“I could never forget that, Charlie,” she said, forcing herself into the standard flirtatious banter that went with their friendship. “Thanks again.”
“No problem. And tell that man of yours he owes me an e — mail.”
“Will do. Good night.”
“I’ll do my best.” The line went dead and Fiona immediately rang the number Charlie had given her.
The single tone of the American phone system purred in her ear. Once, twice, three times. Then the click of an answering machine. “Hi. You’ve reached Lee and Dorothy. And you’ve missed us. We’re out of town till Monday morning. So leave a message and we’ll get back to you when we get home.”
Fiona couldn’t believe her ears. It was beginning to feel like the universe was in a massive conspiracy against her and Kit. She had been so convinced that Lee Gustafson was the answer.
In frustration, she dialled into her e — mail program, clutching the last fragile hope that Galloway had been right and Kit had sent an e — mail that had somehow been trapped in cyberspace. Maybe his e — mail provider’s server had been down and all the mail had been held up as a result. But of course, there was nothing.
On an impulse, since she was using Kit’s laptop and it was set up for his e — mail account, she checked his mailbox. He might possibly have sent her mail to his own box by mistake. She couldn’t imagine how that might happen, but she was prepared to clutch at any straw, however frail.
There were a dozen messages waiting for him. Most seemed to be from fellow crime writers, and most seemed to be about Georgia. There was nothing there that could conceivably have come from Kit himself.
More worryingly, judging by the timing of the messages in the mailbox, he hadn’t picked up his own mail since early that afternoon. And that was as much out of character as his failure to contact Fiona. Instead of consolation, she’d found even more reason to fret.
She broke the connection and carried on staring at the screen. Suddenly, something flickered at the corner of her memory. Just before Lee had visited the bothy, she and Kit had been on holiday in Spain. Kit, as usual, had taken his laptop. He could no more stay out of touch with his e — mail than he could stop breathing. And while they’d been away, he and Lee had been communicating about the bothy.
Eagerly, she opened up the electronic filing cabinet that kept a record of all Kit’s e — mail, sent and received. She clicked on the Copy of Sent Messages tab. 2539 messages arranged by date. The program offered her the chance to arrange the messages in alphabetical order of the recipient, so she selected that option. She drummed her fingers on the tabletop as she waited for it to complete the task. Then she scrolled down to Lee Gustafson’s name and began to check through the mail by date. She knew the month she was looking for, and she soon came to it. Kit had sent Lee nine messages that month. She began at the beginning and worked her way through.
And there it was. Take the A839 out of Lairg. About a mile out of the town, you’ll see a track on the right signed Sallachy. Carry on up the track (it’s pretty rough going, you’ll appreciate why I’m lending you the Land Rover) for about five and a half miles. You cross a river gorge, the Allt a’ Claon. There’s a left turn up ahead, which you take. About half a mile up this track, there’s another left turn. The track takes you back across the river ravine on a rope bridge. It’s a lot stronger than it looks, but better not go faster than five miles an hour. You cross the river into some trees and the bothy’s about a mile ahead of you. I’d say you can’t miss it, but you’d probably shoot me.
Relief coursed through Fiona. She knew where the killer was taking Kit. And now she knew how to get there. Sod Sarah Duvall and her blinkered certainties. Sod Sandy Galloway and his soothing platitudes. And sod Steve, who wasn’t there when she really needed him. She’d find Kit, with or without their help.
FIFTY
Edinburgh might claim to be a twenty-four-hour city during the Festival, but as Fiona soon found out, when it came to hiring a car it was strictly eight till eight. Even at the airport, open round the clock, the car-hire firms went home when the flights stopped arriving.
All professional options exhausted, she was forced back on to the personal. Wearily, Fiona picked up the phone and dialled again. She heard half a dozen distant rings. Then an indistinct mumble. “Yeah?” “Caroline?”
“No, it’s not. Who is this?” The voice sounded seriously pissed off. “Ah. Julia. Sorry. It’s Fiona Cameron. Can I speak to Caroline?” “Do you know what time it is?” The hostility level had risen. Fiona knew it was nothing to do with the lateness of the hour.
“Yes. And I’m sorry about that. But I do need to speak to Caroline.” The phone clattered down. Fiona could hear, as she knew she was meant to, Julia’s bad-tempered muttering. “It’s Fiona Cameron. Two o’clock in the fucking morning, I don’t know—”
Then Caroline’s voice, sleepy but alive with concern. “Fiona? What’s the matter?”
“I’m sorry to wake you, but it’s really important.” “Of course it is. So how can I help? What’s the problem?” Fiona took a deep breath. In the background, she could hear an exasperated Julia sighing. Unlike Caroline, Julia did not take the unpredictable in her stride. “I’m in Edinburgh and I need to be in Inverness. If I wait till the trains start running, it’ll be too late.” “So you want me to drive you there?” “That won’t be necessary, I just need to borrow your car.” Fiona heard the sounds of movement as Caroline shifted her position. “Fine. Let me see…five minutes to get dressed…Probably an hour to get to you. Where are you in Edinburgh?”
“I’m staying at a hotel called Channings. But the thing is, Caroline, time’s really vital. Is there somewhere we could meet halfway? Somewhere I could get a taxi to take me to?”
There was a pause. Fiona could hear Caroline moving around now, as if she was assembling her clothes. “There’s some services on the Mpo,” Caroline said. “A few miles over the bridge. Halbeath, I think, something like that. It’s the turnoff for Dunfermline and Kirkcaldy, just after the big Hyundai plant. Get the taxi to take you there. I’ll be there in about…thirty-five, forty minutes. OK?”
“Thank you, Caroline. Believe me, I appreciate this.”
“No bother. Fill me in when we meet.” Then the line went dead. Fiona smiled for the first time in hours. At last, she was dealing with somebody who took her on trust, who didn’t assume she was overreacting. Steve would have done the same. But Steve was out of reach. And she didn’t have time to wait to be proved right.
While she waited for the taxi, she scribbled a quick fax to Galloway, telling him where she’d gone and when she’d left. She gave the night porter instructions to transmit it to the number Galloway had given her for his personal fax at St. Leonard’s. At least if she needed back-up, they would know where to find her.
Twenty-five minutes later, the taxi dropped her off at Halbeath services, just off the M90 heading north. The drizzle that had turned Edinburgh gloomy all day had grown into full-scale rain, gusting across the parking area. Fiona took shelter in the doorway of the restaurant and stared through the rain at the bright neon of the petrol station while she planned out what she had to do.
Ten minutes later, headlights cut through the darkness on the approach road and she stepped forward expectantly. The service area lights revealed a Honda saloon that splashed to a halt yards from her. The driver’s door opened and Caroline jumped out, dashing across to her and enveloping her in a hug. “Here comes the cavalry,” Caroline said.
“I’ve never been more glad to see you.”