a throwaway line in one of the previous day's conversations. The unthinkable had suddenly been the only thing that made sense.
The looming bulk of the Bishop reared up on his righthand side like a sleeping dinosaur, cutting him off from a signal on his mobile phone. Oblivious to what was happening elsewhere, Alex was on a mission. He knew exactly what he was looking for. He just didn't know where he might find it.
He drove slowly, turning off on every farm track and side road that led down toward the shores of the loch. A light mist clung to the surface of the steel-gray water, blanketing sound and adding an unwelcome eeriness to his quest. Alex pulled up in every gateway he came to, getting out of the car and leaning into fields lest he miss his quarry. As the long grass soaked his ankles, he wished he'd dressed more sensibly. But he hadn't wanted to alert Lynn to the fact that he was going anywhere other than the office.
He took his time, moving methodically along the lochside. He spent the best part of an hour prowling round a small caravan site, but what he was looking for wasn't there. That didn't really surprise him. He didn't expect to find the object of his hunt anywhere that ordinary punters had access to.
Around the time his distraught wife was giving her initial statement to detectives, Alex was drinking coffee in a roadside tearoom, spreading butter on a homemade scone, trying to get some warmth back in his bones after the caravan site. He had not the slightest inkling that anything was wrong.
The first officer at the scene had found an incoherent woman with dirt on her hands and the knees of her jeans wailing on the forecourt. The distraught attendant was standing helpless at her side while frustrated motorists arrived and then left when they found they couldn't get served.
"You get Jimmy Lawson here, now," she'd kept screaming at him while the attendant explained what had happened.
The policeman had tried to ignore her demands, radioing in for urgent assistance. Then she'd grabbed his jacket and sprayed him with saliva, all the while demanding the presence of the ACC Crime. He tried to fend her off, suggesting she might want to call her husband, a friend, anyone.
Lynn pushed him away contemptuously and stormed back inside the garage. From the scattered pile of her possessions, she grabbed her mobile. She tried Alex's number, but the irritating voice of the service told her the number was unavailable. "Fuck," Lynn yelled. Her fingers fumbling over the keys, she managed to ring home.
When Weird answered, she wailed, "Tom, he's taken Davina," Lynn wailed. "The bastard's taken my daughter."
"What? Who's taken her?"
"I don't know. Macfadyen, I suppose. He's stolen my baby." Now the tears came, cascading down her cheeks and choking her.
"Where are you?"
"The services at Halbeath. I only stopped for petrol. I was only away a minute? Lynn gagged on her words and dropped the phone at her feet. She crouched down, leaning against a confectionery display. She wrapped her arms over her head and sobbed. She had no idea how much time passed before she heard the soft, reassuring tones of a woman's voice. She looked up into a stranger's face.
"I'm Detective Inspector Cathy McIntyre," the woman said. "Can you tell me what happened?"
"His name's Graham Macfadyen. He lives in St. Monans," Lynn said. "He stole my baby."
"Do you know this man?" DI Mcintyre asked.
"No. I don't. But he's got it in for my husband. He thinks Alex killed his mother. But of course, he's wrong. He's deranged. He's already killed two people. Don't let him kill my baby." Lynn's words tumbled over themselves, making her sound unhinged. She tried to take a deep breath and hiccupped. "I know I sound crazy, but I'm not. You need to contact the Assistant Chief Constable James Lawson. He knows all about it."
DI McIntyre looked dubious. This was way outside her league and she knew it. All she'd managed to arrange so far was to radio all cars and foot patrols to tell them to be on the lookout for a silver Golf driven by a dark-haired man. Maybe calling the ACC in would be her ticket out of humiliation. "Leave it with me," she said, heading back out to the forecourt to consider her options.
Weird sat in the kitchen, fuming at his incapacity. Prayer was all very well, but a man needed a far higher level of