Free Snare by Gwen Moffat

path to the front door. She depressed the thumb latch, smiling as she remembered Campbell’s talk of fingerprints, but as she’d expected, the door was locked.
    She moved to the window on the left. There was a sink below it with dishes on a draining board, a mop, liquid soap. She could distinguish a plastic-topped table and four chairs. She glimpsed shelves, tins of food, crockery, pans, a cooker, a refrigerator.
    She crossed to the window on the other side of the door, but there was no question of seeing inside this room. The glass had a smoky bloom that rendered it opaque. The little she could see of the inner sill was thick with soot.
    A door slammed. She turned and saw a police car parked behind her Renault and a man in uniform approaching. He came up the path favouring her with a smile that lit his eyes. This was no country bumpkin. He was fair, with blue eyes and a small moustache. He was a fraction overweight, like a rugby player a little past his prime, but his uniform fitted him well. He held out his hand.
    â€˜Miss Pink, I believe. I’m Gordon Knox. You were looking for Campbell?’
    â€˜For his wife actually.’ She returned the smile as she shook hands. She was greatly relieved; there were no more decisions to make – at least for the time being. Let Authority take over. In the person of this man it seemed capable enough.
    â€˜Mrs Campbell went away yesterday,’ he told her. He glanced at the smoky window. And that’s not going to bring her back neither.’
    â€˜There’s been a fire?’ She drew it out.
    â€˜Did you meet Campbell yet?’
    â€˜Yes, we’ve had some conversation.’
    And I believe you’ve been a magistrate, ma’am?’
    â€˜I have.’ She pitied anyone who tried to hide their past in a Highland village.
    â€˜So you’ll have come across situations like this before?’
    â€˜I’m not sure that I know what the situation is, Mr Knox. There’s been a fire, his wife has left ...’ She trailed off and he met her eyes without subterfuge.
    â€˜Exactly. He set the fire.’
    â€˜How can you be certain?’
    â€˜You’re not surprised, ma’am. And you don’t need to be well acquainted with Mr Campbell to see he’s an exhibitionist. He set the fire to bring his wife back.’
    â€˜I’d think it would only serve to drive her further away, particularly if she has the children with her.’
    â€˜She has the children. I called the school and she picked them up yesterday and didn’t send them back this morning. She phoned the headmistress and told her she’s taking them to her mother in Pitlochry.’ He paused and regarded her with a mock seriousness which was suddenly illumined by his dazzling smile. ‘You talked to Campbell. If he didn’t tell you that he was involved with the Special Branch and that someone was gunning for him, it was only because he thought you were the Enemy.’
    She nodded. ‘So you think he started a fire to demonstrate to his wife that his fantasies were in fact reality? That’s possible. A bitter quarrel could have been the cause of all this; it makes sense. Poor man. But how did you know? I didn’t expect him to tell you about the fire.’
    â€˜He came to my house early this morning with a story about arsonists breaking in here yesterday afternoon.’
    â€˜There’s no sign of a break-in.’
    â€˜He said they went to the back door. Shall we see?’
    They walked round the cottage. A neat vegetable plot was laid out between the house and rough ground at the base of the cliff. A dustbin stood by the back door, the wood of which was raw and splintered beside the key­hole.
    â€˜He’s thorough,’ Knox said with grudging admiration. He depressed the thumb latch and the door gave slightly, then stopped solid. ‘He’s barred it with something, probably a piece of timber.’
    Miss Pink