Death of an Adept

A forty-mile stretch of open water separates the Isle of Lewis from the Scottish mainland. Skimming half a mile above the foam-flecked waves in their twin-engine Cessna, Peregrine pressed his forehead against the window glass and watched the shadow of the plane sweep before them like a dark hound leading the hunt. He hoped there was nothing but poetic allusion in the comparison. With the nature of the case confronting them yet to be determined, he preferred not to encounter any ill omens at this early stage of their investigation.

The flight itself had been uneventful, apart from some expected wintry turbulence over the Grampians. Fortunately their pilot, one Harry Nimmo, was no stranger to flying in adverse conditions. Indeed, he was no stranger to their work. McLeod had briefed Peregrine about Harry while they watched him fuel the plane, though only later had he disclosed the most important piece of information about Harry Nimmo.

By then, Peregrine had learned that Harry was a former major in the SAS, who had flown Harrier jump-jets in the Falk-lands War before taking up a highly successful career in the law. In the years since, though his considerable legal talents had earned him the coveted apanage of Queen's Counsel, Harry had continued to indulge his love of flying, not only retaining active flying status with the reserve RAF, but also making occasional guest appearances at air shows as a pilot of vintage aircraft. Harry had flown everything from Spitfires, Lancasters, and Hawker Hurricanes to the even more exotic aircraft of the biplane era - Tiger Moths and Sopwith Camels, the latter so named for the distinctive humpbacked outline of the fuselage and made famous by the flying exploits of Charles Schulz's Snoopy and the Red Baron.

McLeod's matter-of-fact recitation of Harry's flying credits had sparked fond memories of some of Peregrine's favorite boyhood reading - of Biggies, the fictional British flying ace whose dashing escapades had made him the hero of many an English schoolboy. On finally meeting Harry, Peregrine had found himself picturing the pilot-cum-barrister in the leather flying jacket, goggles and helmet, jodhpurs, and boots affected by Biggies and other pioneers of aviation. Indeed, with his lean, lightweight build and self-assured good looks, Harry Nimmo might easily have served as Biggies' prototype.

Not that anything in Harry's present attire or even his manner suggested much of a Biggies parallel. As he'd led them out the Cessna parked on the general aviation apron, Harry was togged out like his two passengers in a serviceable, close-knit sweater over collar and tie, with hard-wearing woollen trousers and stout winter boots - sensible, professional-looking winter-wear for assisting in a police investigation, whether as police officer, artist, or senior barrister. Only his military-issue sunglasses lent a touch of the exotic - though the dark lenses were more a necessity than an image statement against the harsh glare of snow glittering beside the parking apron.

The anomaly between reality and reputation had persisted as Harry unlocked the plane's cabin and directed them inside, himself ducking under a wing to make a final pre-flight inspection. As Peregrine clambered into one of the Cessna's rear seats and stowed his sketch box in front of the seat beside him, leaning out then to take the coats that McLeod handed up, he had begun to wonder if perhaps he had been too quick to draw the parallel between Harry Nimmo and the dashing Biggies.

Except that as Harry came around the aircraft, removing his sunglasses as he ran a hand along the near wing, Peregrine caught a glimpse of an eagle-keen blue gaze - just before Harry produced a navy baseball cap from a hip pocket and donned it with a flourish. The cap bore the logo of the Starship Enterprise. Simultaneously, Peregrine realized he had just dumped his and McLeod's coats atop an old-fashioned brown leather flying jacket, fleece-lined and with an embroidered set of RAF wings sewn above the left breast. A creamy-white silk scarf spilled from one of the pockets.

"If the jacket looks familiar," McLeod had said over the back of his seat, "it's because you may have seen it a couple of years ago. Harry flew one of the helicopters on the Cairngorm mission."