by Jo McCready
RJ ignored the dig at her previous occupation.
“It makes a lot of sense to recruit from the armed forces,” Stuart continued. “We can stay calm under pressure and know how to survive.”
She nodded. “So, what’s the plan now?”
“I think the first thing we should do tomorrow is go for a walk on the estate. Do a bit of recon. Hang on.” He went out to the car, returning a few moments later with a bag in each hand and one over his shoulder. He set them down and rummaged in the largest one, taking out binoculars, wet-bags filled with something soft, and a crumpled, waxed map which he laid out on the small dining table. He motioned with his hand for her to join him.
As they sat hunched over the map, he pointed out their current location. “Look here. Where the road ends, that’s the entrance to the estate. All this that’s ringed in red is the Buchanan Estate. All hundred-and-fifty-three thousand acres of it.”
“Jeez.” RJ marveled at the scope and size of the land. It covered the mountains to the east, forests, farmland, rivers, and streams. It swept down and under the town of Oban in a wide curve, claiming all that fell in its path. “It’s huge,” she muttered. “Where do we start?”
“We can assume they all went in the front door, so to speak, so we’ll start there. We’d better get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a long day of hiking.”
The couch, which had been perfectly fine to sit on, morphed into a mass of lumps and bumps when RJ tried to settle down to sleep. Even though it was designed for two people to sit comfortably and she was much shorter than Stuart, she had to curl up uncomfortably to fit. She tossed and turned, unable to find a position that would afford her any rest. Eventually she stood up, glaring at Stuart’s snoring form in the bed. She pulled the seat cushions off the couch, berated herself for not having done so before, then pushed the coffee table closer to the window and wedged the cushions between the table and couch. Flopping down contentedly, with her feet hanging over the edge of the cushions, she fell asleep almost instantly. It felt like she’d only been asleep for minutes when she awoke to the unwelcome sounds of Stuart clattering around in the small kitchenette.
Raising her bedraggled head, she peered at Stuart out of one eye. “What time is it?”
“Five forty-five,” he informed her. “We need to get a jump on the day. Here.” He handed her a bowl of mush that at one time might have been called muesli.
RJ wrinkled her nose in disgust. “What is it?”
“Breakfast. The rest of the day’s ration packs are in our day packs.”
“Ration packs? We’re going for a hike, not advancing on enemy insurgents in the desert.”
“We’ll get the calories we need without the added weight in our packs.”
RJ buried her face in her pillow in resignation and screamed into the mound of feathers. The fact that Stuart made so much sense infuriated her. Her first assignment had instilled a firm sense of confidence in her. She had been the sole agent protecting Ted Jamison and had been perfectly capable of the task, both physically and intellectually. She’d received a glowing report for her efforts from Ted and then from her uncle, the director of Kingfisher. Even her interview had given her confidence. She’d dealt with everything they had thrown at her from getting shot at, to overseas travel to London, to hunting down and infiltrating the organization that had put her through the ringer. Her, so far, short experience with Kingfisher, combined with her training, had ensured that she felt ready, comfortable in her new skin as what, in effect, was a secret agent. Being paired with Stuart, however, upset that equilibrium. He was sarcastic, mean, and unforgiving of their earlier altercation, but he was so much more suited to the task at hand than RJ was. His experience made her feel like an incompetent child. What the hell use was she going to be on a countryside reconnaissance?
She lifted her head, inhaling and exhaling deeply, calming her mind and giving herself a mental shake. She had something to give this case. So, what if he was well prepared? She flourished at the unexpected.
Learn from the man and his experience. And learn from yourself, too.
She sat up with her back against the couch and spooned a lump of the mush into her mouth, chewing cautiously. “Not as bad as it looks,” she admitted. “But promise me we’ll go to the pub for breakfast tomorrow.”
“Sure, whatever.” He rolled his eyes, and RJ could see his patience with her beginning to wane over her greenness.
