‘Oh, for Christ’s sake,’ McKay said. ‘Look at the bloody numpties.’
Fiona glanced at him sharply, her expression suggesting disapproval. Chrissie had already warned him to moderate his language in Fiona’s presence, but he’d spoken without thinking. In fairness, his exclamation had been pretty mild by his usual standards.
By now, the others had followed his gaze and seen what had prompted his outburst. ‘Ah,’ Chrissie said. ‘I see what you mean. Goodness.’ McKay sometimes wished he shared her talent for understatement.
At first, he’d assumed they were kids. Youngsters buggering about on the fort ramparts. Now, looking more closely, he realised they were older than that. In their late teens or twenties, as far as he could judge at this distance. A young man and woman.
When he’d first glanced in their direction, they’d just been messing around on the top of the ramparts. Stupid enough, in McKay’s opinion, but it wasn’t the first time he’d seen someone up there. Then they’d gone further and ventured out onto the grassed slope below the ramparts. The slope, which had presumably been part of the original defensive design, was relatively steep and ended in a sheer drop to the moated area below. There was no fencing.
‘If they slip…’ Fiona said. There was no need for her to complete the sentence. It was obvious to all of them what would happen if either lost their footing.
‘Don’t you think you should do something, Alec?’
‘Me being a police officer and all? What should I do? Arrest them for being empty-headed bampots?’
‘I don’t know, but–’
She was interrupted by an irate bellow from behind them. ‘Oi, you two! Get down! You’ll fall to your bloody deaths!’
McKay turned to see that the speaker was the man from the ticket office by the entrance. Presumably part of his duties included ensuring that, if at all possible, visitors managed not to kill themselves while on site. Whether yelling at them unexpectedly was the soundest way of achieving that goal, McKay wasn’t sure.
In fact, the shouting had the desired effect. The two looked down, apparently surprised at the intervention, then made their way back up the slope to the ramparts, jumping down into the interior of the fort.
‘Bloody idiots,’ the man said to no one in particular. ‘Wouldn’t be sorry to see one of them actually fall.’
‘Aye,’ McKay said. ‘But think of the paperwork.’
The man nodded, as if McKay had made a serious contribution to the discussion. ‘Anyway, enjoy your visit, folks. Just don’t let me catch you doing anything like that.’
‘You’d be waiting a long time.’ McKay turned back to the rest of the group. ‘We’d best get inside. We don’t have all that long.’
He wasn’t even quite sure why they’d come here. Historic buildings weren’t really McKay’s thing. Fiona’s lugubrious husband, Kevin, had suggested it, and Chrissie and Fiona had seconded the idea with apparent enthusiasm. Kevin was supposedly keen on history, though McKay couldn’t recall the man showing much interest in anything during his infrequent visits up here. Certainly, his expression at the moment wasn’t that of a man filled with excited anticipation.
At least they had decent weather for it. It was cold enough, colder even than usual for early January. But it was a bright, clear day, the low sun hanging in a largely cloudless sky. The only other time McKay had visited this place, it had been pouring with rain, and they’d spent their time scurrying from one exhibit to another.
He followed the others across the footbridge into the fort itself. Chrissie and Fiona were chatting animatedly. Kevin hung behind them, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. McKay supposed he ought to initiate some conversation, but the prospect seemed too daunting. He’d long ago learnt that he and Kevin had virtually nothing in common. He wished now they’d accepted the offer of the commentary headphones available in the ticket office. That would at least have given him an excuse to match Kevin’s silence.
Once they’d passed through the main gateway, the full interior of the fort was visible. It was impressive enough, McKay acknowledged. He knew little of the history, except that it had been built after Culloden with the aim of keeping the rebellious Scots firmly under control. Remarkably, although now open to visitors, for the present it still operated as a working garrison. Probably just in case the Scots ever needed suppressing again.
McKay recalled from his previous visit that the visitor areas were well laid out and informative. Despite the limits of his own interest, he’d found himself engaged with the exhibitions, fascinated by the continuity of military life in this confined fortification. Today, he was content to follow the others around the place, enjoying a rare escape from the pressures of his working life.
They’d had a hectic few months, still dealing with the complicated fallout from their last major case up here. Trying to make sure, in particular, that the prosecution case was as watertight as possible. That was mostly behind them now, and they were as confident as they could be. But McKay had long ago learned not to take anything for granted, and his recent experiences had made him more wary than ever.
On top of that, they’d had the usual heavy caseload, especially in the period leading up to Christmas. Everything always seemed to get more insane in December, when every pisshead in the city tried to cause as much trouble as possible. Most of it was trivial stuff that came nowhere near McKay’s desk. But there were always one or two more serious incidents. Domestics. Bar fights that went too far. Fatal road traffic collisions. More than enough to keep them occupied.
