McKay opened the rear passenger door and slid inside the car.
The woman they so far knew only as Sacha was huddled at the far end of the seat, her face white, her eyes apprehensive. She was a striking figure, McKay thought. Perhaps in her late twenties with a face that wouldn’t have embarrassed a supermodel. At the moment, she mainly looked terrified. McKay couldn’t immediately work out whether she was more terrified by what she’d seen or by the prospect of dealing with a police officer. He exchanged a glance with Ginny Horton in the front passenger seat.
‘Sacha?’ McKay had spoken softly but her response suggested he might almost have punched her in the stomach. Eventually she nodded.
‘Do you have a surname?’
She hesitated. ‘I call myself Barnett now.’
‘But that’s not your real name?’
‘It is now. I wanted to leave my past behind.’
‘Are you in the country illegally?’
‘All legal. I was granted asylum. This is years ago. Gordon – Mr Prebble – he helped me to gain citizenship. He’s a good man.’
McKay wasn’t about to argue the toss. He could imagine why Prebble had helped this attractive young woman, and what he might have demanded in return. They could check in due course, but McKay’s instinct was that Sacha’s claims were on the level. She must have known any lies would be quickly exposed.
‘Tell us exactly what happened today, if you feel up to it.’
‘I had an arrangement to do work for Gordon – Mr Prebble…’
‘What sort of work?’
‘I do various things for him.’ She stopped. ‘I did, I mean. Cleaning, tidying up. I cook him meals till my next visit. Stuff that can be frozen. He’s not very domesticated–’ She halted again. ‘He wasn’t.’
‘You arrived here at the appointed time? You weren’t put off by the snow?’
‘I hate to let Gordon down.’
Not as much as he’d have hated being let down, McKay thought. ‘So you let yourself in. Mr Prebble had given you a set of keys?’
‘No, he won’t give me any keys. I thought at first it was because he didn’t trust me, but I don’t think he trusted anyone.’
‘How did you get in?’
‘I rang the bell but there was no answer. The door was unlocked so I came inside. I thought Gordon might be angry if I came in but I was worried. I came into the living room and I saw… that…’
‘It must have been a shock.’
‘It was horrible. There was blood everywhere and…’
‘I’m sorry,’ McKay said. ‘What did you do then?’
‘I didn’t do anything at first. I was too shocked. I was scared because I thought… whoever had done it might be in the house.’ She shook her head, as if remonstrating with herself for her own foolishness. ‘I went to my car and I called 999.’
‘You did the right thing,’ McKay said. ‘It was best that you left the house. You didn’t disturb the scene which makes it easier for us to gather evidence.’ He spoke slowly, unsure how much Sacha was taking in.
‘You said the front door was unlocked,’ Horton said. ‘Was that unusual?’
Sacha looked up as if baffled by the question. ‘He wouldn’t have left it unlocked. He didn’t do that.’
‘He was concerned about his security?’
‘He said it was very isolated up here and he didn’t take any chances.’
‘Did he have any specific concerns?’ McKay asked. ‘Did he talk about any particular threats?’
‘He was a wealthy man. I guess he was afraid of being burgled. He’d always been like that. But he seemed to have got worse recently.’
‘In what way?’
‘I don’t know. More worried, I suppose. He always wanted to make sure the doors were properly locked, the alarms were on…’
‘This had become more extreme recently?’
‘I think so. He wanted to check the doors even after I’d come in.’
‘When do you think the change occurred?’
‘The last month or so, maybe?’
‘Was there anything that prompted the change? Anything you saw?’
‘Nothing I saw. But Gordon didn’t share much with me.’
‘You’ve known him for some time?’
‘A few years, yes.’
‘How did you meet him?’
‘I can’t remember exactly…’
McKay had no doubt she was lying, but he knew if he pushed harder she’d probably clam up entirely. He suspected there was plenty of interest in Sacha’s past. She spoke good English, but there was an accent he couldn’t immediately identify. Eastern European or further east?
‘How long have you worked for Mr Prebble like this?’ McKay asked Sacha.
‘Like this? Three, four years.’ McKay could see she was weighing up what more to say. ‘He helped me. But I am doing okay. I have other jobs too now. Cleaning jobs,’ she added, as if expecting McKay to offer some alternative suggestion. ‘I work hard now.’
‘I’m sure you do. Where do you live?’
‘Dingwall. Your colleague has my address.’
‘Quite a drive for you here,’ McKay said. ‘Especially on a day like today. You’re clearly very conscientious.’
‘Mr Prebble expects me to come,’ Sacha said before correcting herself. ‘Expected, I mean.’
‘Did you see any other vehicles near the house?’
She thought for a moment. ‘I passed a few other cars. Had to stop on the single-track road to let them pass.’ She closed her eyes, as if trying to summon up the images of the cars she’d seen. ‘There was one with a man and a woman in it. I remember them because I stopped in one of the passing places so they could pass, but they didn’t wave to thank me. It seemed rude in conditions like that.’
It was normal practice in the area, as in most rural areas, to behave courteously towards other drivers on the narrow back roads, and that generally included an exchanged wave of acknowledgement when someone was good enough to wait for you to pass. ‘Can you recall anything about them or about the car?’
‘Not really. I was focusing on the road once they’d passed. It was a big car, I think.’
‘Big like a people carrier? One of those cars you can fit a family into?’ McKay asked.
‘I think so. Something like that.’
‘What about the couple? Any impression of them? Young, old? Anything about their faces? Glasses, facial hair?’ He stopped, wanting to prompt but not lead her memories.
She thought again. ‘Young, I think. I mean, perhaps my age.’
‘If it’s not too rude, can I ask how old you are?’
‘Twenty-eight,’ Sacha said.
‘So late twenties or something like that?’
‘I think so. Not teenagers but not–’
‘An old wrinkly like me,’ McKay said. ‘Or my colleague over there.’ Ginny Horton was in her mid-thirties. She stuck her tongue out at him, hidden from Sacha by the headrest on her seat.
‘Younger than you, yes,’ Sacha said. ‘A little younger than your colleague, perhaps.’ Horton offered him a smug grin.
‘That’s helpful. Anything else?’
‘Glasses,’ Sacha said. ‘The woman. She was wearing glasses, I think. Big ones with thick frames. She looked clever.’ She frowned. ‘It’s hard to be sure. I think I remember things but I don’t know.’
As far as McKay was concerned, that was preferable to witnesses who related their recollections with absolute certainty. Witnesses were unreliable, their memories always fallible. The best were those, like Sacha, who recognised that fact. ‘Just give me your impressions. Don’t try to overthink it. What about the man?’
She closed her eyes again. ‘I’m not sure. No facial hair, I think. I’ve an impression of him being tall…’
‘But you only saw him in the car? Was he driving?’
‘He was driving. He was nearer to me. His head just looked higher than the woman’s. Notably so. That’s what made me think he was tall…’ She tailed off, and McKay decided he’d extracted as much as he was likely to from her.
‘Thank you, Sacha. That’s very helpful.’
‘I want you to catch them. The people who did this.’
‘You must have been very fond of Mr Prebble,’ McKay said.
There was a prolonged silence, and McKay was unsure how Sacha was going to respond. Finally, she just gave a slight shake of the head, which might or might not have been an answer to his question. ‘He was a good man,’ she said, after another moment.