RJ’s blood began to simmer. Taking a breath to steady herself, she put the bowl down and held her hands up in a gesture of supplication. “We need to work together on this. I’m truly sorry for what happened to your knee—”
“You happened to my knee.”
“Yes, well . . . We’ve already been over that. Look, we’ve got very different backgrounds and styles of work. Presumably that’s why we were made partners on this. Let’s use those differences to our advantage instead of allowing them to create problems.” God, this guy infuriated her.
“I agree.”
“You do?” She narrowed her eyes in suspicion at his sudden attitude change.
“We’ve got a job to do. Let’s just get on with it. Never mind the rest of this crap.” Though he waved her off, his biting tone and stiff shoulders negated his words.
RJ’s attempt at clearing the air only increased their frustration. When they closed the door behind them, they were no closer to liking each other than they had been when RJ had climbed into Stuart’s car the day before. They had, however, called an unspoken truce.
They left the car in its spot and followed the road to the estate’s entrance. Miles of wire fences culminated in an oddball of an entrance. Two stone pillars shaped like turrets rose from a short wall that grew incongruously from the grass. A cast-iron sign on the closed gate read Private Property. A painted metal banner between the turrets with the name Buchanan emblazoned across a coat of arms of a lion rampant beneath an ornate helmet and crown completed the look. A metal road led from the gate far into the depths of the estate.
“It doesn’t look like they welcome unexpected visitors.” RJ turned to look at Stuart. Her partner was bent over with one leg through the fence, his arm outstretched to hold the fence wire up above his head.
“No, it doesn’t,” he agreed, straightening on the other side of the fence.
RJ handed him her pack and slipped through the fence.
It felt like she’d stepped into the lion’s den, and the lion rampant on the crest flashed through her mind like a bad omen.
Stuart tilted his head, his eyes asking whether she was ready. She nodded, and they headed towards the cover of the pine trees a few hundred yards to the left.
Once they reached the forest, RJ felt a lot less exposed. Trespassing made her uneasy. Even though, legally, they had a right to roam over most of Scotland, she didn’t imagine this would end well—especially not if the landowners were trying to cover up suspicious deaths.
“Come on,” Stuart urged her. “We’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”
RJ quickened her pace, inhaling the fresh scent of pine needles, letting it fill her lungs and ease her anxiety. She hopped over a fallen bough, the dropped needles crunching under her boots as she landed on the soft brown cover. Keeping her partner in sight, she tried to see through the mass of trees to the clearing ahead. It proved impossible. No matter which way she turned, she could only see a world that consisted of trees and their detritus. She doubted she would be able to find her way out without the compass on her company phone and the spare map Stuart had packed in her bag in case something happened and they got separated.
An hour later, RJ finally spotted a way out of the trees. No sooner had she seen the glimmer of open space than they emerged into the blinding light of morning sun that was still low in the sky. They breached another fence and set off across a field liberally sprinkled with fresh sheep droppings, though there were no sheep in sight. They were careful to avoid stepping in the gifts of olfactory unpleasantness,
not through any sense of squeamishness but for fear of leaving evidence of their own presence.
A stream gurgled nearby, and as they reached it, it became evident that they would need to cross it. Stuart leapt over it, but since RJ didn’t have the same length of stride, she had to move further down the slight slope in hopes of finding a narrower point to cross. As she came over a small rise, she stopped in her tracks. She retched, the mush she’d had for breakfast threatening to rise, but she swallowed it down and took a steadying breath through her mouth. A sheep lay splayed out before her, its entrails ripped from its stomach, the stench of blood ripe in the air. She knelt to examine the damage more closely, but she couldn’t tell if anything was missing or if the unfortunate animal still had all its body parts. Flies buzzed around the corpse, hampering her examination.
“What happened to it?” Stuart asked from the other side of the stream.
“Not sure. But it’s not been dead long. No maggots,” RJ explained without looking up.
“Wolves?”
