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McGregor sighed, the weight of his situation seemingly dawning on him. Finn, ever the astute detective, had caught him red-handed. With a firm grip on McGregor's arm, Finn led him back into the cottage, where Finn intended to interrogate him.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Finn was staring intently at the seated McGregor, who should have been feeling comfortable in his own armchair. But he was clearly feeling the heat of the situation. The cozy, old-fashioned setting of the cottage formed a stark contrast to the tension filling the air as McGregor was looking around his living area, surrounded by the trio of Finn, Amelia, and Kirsty.
Finn's gaze bore into McGregor, each second adding pressure. "All those tales about the island, the wraiths, and the Hidden Folk – was it all just smoke and mirrors to deter us?" Finn questioned, his voice calm but firm.
McGregor swallowed hard, glancing briefly at the worn rug beneath his feet before looking back up. "No," he said, shaking his head. "The island's seen its share of strange happenings. People disappearing, lights in the moors, eerie sounds. There's more to this place than meets the eye. You'll never understand that as outsiders."
Amelia, taking a more direct approach, asked, "Where were you the nights Lord Carmichael and Ivar Ward died?"
Sighing deeply, McGregor replied, hesitating at first. He looked at Kirsty and shook his head as if embarrassed by her presence and said: "I wasn't here when Lord Carmichael died. I was on the mainland. Plenty saw me. As for the night Ivar was murdered... I was in this cottage by myself."
"And anyone to vouch for that?" Finn prodded.
McGregor’s face lost a bit of color, his voice softening. "No, Laddie. I was alone."
"That puts you in a difficult spot, McGregor," Finn remarked, a note of sympathy in his tone. "No alibi and now this... stunt," he gestured to the disarray around them, "with your home. You're hiding something, and I think I know what it is."
McGregor seemed to shrink, his gaze falling to his hands which fidgeted on his lap. The silence in the room was thick.
"Why this ruse, McGregor? Why make it look like there was a scuffle?" Finn's curiosity was evident.
The fisherman took a moment, seeming to gather himself before speaking, but it was Finn who broke the silence, laying out his own theory.
"Let me guess. Someone called you, didn't they? Was it Bruce? Let you know we were on our way so you could hide or at least prepare yourself. You panicked, thinking we were onto you. So, you hung up the phone in haste, messed up the place a little—maybe broke the bottle accidentally in your hurry. Then, hearing us approach, you decided to jump through that window and took refuge behind the hedgerow." Finn leaned in, eyebrows raised. "Am I close? I suspect it needs a little adjustment."
McGregor, looking cornered and somewhat defeated, nodded. "Aye," he admitted, his Scottish accent more pronounced with his sadness, "That's about right."
Amelia and Finn exchanged glances. Whatever was happening on the island was more intricate than they'd first assumed. And though McGregor might not be their prime suspect, he certainly held pieces to the puzzle. Pieces that Finn and Amelia were determined to fit together.
The problem was, Finn was now thinking something else. His suspicions had suddenly leaped off at a right angle.
Amelia's piercing eyes turned to McGregor as he said, "I'd like a solicitor. This has gone too far."
Finn leaned back, his gaze shifting to Kirsty momentarily before returning to McGregor. "You can have one, of course," he replied evenly, "but I've got a hunch we can clear all this up without any need for one, right Kirsty?"
“Kirsty?” Amelia said, surprised.
Kirsty moved back a little, her face flush with embarrassment. The situation was already strange enough, and now she was edging to the door as if wanting to run for it.
McGregor's voice, roughened by emotion, cut in, "Leave her out of this."
But before Finn or Amelia could respond, Kirsty stepped forward. "It's true," she admitted, her voice quivering, "McGregor and I... we've been seeing each other. My marriage hasn't been great, and he's... been there for me."
Finn's investigative skills came into play once more, "I did notice that you seemed familiar with McGregor's cottage, almost as if you'd been here many times before. And back at the Fair Folk Inn, you stepped out of the car, saying you needed to call home. It made me wonder... Was it you who warned McGregor of our arrival?"
Kirsty bit her lip, her gaze shifting to the floor, "Yes," she whispered. “I'm sorry, I panicked and thought you were accusing him of murder. I knew he'd have to tell you we were together the night Ivar Ward died, and I didn't want that to get back to anyone. This bloody island is full of gossips!”
McGregor, looking more protective now, pleaded, "Don't hold that against her. She was just trying to protect me, too. I'm a lot older than Kirsty, she's in her thirties, I'm in my fifties, it would be a bit of a scandal. People wouldn't understand."
Kirsty's voice, filled with emotion, broke in, "Please, this island is small and gossip spreads like wildfire. We just... didn’t want our affair to be the talk of the town. Can you keep this between us?"
Amelia, always the voice of reason, replied, "Our main concern is finding out who killed Ivar Ward and Lord Carmichael. Your personal life isn't our business. But we do need information that can help us solve the case or, at the very least, eliminate you both as suspects."
Kirsty looked between Finn and Amelia, nodding slowly. "I'll vouch for McGregor. The night Ivar died... we were together. I'll give a statement if needed."
Finn's gaze turned back to McGregor. "Looks like we're getting somewhere. But remember, we're here to uncover the truth. If you know anything, now is the time to speak up."
