The light was almost gone and snow covered the ground by the time they reached the bottom of the headland. Adam looked back the way they’d come, thin threads of footprints trailing back to the crumpled car, now being lapped by waves. He could just make out Ethan’s body. He and Luke had dragged him the short distance to the car so he would be easier to find, and placed him above high tide, so he was lying twenty feet further up, a snowy bump marked by a small cairn.

Adam looked at the dried blood on his hands and felt sick, Ethan’s death a rock in his stomach. How the hell had it come to this? Why Ethan? He was always the cautious one, the safe guy, the one who took out insurance and made sensible career moves and never did anything out of place. Surely he would’ve been wearing a seat belt? If not, why the hell not? Either way, he was now laid out at the bottom of a cliff, snow soaking into his bones, and the whole thing was Adam’s fault, despite what he’d yelled at Roddy earlier. This morning outside the B&B, Ethan had talked about going home to see Debs, but Adam had talked him out of it. Jesus Christ. He felt his stomach heave.

‘Look.’

Molly was pointing ahead. Luke and Roddy were just behind him, and the three of them hurried to reach her.

In the far distance Adam could see a light. It was a couple of miles away at least, and the night encroached all around, but there was definitely something there.

‘Looks like a farmhouse,’ said Molly.

Adam peered into the darkness. There was an outline of a building nestled tightly into a cove just before the next headland. He couldn’t see any other buildings, or any road or path leading to the place, but then it was hard to make anything out in the creeping gloom.

As they watched, the light blinked out, leaving a thin outline behind.

‘Maybe they’ve closed the curtains,’ said Molly.

‘It’s a bit in the arse-end of nowhere, isn’t it?’ said Roddy.

‘Lucky for us it is,’ said Adam. He squinted and thought he saw a whisper of smoke drifting up from the black shape, but couldn’t be sure.

‘Come on,’ said Roddy in a strained voice. ‘Let’s get the fuck over there.’ He held his injured arm tight to his body. ‘I’m dying here.’

‘You’re not actually dying,’ said Adam pointedly, glancing behind them.

‘I might if we don’t get a fucking bend on.’

It was slow going, even with the thought of the building spurring them on. The terrain was uneven, large slabs of rock and loose shingle-strewn slopes making it hard to find a way across, forcing them to take a time-consuming, circuitous route. They found themselves looping in and out, scrabbling up and over, having to detour around freezing pools of seawater and crumbling stone arches to make any headway.

Coming away from the sea and up the shore they found a path of sorts, a break in the stones underfoot, and they quickened their pace a little. It was dark now, and they kept losing the path in the snow, stumbling over rocks and into potholes, getting frantic as their fingers and feet began to sting with the cold. Adam wondered about frostbite: how did you know if you had it? He could still feel his extremities, but his whole body was visited by occasional shivering spasms as the snow got heavier all around. He looked ahead but all he could see was the thick black cliff face vaguely silhouetted against a gunmetal sky.

As he looked, an electric light appeared then disappeared, throwing the shape of a farmhouse into the inky night for a brief moment. It was enough to get their bearings. They were close now, just a few hundred yards away, and they hurried on, Molly and Adam ahead, Luke helping Roddy behind.

The path flattened out and Adam could suddenly hear something over the sound of the sea, the insistent rhythmic chug of a generator. He and Molly were almost at the building now, and he could make out a sliver of light at the bottom of the door. As they approached Adam realised it was a barn rather than a farmhouse, with no windows but a big, wide wooden door on the side facing them. He caught a whiff of a familiar smell as they reached the door and pushed it open.

‘Hello? Anyone here? We need help.’

Adam and Molly walked inside.

The room was taken up by two large stills of beaten-up, discoloured copper, linked by ramshackle pipes to a rusting still safe. In one corner of the barn sat a grubby mash tun and a large steel washback, in the other were dozens of hogsheads and butts of different sizes and colours of wood.

‘Holy crap,’ said Molly.

‘Is this what I think it is?’ said Roddy.

‘Yeah,’ said Adam, looking around. ‘An illegal still.’

‘What the fuck’s going on here?’

The voice from behind made them all turn.

Standing in the doorway was Joe in his police uniform, an impassive look on his face and a shotgun cradled in his elbow. Behind him was cousin Grant, tapping a side-handled baton against his leg.