WE sit at the end of a big table, the atmosphere tense, expectant. He

is on my left, the folder in front of him. Perhaps it is 3in thick in

its cheap cover of buff card. If I stretched out my hand I could touch

it, or him.

A cup of coffee cools beside me.

''Why was the post-mortem in Inverness, not Aberdeen?''

There is nothing sinister to that, I am told; if it is not invariable

practice to have the post mortem in the district of incident -- even

when the actual death occurred many miles away -- it is generally

common.

''What's the precise point of the wound on the head?'' I ask. ''You

see, McRae's death certificate just says 'Gunshot wound on head', which

is obvious and unhelpful . . .''

I expect a verbal reply -- some part of the skull named -- but instead

the folder is being thumbed open. A little book of photographs now

manipulated. Something is shoved in front of me. A finger stabs.

I swallow. It is the head, the dead head in profile of Willie McRae,

bare in the flash-photo. The hair is lank, the eyes closed. He is very

white. His lips are parted. On his right temple -- pointed out by the

kindly finger -- is a scorched black hole, round and small.

Contact, I am told; of course, a contact wound cannot preclude

homicide, but it strongly favours suicide. The file is quoted.

''Presence of much powder debris in the wound is typical of contact . .

.''

I know what I am looking for; I have been studying gunshot wounds for

weeks. In a handgun suicide, with a shot to the head, there are three

classic sites of ''election''. The mouth, like Adolf Hitler. The dead

centre of the forehead (the site so typically symmetrical that any

deviation should arouse great suspicion). And the right temple --

whether the person was right-handed or not, writes Professor C K

Simpson.

I study the photograph. A contact wound on the skull, I think, should

be ''stellate'' -- a torn, ragged star of a wound, because the skin is

torn by a blowback of gases from the shot. This wound is rather too

round. But if it is not a contact wound, then how is there ''much powder

debris'' in the bullet-track? I see no sign of powderburn. Though the

dead man's head appears grubby -- especially his ear, which looks sooty,

and the hair above it -- there is no blistering to the skin, no singeing

of hair. While I must check my books later -- and the round hole does

look overneat -- I agree that this appears to be a contact wound.

McRae died, then, of a gunshot wound from a side-arm whose muzzle was

pressed against his right temple?

''Where was the wound found?'' At Forresterhill -- the Aberdeen Royal

Infirmary. Something is murmured about a nurse clearing clotted blood.

That would explain the difficulty other investigators have had, of

finding the clever doctor; this was a collective effort -- suspicious

nurse, X-rays, consultation and agreement.

''How many bullets were found in his head?'' Only one. I glimpse two

photographs: some red, jellied mass (the clot?) and a squashed, mangled

little bullet on bluish cloth, with a rule for scale.

''But why not at Inverness?'' Think about it. You bring this chap in

-- he's deeply unconscious. His breathing begins to deteriorate. It's a

serious head injury and you don't waste time. You get the man to

Aberdeen as quickly as possible. (Aberdeen, of course, is the standard

destination for all major head injuries in the north-east of Scotland.)

''How long did McRae survive the shooting?'' The folder is being

leafed through. He died at least 24 hours after wound was inflicted. The

next question is very important.

''Was there any evidence of nitrates, gunpowder residue, metals or

whatever on McRae's right hand?'' I know, in all probability, McRae was

washed and washed again before he died. Nevertheless, some evidence of

such material could well have remained on his hand -- if he had fired

the gun. Nails would have been scraped, skin swabbed, sleeve examined,

tested. Even if he had been washed, powder particles could have been

imbedded in his skin; his clothing would not have been washed. And if

such were found, and linked to the gun, then you would have real

evidence of suicide.

It was not checked, I am told. For the first time I sense

embarrassment. Incredulous, I ask again. But it is true. Dr Henry

Richmond, forensic pathologist, investigating a gunshot victim, did not

check the hands or clothing of his cadaver, did not look for what,

self-evidently, would be positive evidence for suicide and against

homicide.

''Were there any injuries on McRae's body consistent with car

accident?'' This question is to establish whether McRae was indeed in

the car when it crashed. (Many forget, examining the history, that the

crash and shooting may be two entirely separate incidents). Again, pages

fly. The assertion cannot be made . . . no . . . yes . . . some minor

bruises.

