The Lewis Man by Peter May

was such sadness in them, and I knew the sadness was for me, not for herself. She reached her right hand over to her left above the covers, and drew the ring off her wedding finger. I’ve never seen a wedding ring like it. Silver, with two serpents intertwined. Some uncle of my father’s had brought it back from overseas somewhere and it had been passed down through the family. My father had no money when they got married, so he gave it to my mum as her wedding ring.
    She took my hand and placed it in my palm and folded my fingers over it. ‘I want you to look after Peter,’ she said to me. ‘He’ll not survive this world on his own. I want you to promise me, Johnny. That you’ll always take care of him.’
    Of course, I had no idea then what a responsibility that would be. But it was the last thing she asked of me, so I nodded solemnly and said I would. And she smiled then, and gave my hand a little squeeze.
    I watched the light die in her eyes before they closed, and her hand relaxed and let go of mine. And the priest didn’t arrive for another fifteen minutes.
    What’s that ringing sound? Dammit!

TEN
     
    Marsaili fumbled in her handbag for her mobile phone. ‘Sorry,’ she said, flustered and embarrassed by the interruption. Not that her father had told them much, or was making any sense. But after revealing he had been with his mother when she died, big silent tears had run down his face, some highly charged emotional turmoil behind them. Which the ringing of her phone had interrupted.
    ‘What the hell’s that?’ he was saying, clearly disturbed. ‘Can a man not get any peace in his own home?’
    Fin leaned forward and put a hand on his arm. ‘It’s all right, Mr Macdonald. It’s just Marsaili’s mobile.’
    ‘One moment, please,’ Marsaili was saying into her phone. She put her hand over it and said, ‘I’ll take this in the hall.’ And she rose and hurried away out of the big empty lounge. Most of the daycare patients had left in the minibus for a day out, so they had the place more or less to themselves.
    Gunn nodded towards the door, and he and Fin stood up and moved away from Tormod, speaking in low voices. Gunn was perhaps six or seven years older than Fin, but there was not a grey hair on his head, and Fin wondered if he dyed it. He didn’t seem the sort, though. There was barely a line on his face. Except for the frown of concern that creased it now. He said, ‘It’s certain that they’ll send someone over from the mainland, Mr Macleod. They’ll not entrust a murder investigation like this to an island cop. You know how it is.’
    Fin nodded.
    ‘And whoever they send is likely to be a lot less sensitive in the handling of it than me. The only clue we have to the identity of the young man in the bog is that he is related in some way to Tormod Macdonald.’ He paused to purse his lips in what seemed to Fin to be something like an apology. ‘Which puts Tormod himself right in the frame for the murder.’
    Marsaili came back in from the hall, slipping her phone into her bag. ‘That was the social services,’ she said. ‘Apparently there’s a bed available, at least temporarily, in the Alzheimer’s unit right next door at Dun Eisdean.’

ELEVEN
     
    This is smaller than my room at home. But it looks as if it’s been painted recently. There are no stains on the ceiling. Nice white walls. Double-glazing, too. Can’t hear the wind, or the rain battering against the window. Just watching it running down the glass. Like tears. Tears in rain. Who would know? But if you’re going to cry, do it on your own. It’s embarrassing sitting there with tears on your face and folk watching you.
    No tears now, although I do feel sort of sad. I’m not sure why. I wonder when Marsaili will come and take me home. I hope it’ll be the good Mary when we get there. I like the good Mary. She looks at me and touches my face sometimes like she might once have liked me.
    The door opens, and a kindly