‘Jamie,’ Jamie corrected him.
Fin nodded. ‘Jamie.’ He didn’t feel comfortable addressing him by his first name. Years in the force had conditioned him to refer to everyone, other than junior ranks, by their surname, or as ‘sir’ or ‘madam’.
‘Well, that’s good to hear, Fin. I hope you’re right.’
The sound of a vehicle pulling up outside drew the attention of an already distracted Kenny, and he crossed to the window of Jamie’s study to look down into the yard below. There were a number of cars already parked outside Suaineabhal Lodge, customers in the bar downstairs, but the new arrival drew up opposite the lodge, at the gate to Kenny’s house. ‘That’s my daughter home from school,’ he said. ‘I’ll be back in a few minutes.’ And he hurried out.
Jamie seemed annoyed by Kenny’s sudden departure, as if he felt that his estate manager ought to have asked permission to leave the room. He folded up the map and handed it to Fin. ‘Make yourself familiar with this. You’ll need to get to know every square inch.’ He rounded his desk and walked towards the door. ‘Folk think it should be easy enough to catch poachers on an island.’ He opened the door, but hesitated with his hand still on the handle. ‘But the truth is, Fin, this estate encompasses one of the biggest inaccessible areas of wilderness in Scotland. There are large tracts of it you simply can’t reach by road. It’s like stepping back in time. The only way to get around it is on foot, or by boat.’ He drew a breath. ‘I’ll be back in a minute. Then I’ll buy you a drink in the bar and you can meet some of our ghillies.’
He disappeared off down the hall, and Fin found himself gravitating towards the window, drawn by curiosity, and Fionnlagh’s description of Anna Macaskill, hoping to catch sight of the girl with the tattoos and the face full of metal.
The sky was overcast, and the light was beginning to go, but he saw her clearly enough standing beneath the trees on the far side of the path. The car which had delivered her to the gate was heading off, back along the narrow track to the main road, and Kenny was striding across the yard to speak to her.
In spite of Fionnlagh’s vivid depiction of the girl, her appearance still came as a shock. Her neck and what was visible of her arms were covered in dark-blue tattoos. Impossible at this distance to tell what they were. Her hair was unnaturally black, and cropped as Fionnlagh had said, but dyed pink along one side, above an ear crusted with a dozen or more rings through the cartilage of the scapha. The opposite eyebrow was punctured by five or six studs, and several rings disfigured her lower lip. In addition she had a nose stud, and although Fin couldn’t see it, he imagined her tongue was probably also pierced.
She wore a short black skirt over black leggings, and a charcoal-grey hoodie over a low-cut black T-shirt. A tan leather bag was slung high over her shoulder.
Oddly, in spite of it all, she had a pretty face, and something about her black-lined eyes told Fin that she couldn’t be anyone other than Whistler’s daughter.
But it was her stepfather who crossed below to greet her. Although larger than life in isolation, she shrank next to Kenny, who looked like a giant beside her, and Fin realized just how impossibly small she was. Hence the name that Fionnlagh had used for her — Anna Bheag. Wee Anna. He watched their body language. Anna appeared guarded, but not hostile. She didn’t move away from the big hand that laid itself tenderly on her cheek, a fleeting gesture of warmth and fondness that belied the image of gruff masculinity that Kenny liked to project. They stood talking for some moments, easily and without rancour, and it was clear to Fin that their relationship was not afflicted by the antagonism that characterized so many relationships between father and teenage daughter. There was something almost touching in the way they were together.
And then he became aware of her eyes on him, and he could see a change not only in her expression, but in the way she held her whole body, turning in his direction, suddenly erect, hostile and provocative at the same time. She said something and Kenny turned, raising his eyes towards the window of Jamie’s study. Fin must have been as plain as day to them, standing there in the window, watching.
She raised the middle finger of her right hand and thrust it in his direction. And even through the double- glazing he heard her shout, ‘Why don’t you take a picture? It’ll last longer!’ He felt shock, almost like a physical blow, and knew that the colour had risen on his cheeks.