Big help, I think, but do not say. If McRae was in the car when it

crashed, wearing a seat-belt -- and it was a big Volvo, the car of

choice to crash in -- then merely sustaining minor bruising is quite

believable. But, equally, he could have been bruised -- almost certainly

was -- when David Coutts and company jerked and dragged his comatose

body from the wreck. It is highly probable that McRae was in the car

when it crashed; there are no injuries to confirm it. (In hindsight,

when it is too late, I wish I had asked about specific seatbelt bruising

on the shoulder.)

''What was the degree of alcohol, or other unusual substances, found

in McRae's body or in his bloodstream on arrival at Raigmore Hospital?''

The answer comes at once -- and again, with evident unease. No blood

was taken until after the PM -- the post mortem. My astonishment plainly

discomfits. But the answer is confirmed. And, at the post mortem, no

alcohol was found in McRae's bloodstream -- or anything else.

So I am expected to believe that, at Raigmore, care personnel

presented with a comatose man, his head bloody and injured, whose

breathing was increasingly laboured, failed to take an elementary

clinical step -- to check his bloodstream for alcohol or drugs that

could be depressing his vital functions; a check which, even with 1985

technology, could have been done in minutes. Assuming, of course, that I

am being told the truth. And the post mortem reading is negative.

In other words -- while bearing in mind that the post mortem was

conducted perhaps 48 hours after the shooting, ample time for even a

very drunk man to process alcohol -- and if the gunshot wound affected

the process at all, it would slow it -- there is no real evidence, no

evidence at all, that McRae was drunk when he was driving, when the car

crashed, or when the bullet smashed into his brain.

The next question is distasteful, but important. ''Was there any

evidence of regular alcohol abuse found in McRae's body?'' Thumb, thumb,

flick. Yes . . . there was enlargement. Organs were enlarged. ''The

liver?'' Yes -- hushed tones. (Some minutes later, more boldly, it is

revived, made specific. Multi-lobular enlargement . . .)

So he drank too much. I do not, however, forget the distinction --

sometimes fine, but critical -- between a heavy drinker and a hopeless

alcoholic. And there is still no evidence that McRae was drunk on the

night he ploughed off the road and was shot.

I remember Busby and Dinsmore. ''Was McRae under MI5 or Strathclyde

Special Branch surveillance?'' Strathclyde Special Branch positively

asserted he was not. As for the cars described by Busby and Dinsmore --

that was their mischief, it is alleged. These cars had shadowed Busby

and Dinsmore. And they were Special Branch vehicles. So, in a neat move,

the aspiring terrorists noted their details and later asserted that the

vehicles had trailed McRae. But (big smile) in April 1985 neither car

was a Special Branch car.

I scribble this down.

A good question now. ''What was the handgun? Scott and McLeay say it's

a Smith & Wesson .45, which I find rather incredible . . . I'd have

thought a gun of that calibre would've blown McRae's head off . . .''

Flip, shove. I am looking at another photograph. A silvery revolver,

lying on a bed of moorgrass. A pearl handle. Another photo. This time it

is further from the camera, lying on the ground, looking discoloured --

mud? rust? Neither photo shows anything for scale -- not even a box of

matches.

It is, I learn, a .22 Smith & Wesson, 7-chambered, top hinge, external

hammer, pearl-handled revolver. I am told, jocularly, it is a lady's

gun. ''What was the ammunition?'' Short cartridges. ''How many shots had

been fired?'' Two. ''Was there any trace of the other bullet?'' None.

And yes, it was the gun that killed McRae. Speculation: a test shot

fired in the air, then a shot to the head -- indicative of suicide. No

trace of second spent bullet. An empty cartridge box was found in car.

(I should have asked if all the chambers in the gun were loaded, apart

from the two fired cartridges. It seems reasonable to assume they were.)

''How old was the gun?'' Not known. It could be assumed it was fairly

elderly. Scott & McLeay date it to ''1948, if not earlier'' -- but then,

they got the calibre wrong. ''Did McRae own it?'' Ronnie Welsh had

stated that he did, that he had seen the gun in McRae's office. A safe

is mentioned. ''Did he habitually carry it with him?'' Yes, according to

friends. (They are not named.)

