Death of an Adept

"Sergeant Chisholm," she murmured, anxiously searching his face. "Have you found him? Is he dead?"

"There's been no new information, Miss Cummins. I'm sorry," Chisholm replied. "May we come in? These gentlemen have just flown in from Edinburgh. They're here at my request to help out with this case."

She gave a grudging nod and stepped back to allow the party to enter, eyeing McLeod half in recognition.

"Were you at Callanish?" she asked.

"That's right," McLeod replied. "Detective Chief Inspector McLeod. I gave Mr. McFarlane my card."

He introduced Adam and the others. Smoothly taking his cue from McLeod, Adam said, "With your permission, we'd like to take a look around the premises. I know this must seem like a further imposition, but I assure you that we're only doing our best to help."

Rhiannon looked taken aback. "When I phoned the station this morning, they told me it was all right for me to start tidying up."

"And it is," Adam said reassuringly. "The kinds of clues we'll be looking for are the ones most likely to turn up in odd places."

"Oh. All right, then," she said, clearly nonplussed. "I'd better warn you, though, the place is in an awful state."

Beckoning, she led them through to the sitting room. Prior to the break-in, it had been brightly decorated with art posters and Indian print hangings, its shelves, tables, and window ledges cluttered with a typical assortment of New Age accoutrements: crystals and candles, books, house plants, and amateur bits of sculpture done in pottery and bronze. Some of the hangings had been either pulled down or torn down, and many of the ornaments were now lying smashed on the floor. A black plastic bin-bag stood open in the middle of the carpet, half-full of sad, leftover debris.

Elsewhere there were other less obvious signs of the room being set to rights. A stag's head, one antler now slightly askew, had been reverently gathered up and placed on the mantelpiece until it could be returned to its place of honor on the wall above the hearth. Clusters of dried rowan berries had been tacked over the window and the door, and a hint of incense hung on the air - evidence that Rhiannon had at least made an attempt to ritually purify the room of any baneful influences left behind by the intruders.

At any other time, Adam would have heartily approved of these measures. Now, ironically, he could only hope that Rhiannon had not inadvertently dispelled the very resonances that might have supplied them with the clues they were looking for. Catching McLeod's eye from across the room, he could tell that the inspector was thinking much the same thing. But they were still committed to trying their luck, in the hope that they were not too late.

McLeod undertook to distract Rhiannon and Chisholm, drawing them aside on the pretext of checking over various points in her written statement. Knowing he could depend on his Second to keep their attention diverted, Adam channelled his own energies into boosting the performance of the other two members of the party, keeping a particular eye on Harry. Peregrine drew off to one side, sketchbook at the ready, his hazel-green eyes taking on the telltale dreaminess that invariably betokened a shift in perception. Harry, for his part, made a wandering tour of the room, pausing every few steps to pick up objects at random.

But several minutes of this activity only left the barrister looking mildly frustrated. Peregrine, likewise, had made only a few token passes with his pencil. Abandoning his efforts, he drew himself up with a shake of his head and moved closer beside Adam.

"It's no use," he muttered regretfully. "I'm not getting anything. Any signs that might have been here yesterday have been all but - "

Before he could finish, they were interrupted by a sudden gasp from Rhiannon. Breaking away from McLeod, she darted across the room and pounced on a leather thong protruding from under an overturned futon. The thong had some kind of medallion attached to it. When the medallion caught the light, Adam saw that it was a Druidic lunula of beaten, polished brass.

"No," she whispered, tears standing out in her eyes. "Now I know something terrible has happened to him. This is lolo's!" she informed them, as she displayed the lunula on her palm. "He's always worn it! I've never seen him take it off - "

Her voice broke. While Chisholm and McLeod attempted to calm her, Adam came over for a closer look at the lunula. It was finely made, overlaid with hair-thin traceries of runic inscription.

"May I?" he asked.

When Rhiannon nodded, too tearful to speak, he lifted the lunula by its leather thong and carried it over to the window. Beckoning Harry and Peregrine over to join him, he murmured softly, "Gentlemen, our luck may be on the mend. Harry, would you mind handling this? Not until Peregrine and I block you from Chisholm and the girl," he added, shifting Harry to stand between them.