Red, Red Snow by Caro Ramsay

Author:Caro Ramsay
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781448304172
Publisher: Severn House Publishers
Published: 2020-01-13T00:00:00+00:00

SEVEN

Sunday 22nd December

Anderson had not slept well. Despite the warming effect of the whisky, the cold had kept him awake even after he had placed his anorak over the bed clothes. As the chill chased the tiredness from his body, his mind raced at the irony of Brenda pointing out his failures as a parent while she was back in the big warm house with his lovely grandson and he was up here with two dead bodies sleeping with his socks on to prevent frostbite.

He had no idea how the crime was committed.

Instinct told him that Charlie was innocent. The facts said otherwise.

He had checked the weather reports again with the mountain rescue at Glen Coe, confirming periods when it had been snowing hard locally. Useless until they knew the time of death. Useless if the radar machine found the footprints of a stranger who had come and gone in the night. Somebody who had doubled back after the party. Today they would start the witness statements. Today they had an investigation room, a board and a focus for thought.

If there were no footprints in the snow, apart from those of Elise and Suzette leaving, Elise coming back, then Elise racing out of the patio doors, then there were two conclusions. The Korders had a fight and somehow managed to kill each other. That sort of thing didn’t come from nowhere – there would have been fights before, violent outbursts.

The other conclusion took it back to Charlie Priestly.

Anderson decided to walk out to Rhum. He needed to think. He felt he was in an Agatha Christie novel, trying to solve a puzzle, not solve a murder. With Henry – and then Martin joined them – he had stayed up to the small hours of the morning, thinking through ideas that got more ridiculous as the level in the bottle fell. Martin was convinced it was a snow sprite that Charlie had seen, and Anderson wasn’t completely convinced that it was the whisky talking.

It was nonsense, but as Anderson walked along the road, alone and desolate, he could believe it. He had forgotten about getting across the river; thinking that he was relatively fit, he could climb the gate. Then he saw the barbed wire overhang at the sides: there was no way over.

Private was private. Or was Doyle keeping a secret?

So he walked along the road by the riverbank and saw the coffin bridge. The river was narrow, but not deep, the brown water moving over large rocks in a rush to get to the loch and then out to sea.

Rocking the coffin with his foot, it moved easily. It was well oiled, still in use, and he had thick gloves on. So he climbed into the coffin, gripping the sides as it rocked alarmingly. He lay down and tested his grip on the ropes with his gloved hand, and then propelled himself along, hand over hand, hearing the small gear wheels squeak with his weight. He was at the other side just as he was getting the hang of it.

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