‘No connection to the gun behind the bar at The Glen?’ Rebus asked.
‘That was found much later by Joe Collins–washed up on a beach, wasn’t it?’ Taylor looked to McKechnie, who nodded her agreement.
‘Either of you remember the name of the man who went to the firing squad?’
‘Hoffman? Something like that,’ Taylor offered.
Rebus realised that he knew the name. ‘I saw a Hoffman mentioned on one of Keith’s lists–he was quite senior in the camp, wasn’t he? Deputed to make sure things ran smoothly?’
Taylor was nodding. ‘Germans kept the camp regulated. Separate quarters for officers and lesser ranks.’
Rebus noticed that Joyce McKechnie was playing with her watch strap, hinting that she had somewhere else to be.
‘Just a couple more things,’ he said. ‘I saw the calculations Keith had done. I know you wanted to turn the camp into something tourists would benefit from…’
‘Keith approached the Scottish government, Historic Scotland…’
‘And kept getting knocked back.’
‘It was pretty dispiriting,’ Taylor agreed.
‘And you couldn’t do it by yourselves without a lot of work and private funding. The land the camp is on is owned by Lord Strathy?’
‘The Strathy Land Trust, to be precise,’ McKechnie said, ‘but ultimately, yes, it belongs to the Meiklejohns.’
‘And did Keith have any direct dealings with the family?’
‘He tried, at least once. Never any answer to his calls and letters, so he drove over there. Don’t you remember him telling us, Edward? He interrupted some gathering or other–marquee on the lawn and all that. Reading between the lines, he made a bit of a scene. There were photos from the party in one of the glossies. I showed them to Keith and that’s when he told me they’d manhandled him off the property.’
‘Manhandled? Not by the gardener, by any chance?’
‘I’ve no idea.’
‘You don’t still have that magazine, do you?’
‘In a pile somewhere.’
‘I’d be grateful if you could…’
‘Effect some archaeology?’ McKechnie nodded and smiled.
‘You know about the golf resort?’ Taylor asked Rebus.
‘A little.’
‘Meiklejohn was never going to sell. If he has his way, everything will be flattened, landscaped or built on.’
‘Which would entail doing the same to the steading currently occupied by Jess Hawkins and his friends?’
‘Ah, how much do you know about that?’
‘I know one of his lordship’s previous wives currently lives there, which gives him yet another reason to hate the place.’
‘Hawkins does seem to be somewhat of a marriage wrecker—’
‘I did think,’ Travis interrupted, leaning his elbows on the table, ‘that the nights Keith slept at the camp, maybe there was an element of reconnaissance.’
Rebus stared at him. ‘To what end?’
‘Payback,’ Travis said simply. Then, after a pause: ‘One other thing–the night he died, a motorbike rumbled past here.’
‘Not so unusual,’ Taylor said. ‘Plenty of locals use them.’
‘And tourists, too,’ McKechnie added.
‘This was pretty late, though–I was in bed; I’m sure the sound woke me up.’
‘A big bike, then?’ Rebus enquired. ‘Like the Kawasaki they keep out at Stalag Hawkins? Have you told the investigation?’
‘I’m not sure they thought it relevant–it probably isn’t.’
‘And as I say,’ Edward Taylor added, ‘lots of folk around here use them–I’ve even seen your daughter on one.’
Rebus stared at him. ‘Samantha?’
‘Riding pillion with Hawkins at the controls. Used to ride a bike myself back in my younger days.’
‘Mind you,’ Ron Travis commented, ‘size of some of our potholes, you could lose a bike in them if you’re not careful.’
The conversation continued for a further minute or so until they realised Rebus had long ago ceased listening, his mind somewhere else entirely.
Samantha eventually opened the door to him, a pained look on her face.
‘What do you want, Dad?’
‘Are you okay?’
‘What do you think?’
‘And Carrie?’
‘Still at Jenny’s.’
‘Have you told her yet?’
‘Yes.’ She attempted to blink back a tear. ‘I’m just here getting some of our stuff; we’re staying with Jenny and her mum.’
‘Julie Harris–I’ve met her. Can I come and visit?’
‘Not tonight.’ She angled her head, determined that the tears would not escape. ‘They took me to see him. To identify him, I mean. And they got my fingerprints. And all the time it was happening, I was thinking: this is what my dad used to do; this is how he spent his working life. No emotion, no warmth, just a job to be got on with.’
‘Samantha…’
‘What?’
‘I have one question that needs answering.’ She just stared at him, so he ploughed on. ‘You’re sure you’ve no inkling who sent Keith that note telling him about you and Hawkins?’
‘No.’
‘Do you remember the wording?’ He watched her shake her head. ‘I’ve learned a lot about Keith these past couple of days. He had a good heart and he cared about people. That’s why the camp fascinated him–he saw echoes in it of things that might happen again.’ He watched her recover her composure as his words sank in.
‘You’re right about that,’ she said quietly.
‘But all that passion he had tells me he might well have wanted a face-to-face with Hawkins, maybe after you had that argument?’
Samantha’s face darkened. ‘How many times do I have to say it? Jess has nothing to do with this!’
‘But is it true you sometimes went out on his motorbike?’
‘Ages back–and what the hell’s that got to do with anything?’
‘We have to give them something, Samantha–the cops, I mean. Because if we don’t, all they’ve got is you. Creasey knows you took Carrie to the commune that day. I’m guessing someone there told him.’
She scowled and turned away, disappearing down the hall. He wasn’t sure what to do, but she was suddenly back, thrusting a piece of paper at him. He took it from her. Just the one word, all in capitals, done with a thick black marker pen: LEAVE.
He looked at her for an explanation.
‘Stuck through the letter box–someone without the guts to say it to my face.’ She gestured towards the note. ‘They think I did it, and they’re not the only ones, are they?’
‘I don’t think you did it, Samantha.’
‘Then why are you so desperate to put someone else–anyone else–in the frame?’
Rebus reached out and took her by
