thing as total bollocks,’ Ewan said. ‘I’d have been happy to believe you, and try to forget this nightmare ever happened.’
‘Ye say this person sounded familiar,’ Boonzie said thoughtfully.
Ewan replied, ‘I thought so at the time, yes. I was sure I’d heard his voice before somewhere. But the more I try to remember where, the less sure I am about it. I might have imagined it. I’m going out of my head with confusion. What the hell am I going to do?’
Boonzie’s reply was unhesitant. ‘Do nothing. Sit tight and wait for me tae get there.’
Ewan realised how foolish he’d been not to anticipate that this would be his uncle’s instant reaction. ‘No. I can’t accept that. I’m not asking you to drop everything and come here. I just thought … to be perfectly honest I don’t know what I thought.’
‘Aye, well, two heads’re better than one. Give me a day to sort things oot here and make the travel arrangements. I’ll be with you as quick as I can.’
‘I hate to drag you away from your home.’
‘The middle of winter’s no exactly the busy season for us,’ Boonzie said with a chuckle. He and Mirella had a seasonal business growing tomatoes and basil, which they canned into purée and pesto for the restaurant trade in their region of Campobasso. They’d never be millionaires, but it was a blissfully peaceful life and exactly what the couple wanted to be doing.
‘All the same. I feel like shit about it.’
‘Wheesht. It’s the least I can do. We’ll have this thing worked oot before ye know it.’
Despite his sense of guilt Ewan was already feeling much better. ‘And then? Take it to the police?’
‘Maybe. First let’s make sure we know what’s going on here. One step at a time, Ewan. One step at a time.’
‘Thanks, Uncle. You’ve no idea how much this means to me.’
‘I promised yer father on his death bed that I’d look after ye, Ewan. That’s what I mean tae do. You’re like the son I never had.’ The fearless Boonzie McCulloch wasn’t afraid of sounding corny, either.
‘Och, stop it. You’re embarrassing me.’
‘I mean it. So you stay put, keep yer head doon and dinnae move a muscle until I get there. Okay?’
‘I will.’
‘Swear?’
‘Absolutely.’
But despite his promise, as the hours passed following their conversation Ewan found it progressively harder and harder to sit twiddling his thumbs waiting. The morning seemed to drag on for ever and he didn’t know what to do with himself. Impatience was building like steam pressure inside him. Shortly after eleven a.m. his rising tension was suddenly interrupted when his landline phone rang again, louder than a train whistle, making him jump.
As he hurried over to pick up, the thought hit him that this could be the poacher calling back to say he’d had second thoughts and would agree to meet and tell him the rest of what he knew. Or else maybe it was Boonzie, telling him he was already at the airport and would soon be winging his way to Scotland. Boonzie to the rescue!
It was neither.
‘Oh, hello, Mr Campbell.’ Ewan felt awkward talking to Ross’s father and didn’t know what to say. The agony of the man’s grief was palpable over the phone line. He sounded like death.
‘It’s about Ross’s van,’ Mr Campbell explained. ‘It’s still here and I suppose you’ll be needing it back.’
Ewan had forgotten all about the van. For some bizarre reason the police had had the recovery service tow it to Ross’s place. Now that he was effectively running the business alone for the foreseeable future, Ewan had little use for two company vehicles, but he replied, ‘Oh, aye. Yes, I suppose I will.’ Then he gritted his teeth and asked how he and Mrs Campbell were doing.
Not well, came the predictable answer. They were both sleep-walking through a nightmare. Eileen was on heavy medication and pretty much comatose. Their doctor was waiting for them back in Inverness, where they would be returning that afternoon to pick up the pieces of their life. Ewan offered some more lame condolences and said he’d come right over and collect the van. Not a task he particularly relished, but at least it’d get him out of the house for a while and give him something to do.
Ross had held a mortgage on a small ground-floor flat in a handsome double-fronted stone house a couple of doors down from the Kinlochardaich Arms, on the other side of the village. It was within easy walking distance of Ewan’s place, and he set off on foot. The wind was cold; he wondered if snow might be on the way.
Seeing the white Peugeot Bipper van parked outside Ross’s flat brought a lump to Ewan’s throat. Mr Campbell appeared at the window, and came outside a moment later to greet him with the same grim-faced demeanour as before. They shook hands and spoke only briefly. Ross’s father handed over the set of vehicle keys that had been among his son’s possessions recovered by the police. Then Ewan got into the van and drove off, feeling miserable.
With nothing better to do when he got home, he set about cleaning out the inside of the van. Ross had not been the tidiest of people. His flat had always been a tip and he kept the company vehicle like a pigsty: crumpled fish and chips packaging tossed negligently into the back, crushed empty Coke cans rolling about the floor, crisp packets stuffed into the glove compartment, dirt everywhere. Tons of dirt. It looked as though his friend had been wallowing about in a bloody farmyard. Tutting and shaking his head, Ewan chucked the rubbish into a bin bag, then went and fetched the vacuum cleaner and started dejectedly hoovering out all the bits of dried mud. Honestly, Ross. Sorry to say it, but what a slob you were.
Ewan was cleaning beneath the driver’s seat when he came across the strange object that had somehow made its way under there. He picked it up and stared at it.
‘Holy shit.’
The gold coin seemed to glitter between his fingers with a life of its own. Ewan had never seen anything like it before. He turned off the hoover and sat at the wheel of the van to examine the coin more closely. Its markings were ingrained with dirt, as though it had not long ago been dug up out of the ground. But they were still clear enough for Ewan to make out. One face bore the head of a regal-looking individual with long, flowing locks of hair and a noble, patrician profile. Inscribed around the circumference were the letters LVD.XV.D.G.FR. ET NAV. REX. The reverse of the coin was inscribed with a crown and more writing: CHRS.REGN.VINC.IMPER.1746.
None of which meant anything to Ewan except the obvious 1746 date mark. And the fact that it was most definitely not a piece of brass. But now the question was burning inside him: what on earth had Ross been doing with it?
On an impulse, he got out of the van, knelt down by the open driver’s door and reached an arm under the seat to see what else might be under there. To his even greater amazement his fingers closed on a second coin. As with the first, he stared at it for a long moment. It was virtually identical except for the date mark, which was a year older.
