Murder on the Moor - C. S. Challinor [22]
“It’s hard to see through the mist and drizzle,” Rex said, handing them over to the journalist. “The subject looks wavy. It could be some flotsam and jetsam from the rainstorm that got washed up on the islet. Perhaps a tree trunk.”
“It appears to be moving,” Beardsley said, peering through the glasses. “Mind if I take your row boat out on the loch?”
“Be my guest. The oars are kept in the stable.”
“I saw some Wellingtons in the hallway that might fit. The banks of the loch will be like a mire after all this rain …”
“In my bedroom. I just took them off.” Rex glanced at Beardsley’s feet. He was a much smaller man than himself. “You’ll be walking around inside them.”
“I’ll manage with extra socks. Ta very much.”
“Just don’t get swallowed up by the monster.”
“I’ll go with you, Rob,” Cuthbert said. “I have my galoshes. I’ll take the rifle just in case, Rex, if I may.”
With great reluctance, Rex retrieved it from the bedroom with the defective radiator. Equipped with footwear and protection, the two guests took off, as gleeful as two schoolboys on an outing to the zoo. Shaking his head in wry amusement, Rex traipsed after them down the stairs. He knocked at the library door and entered when he heard no response. Alistair sat in an armchair watching the news in the same clothes he had worn the day before. The bottle of Glenlivet stood empty on a side table.
“Och, you look like death warmed up,” Rex remarked. The gray stubble on his friend’s chin and the dark circles beneath his eyes aged him ten years. “Have you been up all night?”
“The police have a suspect for the Melissa Bates murder. They won’t say who it is yet.”
“That’s grand news!”
“Leads have been pouring in. Crime officers have been working at the scene collecting samples from the bog.”
Rex nodded pensively. “I’ve taken many a hike across Rannoch Moor. It’s surprising how much flora and fauna exist in such a godforsaken place. I have a collection of wild flowers and bog myrtle somewhere. Helen tends to prefer more scenic routes, preferably close to a tea and souvenir shop.” He smiled at the fond memories of their hikes together. It was truly fortuitous that they had long walks in common. It was one of the things that had inspired him to purchase a property in the heart of the Highlands.
“Rannoch Moor is not a very touristy place,” Alistair agreed.
“So then,” Rex said. “Sounds like the police have got off to a good start. Have you had breakfast?”
Alistair pulled a face. “I feel a bit hung over, to tell the truth. You must think me a terrible house guest. I should not impose any further on your hospitality.”
“Och, nonsense. Please stay. At least, as long as the Farquharsons do. I could do with the moral support.”
“Fair enough. What’s the ‘old boy’ up to this morning?”
“He took his hunting rifle out on the loch with Rob Roy Beardsley. They’re out chasing Bessie.”
“What a pair of loons. We should take a video of them and stick it on YouTube.”
“Rob Roy’s got a verra sophisticated camera. Who knows? Maybe there really is a sea monster out there and he’ll make a name for himself.”
“I wouldn’t put it past him to doctor the pictures.” Alistair turned his gaze back to the television screen, which showed bleak moorland beneath a tearful sky.
“Did you get through to Chief Inspector Dalgerry?” Rex asked.
“I left about six messages. Nobody will tell me anything beyond what’s reported on the news. The sergeant just said they were ‘interviewing’ a person of interest who had been seen in the area where a green van was spotted.”
“Sounds promising.”
“If you say so. He did divulge that the man in question is not Collins.”
Hence the long face, Rex thought. His friend was convinced Collins was the murderer of the young moor victims.
Helen stuck her head around the door. “There you are, Rex. Your breakfast’s waiting. Alistair, come and at least have a cup of tea.”
Alistair heaved himself out of the armchair and the men joined Helen in the kitchen, where various used pans and skillets stood on the shiny red Aga.
“Looks like you fed an army,” Rex remarked.