Watters froze. “Whoever you are,” he said. “I advise you to lower your weapon at once. I am a police officer.”
“Turn around slowly!” The pressure eased slightly.
Watters turned around to see Fergus MacPhee holding a sawn-off shotgun, a poacher’s weapon, in his strong hands.
Watters relaxed slightly. “Fergus MacPhee! What the devil are you doing here? I thought you’d be long gone from the area by now!”
“Sergeant Watters!” MacPhee lowered his weapon and uncocked the hammers of his shotgun.
“Why have you remained here?” Watters repeated.
“Unfinished business,” MacPhee said.
“Has it to do with the murder of Tam Stewart?”
“Always the policeman, aren’t you?” MacPhee asked, with a faint smile on his long face. “What are you doing here?”
“Hunting down illicit whisky distillers,” Watters s
