Free Hold Hands in the Dark by Katherine Pathak

stood on twenty odd years back. Since then, there’s only been some light manufacturing in the area. The planning department of the council told me this estate was only put up in the last eighteen months. They’re adding new houses all the time, when the demand arises.’
                  ‘We’re not going to find out much by hanging around here then.’ Sam sighed, sensing the enormity of the task.
                  Andy laid an Ordnance Survey map out on the roof, its corners flapping madly in the breeze. ‘There’s a hotel up at the point, near Portencross Castle. I thought we could start by asking a few questions of the manager?’
                  Sam shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘Sure, you lead the way.’ For some reason, the American wasn’t keen to remain in this spot. It was isolated and possessed no redeeming features that he could identify.
                  The DS folded up the pages and climbed back into the driving seat, performing a U-turn which took them out of the estate by the quickest possible route.
     
    *
     
    Sergeant Sharpe found Portencross far more appealing. A wide expanse of sandy beach was overlooked by a well preserved stone castle, positioned on a stony promontory which faced out towards the Firth of Clyde and with a set of impressive mountains visible in the distance.
                  ‘What’s over the water?’ Sam asked his companion, as they headed towards an equally fortress-like hotel at the top of the beach.
                  ‘It’s the hills of Arran. If you’ve not been there yet, you really should. It’s like a little piece of heaven on Glesga’s doorstep.’
                  Sam was happy to take Andy’s word for this. He knew that Calder’s approbation wasn’t easily earned.
                  They approached the front of the hotel and sensed its function was more as a public house than anything else. The men pushed through a set of heavy wooden doors and approached the bar.
                  Andy brought out his warrant card and displayed it to the middle aged woman who was serving. ‘We’ll have a couple of pints of coke and take a look at your lunch menu, darlin’. But after that we’d like a word with the manager.’
                  The woman dispensed the cokes and pushed a pair of dog-eared menus in their direction. ‘Aye, I’ll send Rob over with your orders. You can have a word then.’
                  Sam carried the drinks to a table by a set of tall windows, offering up an impressive view. He’d been persuaded to have something called a Scotch pie, which Andy said would fuel them up against the chill.
                  The manager, Rob Shepherd, brought over their plates of pies and beans, perching on a stool to join them while they ate. ‘Sal says your wantin’ a word. Detectives from Glesga, is that right?’
                  ‘Aye,’ Andy replied. ‘But my colleague here is from America. He’s investigating the death of a man who grew up in this area.’
                  Sam brought a photograph of Dale Faulkner out of his jacket pocket. ‘He spent the first eight years of his life with his family at Crosbie Farm, where that new housing estate has been built. The parents were called Magnus and Susan Faulkner.’
                  Rob narrowed his eyes. ‘I wouldn’t have recognised him as an adult. He looks really muscly and bulked up. When Dale was a lad he was a scrawny wee devil.’
                  ‘You knew him?’ Sam was immediately alert.
                  ‘We were at school together. Well, I’m a few years older than him. It was Vicki who was in my class. But it was a small village primary. We pretty much knew everyone.’ Rob took the snapshot from the American’s hand and examined it more closely. ‘Do you say he’s dead? That’s a real