Buried For Good by Alex Coombs

Author:Alex Coombs [Coombs, Alex]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Boldwood Books

19

Wemyss saw the car first. It was five o’clock in the afternoon, humid and overcast, and both he and Hanlon were returning from a 10K run, Hanlon bathed in sweat, Wemyss panting, tongue hanging out as he loped along, when suddenly, as they approached the edge of the forestry plantation near the brow of the hill above her cottage, he stopped suddenly and growled, flattening his body into a crouch.

Hanlon immediately knew that she had a visitor. Wemyss had become quite territorial over the croft, which in her view was no bad thing. Quite a few people had cause to wish her harm and she viewed with suspicion any visitors who hadn’t made an appointment.

‘Heel,’ she instructed the dog, who glanced up at her adoringly and immediately, obediently, fell behind her as she approached her home cautiously, screened by the tall bracken that lined the path. When she was about fifty metres away from the house, she crouched down and took stock of the situation.

Parked next to her Volvo was a four-wheel-drive Subaru. There was a figure behind the wheel; she couldn’t make out the details. Then the door opened and a man got out. He was tall and slim, wearing a white shirt and green cords. The wind blew his short red hair back from his pale face with its dusting of freckles. He leaned against the car’s bonnet and checked his phone.

She stood up and walked down the hill towards him. He must have sensed her coming; he looked up from his phone and waved. Wemyss barked and ran down the hill towards him. He had known Murdo Campbell for quite some time.

Hanlon jogged towards him, conscious of her sweat-stained top and muddy leggings. Her hair was a wet, unruly mass from perspiration and drizzle; it had been raining in the hills.

‘Hello, Murdo.’

He smiled and put his phone away. He let Wemyss smell his hand, then stroked the dog’s head. Wemyss’s tail wagged furiously.

He looked around at the small whitewashed bothy with its slate roof and small lawn, mainly moss and weeds, enclosed by a dry-stone wall. Her old Volvo was parked in front.

‘New car,’ he said politely.

She nodded. ‘It’s their latest model.’ He smiled.

‘You’ve got a nice view,’ he said, looking out over the dark green pines as the hill fell away steeply below the house. In the distance was the blue of the sea and the green and brown patchwork of the low-lying ground called the Crinan Moss before the craggy hills of north Argyll rose again in the distance.

‘I know.’ She indicated the cottage. ‘Would you like to come in?’

‘Yes, please.’

There was a certain awkwardness to the encounter. They hadn’t seen each other since their last, unsuccessful date. She was pleased to see him. She wondered what had brought him here, if his sister had maybe said something. It wouldn’t have surprised her – Ishbel was nothing if not direct.

Hanlon took the key out of a zippered pocket on her leggings and opened the door. She bent over and removed her muddy running shoes before entering.

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