Murder on the Moor by C. S. Challinor

sake.”
    “Aye,” Rex conceded. “I like the place just fine. It’s a great place for nature-walking.”
    “And skiing, eventually. Much better than paying those outrageous prices for lodgings in Aviemore.”
    “All right, you’ve convinced me, Alistair.”
    “I wish the little boy could have got a glimpse of the man,” his colleague muttered, his attention reverting to the muted television set, which showed shots of rainy moorscape and an area of bog cordoned off with blue-and-white police tape.
    “Wishes are futile,” Rex cautioned Alistair. “Try to get some sleep. We’ll call the police in the morning and see if there are any developments.”
    “I’ll never be able to sleep.” Alistair slumped into an armchair and put his head in his hands.
    Rex went back upstairs to see if he could find a sleep aid. “I’m surprised you’re still awake,” he said, seeing Helen sitting up in bed reading a paperback novel.
    Covering her mouth, she yawned deeply. “I was waiting for you. You’ve been gone twenty minutes.”
    “Won’t be long now.”
    “What are you looking for?” she asked when he came back out of the bathroom. “I heard you ransacking the cabinet.”
    “Alistair needs something to help him sleep.”
    “Is he okay?”
    “Aye, he’s just a bit uptight about work.”
    “In my wash bag. I always travel with a few pills.”
    “Thanks, lass.” Rex returned with the bag and sank down on the bed. He felt bad about lying to Helen, even if it was only by omission. The last time he had done that, it had almost cost him his relationship with her. But he didn’t want to upset her with this new development.
    He doubted he could sleep either after what he had seen on TV about the Melissa Bates murder. It made him glad his son, Campbell had reached age twenty without any serious mishaps in his young life. A broken toe and the removal of his tonsils was all. It also made him hesitant about seriously considering the possibility of having another child. Helen was still of child-bearing age and had mentioned a couple of times how she had always wanted a daughter. In light of the Moor murders, the prospect sent a shudder through his core.
    “Rex?” Helen held out a couple of tablets in the palm of her hand.
    “Aye?”
    “You seem very pensive.”
    “I was having one of those philosophical moments when you weigh life’s pleasures with the reality of the world we live in.”
    “You think too much.”
    “There’s been another child abduction out on Rannoch Moor,” he confided at last. “Alistair saw it on the news tonight. The police have recovered the body.”
    Helen clutched at the neck of her negligee. “Oh, my God! Poor Alistair. Is that why he can’t sleep? Does he know the child?”
    “No, but he was the prosecutor in the Collins trial. He thinks if he’d done a better job and got a guilty verdict, he could have prevented this latest murder.”
    “But Collins was acquitted because he had a watertight alibi for the exact time of Kirsty’s death.”
    “Exact time of death can be very hard to pinpoint,” Rex told her. “And Collins’ girlfriend could have been lying for him, credible as she was on the witness stand. I just don’t know. All I do know is that Alistair is a damn fine advocate and, if he doesn’t get a grip on himself, it’ll ultimately cost him his career. I’ve seen it happen before when barristers lose their nerve.”
    “Not every barrister wins practically every case. You’re just exceptional.”
    Rex deposited a light kiss on her nose. “Thank you.”
    “Shall I make Alistair some warm milk to wash down these tablets?”
    “No, just stay where you are. I’ll be back to prove that I’m exceptional in places other than court.”
    “Oh, right,” Helen said with a broad smile. “Hurry back, then.”

By the time Rex drifted blissfully into sleep, the house was quiet beneath the downpour. He woke up once in the night, staying alert long enough to register the