of crazy dream? Ewan dug his fingernails into his flesh and nipped himself until it hurt, but the caller went on talking.
This was no dream.
‘I could’ve gone tae try an’ pull him from the water,’ the caller said. ‘But I knew he was dead already. I was shocked. Ma heart was thumpin’ so bad, I thought I was gonnae faint. So I just waited until they were gone, and then I legged it. Ran like hell, an’ kept runnin’. I wish I hadnae, but that’s what I did. I just wanted no part o’ it. It wisnae until the next day, when they found the body, that I even knew who they’d murdered. Been frettin’ over it ever since. Cannae shut it oot o’ ma head.’
At last, Ewan was able to marshal his wits together enough to ask the obvious question. ‘These four men. Who were they?’
There was a pause on the line as the caller mulled over his reply. When he spoke again, he sounded scared. ‘I’m sorry, Mr McCulloch. It would be mair than my life’s worth tae tell you another word.’
‘You recognised them, didn’t you?’
Another heavy pause. Then, ‘Two o’ them. That’s all I’ll say.’
‘Please,’ Ewan said. ‘I need to know.’
‘Forget it. I’ve already told you too much. Goodbye.’
‘Hold on. Don’t hang up. Please! If you don’t want to tell me, then at least report what you saw to the police. Better still, we could go there together. Tell me who you are. I could meet you somewhere, right now. We could drive up to the police station in Fort William first thing in the morning.’
‘Mr McCulloch—’
‘We don’t have to tell them about the salmon poaching, if that’s what you’re worried about. Under the circumstances I don’t think they’d even be bothered about—’
‘Look, I just wanted you tae know the truth o’ what happened,’ the caller said. ‘Or as much o’ it as I dare tae tell. Dinnae make me regret that I called you. Nobody except you has any clue what I witnessed. I intend tae keep it that way. And if you have any sense, you’ll keep this tae yourself too. That’s all I have tae say. Good night, God bless and good luck.’
And Ewan was left holding a dead phone. He tried dialling 1-4-7-1-3 to find out the caller’s number and call them back, but the information had been withheld.
It was only just gone midnight, but Ewan was certain he’d get no more sleep. He couldn’t even close his eyes. He frantically paced the floor, his mind awhirl. Was this some kind of sick joke? The enormity of the mystery caller’s claim was staggering. Ludicrous. Impossible.
And yet … what if it were true?
As he went on pacing for the next hour, Ewan reflected on the trouble and anger that the golf course development scheme had stirred up. A lot of folks in these parts were furious about it, not least the self-proclaimed ecowarriors who, vowing never to give up the fight, had plagued the construction company until they downed tools and walked away. A few months back, someone had made a threatening anonymous call to the McCulloch & Campbell office, saying their firm would regret it if they remained connected with the project. Of course, Ewan had reported the call to the police in Fort William, who’d appeared to do nothing about it. For the next several weeks he had kept expecting to find his car tyres slashed or an office window broken, but nothing more had come of it and he’d quickly forgotten the episode.
However, a lot of other people, including Mairi the firm administrator, had been convinced that it was only a matter of time before someone got seriously hurt. Some of the protesters were a militant bunch. Who knew what they might be capable of?
Breaking windows and vandalising construction machinery were one thing. Murder was something else entirely. But given that both Ewan and Ross were widely known to be associated with the project, albeit only indirectly, what if …
Jesus. Maybe it was true!
The more Ewan thought about it, the deeper his panic grew. He wanted to call Mairi to tell her. But he didn’t want to alarm her until he could be more certain of his facts. Who to talk to, then? The police again? Perhaps Grace Kirk? Even if he’d had her number, she’d only think he was crazy. He had no real evidence. What if it was all a lie?
It took a long time for Ewan to think of who to call for help and advice. His uncle was retired and had been enjoying a quiet life in the Italian countryside for the last few years, with his Neapolitan wife Mirella. He’d always been there for his nephew, since Ewan’s parents had passed away. He’d spent his career in the army, though he’d seldom ever spoken about the things he’d done and his crazy adventures back in those days.
Though you weren’t supposed to talk about it, everyone in the family had known Ewan’s uncle was no ordinary soldier, but was involved for a long time in the secretive and hidden world of Special Forces. He was older now, but still strong and wise, a rock you could cling to. Someone you could truly confide in.
Yes, that’s what Ewan needed to do.
He soon found the number in his address book. Feeling a little more settled, he managed to doze off for a few hours on the sofa. At six in the morning, seven a.m. in Italy, he brewed a strong coffee, then picked up the phone.
Ewan’s uncle was called Archibald, but nobody called him that. For some reason that had never been too clear to Ewan, the name his uncle had always gone by was Boonzie. Boonzie McCulloch. Ewan thought it might have been an old army nickname that stuck.
It was a great relief to hear his voice on the phone. Despite having lived for years in Italy, Boonzie’s accent was still as strong as the day he’d left Scotland. He was delighted to hear from his only nephew. But Ewan thought his uncle sounded tired, his voice a little weaker than the last time they’d spoken.
After spending a couple of minutes on the usual pleasantries, Ewan bit the bullet. ‘This isn’t just a social call, Uncle. I wish it was. Fact is, I’ve got a problem.’
‘What kind o’ problem, laddie?’
‘The kind I need someone like you to advise me what to do about.’
Boonzie listened calmly and quietly as his nephew related the whole story: Ross’s death, Ewan’s initial speculations about possible suicide, and the anonymous phone call from the man he could only refer to as ‘the poacher’, which had blown away all the previous theories about the drowning and left him, Ewan, in such a quandary. He told it exactly as it had happened, leaving nothing out. When he finished, Boonzie methodically broke down the facts and went through all the questions that had been flying around Ewan’s mind. Was this real? Could it be some kind of prank? How plausible was the witness’s claim? Could it be verified? Was there any way to identify this mystery caller and get him to come forward, or at least reveal more about what he’d allegedly seen?
Nobody with a background as tough and dangerous as Boonzie McCulloch’s could have survived as long as he had without being extremely cautious. He was nobody’s fool and his mind was as sharp as the wicked double-edged blade on a Fairbairn-Sykes commando dagger. But after a long discussion, Ewan’s uncle could come to only one conclusion.
