“MadisonLang? Who is that?”
Thefront door opened, as a couple entered the pub. Their boisterous laughter andconversation flooded the small establishment, and before Roland could tend tothem, he leaned closer and said, “Read about her, and I suspect that, whoevertook her life, also took the life ofyersister.”
***
“’MadisonLang,’” I read aloud in the car, as we drove back to The Whispering Crow, “’aresident of Williamsburg, Virginia, never returned from her Scotland vacation.The twenty-seven-year-old woman was staying in the small town of Fort Crow, inthe Scottish Highlands, when her family says they stopped hearing from her.Days after her disappearance, constables from the Fort Crow Police Stationdiscovered her body inCoilleFeannag,a popular location for tourists to take pictures and go hiking. The autopsyconfirmed that she had accidentally fallen to her death.’”
Layingmy phone in my lap, I turned to Alec and uttered a whispered, “Holy shit.”
“Couldn'tit really be an accident, though?” TJ asked, his voice wound tight.
Alec'shand worked tirelessly at his chin as he slowly nodded. “Could be. But it'sunlikely.”
Inarrowed my eyes, working through the recently discovered pieces of the puzzle.“So, whoever performs the autopsies for your department is, what? Getting paidoff? Getting falsified information? Or …” I turned to him, with worry creasingmy forehead, as I added, “Or they did it.”
“Aye,seems that way,” he muttered, nodding. “The problem is, Iwannainvolve my colleagues as little as possible. Idinnaewant them to suspect I'minvestigatin' this on myown. I'll need to see if there's still a file for Madison Lang and see whoperformed her autopsy.”
“Youhaven't heard about her?”
Heshrugged, shaking his head. “I only transferred here a few months ago,” heanswered. “And if it was an accidental death without a thorough investigation,it's unlikely Iwouldaeheard about it all the way inEdinburgh.”
Inodded, uncomfortable in a bundle of nerves and tension. “When do you go backto work?”
“Tomorrow,”he said, and when I turned to him, wide-eyed and scared, he told me, “I don’thave a choice. Like I said, Icannaelet them suspecta thing, and I never take an unscheduled day from work. Ever. If I did, someonewould be concerned. Finley or Frasier, most likely. They'd call, or worse,check on me, and Icannaehave that. Not when Idunnowho is involved.”
“Youtrust no one?” I asked.
Heshook his head. “No one.”
“Soundslike you need to be transferred again,” I muttered, not intending to make ajoke, but he laughed.
“Y'know, lass,” he said, raking a hand through his hair,“I'mstartin' to think the verra same thing.”
***
“Helloagain, Inspector,” Isla, the young woman at the desk, greeted, as we walkedinto The Whispering Crow.
“Goodafternoon,” Alec said, nodding. “Mind if I ask ye a question?”
Shelooked between the three of us, and replied, “No, of course not.”
Alecleaned against the high desk and asked, “Do ye have any surveillance cameras onthe premises?”
Thewoman leaned forward, planting her elbows on the desk's cluttered surface. Shelooked up at him with a pair of fluttery, doe eyes, clearly with the intentionof flirting with him, and I turned away, to keep the unwarranted jealousy fromgetting the better of me.
“Aye,we do,” she answered.
“Anddo ye have any video footage from the 16th of October?”
Ilooked back to herthen, andsaw her shake her head.“No, I'm afraid we delete all of our footage every three days.”
Alecnodded and crossed his arms, as his hand went to his chin. “What aboutyercustomer logs? Do ye have records?”
Iwas relieved to watch her face light up as she nodded. “Aye. We keepeverythin'.”
“CanI see them?”
Then,her face fell as quickly as it had lifted, as she replied, “The only personwith access to the guest books is the owner of the inn, and she's not hereright now.”