At least things were back on track with Chrissie. It wasn’t exactly that they’d resolved all the issues they’d been wrestling with. But at least it didn’t feel as if they were bottling them up anymore. McKay had been persuaded to have another shot at joint counselling, and this time they’d found someone who actually knew what he was doing. McKay had forced himself to relax into the process, and it finally felt as if they were making some progress.
So that was all good. But it had left him feeling exhausted and, at least at work, even more jaded than usual. Christmas had come and gone in a low-key way, as it always had in the McKay household except when Lizzie had been small. Hogmanay had been more lively. They’d had Chrissie’s other sister, Ellie, round with her husband and a few other friends and neighbours, and everyone had drunk and eaten too much to the point where they all, even McKay, seemed more or less happy. But now they were into January, season of short days, long nights, bloody endless cold, and nothing much else to look forward to.
‘Penny for them, Alec,’ Fiona called back to him. ‘You’re looking very pensive.’
‘Ach, my thoughts aren’t even worth a penny. Just contemplating the futility of existence. You know how it is.’
‘Alec always brings a ray of sunshine into our lives,’ Chrissie observed. ‘It’s one of his few skills.’
Fiona laughed. ‘Alongside being the great detective, I assume.’
‘Aye, that too.’ McKay had decided, after some initial hesitation, that he rather liked Fiona. She was Chrissie’s elder sister but they saw little of her. She and Kevin had long ago moved, for reasons best known to themselves, to some godforsaken part of Southern England. They usually tried to visit over Christmas or New Year, but this year their arrival had been delayed by some work commitment of Kevin’s. McKay wasn’t even clear what sort of work Kevin was involved in, except that it was something incomprehensible in IT. He’d only once made the mistake of asking.
But Fiona was likeable enough. Like Chrissie, she was strong-willed and opinionated, and, with the obvious exception of Kevin, not one to suffer fools gladly. All qualities that McKay admired, and one of the reasons why he’d been attracted to Chrissie in the first place. So he was quite happy to have them up here for a few days. It seemed to cheer Chrissie up too, which was never a bad thing.
‘So what’s worth looking at here?’ Fiona had stopped and was gazing around the clusters of stone buildings inside the fort.
‘It’s years since we’ve been here,’ McKay said. ‘There’s the Highlanders’ Museum. Highland regimental stuff, if that’s your thing. But the whole place is worth a look. Recreating post-Culloden military life. Makes you grateful you didn’t have to be part of it. Oh, and there’s a café.’
They made their way slowly around the perimeter of the fort, occasionally pausing to enter one of the exhibition rooms. Kevin, predictably enough, made a point of stopping to read each display, apparently several times, while the others waited patiently by the door. Initially, McKay had expected that Kevin might offer some opinion or insight at the end of this extended perusal, but instead he remained his usual taciturn self, providing them with little more than a grunt, apparently indicating satisfaction.
This was fine by McKay. He had no great desire to make conversation and, as they strolled in the winter sunshine, he found himself relaxing for what felt like the first time in weeks. That was surprising in itself, he thought. Not that he was relaxing, but that he felt the need to. He’d always thought of himself as someone who thrived on the job – the intensity, the adrenaline. Maybe it was just because he’d been through so much over the last couple of years, domestically and personally. Or maybe, as Chrissie kept half-jokingly telling him, he was finally showing his age.
They stopped briefly for a cup of tea in the small café, and then continued their walk up onto the battlements at the far end of the fort. As they made their way up the sloped pathway to the upper level, it occurred to McKay that, although they’d seen a few other visitors in the course of the afternoon, they hadn’t run into the couple who’d been messing about on the parapets earlier.
This side of the fort overlooked the Moray Firth, the pale blue water sparkling below them. Over the other side, McKay could see the villages of Fortrose and Rosemarkie, the curved spit of Chanonry Point stretching out between them. It was still an hour or so from sunset, but the sun was already low over the Black Isle, throwing the far side of the firth into a mauve shadow. The wind from the sea was bitterly cold.
‘Brass monkey weather,’ Kevin offered.
McKay had almost forgotten that Kevin was standing beside him. It was the first time he’d uttered anything approaching a coherent sentence since their arrival here. ‘Too right. I’m going to head down in a sec.’ He saw that Chrissie and Fiona had already had the same idea and were making their way towards the path to the lower level.
Kevin had already wandered across to the edge of the battlements and was peering out. ‘I might stay here for a bit. It’s a nice view. I’ll catch you up.’
