Page 35 of Death at a Highland Wedding
We find the deer by following the croak of ravens. They’re opportunistic scavengers, like most corvids. One thing I love about being in the countryside is that I get to be the expert here. I’m not exactly a forest ranger, but it turns out I’ve spent a lot more time outside the city than either Gray or McCreadie. When I hear the croaks, I know what that means and divert course.
We don’t need to leave the path for long. The stag is maybe fifty feet from the road. As Müller said, it’s a red deer. Also very clearly a buck, with an impressive rack of antlers. While those antlers would explain why others might choose the deer, whoever killed this one didn’t take them, and as I recall from my hiking days, unless the deer population is too high, taking males is preferred. After all, you only need one of them to keep the fawns coming.
As Müller said, the buck has only been partly butchered. Or so I presume, given that most of it is here. I’ve never hunted, so I don’t know much about this part of the process.
“They were interrupted,” Gray says. “They’d bled the beast and started preparing it for butchering.” He glances at me. “I went on a few hunts with Lawrence.”
The sound McCreadie makes—a grumble deep in his throat—reminds me that Lawrence was Isla’s asshole husband. He’d been into hunting, with Gray funding his expeditions to Asia and Africa to keep him away from Isla.
Gray continues, “That was back when I was trying to welcome Lawrence into the family. While I was not fond of hunting, I did note the butchering process with interest.” He pauses. “Although my interest inthatdid not endear me to Lawrence… or any of the other hunters, who typically left such things for their huntsmen to deal with.”
I shake my head. “Rich people.”
“Indeed. From what I recall, though, the process begins by moving the beast onto an incline, with the head raised. That directs the flow of blood. Then they remove the entrails to avoid them contaminating the meat. You can see that was done, with the entrails being…”
He frowns and looks around.
“Here.” McCreadie is a few feet away, pointing at the ground. “They dug a hole for them, though it was not covered.”
“Digging a hole suggests they planned to take the rest of the stag,” I say. “Like Müller said, they usually leave only blood.”
“Yes,” Gray says. “Which supports the theory that they were interrupted. After the entrails are removed, the carcass would be drained to make it easier to transport. However, this is a big buck. I believe they were quartering it first.”
I nod. “Field-dress it. Quarter it. Bury the entrails. Take the rest. But they were interrupted, as you said. They’d finished enough of the quartering to grab the lower two haunches and go.”
“Which means we are likely looking at two hunters,” McCreadie says. “I could manage both lower haunches, but they would be heavy, and I would not be able to move quickly.”
“Two hunters working on the stag,” I say. “They hear or see something that tells them to finish and run.”
I stand atop the little rise where the deer’s head rests. I scan the horizon. “The obvious answer would be the road. Someone was coming along it last night—maybe Archie. It was quiet enough that the hunters would hear his boots. They realize he’ll be able to see them when he gets closer. So they grab part of the deer and take off.”
“Possibly,” McCreadie says. “Except the footprints indicate they actually wenttowardthe road.”
I walk over and see what he means. There’s a damp patch that the hunters walked through, their deep footprints suggesting they were weighed down by a big piece of deer.
“Two sets of prints,” I say. “And the smaller set shows an issue with the right leg. See how it’s turned in here?”
“Bloody hell,” McCreadie mutters. “It seems Müller was right. It was Mrs. Hall’s daughter, and presumably her son.”
“Lenore and Gavin,” I say. “But since we weren’t asked to prove that, I’m going to suggest we never saw these prints.”
“Agreed,” McCreadie says. “This is not our concern. Duncan? We should get back to the house and pretend we never found—Duncan?”
He turns, looking, and I realize Gray isn’t with us. He’s striding across the field.
“Watch out for traps!” I call.
His lifted hand says he knows. I still don’t like him moving quite so quickly through long grass. McCreadie must not either because we both hurry to catch up, while scanning the ground.
“There is something over that way,” Gray says when we reach him. “Behind that stand of trees.”
I don’t see anything, and I’m about to say so when I spot it. I’d been looking up, and what Gray spotted is on the ground. A dark shape almost hidden by the long grass.
“Another deer?” I murmur. That’s what it looks like. A lump about the size of the stag, the grass flattened by it.
I start to pass Gray, but he catches my arm.
“The traps,” he murmurs.
