“Where’s Rosemore?” she asked, reaching for the map again.
He scratched his jaw. “I’m not sure. His assistant gave me directions, but he was talking so fast, and his brogue was so thick, I only caught a couple of words, ‘past Garve.’ ” He laughed and added, “At least that’s what I think I heard. I speak five languages, but I didn’t understand any of what that man was saying. I’m not even sure it was English.”
“I love their brogue. The sound is musical.”
He could come up with a lot of words to describe their brogue. Musical wasn’t one of them.
Getting to Garve was easy, but finding Rosemore took work. The GPS on Michael’s phone wasn’t any help, and there weren’t any signs. They could have stopped and asked someone, but Michael was a Buchanan, so that wasn’t going to happen. Men in his family didn’t ask directions.
When they finally found Rosemore, they were surprised by how large the village was.
“Someone really needs to put up a couple of signs,” Isabel said. “Isn’t it pretty here with all the flowers blooming?”
Michael noticed two teenage boys, one with a bloody nose, fighting over a package, and a drunken older man throwing up in a trash bin. And yet Isabel noticed the flowers blooming. She always saw beauty in everything. Even people. She looked for and usually found some good in them. No wonder he was drawn to her. She had a sweet pure heart... with a bit of vinegar in her attitude... toward him, anyway.
The building they were looking for was painted white with blue trim. If there hadn’t been a police sign on the lamppost out front, they would have thought it was just another house.
•••
Inspector Knox Sinclair greeted them at the door. He was a handsome man and terribly polite. Tall and thin, he was impeccably dressed in his dark blue uniform and starched white long-sleeve shirt with a navy blue tie. Isabel thought he looked quite stylish. His hair was blond and trimmed in a buzz cut. His mannerisms reminded her of Detective Samuel, though the inspector was much younger, perhaps in his late thirties.
There were two other men waiting to meet them. The older of the two told her his name was Matthew. He shook her hand, then turned to answer the phone. The younger man’s name was Danny, and he looked as though he had just gotten out of school. As soon as he opened his mouth she knew he was the fast talker who had given Michael directions over the phone. She had to seriously concentrate on what he was saying to understand him.
Once the introductions were made, Sinclair led them into an office around the corner from the entrance and asked them to take a seat.
“I’m borrowing this office,” he remarked as he walked behind the desk and sat in an old chair that squeaked.
“Your offices are in Inverness?” Isabel asked.
“That’s right, Miss MacKenna.”
“Please call me Isabel.”
Matthew called out from the other room, “Inspector, they’re waiting for you whenever you’re ready.”
“We have a suspect in custody we believe is the man who was with Jacoby.”
“Where is he?” Isabel asked, astonished by the unexpected news.
“In one of the rooms down the hall.”
She jumped to her feet. “Here? He’s here?”
“There’s no reason for alarm,” the inspector said. “He’s handcuffed to a table and can’t get near you. Don’t worry.”
Michael saw the look on Isabel’s face, took her hand, and tugged her back into the chair next to him. “I don’t think she’s worried, Inspector. I think she probably would like to have a minute alone with him.”
“I don’t believe in violence,” she said. Unless someone tried to shoot me, she thought. ‘Who is he?” Michael asked.
“Oscar Ferris,” he answered. “We caught him up here. We’ll be transporting him to Inverness soon,” he added. “Thanks to some quick work by the FBI, we know he flew to Boston from Inverness and was met by Leon Jacoby. Surveillance cameras show Ferris and Jacoby at the airport, leaving together. Ferris used his own passport,” he thought to add.
“Has he told you anything?” Michael asked.
“Not yet, but he will,” the inspector promised. “Ferris isn’t a stranger to trouble. He’s got quite a long crime sheet.”
“You’re certain he’s the man I saw?” she asked.
There was a large computer monitor on the desk. He turned it toward Michael and Isabel and pushed the key. And there he was. Slouched in a metal chair, the suspect had a sullen look on his face. He had bright orange-red hair and when he looked directly into the camera, she could see how cold his eyes were. He didn’t look all that old, but the years of crime had already hardened him.