''Did he hold a firearms certificate?'' No. And he was a solicitor,

says the voice, in a play of shock-horror. That McRae could have been

debarred from practice for carrying an unlicensed gun hangs in the air.

But there is another side to that: there is no proof, apart from the

testimony of Ronnie Welsh at the time, that McRae ever had this gun.

Welsh has vanished. The ''friends'' are not named. There is no

documentary evidence. (A few minutes later I am told different: the gun

was usually in McRae's office. Said who? Welsh.)

Back to the gun in a minute, but first, ''What was the car?'' A Volvo

244 -- and more photographs, pushed over, flipped through. I stand up

for a better look. I peer closely. I scribble some more.

It is a maroon Volvo, and its site is bizarre in the long shots from

the road -- roughly parallel to it, clearly pointing back to Invergarry,

and as it were parked -- I can think of no better word -- along the line

of a burn. The famous burn is an exaggeration.

It is so narrow it is barely a drain. The Volvo appears to straddle

it, leaning to the offside -- the angle rather less than 45 degrees;

perhaps 30%. But the onside wheels may actually be in the burn; it is

hard to tell. You could believe that the car had been driven along the

line of the drain and drawn to a halt. The effect is almost comic.

I am allowed to look at the photos with some leisure, though we are

pushed for time. I note the number -- FGB 214X. It is plain, looking at

the view from the lay-by, that you could not readily have seen a man in

the driver's seat -- unless you clambered down for close inspection. The

car is damaged enough -- buckled, dented. A photo now close-up, of the

driver's side. The door is a little open and jammed into the ground. It

is hard to see how they pulled McRae out. The onside headlamp is hanging

off. ''Is the driver's window wound down or smashed?''

Smashed, I am told. The damage is listed: bumper, light, rear

windscreen, driver's window broken or shattered. Roof buckled. All doors

buckled. No -- when I ask -- there was no broken glass on the road.

Nevertheless -- though it is a Volvo -- it does not strike me as a car

that left the road at great speed. I eye the terrain in the photos. It

is boggy, grassy, lumpen; but I see no obvious rocks. There is a peaked

knoll behind the car, looking from the lay-by; Loch Loyne is just

visible beyond. I think I would know the site if I saw it.

I asked for a grid reference, I am reminded. File checked: it is

rattled forth. Sheet 34, 21 95 80 66. This I note. It doesn't sound like

an Ordnance Survey grid number to me, but it may make sense to somebody.

''How far was the car from the road?'' Again, papers are checked.

Eighty-seven feet from carriageway. Feet? Feet. So much for ''one

hundred yards'' -- the standard description.

Now to the gun. ''When was it found, and where?'' On April 7, from the

burn directly below where the driver's door had been. But -- again, the

note of abashment -- the car was no longer there. The Northern

Constabulary, I am told wearily, did not exactly cover themselves in

glory.

Most accounts claim the gun was found on Monday 8th. The car was

removed about midday on the 7th. Had I been sharper, I would have asked

if the gun was on hand for Dr Richmond's autopsy -- and if not, why not.

But I am being drowned in priceless material.

The siting of gun in relation to car is the crux of the case. I press

the point. But -- adamant that gun was found, under car, in pool, in the

burn. The car was over this pool and over a small waterfall. I am shown

a photograph. I am not quite sure why, because the picture is profoundly

unhelpful. The gun is not in the photograph. The car is not in the

photograph.

There is no damage apparent to the ground, nothing to show that car or

gun had ever been there.

For the first time, I wonder if I am being told a lie. But I say

nothing. ''Were there fingerprints on the gun?'' There were no

fingerprints. ''No fingerprints?'' Fact: no fingerprints were found on

the gun. ''That doesn't make sense.'' No: it does not.

If I am being told lies, such astonishing admissions rather convince

you of someone's veracity. For, if the gun had no fingerprints, we have

to believe that McRae shot himself and then calmly wiped the gun clean

-- absurd. Or that he shot himself wearing a glove, or using a cloth,

having cleaned the gun first -- almost as absurd. But no-one has ever

mentioned a glove. (Did Dr Slesser check his pulse at the wrist?) Or --

maybe someone shot McRae with the gun, perhaps wearing a glove, and

wiped the revolver clean afterwards.