“There are no wolves in Scotland. Some landowners are trying to get them brought from Scandinavia and the like to help keep the deer numbers down, but nothing’s happened yet.”
“You sure about that?” he asked.
“Hmm.” She took a minute to look up at the sky. “Could be a number of things. Natural death, after which an eagle or hawk perhaps got hold of her. Whatever got her, it had to be sharp enough to slit her open. Can you think of any reason a farmer might do that?”
“No, but that doesn’t mean they didn’t. Let’s get out of here.” He looked around uneasily. “Whatever this is, I don’t like it.”
RJ stood up and looked at him across the water. “Agreed.”
A rock that had been rubbed smooth by the constant flow of water jutted out in the middle of the stream. Gingerly, she placed her foot on the rock, then leapt over to the opposite bank.
After one last look at the eviscerated ewe, the pair swiftly walked away.
Twenty minutes later, Stuart slowed to a stop to check his map. “We need to head up there.” He pointed to a ridge that rose steeply from the rolling hillside. “That’s where Sullivan supposedly fell.”
A rumble in the distance made them turn and look down to the valley below. Far beneath them, a car could be seen headed in their direction. As it got closer, the car solidified into an old Land Rover that seemed to be held together by the layers of mud that covered it.
“Keep walking,” Stuart urged her.
“But it’s heading right for us.”
“You’re right.” Reluctantly, he stopped to wait for its arrival. It wasn’t long before the car rolled up in front of them, its window down, the occupant a gnarled-looking man in his fifties with an expression as cold as ice.
“You’re on private property.”
RJ gave him her biggest smile. “Sorry, we didn’t realize. Just out for the day, exploring.”
“You’d have had to go over a fence to get in here.” His face was impassive with deep crevices carved into his forehead. Whether this was due to exposure on the job or a hard life was impossible to say, most likely it was both. He got out of the car, his wax jacket over a checked shirt and jeans looking far too uncomfortable and hot for the warm weather. Wisps of gray hair poked out from under a flat cap that had seen better days.
Stuart ignored the man’s attempt at intimidation. “Lovely day for it. We’re considering buying property in the area. Figured we’d look round a bit.”
“There’s nothin’ for sale up round here. All this . . .” He gestured with both hands. “Buchanan land.”
“Are you Mr. Buchanan?” RJ enquired in a syrupy tone.
The man looked at her as if she’d just mortally insulted him, or mortally insulted Mr. Buchanan—she couldn’t tell which.
“I’m the gamekeeper. An’ you need to leave.”
Stuart narrowed his eyes. “You can’t just chuck us off. What about right to roam?”
The gamekeeper blinked once and raised his eyes to the sky, taking in a lungful of country air. He’d obviously heard the argument more than once before. “That may be, but we have a rogue stag. Been trying to catch him for the last few months. This here’s a dangerous place to be just now.”
RJ looked out over the landscape below. All she could see were grass, rocks, and the flock of sheep that must’ve been in the previous field moving towards higher ground on a rocky ridge that would have caused trouble to any other animal. She looked up at the ridge on the opposite side, the one they had been trying to reach.
“Seems as though visibility is pretty good up here. I’m sure we’d be fine. You needn’t to worry about us.”
“You might think you can see everything up here, but you can’t. That old bugger can come out of nowhere fast. You wouldn’t know he was there till he’d gored you in the stomach.”
The image of the dead sheep they’d encountered flashed through RJ’s mind. She shuddered. If that was the handiwork of a large deer, she wouldn’t want to suffer the same fate.
“’sides,” he continued. “As I explained, we’ve been trying to get him for weeks. There’s a permanent hunt on for him. If the deer doesn’t get you, then the crossbows and rifles might.” He looked pointedly at them, letting the information sink in. The man was certainly good at dramatics.
“Is that so?” said Stuart. It was clear that he was keen to show he wasn’t cowed by the threat.
