Blood Substitute by Margaret Duffy

brought into the equation. I can’t be seen to be shielding him in any way and, frankly, I don’t think that I want to.’
    But he did, he did, I could tell by the tightly controlled emotion.
    â€˜Thank you,’ Patrick said quietly. ‘Have you been able to discover anything further?’
    â€˜Nothing concrete. I’ve been up to my neck here but have been doing a little research at home. As I’ve already told you my mother and I went to live with an aunt at Crieff after life at her parents’ place became untenable. This aunt is now dead but she had a daughter, Louise, who is my cousin, of course. I managed to contact Louise via the internet as she and her husband run an hotel in the same area and we’ve subsequently spoken over the phone. I gather that my mother and auntie had long conversations about her predicament, some of which Louise was apprised of years later. Louise was staggered to learn that Robert might not have drowned and almost as astonished that he had gone wrong. My mother was very much in love with him, you see, and this must have been conveyed to Auntie along with what a good man he was and all the rest of it. Ross, Lord Muirshire, told me a while back that Robert had said he intended to divorce his wife, who was having affairs, and marry my mother and he too said he was a man of integrity.’
    I could see that James was having trouble talking about this but knew we needed to know the full story if we were to be of any help. ‘You never mention your mother, James. Is she still alive?’
    â€˜No, she eventually went out to South Africa and married a farmer. She was killed in a car crash ten years ago.’ He hesitated and then pulled open a desk drawer to take out a thick white envelope. Within it was a colour photograph which he handed to us to see.
    â€˜Such a beautiful woman,’ I whispered, gazing at the wedding group of bride, groom and all the guests. ‘What was her name?’
    â€˜Orla.’
    Neither Patrick nor I made further comment: young James had not been present.
    â€˜Louise knew all about Archie,’ Carrick continued. ‘He apparently was a bit of a rogue and drank heavily. She had an idea he’d moved down south, mostly on account of the local laird being after his hide for deer and salmon poaching. He was only a distant cousin of Robert’s after all.’
    â€˜Yet he was listed as next-of-kin,’ I said. ‘Is there no other family to contact?’
    â€˜None that I, or Ross, know about. I’ve no doubt one could undertake further research but I simply don’t have the time right now. What Louise did have, however, was a photograph. I got it through the post yesterday.’
    This time it came out of his wallet and was a small snapshot of friends on a picnic. The girl who must be Orla had moved, her face blurred, but Robert Kennedy stood out a mile, his lookalike right here in the room with us.
    â€˜We need to see the mugshot,’ Patrick said gently.
    Carrick sighed and turned his attention to his computer. After a little all-fingers-and-thumbs difficulty a face came up on the screen. With the prison haircut, the face drawn, thirty-seven years later but looking older than his years, here, surely, was the same man.
    â€˜He’s been very ill,’ I murmured.
    â€˜I’m still not too sure it’s him,’ James said, a catch in his voice.
    â€˜It is,’ Patrick said. ‘Accept it, man.’
    â€˜Aye,’ Carrick said, and asking us to excuse him, abruptly left the room.
    Paul Reece was in the senior officers’ canteen and appeared tense and also a little flustered that we had found him snatching a few minutes’ break. He organized some coffee and biscuits for us and when we had assured him that we were perfectly happy to exchange news right where we were, reseated himself.
    â€˜I fully intend to take a look at this amazing farm on Dartmoor,’ he announced,