‘That’s my personal mobile. Will you call me if you need anything?’
Boonzie said, ‘Like what?’
She flushed slightly, shrugged. ‘Ewan and I … we were close once, a long time ago. We weren’t much more than kids back then. Anyway, he often used to talk about you. Said you were like a father to him. After what’s happened I just thought – just between you and me, you know? – that if there’s anything I can do to help …’
Boonzie was touched by her words. It didn’t surprise him to hear that she and his nephew had known each other better than she’d let on at first. He didn’t miss a lot, and had noticed the way she talked about Ewan. He also got the impression that she wasn’t overly impressed at the way her provincial cop colleagues were handling the case. But he kept all that to himself and replied simply, ‘That’s very kind of you, lassie. I appreciate it.’
‘Just please, don’t go poking around too much.’
‘Because of what those clowns Macleod and Coull might think?’
‘No, because you seem like a nice man, and there are obviously some nasty characters about, and I wouldn’t like to think of you getting hurt. There’s been far too much of that already.’
He smiled. ‘I’ve come across a few nasty characters in my time, and I’m still here. Dinnae you worry aboot me, lassie.’
A door swung open and a pair of uniformed officers stepped through it, talking. One of them smiled at Grace. The other just looked, then glanced at Boonzie. Grace said, ‘I’d best get ready for my shift. Where are you headed now?’
‘Back tae Kinlochardaich.’
‘Will you be okay? Not many buses go out that way.’
‘I’ll be fine.’
‘You take care, all right?’
Boonzie thanked her again, and watched her hurry off. He was a straight-ahead kind of man who either liked people or he didn’t, and he’d decided that Grace Kirk was one of the good ones.
She’d been right about the buses, too. It was nearly two hours before Boonzie finally got back to the village. On his way out of the police station he’d stopped at the reception desk and, as next of kin, been given an envelope containing some personal effects Ewan had had on him when they’d brought him in. There wasn’t much: wallet, loose change, keys. No phone. Boonzie guessed that the detectives were hanging onto that, for what it was worth.
As he unlocked Ewan’s front door to let himself inside, it felt wrong to be here alone. Boonzie wanted his presence to make as little impact as possible on his nephew’s home. If he had to stay here a few days, he’d kip on the sofa rather than use a bedroom, and wouldn’t use the kitchen. Boonzie had been trained to sleep rough, live off the land and leave no trace of his passing, and spent many years instilling those same skills into others. Old habits died hard.
But the moment he stepped inside the house, such thoughts were forgotten as he saw the obvious signs that someone else had been here. Someone not as worried about disrupting the place.
Ewan’s house had been completely turned over.
Boonzie had seen burglaries before and knew immediately this was something different. Whoever had broken in had been searching for something. Drawers had been rifled, sofa cushions slashed and the stuffing pulled out. Even the carpets had been pulled up as though someone wanted to check the floorboards. It was a mess. This had been the work of more than a single intruder. More likely two or three, working in tandem to ransack the place and get out fast.
Boonzie soon found the intruders’ entry point, a broken utility room window in the rear, overlooking a weedy yard filled with bins, junk and a parked camper van. Access was through a lane that cut between the backs of the houses. The intruders had reached through the smashed glass to open the window and climb in. He secured the window shut and then returned to the main rooms, where most of the damage was, to look for any clues.
Ewan had used the small dining area off the living room as a basic home office, with a little workstation desk against one wall. Boonzie noticed the empty space on the desk, a rectangle of dust where something had been removed. There was a printer and scanner, a nest of tangled wires, a pair of disconnected computer speakers and a monitor screen, but the computer itself was missing. The intruders had taken it. But who were they, and what had they been looking for?
Boonzie considered reporting this new development to the police, then changed his mind. Why complicate matters, especially with those two useless idiots in charge of the case? He already knew what he had to do, and they’d only get in his way.
Saddened by the state of the place, he set about tidying up as best he could. As he worked he found a balled-up piece of notepaper lying in the corner behind a wastepaper basket. Uncrumpling it to see what it was, he found that it was covered in handwriting he recognised as Ewan’s.
Boonzie had left his reading glasses at home in Italy, and had to peer closely at the paper to read what Ewan had written on it. The upper third of the page was a scrawl of notes Boonzie didn’t really understand. Something about ‘Louis d’or’, and some dates and other names that meant little to him. Below that were some jottings about local history, dating back to the eighteenth century, featuring a few famous names that Boonzie did recognise, though it was unclear why Ewan had been taking such an interest in the subject. The notes at the bottom of the page switched away from history and were about illegal salmon fishing in the area. Underneath Ewan had scribbled in capitals the words ‘WHO IS THE POACHER??’ and underlined them so hard he’d scratched right through the paper.
Boonzie smoothed the page flat, folded it neatly and put it in his pocket. Then turned to look around him at the wrecked room. Until now he’d managed to keep a handle on his emotions. The image of Ewan in the intensive care unit flashed into his mind, and he thought how his nephew might never awaken from the coma these people had put him into. Rage boiled up inside him.
‘Bastards,’ he muttered.
Boonzie put his hand on his chest as he suddenly felt an odd sensation behind his ribs, followed by a jolt of pain that made him let out a low groan. He swayed slightly on his feet and reached out to support himself on the back of a chair. He waited a few seconds for the pain to subside, then walked slowly into the kitchen to find a glass and fill it with tapwater. He used it to gulp down the last couple of pills from one of the little bottles he now carried everywhere with him. He hated taking them. There was a fresh bottle in his pocket. He tossed away the empty.
When he felt better, he went to pick up Ewan’s landline phone and called Mirella. ‘It’s me. Just checking in. You okay?’
She was happy and relieved to hear from him. They spent very little time apart, as a rule, and she told him how much she was missing him.
‘Listen, hen, there’s bad news. It’s aboot Ewan.’ Boonzie quickly filled her in on all that had happened, and shared his belief that the same people who killed Ross Campbell had tried to kill him, too. He told her about his meeting with the cops, and how he’d decided to pursue this himself.
Mirella was shocked and worried,