Twenty or more years of policing had taught McKay not to be surprised by people, but he’d never envisaged Kevin as a devotee of landscapes. Perhaps he just wanted time to himself, even though he’d never seemed a man troubled by the niceties of social interaction. ‘Aye,’ McKay said. ‘We’ll go and have a look at the chapel and then the old barracks. Give one of us a ring if you have any trouble finding us.’
He left Kevin staring out over the waters, and hurried after Chrissie and Fiona. Fiona turned as he caught up with them. ‘Where’s Kev?’
‘Fancied a few minutes enjoying the view. Said he’ll catch us up.’
‘Is he okay?’
‘Seemed to be. Why?’
‘Not sure. He’s been a bit quiet for the last few days, that’s all. Since we got up here.’
McKay couldn’t say that he’d noticed any major differences in Kevin’s demeanour from his usual self. ‘You want me to stay with him?’
‘Don’t be daft. No, I just wonder if he’s worrying about something.’
They continued their exploration of the fort, paying a brief visit to the chapel before proceeding to the old barracks. On their previous visit, that rainy weekend, McKay had found the barracks both fascinating and oddly disturbing. They had been set up to recreate the lifestyles of the fort’s original inhabitants, with the aim of giving a sense of what that past military life must have been like.
‘Grim’ had been McKay’s one-word summary of the living conditions. Dozens living side by side with only the most basic of facilities. Freezing in winter and probably stifling in summer. And always subject to the most rigorous, not to say brutal, military discipline.
On that previous rain-soaked afternoon, his primary sense had been one of misery. Today, the place struck him differently. The sun had already disappeared behind the walls of the fort, and the gloom was thickening. The barracks felt eerie, the sense of history almost palpable in the stones. As they made their way down the corridor in the barrack building, he heard a sudden gasp and stifled expletive from Fiona at the front of the group.
He’d have warned her if he’d remembered. He recalled now his own momentary shock at peering into that room and seeing a figure, dressed in military garb, crouched at the table. It had taken him only a second to realise the figure was nothing but a mannequin, positioned as part of the recreation of the original layout. But the initial surprise had been real enough, and Fiona had clearly had the same experience.
Fiona was already laughing at her own foolishness. ‘I can’t believe I fell for that. It’s obviously a model.’
‘You just don’t expect it,’ Chrissie said. ‘We did the same when we first looked in here. Like a ghost.’
Like a ghost. That’s it, McKay thought. The whole place felt teeming with ghosts, so it didn’t seem surprising that one might have been made manifest. You expected to find the dead in here.
‘It’s well done, though,’ Fiona conceded. ‘The whole set-up, I mean. Gives you a real feel for it.’
McKay moved to stand behind the two women, peering past them into the room. ‘Bit too much of a feel, if you ask me. Place gives me the creeps.’
‘Developing an imagination in your old age, Alec?’ Chrissie asked. ‘First time for everything.’
‘Aye, well. This reminds me why I never wanted to develop one in the first place. In my job, reality’s more than enough.’ The narrow corridor, with its close whitewashed walls, suddenly felt oppressive. He turned and took a couple of steps towards the entrance, wanting to get back into the open air. Then he heard another stifled cry from behind him.
He looked back, a half-formed quip dying on his lips as he saw the expression on Chrissie’s face. ‘What is it?’
Chrissie’s mouth opened and closed, as if she couldn’t work out what words to articulate. Finally, she said, ‘I think you’d better come and look at this, Alec.’
Fiona was immediately behind her, her face equally ashen. They were both outside the door of another of the rooms, which McKay recalled was set up as a recreation of a barrack room, complete with the original metal bedframes.
As he approached, they moved aside to allow him to look. It was as he remembered. A closely-packed line of narrow beds, each topped with a thin, rough-textured blanket. The most basic of sleeping facilities, crammed side-by-side into a space smaller than their living room at home.
On one of the nearer beds, there was a figure wrapped loosely in one of the blankets.
‘I thought it was another model,’ Chrissie said from behind him. ‘But it looked wrong somehow. Out of place.’
He could see what she meant. The mannequin in the adjacent room had been positioned as part of the exhibition. A figure seated at a desk, dressed in uniform. This just seemed random.
Visitors weren’t supposed to enter the rooms, but it took McKay only a moment to unclip the barrier and step inside. His professional instincts were already coming into play and he approached the bed cautiously, taking care not to disturb anything more than necessary. He reached out and, taking hold of the top end of the blanket, pulled it back.
He’d known already, he supposed. The sixth sense that comes from years of experience. Spotting the signs without even knowing what you were seeing. He looked back at the two women, still clustered in the doorway. ‘You’d better get outside. Don’t touch anything. And stop anyone else coming in here.’