from neural disorders. Patients are often disorientated when they arrive and may take some time to integrate with staff and nearby residents. It is hoped that the local police officers will do their best to be discreet and understanding while those patients are part of the community.
‘That’s community policing for you,’ the big policeman said proudly. ‘We take care of people up here, respect their needs, you know.’
‘There isn’t a big crime scene here, then,’ Lorimer joked.
The sergeant bristled, obviously disliking Lorimer’s flippancy. ‘We may not have the kind of crimes you boys have down in Glasgow, but there are still lawbreaking elements about. Especially with drugs,’ he shook his head wearily.
‘But there’s been no trouble of that sort at Failte?’ Solomon inquired politely.
‘Oh, no. They keep themselves pretty much to themselves. We see them wandering along the roads, out for fresh air, poor souls. No, we’ve never had any bother with them at all,’ he replied, adding, ‘Are you staying long, Chief Inspector?’
‘I shouldn’t think so,’ Lorimer replied to him. ‘Although I’d quite like to see it from a visitor’s point of view some day.’
‘Aye, there’s nowhere like it. They can say what they like about their fancy Benidorms and Lanzarotes but we’ve a better place than any of them,’ the sergeant stated emphatically.
‘Well, maybe I’ll manage to come up here again. Thanks for your time.’ Lorimer shook the sergeant’s hand and turned to go.
‘Do you know where this place is?’ Solomon asked as they walked back along the street.
‘Yes. According to my AA map it’s further out along the north coast,’ Lorimer replied. ‘Near a place called Shawbost. Shouldn’t take us too long to find it.
And we certainly won’t get lost. There is only one road from Stornoway.’
Lorimer was right, the road from the main town in Lewis cut directly across the land towards the further coast. Apart from the ubiquitous sheep, there were few signs of habitation along their route. Gazing out of the window, Solomon marvelled at the landscape of windswept grasses and gently sloping hills. Small birds swooped past the windscreen and away, their identities a mystery. Despite a lack of trees the landscape was pleasing and, as the clouds raced across the sky, the psychologist smiled to himself, enjoying the shifting scenery as if it were a gift.
Chapter Nineteen
The sign for Shawbost was accompanied by another giving the mileage to Callanish, Carloway and Stornoway. There was nothing to indicate the whereabouts of Failte. Lorimer drove slowly along past the houses scattered on either side of the road until even those petered out.
‘Maybe it’s further on?’ suggested Solly.
‘We’ll see.’
Turning a bend on the road, Lorimer saw a long driveway that ended slightly uphill at a large, grey two- storey house. There was no sign at the road end.
‘Bet you that’s it,’ he said and swung the car along the rutted path that led to the house.
To one side of the old house was a pebbled area with a red pickup truck, so Lorimer parked nearby and signalled to Solomon to come with him.
‘You’re right,’ said Solly, pointing to the word cut into grey slate by the doorway. Failte.
‘My great detecting skills,’ Lorimer smiled, raising his eyebrows. So far, so good, he thought, but what would their reception be now that they had arrived?
They hadn’t long to find out. In answer to the shrill bell, footsteps came thudding downstairs towards the door. It swung open to reveal a young woman dressed in jeans and sweater.
‘Hallo. Can I help you?’ she looked curiously at Lorimer then shifted her gaze to Solomon. Lorimer saw the smile spread across her face and watched as she flicked back her long fair hair. He made a mental note to tease the psychologist about his fatal attraction to blondes.
As always, Lorimer held out his warrant card. ‘I understood Mr and Mrs Evans were in charge here,’ he ventured.
‘Yeah, that’s right,’ she turned and yelled up the stairs. ‘Muum! There’s a policeman to see you.’
The sound of a door slamming and a toilet flushing was followed by a voice calling out, ‘Just coming!’ then a woman appeared at the top of the stairs, wiping her hands on the apron tied around her waist.
‘Frances Evans. You must be the men who phoned me from Glasgow, right?’ she spoke breathlessly taking Lorimer’s hand in a damp grasp. ‘This is my daughter, Rowena,’ she added, indicating the girl who still continued to smirk in Solly’s direction. ‘Finish off those bedrooms for me, will you, lass?’ she said, giving the girl a friendly pat on the shoulder.
‘See you later, maybe,’ Rowena grinned then raced up the stairs and out of sight.
‘Come on into the lounge, will you. Would you like a cup of tea or coffee? Or can I offer you both a spot of lunch? We’re just having soup and sandwiches, but you’re welcome to join us.’
Frances Evans spoke in a rush, making Lorimer wonder if she were always so garrulous. Or was it the presence of a police officer that provoked this nervous chatter? Lorimer had witnessed this effect countless times. It didn’t mean a person had anything to hide; sometimes it was simply the awkwardness of unfamiliarity.
‘Thank you, but no. We’d really like to speak to your two residents as soon as possible.’
‘Ah,’ the woman dropped her hands by her sides. ‘Of course. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it, to see Sam and Angelica. Well, Sam’s out with my husband at the moment and Angelica’s gone for a walk. Oh, just a minute,’ she broke off and crossed to a window that overlooked the road. ‘That’s them now,’ she said, turning back to Lorimer.
‘They had to go into Stornoway to the chemist’s. Sam’s on special medication, you know,’ she confided, stepping past them and bustling out into the hall once more. The rattle of a car braking against the stony drive set off a dog barking.
Following the woman out of the front door, Lorimer saw a black and white collie racing towards the car, a distant figure following.
Standing in the doorway, Lorimer saw two men emerge from the car. One was stockily built with thinning hair, the other a tall spare man wearing well-worn tweeds. As they approached, Lorimer saw them exchange glances. They’d have seen his car in the driveway and put two and two together.
‘Detective Chief Inspector Lorimer, I take it?’ the tall man took the front steps two at a time and Lorimer found his hand grasped firmly. ‘I’m John Evans. And this is our guest, Sam Fulton,’ Evans turned to the man behind him who had bent down to fondle the collie by his side.
As Sam Fulton straightened up, Lorimer knew instinctively that the two men had discussed a strategy between them. He looked back at Evans for a moment, aware of the frank, hazel eyes regarding him with interest.
‘Mr Fulton, hallo,’ Lorimer smiled and raised a hand in greeting. ‘I understand we’ve arrived at an awkward time. Mrs Evans here tells me your lunch is ready. please don’t let us keep you back.’ He turned and met the Welshman’s eyes again. ‘We can talk while Mr Fulton is at lunch,’ he said. Evans nodded. His expression showed that he knew it wasn’t so much a request but a demand from this Glasgow policeman.
‘Aye, OK. I’ll see youse later,’ Sam Fulton licked his lips nervously and slunk past them into the house, followed by Frances Evans who ushered him along the corridor like a recalcitrant child.
‘This is my colleague Dr Brightman,’ Lorimer said, watching as Solly shook hands solemnly with the tall Welshman.
‘Pleased to meet you, Dr Brightman,’ Evans had stooped slightly to meet the psychologist’s eyes but was now looking over his shoulder. ‘I think we could talk in the lounge, but first, there’s someone else you should meet.’
Both men turned to follow his gaze. The figure that had been following the collie was heading up the path.
