire to friends, family or others from outside the village.’

‘That’s true, and we also publicised it in the local media during the weeks beforehand, so anyone could have been aware of it. Concealing the body wouldn’t have required any particular inside knowledge.’

Horton was silent for a moment as she thought about how to phrase what she was about to say. Emsworth already knew the body had been burned alive, but she didn’t know how that had affected his own emotions about what had happened. ‘Except of course that the body must have been placed in the fire not too long before the event.’ The nights had been below freezing for the last couple of weeks, and Doc Green’s view had been that an immobile individual would have quickly succumbed to hypothermia.

Emsworth frowned. ‘Oh, yes, of course. Presumably you think he wouldn’t have been able to survive longer at this time of the year.’

‘I’m afraid that’s the way it looks.’

‘I’m still struggling to come to terms with the fact that I killed him. I lit the fire and that poor bastard was still alive.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Horton said. ‘The whole thing’s awful. But you’re not to blame for it.’

‘Rationally I can see that. But I’ve spent years writing about this stuff. Not really taking it seriously. For me, it’s just been the basis for writing what I hope are entertaining books. This has brought home just how real it can be.’

‘All too real, I’m afraid.’ Horton could see Emsworth was making an effort to think rationally about what had happened.

‘I assume you’re talking to the residents in the houses closest to the beach?’ he said. ‘They might have seen something.’

‘Yes, we’re following up with all of those.’

‘I don’t know that I can tell you much more. I had a look at the fire in the afternoon before the event, but I didn’t go peering inside it. I didn’t notice any signs it had been disturbed, so whoever did it must have gone to some trouble.’

‘How difficult do you think it would have been?’

Emsworth thought for a moment. ‘It would certainly have taken some time to do it properly. We’d stacked the bonfire carefully. There was a lot of straight firewood but we’d bulked it out with any wood people were happy to get rid of – bits of broken furniture, old pallets, all kinds of things. It needed some care to ensure it was stable. So you’d need to take some care in ensuring you kept it all in place and then even more care in putting it back so the disturbance wouldn’t be noticed.’

‘You didn’t see anyone hanging around while you were building the bonfire?’

‘I’ve been racking my brains about what I might have seen, but I still can’t think of anything out of the ordinary. We had a few people stop and chat to us while we were building the fire, but they just seemed like your ordinary visitors. Most of them were more interested in finding out about the event generally rather than paying any real attention to the bonfire. I don’t remember anything that seemed suspicious. I’ve asked some of the other volunteers, but their recollections are the same.’

‘If anything does occur to you, then just let us know.’ Horton handed over one of her business cards. ‘Sometimes memories do pop unexpectedly into your mind after the event. Often when you stop trying to remember them.’

‘I’ve learnt that in writing my books,’ Emsworth said. ‘If you’re stuck with the plot, there’s no point in trying to force it. Sometimes the solution just comes, usually in the middle of the night. I’m sorry I’ve not been more help. I want to do anything I can to bring to justice whoever was behind this.’ He paused. ‘Especially in the circumstances.’

‘I’m very grateful for your time, Mr Emsworth. I’ll leave you to get on with your work.’

‘I’ve not exactly been productive over the last day or two. It all seems very frivolous compared to something like this.’

‘We don’t tend to see the worst of it up here, but it’s amazing how ruthless people can be. This could well be some sort of gangland or underworld killing, designed to send a message.’

‘Underworld?’

‘It’s a possibility. We’re not immune to that stuff up here. It’s mostly small-fry operators, even compared to Edinburgh or Glasgow, but there are tensions. We made a breakthrough with one of the bigger players earlier in the year, so there’s been some jockeying for position since then. This might be fallout from that.’

‘Sounds an unpleasant business.’

‘It can be.’ She pushed herself to her feet. ‘Thanks again for your time, Mr Emsworth. It’s been most helpful.’

‘I doubt it has,’ Emsworth said. ‘But I’ll do anything I can to help. If anything else occurs to me, I’ll be in touch.’