Free The Last Witness by Denzil Meyrick

as they stopped at the lights on Main Street. ‘Have these people never seen a policeman with braid on his cap?’ he pondered as they drove off.
    ‘Aye, just no’ one that looks like you,’ Scott offered from the back of the car, somewhat ill advisedly, in Daley’s opinion.
    Donald turned around in his seat. ‘I beg your pardon, DS Scott?’
    ‘I mean, no’ used tae somebody that looks as good as you in uniform, sir.’
    ‘Shut up, Brian,’ was Donald’s concise reply.
    As they drove out of Kinloch, the scenery changed. They were heading north on the west side of the peninsula; the restless Atlantic rolled in white breakers on the rocky coastline. The sea looked cold and grey, despite the blue sky;distant islands broke the horizon, in front of which a red fishing boat was just visible, dragging nets amidst a cloud of riotous gulls.
    The road was quiet despite being the main artery between Kinloch and the rest of Scotland. Daley knew this stretch well, having driven it often when returning home. Home.
    In the last few months, he and Liz had become closer than at any other time in their marriage. The easy friendliness of the local people was genuine, as was their collective nosiness; Daley wondered what they really said about Liz and him in private, though he didn’t particularly care.
    Liz’s new career as a wildlife photographer was taking off; already she’d had her work published in a couple of good magazines, eliciting impressive reviews. He’d been surprised at how little she seemed to miss living near the city, with all of its amenities so close at hand. She had recently taken her sister Annie on a shopping trip to Glasgow in the new Mini; they had stayed overnight in the Daleys’ home in Howwood, which Annie had admired greatly. On her return, Liz had told him how strange she felt, not being in Kinloch, and that she now considered it her home. He supposed, in a funny way, so did he.
    He was distracted by Donald, who was attempting to operate the satnav on his iPhone – a task clearly beyond him.
    ‘These bloody things,’ he said. ‘Do you have the map, DS Scott?’
    Daley saw Scott’s surprised look in the mirror.
    ‘No,’ he said. ‘Naebody telt me tae bring the map.’
    ‘I clearly remember instructing you to pick up a map from the bar officer,’ Donald said. ‘It’s beyond me why bloodysatellite navigation has passed this place by.’ He looked at his phone with disgust. ‘Of course, it doesn’t help when one’s subordinates can’t comply with basic requests.’
    Daley could see Scott making a face behind his boss’s back.
    ‘If you take a look in the glove compartment, sir, I think there’s a map of the area in it,’ Daley said, preparing to overtake one of the few cars on the road.
    Donald leaned forward, opening the glove box with the satisfying clunk of a well-engineered car. Daley watched him from the corner of his eye as he rummaged about.
    ‘I must say, Jim, it’s a veritable sweet shop in here,’ Donald said, removing what was left of a packet of biscuits and a chocolate bar.
    ‘Ah, yes.’ It was Daley’s turn to look flustered. ‘Just for emergencies – in case we get stuck in the snow, you know.’
    ‘Some diet, big man,’ Scott laughed in the back. ‘Lettuce an’ grapefruit for tea, then oot tae the car for a poke o’ sweets an’ a Mars Bar. Nae wonder the weight’s no’ comin’ aff.’
    Choosing to ignore the derisory comments on his secret sugar stash, Daley slowed down at a sign pointing to a side road.
    ‘This is the turn-off. He lives in a converted farmhouse along the road. It’s a Gaelic name. Can you remember it, Brian?’ Daley caught Scott’s eye in the rear-view mirror.
    ‘More chance of you giving up chocolate, I would imagine,’ Donald snorted.
    ‘Gie me a minute,’ Scott said, desperately trying to remember even an approximation of the name, and failing.
    A few seconds later, they saw the farm in the distance. A large black Range