The men stared each other down—the gamekeeper leaning on the bonnet of his car, not giving an inch; Stuart, raising himself up to his full height, his neck flushed and a vein throbbing in his temple. He was a like a tightly coiled spring set to explode.
Although the guy had threatened them, this posturing Stuart was doing would lead to no good in terms of their investigation. Surely, he realized that? The guy had clearly pushed Stuart’s buttons for some reason, or perhaps that was what Stuart wanted the guy to believe?
As they waited for the other to concede defeat, RJ jumped in. “Well, now, it doesn’t sound like our walk would be as relaxing as we intended, does it, darling?”
Her words and tone seemed to break through the tension inside Stuart. His shoulders visibly dropped, but his gaze remained on the gamekeeper. “No, I don’t suppose we will. We’ll get out of your hair and just head back the way we came,” he told the gamekeeper.
“I’m afraid I can’t allow that.”
When nothing but silence followed his words, RJ wondered if Stuart could keep himself contained for much longer.
“Like I said, it’s not safe. I’ll drive you back. Make sure you get off the property in one piece. Last thing we need is the bad publicity of having some city tourists getting killed on the estate.”
“Much obliged,” Stuart said through clenched teeth. “But we didn’t say we were from the city.”
The gamekeeper sneered as he looked Stuart up and down. “You didn’t have to.”
He pushed off the car and got in. RJ and Stuart shared a glance. Seeing no other choice but to get in the car, RJ walked around to the passenger side while Stuart got in the back right behind the driver. RJ shifted a pile of newspapers from the seat to the floor and climbed in. An empty bottle of whisky rolled against her foot, and she wedged it between her leg and the door, within easy reaching distance. It could prove to be an effective weapon, if necessary.
“Belts,” the man ordered, making no move to start the engine.
They clicked the seatbelts into place, and he turned the key, igniting the engine with a sputtering rumble.
“It’s not exactly a smooth ride,” he informed them. When he took off, they soon found out he wasn’t exaggerating. The suspension on the old car was shot and they jostled about, banging from side to side. At one point, Stuart cursed as his head connected with the roof of the car. RJ’s small stature was an advantage in their current situation.
“So,” she said, keen to gather as much information as she could. “You mentioned dead tourists being bad p
ublicity . . .”
“Aye.”
“Am I right in thinking that this is where that American billionaire was killed?”
The squeak of the ineffective suspension and their own bodies being thrown around the small space was the only sound for the next few seconds.
“Aye . . .” he finally said.
“What was it that happened to him?” RJ asked innocently.
He turned to look at her, his eyes leaving the bumpy terrain. The look he shot her wasn’t threatening, but it wasn’t friendly, either. She swallowed as she waited for him to reply.
From the corner of her eye, RJ noticed Stuart move forward in his seat as if ready to attack from behind. Her hand found the neck of the empty bottle and she gripped it in preparation.
“An accident.” His eyes clouded over with something RJ couldn’t quite place as he looked back at the road again. “A terrible accident.” He stopped for a beat. “I found him.” The words were barely audible over the squeak of the suspension.
RJ loosened her grip and looked at the man with fresh sympathy. “I’m sorry. Sometimes it’s easy to forget there are other lives involved in the stories we hear on the news.” She placed her hand on his arm, and he turned his head to look at where she touched him as if her hand was burning through the heavy layers of his clothes. When he glanced back up into her eyes, RJ saw a man worn down by an unspeakable burden. There was a glimmer of fear deep down in there that was impossible to feign. Just what was he so afraid of? Suddenly, the moment was broken when he shifted into a lower gear to aid their passage down a particularly steep incline.
RJ withdrew and folded her hands in her lap as she considered his reaction.
The back of the car flew into the air as it reached the bottom of the incline. RJ was jostled out of her thoughts for the split-second that they were airborne, then they landed with a thump and another curse from Stuart. A short journey over a muddy field found them on the metal road that they had seen upon entering the estate. Now that they were on flat ground, the ride became smoother, and within minutes, they were back at the gates where they had started.