‘DC Penny Faversham,’ Ewan replied. ‘Sure you can look, but mind the blades, they’re meant for digging into the ground.’ He bent to pick up the box and placed it on the counter.
Stan opened the box and took one out. He held it up to examine it and ran a finger along the blade.
‘Maybe I’ll see you practising with them another morning when I’m on my round,’ he said, handing it back.
‘That’s quite likely, Stan,’ Ewan replied as he stowed it back in the box, ‘but as I said, I’ve no appetite for it at the moment. I have to say that it’s frustrating for me having to man the phone here instead of being out there on the search with everyone else.’
‘But you’re needed here, mate,’ Stan replied. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his shorts. ‘Well, I’d better be off. Who knows, I may spot the girl on my rounds. They always say things come in threes.’ He turned to go, then stopped and snapped his fingers. ‘Oh, I almost forgot. Can I get my phone back now? It’s here, I suppose?’
Ewan held out his hands apologetically. ‘I don’t know where it is, Stan. Sergeant Driscoll had it, I know that. I’ll ask her when I see her. Do you need it urgently?’
Stan waved his hand dismissively and opened the door. ‘No, it’s not urgent, don’t worry about it. I’ll keep popping in until I catch the sergeant.’
Five minutes later Ewan was about to make a phone call when the bell announced another visitor to the station. This time the sound of several dogs barking preceded the opening of the door.
Ewan swallowed hard and put the phone down as an elderly lady dressed in a heavy raincoat and an ill-fitting panama hat with a prodigiously large shoulder bag bustled in with five dogs, but only three of them on leads. A rather disdainful looking German Shepherd and a zestful West Highland terrier came in ahead of three boisterous puppies of indeterminate breeds that were straining on their leads. Annie McConville, a widowed lady of seventy-odd years was something of a local celebrity known throughout the Western Isles both for her vague eccentricity and for the dog sanctuary that she ran single-handedly.
‘Ah, Ewan McPhee, the very man I wanted to see,’ she said, beaming up at him.
‘Mrs McConville, those are three lively wee pups you have there.’
‘Aye, well, I had to go and bring them back from Oban. It is a crime that people abandon poor wee fellows like these.’ She opened her coat and produced treats from a pocket of the cheese-cloth dress she was wearing underneath and distributed them to the pack. ‘I’ll get them trained up and hopefully we’ll get them all good homes. I know you’ll be busy what with the search going on for that poor girl, Vicky Spiers, so I just wanted to tell you that I can put four of my dogs at your disposal. Not these wee puppies, but Zimba and Sheila here, and Walt and Nero at home. I can bring them up in my Hillman Imp.’
Ewan smiled. ‘I’ll give Morag Driscoll a call right away. I’m sure she’ll welcome you. We want all the help we can get.’
While he was on the phone DC Penny Faversham came in. Immediately, Ewan smiled at her and raised his other hand in greeting. Penny returned the wave and dropped down on one knee to greet the puppies.
‘What have we here. They’re all gorgeous,’ she enthused as she allowed them to lick her hands. ‘Are they all yours, Mrs —?’
‘McConville, Annie McConville. Aye, they are all mine, for now. That is until I can find good homes for these three. Zimba and Sheila here are part of my family, though.’
Ewan finished on the phone. ‘That’s all fine, Annie. Sergeant Driscoll welcomes the help. She’s got Guthrie Finlay and his dogs from the Strathshiffin estate, but the more the better. If you could drive up to the pillbox on Harpoon Hill and park on the roadside then she’ll meet you there. She’ll allocate one dog each to three of the Lewis bobbies and you work with either Zimba or Sheila.’
‘It’ll need to be Sheila,’ Annie replied. ‘Zimba will get on with anyone, but Sheila can be a law to herself if she’s out of my sight.’
‘Mrs McConville, this is DC Penny Faversham,’ Ewan introduced.
Penny stood up and shook the older woman’s hand.
‘Mrs McConville runs a dog sanctuary,’ Ewan continued. ‘What she doesn’t know about dogs isn’t worth knowing.’
‘Oh, away with you, Ewan McPhee. Or rather, away we go, I’d better get back and pick up Walt and Nero. Good day to you, DC Faversham.’
Once they were alone the two officers beamed at one another.
Be careful, you fool, Penny silently chided herself. You came here to get away from Leeds and bloody Lieutenant Barry Winder-Thompson. PC Ewan McPhee is a hunk, but frying pans and fires rings a bell.
Ewan was about to speak when Penny’s expression abruptly changed and she became serious and professional.
‘I’d better get going, too. Lots of calls to make,’ she said. ‘No time for loose chat.’
She lifted the counter flap and let herself through.
‘Would you like some tea?’ Ewan called after her, his tone hopeful. ‘I could bring it in.’
Penny went straight to her office and opened the door. ‘Maybe later,’ she said, gracing him with the slightest of smiles before swiftly closing the door behind her.
Morag had been trying to keep positive and maintain an air of professional calm in the face of mounting concern that none of the teams had found any sign of Vicky Spiers.
The pillbox was still cordoned off and the entrance had been closed with a large tarpaulin.
Standing outside and scanning the area with binoculars she peered as far as she could into the fog and mist and dimly saw some members of the teams, some deep in the moor, others climbing the Corlin foothills. From time to time she heard one of the dogs bark as the Coastguard search and rescue helicopter passed overhead.
‘I tell you, Helen, I’ll be relieved when we find some clue as to where she is,’ she said to the local solicitor, standing beside her, drinking tea that she had poured from the tea urn that was part of the library van’s accoutrements.
‘We all will, Morag. She’s a good kid. I’ve known her folks pretty well since Brock had his accident and I handled his claim for compensation against the Glen Corlin estate. It didn’t make me popular with Esther Corlin-Macleod for a couple of years after all the compensation she had to pay out.’
‘That was a bad accident. It shook the whole island.’
‘It was an accident that should never have happened, Morag. Crushed under a whisky barrel that hadn’t been stabilised on its stack. He was lucky he wasn’t killed. As it was he suffered a broken spine that left him paraplegic. It was negligence pure and simple. Still, what’s a couple of million compared to being able to walk.’
‘I suppose you can make enemies when you practice law,’ Morag said, lowering her binoculars and looking at her friend.
‘It depends what type of law you practice. Beamish’s is a small old-fashioned firm so we handle all types of cases, from divorce to commercial and criminal. I do most of the wills, power of attorney, personal injury and property cases, while Cameron does the criminal law and divorce and separation work. Actually, he makes more enemies than me.’
‘Cameron does quite a bit of travelling, too, doesn’t he?’
‘Yes, to the mainland. He has to go round the courts in most of the cities, lucky fellow. I just get to go to Romania to see my sister in Bucharest when I occasionally need to escape from the island. She’s married to a professor of chemistry at the university.’
Morag gave a wry smile. ‘I’ve never even been to England. Still Helen, we appreciate you joining the search when you have a busy practice to run.’