None of this makes sense.

''So, if McRae shot himself -- as we're expected to believe -- how did

the gun get there?'' Well, he would have shot himself in the right

temple with his right hand, elbow leaning on the door -- perhaps out of

the window. And with the recoil, the gun would have jumped out and

fallen into the pool. Yes, his arm should have been hanging out when

found. Perhaps it was. There was so much interference with the scene . .

.

Alternatively, he shot himself and the gun fell to his lap -- or to

his feet -- and, when Coutts and the rest of them were hauling him out,

it was dragged out with him and fell, unnoticed, into the burn. You see,

nobody was looking for a gun then . . . nobody knew he'd been shot . . .

The trouble is, looking at the photographs, there wasn't the space

between car and ground for gun to slither into burn. The car was leaning

on the driver's side. The door was tugged open only a few inches before

wedged firmly in turf. And it was a bright, silvery gun. I must say I am

not convinced. It might have dropped, so; but to reach the burn it must

have been kicked, or (deliberately?) shifted. Could it have fallen from

the car when it was being towed off on Sunday afternoon?

David Coutts claims to have seen photos of the scene with an X -- some

distance from the car -- marking the spot where the gun was found. I

mention this. I am told that the photos present may not be complete.

David Coutts also claimed, of course, to have seen right under the car

and spotted no gun. Is this true? First, picking up a cap -- even beside

a car on a street -- I don't think you would naturally stoop so low as

to view the ground right under the vehicle. Second, I don't see how --

seeing the photos -- that Coutts could have seen space or daylight

beneath the Volvo 244.

Was the gun ever in the car at all?

An explanation is now being given about the famous pile of papers.

What things there were were found uphill of the car -- towards the road.

They would simply have fallen out, as the Volvo rolled and tumbled --

and it certainly rolled, judging by the buckled roof. Plenty windows

busted. Stuff could have fallen from the parcel shelf, or the passenger

seat of the car -- where many a driver keeps personal things to hand.

This is the line I am being given.

What about the famous missing effects? McRae's briefcase. McRae's

cigarettes. The famous #100 note, the first McRae had ever received, and

which he kept by him as a talisman?

A list appears, of all McRae's belongings, as found on him, in the

car, or strewn about the moor, and duly collected by the Northern

Constabulary. I stand up and look at it. It mentions no fewer than two

briefcases -- one small, brown leather; one black attache case, rather

larger. And a cream-and-tan shopping bag.

I scan the list quickly. It includes a bewildering assembly of

identifying papers -- chequebooks, two American Express cards, cheque

guarantee card, library cards, debating union membership cards,

certificate of driving competency, SNP membership card, bank

certificates with a Chinese name -- I count, quickly, 20 such items in

all. I note the whisky -- one half-consumed half-bottle of Famous

Grouse. (This, Michael Strathern has told me, was not McRae's usual

brand.)

I note the clothing McRae wore. I do not recall seeing spare clothing

for a weekend on the list, nor toilet articles; but, of course, he may

have had plenty put by in his Dornie cottage. The voice remarks that

these do not look like the usual things for a weekend.

There is no mention of cigarettes. Most accounts of the mystery

suggest -- or imply -- that these items were missing when McRae was

found. In fact, it was McRae's sister-in-law -- according to Strathern

-- who missed them when all his effects were returned, at length, by the

authorities; and she was referring to, as far as Strathern knows, the

cigarettes and the #100 note, not the briefcases. ''It's possible that

the fags were simply pilfered. And the banknote . . .''

That would come as no surprise, says the voice. It does happen, the

stealing of non-traceable items. (But -- whatever McRae usually did --

no-one can confirm that he had the #100, nor vast quantities of Gold

Flake, with him that night.) Was there any internal probe after this

case? He does not know.

Who started the tale of the missing briefcase? (The contents of

briefcases found are listed: apart from ''various documents, papers'',

there is nothing to support the notion of secret files or a budding

book). I look at the list carefully. There is money. McRae had, with

him, ''14 x #10'' in banknotes, and ''9 x #1'' -- #149 in total. All

found intact. It doesn't fit in with someone looting the scene

afterwards, I am told -- unless the thief (murderer?) was highly

incompetent.