Kenny said something to her, but she turned without another word and marched away up the path to the door of the house. Kenny looked back towards Fin, eyebrows raised, a tiny smile of embarrassment on his lips, and the smallest shrug of his shoulders signalled an apology.
III
The bar was crowded, windows steaming up as the temperature outside began to fall. Half a dozen men were gathered around a pool table in an alcove, others had drawn in chairs at circular wooden tables. But most of them were standing, three or four deep along the bar, drinking pints, voices raised to make themselves heard above the hubbub. Somewhere in the background Fin could make out the distant thump, thump of music pumping through a sound system.
Bodies parted, like the Red Sea making way for Moses, as Jamie cleaved a route to the bar followed by Fin and Kenny. As they reached it Kenny moved his mouth close to Fin’s ear and said in a low voice, ‘Sorry about the lassie. She’s at a difficult age.’ And for a moment Fin wondered how on earth he succeeded in managing the estate and bringing up a teenage daughter at the same time. Then he remembered that Anna was away from home five days a week at student accommodation in Stornoway. Just as he had been. So, really, it was more like a part-time job. But you would never have guessed from looking at him that Kenny was a man who’d had to deal with the tragic death of his wife, and was single-handedly bringing up another man’s daughter. His lover’s daughter. The only part of herself she had left him.
Jamie ordered them pints without asking what they’d like, and the barman set up three glasses of fizzing amber that ran with condensation and foam on to a counter already shiny with beer. He lifted his own pint and raised it. ‘To success,’ he said. Fin and Kenny raised their glasses, too, and sipped silently on their beers. Then Jamie signalled to a group of men across the room, and shouted, ‘Ewan. Peter. Come and meet Fin Macleod.’
A number of heads turned in their direction, and Ewan and Peter started pushing their way towards the group.
‘Gamekeeper and water bailiff,’ Jamie said. ‘Good men, both.’
Ewan was a man in his fifties, with a deeply creased face weathered brown by all the hours he spent outdoors. Peter was younger, but a monster of a man with a full beard, like horsehair bursting out of a mattress. They all shook hands.
‘Fin is our new head of security,’ Jamie said. ‘He’s going to catch our poachers.’ Both men cast sceptical looks in Fin’s direction but kept their counsel.
Fin said, ‘It might be an idea if we didn’t advertise it, Mr Wooldridge. We don’t want to go showing our hand even before we’ve played a card.’
Kenny laughed. ‘You can’t keep a secret here for five minutes, Fin. You should know that. The poachers probably knew all about you from the minute you set foot on the estate.’
Fin was barely aware of the door opening, the rush of cooler air around their legs, but the sudden lull in the sound of voices from all around the bar immediately caught his attention. He turned to see Whistler standing in the doorway, and the noise around them fell away to silence, save for the continued pulsing beat of the sound system.
Whistler looked like a wild man straight off the hills. His hair was blown and tangled by the wind. Another day’s growth on his face made him seem even more unkempt, patches of silver mirroring the streaks of it in his hair. His eyes were black, without pupils or highlight. He scanned the faces all turned in his direction, and Fin detected the merest trace of a smile in the set of his lips. There was no doubt he enjoyed being the centre of attention, and his appearance in the bar at Suaineabhal Lodge was a first.
‘What’s wrong? Seen a crowd?’ His voice bellowed out across the pub and everyone was suddenly self- conscious, but locked into a communal stare, and a silence that no one wanted to be the first to break. Whistler pushed his way to the bar. ‘Pint of lemonade.’ The barman seemed transfixed. His frightened rabbit’s eyes darted from Whistler to Jamie and back again. ‘Don’t worry about how I’ll pay for it.’ Whistler appeared to be trying to assuage his doubts. ‘My credit’s good here. The Wooldridges owe me a fortune.’
