Elspeth clutched the warm paper bag in her hands, the smell of pastry and corned beef wafting into the air from the opening in the top. It was an oddly comforting feeling, one that took her back to rainy Saturdays in the park with her father. It had not surprised her, that despite the islands tiny population they had still been able to find a Greggs nestled amongst what the locals had called the “high street” but was much more of a “middle lane” in Elspeth’s eyes. Gregor walked slightly ahead, his own pasty in hand, some new concoction, nacho cheese and pepperoni. It didn’t seem right to her. Pasties should be filled with corned beef and a little potato. You went Cornish, if you were feeling fancy.

They were strolling through the town, headed towards the pier. Raasay house had been near empty. The manager had assured them, perhaps too thoroughly that it was the low point in the year. It was a double-edged sword. It meant that it was mercifully easy to move on the guests, to conceal the brutal murder just beyond their window. It also, unfortunately, meant no-one had seen or heard anything. Their leads were non-existent, so the detectives were one their way to speak with the only person they knew would have had contact with the deceased.

The target of that interview was currently on the horizon, driving his boat towards the pier. The weather was much improved, the constant drizzle having lifted, a slim ray of sunlight creeping through the still omnipresent cloud cover. Elspeth watched as the boat slowly drifting towards them, gliding smoothly across the water. She was jealous of the coroner's team aboard, remembering her stomach-churning crossing. Her lips upturned in a smile as she realised that they wouldn't be happy about the now doubled workload. It gave Elspeth a sense of grim fairness. She took another bite of her breakfast, the warm filling squirting from between the pastry layers.

The boat drifted gently up the pier, water rippling calmly around it. The ferryman, clad in the same yellow waterproofs deftly tied the small boat up, before dropping down a large ramp. A gaggle of unhappy looking men and women, all wearing plain black suits gingerly stepped across the wobbling metal. The last two carefully lifted a gurney onto the ramp with a clatter.

“Morning all,” Gregor said cheerfully, placing the paper bag that had held his breakfast into a small public bin. “You’ll find the local bobby in the corner shop. He’ll show you where to find the bodies.”

“Bodies?” asked one of the suited men. “As in plural?” He placed his hands to the sides of his head and began to rub.

“Oh, I guess your boss didn’t let you know. We’ve got two now.” Gregor held up his fingers to make his point.

"Oh, for Christ's sake. We only have one gurney. We couldn't get the van on Chiron's bloody dinghy back there." The suited man let out a long drawn-out sigh.

“Honestly,” Gregor began, “you won’t need one for the second body. It’s not…together enough. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news and all that, but we appreciate you guys coming up from London special.”

“Dragged out of my bed, slammed into a van and then told to drive to Scotland. Got its…every single time with your department is something weird. And it’s always in the arse end of nowhere.” His fellows were nodding along in agreement as he spoke. “Just think of the overtime Brian. Think of the overtime,” he muttered. “Right. Come on then you lot, quicker we’re done, the faster we’re on the road back home.”

“Did I hear right?” The ferryman asked as the team from the coroner left, his voice low and quiet. Secretive. “There’s been another murder?”

The ferryman sat, a mug of coffee in his hand. Gregor and Elspeth had taken seats on sofas opposite. They had found a small café, nestled in between a hairdressers and the islands sole take-away. The ferryman seemed visibly shaken, despite them choosing a neutral a location as possible.

“It’s ok, sir. You’re not a suspect. What’s your name?” Elspeth asked.

The ferryman took a glug of his coffee, foam resting on his top lip. "Malcolm. Malcolm Liscombe.”

"Nice to meet you, Malcolm," Gregor said. "Now, as far as we're aware you're the last person outside of her hotel to see our victim alive. You recognise this woman?" Gregor passed over his phone. He had taken a photograph of the driver's licence they had found in Beatrice's belongings. Her real face was certainly in no photographable state. “Her name was Beatrice Meadows, ring any bells?”

"Didn't know her name. She was on the same ferry as you two." He slid the phone back. "I guess you know that, though right?" The detectives nodded in unison. “She was the last off the boat. I helped her with her bags.”

“That it then?” Elspeth said. She had a drink of her own, not a warming steaming coffee, but instead a tall cold drink, more sugar and cream than coffee.

“No, she wanted a taxi, but around here we’ve only got the one driver. Rather than wait in the rain, I took her over to the new visitor centre. They were happy to look after her for a bit. Then, I took my leave.”

“Visitor centre?” Elspeth asked. She took a tried to take a sip of her drink through the paper straw only to find it had become soft, and largely useless. She removed it in frustration.

Malcolm shifted in his seat and nodded. "Can't miss it. Take a left out of here, follow the road around. Can't miss it. Big fucking expensive building. Cost an absolute bomb. It's to try and entice people in, make Raasay a tourist hotspot.” He snorted.

“Not a fan of it?” Gregor said. He offered a small plate of biscuits he had bought to the others. They each took one.

"Fuck no." Malcolm slammed his mug onto the table, the coffee sloshing within. "You see, Raasay house, the big fancy hotel on the other side of the island, used to be owned by the last Laird. When he got into a bit of shit with money, residents of the island bought it. Well put in for shares and set up a local group to manage it. Raasay has always had a little bit of tourism, so we change it to a hotel. Should have made a tidy little profit and cover its costs.”

