have anything better. They certainly weren't maternity clothes, they were stretched all out of shape and didn't fit her properly, much the worse for wear. She wasn't staying on the site—I'd have noticed her before. I thought she looked a bit lost, frankly, so I asked if I could help. I have daughters myself, you know.
She said she wanted to make a call but she couldn't get the phone to work. I asked her what coin she'd put in, and she said she didn't have any money, but that she wanted to make a collect call, her mother would pay for it. Well, you have to put a coin in to make the phone work at all—I gave her a twenty-pence piece to use. When I saw she'd got through to the operator all right, I went away into the shop—I didn't want to be eavesdropping or anything, you know.
When I came out, she was still there, and tried to give me back the twenty pence, but I wouldn't have it. I invited her to come back to my caravan for tea; I told her I had a daughter about her age and that she'd be most welcome. Frankly, she looked like she could use a good meal. But she sort of backed away from me, shaking her head. She said she couldn't stay, that she had to get back to her husband. I noticed then that she sounded American. She seemed a bit nervous, and she looked so, well, so
ragged
that I just came right out with it and asked if she was in some kind of trouble, and could I help.
She looked surprised then, and she laughed and said no, no trouble—but she wanted to get back, and she couldn't risk being late. She thanked me again for the coin—she tried to give it back but I made her keep it, poor soul—and she waved me good-bye and walked off down the drive, toward the gates. I didn't see her again.
WILLIAM MACDOUGALL (IDENTIFIED PERI FROM PHOTOGRAPH)
Yes, that's her, that's the girl, all right. She wasn't dressed so nice when I saw her—she looked a bit of a scarecrow, really, and she was trudging along the road like she was dead beat. That's why I stopped the car. I only stopped because I thought she was a poor cow—sorry—who needed a lift. It's a long walk from there to anywhere.
Where? About a mile from the campsite, maybe a bit less. I was staying in Tayvallich. I'd just been down on the beach, parked my car at the campsite because it was convenient. So I was heading back to Tayvallich when I saw her.
She said, “No thanks,” when I offered her a lift. She said she'd rather walk. Well, I was only trying to be friendly. I left her to it.
No, I'd never seen her before, or since.
ANNE MACDONALD (IDENTIFIED PERI FROM PHOTOGRAPHS)
Yes, that's her, I think. She looks more glam in the photos, though. She was really much more ordinary-looking in real life. And pregnant, of course. I could see she was pregnant from the way she was walking, even from the back, and I told Ewan—that's my husband—to slow down and offer her a ride.
He asked her where she was going, and she just shook her head without saying anything. So I leaned over and said we could give her a lift to the village—it was about five or six miles away—or farther, as we were going all the way to Lochgilphead. She said no, thank you, she only had a short way to go.
About a mile farther along the road I noticed a farmhouse that did bed-and-breakfast, so I thought maybe that was where she was going; that seemed to make sense.
That was all. Only four people had seen Peri on that evening in May, two years ago, all in the space of perhaps an hour, within a few square miles in the middle of nowhere. The Scottish detective had thoughtfully included a photocopied map of the area, with red Xs to mark the spots where Peri had been seen. The campsite was off a single-track road, nine miles from the nearest village. On one side of the road was hilly heathland and forest; on the other, the sea. One obvious explanation for her abrupt disappearance was that she had been traveling by boat with the man she'd referred to as her husband. I imagined a suave,
She said she wanted to make a call but she couldn't get the phone to work. I asked her what coin she'd put in, and she said she didn't have any money, but that she wanted to make a collect call, her mother would pay for it. Well, you have to put a coin in to make the phone work at all—I gave her a twenty-pence piece to use. When I saw she'd got through to the operator all right, I went away into the shop—I didn't want to be eavesdropping or anything, you know.
When I came out, she was still there, and tried to give me back the twenty pence, but I wouldn't have it. I invited her to come back to my caravan for tea; I told her I had a daughter about her age and that she'd be most welcome. Frankly, she looked like she could use a good meal. But she sort of backed away from me, shaking her head. She said she couldn't stay, that she had to get back to her husband. I noticed then that she sounded American. She seemed a bit nervous, and she looked so, well, so
ragged
that I just came right out with it and asked if she was in some kind of trouble, and could I help.
She looked surprised then, and she laughed and said no, no trouble—but she wanted to get back, and she couldn't risk being late. She thanked me again for the coin—she tried to give it back but I made her keep it, poor soul—and she waved me good-bye and walked off down the drive, toward the gates. I didn't see her again.
WILLIAM MACDOUGALL (IDENTIFIED PERI FROM PHOTOGRAPH)
Yes, that's her, that's the girl, all right. She wasn't dressed so nice when I saw her—she looked a bit of a scarecrow, really, and she was trudging along the road like she was dead beat. That's why I stopped the car. I only stopped because I thought she was a poor cow—sorry—who needed a lift. It's a long walk from there to anywhere.
Where? About a mile from the campsite, maybe a bit less. I was staying in Tayvallich. I'd just been down on the beach, parked my car at the campsite because it was convenient. So I was heading back to Tayvallich when I saw her.
She said, “No thanks,” when I offered her a lift. She said she'd rather walk. Well, I was only trying to be friendly. I left her to it.
No, I'd never seen her before, or since.
ANNE MACDONALD (IDENTIFIED PERI FROM PHOTOGRAPHS)
Yes, that's her, I think. She looks more glam in the photos, though. She was really much more ordinary-looking in real life. And pregnant, of course. I could see she was pregnant from the way she was walking, even from the back, and I told Ewan—that's my husband—to slow down and offer her a ride.
He asked her where she was going, and she just shook her head without saying anything. So I leaned over and said we could give her a lift to the village—it was about five or six miles away—or farther, as we were going all the way to Lochgilphead. She said no, thank you, she only had a short way to go.
About a mile farther along the road I noticed a farmhouse that did bed-and-breakfast, so I thought maybe that was where she was going; that seemed to make sense.
That was all. Only four people had seen Peri on that evening in May, two years ago, all in the space of perhaps an hour, within a few square miles in the middle of nowhere. The Scottish detective had thoughtfully included a photocopied map of the area, with red Xs to mark the spots where Peri had been seen. The campsite was off a single-track road, nine miles from the nearest village. On one side of the road was hilly heathland and forest; on the other, the sea. One obvious explanation for her abrupt disappearance was that she had been traveling by boat with the man she'd referred to as her husband. I imagined a suave,
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