Free Deathly Wind by Keith Moray

looking for. Indeed, despite his fear of Miss Melville, he had been machinating for such a reaction. Bella Melville eyed him with displeasure, but he just kept his head down and continued jotting.
    Vincent Gilfillan stood up. ‘Are we not getting a bit off thetrack here? Let’s be honest. The issue is about a wind farm being set up on the Wee Kingdom, is it not?’
    Torquil noticed the two men who had been sitting on the back row, from time to time guffawing and mumbling to each other. Their faces had become serious as Vincent started to talk.
    ‘What does this new laird plan? Do we know if he’s got a significant wind farm plan in mind?’
    Liam Sartori swiftly stamped to his feet. ‘Mr McArdle, the new laird, is not prepared to comment on that.’
    ‘And would you mind introducing yourself?’ Miss Melville asked. ‘Do you represent the laird?’
    Liam Sartori grinned. ‘I am in his employ. Sartori is the name. And yes, I represent his interests at this meeting, as does my colleague here, Mr Daniel Reid.’
    ‘And can you enlighten us?’
    Liam Sartori grinned and shook his head. ‘No comment, that’s all we are permitted to say.’
    ‘Except,’ added Danny Read, ‘that Mr McArdle is a staunch believer in renewable energy. Surely that’s a good thing in this day and age.’
    The comment evoked a mixed reaction from the audience. Indeed it became obvious after a few moments that there was about a fifty-fifty balance, many people being in favour of anything that might increase the number of jobs and pump money into the island.
    ‘We want to be the first!’ yelled a young man in the middle of the hall.
    ‘That’s right; we need to get in before they build one on Lewis.’
    Torquil looked over the audience and saw Alistair McKinley mumble something to Vincent Gilfillan, and gesture with a nod of his head towards Liam Sartori. Then he saw Calum Steele raise a hand and take to his feet again.
    ‘It seems that there are a lot of islanders who would welcome wind energy?’
    The number of nodding heads and a chorus of assent left no doubt but that the audience was not as anti-wind farm as the SNWD committee had anticipated. It was immediately followed by a chorus of anti-windmill comments, then by a general murmur of disagreement, which prompted Miss Melville to take to her feet and try to subdue it. As she did so Torquil stood aside as Liam Sartori and Danny Reid edged their way out of the hall with amused expressions on their faces. He looked over at his friend Calum Steele, who was scribbling away as if there was no tomorrow, clearly enjoying the mêlée.
    He was unsure himself exactly how he felt.
     
    From the meeting Torquil went to pay a visit to Jessie McPhee, Ewan’s mother. A typical West Uist mist had descended suddenly from the Corlins, and its presence was enough to dampen his spirits. He smiled wistfully as he rode up to the shed at the back of the McPhee cottage. There were at least five holes in the shed roof, a result of Ewan’s hammer-throwing practice. Torquil pictured the big red-haired constable winding himself up and hurling the Scottish hammer over the roof as he worked on getting the trajectory just right to get maximum distance. Getting round to repairing his ‘low shots’ had been a frequent bone of contention between Ewan and his mother.
    ‘He was a strapping lad,’ Jessie said, with tears in her eyes and a cup and saucer in her hand, as she and Torquil sat before a peat fire in the front parlour.
    ‘We must not give up hope, Jessie.’
    Torquil had known and respected Jessie McPhee all of his life. She had been widowed when Ewan was a teenager. Her husband, Balloch McPhee had been a fisherman, like so many of the islanders of his generation. And in his spare time he had been a special constable, one of the stalwarts of the Hebridean Constabulary.
    ‘You were always a good friend to Ewan, Torquil,’ Jessiereplied, finishing her tea and laying the cup and saucer down on the