Gregor took the remaining biscuit from his plate. “So, what happened next?” he asked, swishing the biscuit around as he spoke.

“Fucking greed as usual. Hotel was making money, but not enough money according to some people. The trust decided to reinvest the money made, funnelling it into a fund to open a fancy fucking visitor centre to try and get even more business. Fucking stupid idea. A lot of people weren’t happy with that.”

“They can’t just spend your money like that can they?” Gregor bit into the biscuit with a snap.

“Ah, well, we got ourselves one of those fucking loopholes ain’t we? The trust was supposed to split the profits between the shareholders, but if you take the money and spend it on investment? Well, it ain’t profit anymore then. Worst mistake we ever made putting that fucking bitch in charge of the trust.”

"Who's that then?" Elspeth said, using her biscuit to skim the cream from her iced coffee.

“Agnes Doak. Runs the local newsagent. And post office. And the police station is upstairs. She’s also the local councillor.”

"Ah, we've met," Elspeth said, popping the cream-covered biscuit into her mouth.

“Woman is a fucking menace. Fingers in every fucking pie in this town. Proper fucked me over she did. I was going to use my share to replace my boat. Well, you’ve been in that pile of shit.”

The building certainly was impressive, a looming construct of glass. Light shone through every possible area, making the space inside seem expansive. Despite being filled with displays and artefacts from the island’s history, it as oddly clinical. Any sense of gravitas obliterated by the modernity of the building. The detectives strode across the floor, their footsteps echoing, drawing attention to themselves.

Elspeth stopped suddenly, her eyes drawn to one of the glass containers. Within was an extraordinary object. It was a pillar, of sorts. No more than three feet high, it’s intricates drew Elspeth in, finding herself pressing close to the glass. Horns. Antlers. Severed violently from their hosts and assembled with strange care. It was perfect, the assembled collection was near totally circular. It was a miracle of workmanship, no bindings, no visible glues, nothing except hundreds of perfectly arranged objects.

At the base of its glass cabinet was a label. A history of the object. "This was found alongside several flint tools during a recent archaeological dig. This amazing example is a part of a rich artistic heritage here on Raasay”

“You coming or what?” Gregor said appearing over her shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah sorry,” Elspeth replied. She straightened herself and turned to face Gregor. “Lead on.”

Gregor placed his hands onto the large counter, the only visible interface between the centre and its visitors. A curved surface of polished wood and white plastic, lain out before the usual array of gift shop rubbish.

"Excuse me, Miss?" Gregor said, his commented directed to the young woman behind the counter. She was tiding a shelf of folded t-shirts, "I love Raasay” emblazoned across the front.

“Yes, how can I help?” The woman didn’t miss a beat, spinning elegantly on her heel to face him.

“I’m Detective Constable Lythgoe, this is my partner Detective Constable MacAdams. We're here investigating a case on the island."

“Oh, the murders? Don’t look so shocked detective, this is a small island. Word gets around fast. Terrible to hear. And tourists as well, we’ve been trying so hard to grow tourism here.”

“Oh, we’ve heard. I know some people weren’t too keen on this visitor centre, is that safe to say?” Gregor raised his hands from the desk, placing them into his coat pockets.

The young woman snorted. "Short-sighted people maybe. People who don't see a wee investment that will pay off in the long run. The whole idea of buying the house was to help the island."

"No offence," Elspeth began, her gaze caught by a selection of jewellery by the till," but aren't you a little young to have bought a bit of the house?"

"Shares pass down in the family. My grandmother bought ours. That’s Raasay in a nutshell, family. Generations living on the same island. That's the line we spin here at the centre anyway. Truth is this whole business has split our little community for a fair few years now.” The woman stopped for a moment, solemn, motionless. “Eventually everyone will get along again, once they see the centre works.”

“That’s if your tourists survive. You know this woman?” Gregor asked, flashing the image on his phone.

“Yes, I called her a taxi and she wandered the exhibits before it came to pick her up. Bought a necklace from the gift shop, that was about it.”

“One of these?” Elspeth said pointing at the stand. “I was admiring them, where does the design come from?” The necklaces were simple gift jewellery, non-precious metals suspended on black cord. It was the symbol that interested Elspeth. A square spiral, turning in on itself. Exactly like the murder victims.

“These are based on some prehistoric art discovered right here on Raasay. It's unusual, right? You think cave paintings and stick figures and handprints spring to mind, don't they? Personally, I reckon they were a lot cleverer back then than what we give them credit for. You want one?"

“No thanks,” Elspeth replied shaking her head. “Was just curious. So, has anything, odd been happening on the island. You said that word travels after all.”

“Odd how? Suspicious people and that?”

"Maybe, anything really. Any strange noises, sightings, people reckon they saw ghosts. You would be surprised at what turns out to be a regular person skulking about in the bushes."

“Now you mention it yeah. My boyfriend Jack reckons his friend, they call him Big Mac, said that his sister was told by a work colleague they seen something weird. Like a floating light where there shouldn’t be one. Tried to take a picture and got one of them, what are they called? Orbs? Like on Most Haunted. I loved that show as a kid.”

"Exactly like that," Elspeth said. Alongside her, Gregor listened intently. "Where did they say this was?"