I have put all my questions but one. ''Was McRae a homosexual?'' There

was gossip to that effect, is the hushed reply. (I think that there is

gossip to that effect about all aging bachelors. There is no proof that

McRae was homosexual by nature, or practised homosexual vice, and the

smear should be buried until some proof or witness surfaces.)

The questions are over. Now the hypotheses. Homicide is gently

ridiculed. If someone was in the car with McRae, that person would have

crashed with him. He would then have had to get out of the car (though

the passenger door was buckled -- jammed?), get round to McRae's side,

shoot him -- in the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere -- and

then, somehow, leave the scene, having wiped the gun clean of

fingerprints. It is at least six miles from the site to the nearest

habitation.

A sniper on the hill, waiting for McRae? In the dark? Shooting at a

moving car with a .22 pop gun, and every chance of shooting at the wrong

car? He'd have died of frostbite -- a cackle. The casual thief -- who

panicked, then shot McRae with his own gun? How did he get there? How

did he get away? How did he miss all that cash?

Another driver coming along? But how would he have seen the car down

there?

The official picture is painted.

* * *

McRAE had a drinking problem. He had two drunk-driving convictions,

faced charges for a third. He was prone to depression, and was terrified

of going to prison. He had spoken of this fear to his brother, Dr Fergus

McRae, and to Ronnie Welsh. Dr Fergus, I am told, had to watch out for

Willie quite frequently -- he was prone to instability, to trouble. On

the night of Friday, April 5, 1985, both men were very concerned about

Willie McRae. Welsh rang repeatedly ''up the track'' trying to get McRae

and car stopped.

McRae was on his way to ''Camusty'' to take his own life, rather than

face shame and prison. He did not carry the usual things for a weekend;

rather, he loaded himself -- deliberately -- with identifying papers,

assorted personal memorabilia. No doubt he was drinking as he drove. On

your charitable view, perhaps he was tired and dozy. He'd been shaken by

a fire the night before.

After Invergarry, he was further wearied -- perhaps goaded -- when he

had to stop and deal with a puncture. Assume -- be kind -- he wasn't

drunk; take your suggestion, that, descending the A87 towards the

junction, he nodded off at the wheel . . .

Crash, rolling, bumping, shaking -- in the pitch night; the confusion,

and the terror. The car has stopped. He must get out! He must get away

-- perhaps he is drunk, and knows it; perhaps he fears what the police

will make of the gun if they catch an uncertificated sidearm on him. He

tries to get out, but he cannot; he is trapped in his car, trapped on

the moor in the night.

No good waiting for ''Camusty . . .''

He finds and loads the gun, fires a test-shot into the dark.

Willie McRae shoots himself . . .

The gun falls.

Subsequent bungling, makes effective investigation impossible; family

grief renders a Fatal Accident Inquiry inhuman . . .

There is a long silence.

I ask, again, to see the photograph of McRae's head. It is readily

produced. It does look like a contact wound. That could be soot about

his ear, from the firing of the little gun close by, or perhaps from the

fire in his bathroom.

He looks utterly alone.

I leave.

* * *

LET us assume that everything you have just read is true. And continue

on the assumption with which I left this meeting -- the assumption,

indeed, with which I began this investigation -- that, hard as it was to

accept, Willie McRae did indeed take his own life.

True, I was doubtful about the wound. Why was it round rather than

stellate? But I check my books. And, according to Professor A K Mant

(Taylor's Principles and Practice of Forensic Medicine, 1965, 1984) it

fits. ''If the gases are not of sufficient volume, ie 0.22 calibre

rifle, or the propellant has deteriorated, there may not be sufficient

pressure to cause this type of close-contact wound and the wound will

remain circular although in other respects it follows the criteria for a

close contact wound.''

That little, old ladies' revolver: it makes perfect sense. Dr Henry

Richmond was right. But a contact wound is not proof of suicide.

Furthermore, according to Professor J K Mason (Forensic Medicine for

Lawyers, 1978, 1983), ''The examining doctor should always confer with

the police officer in charge as to the presence of spent cartridges; the

firing of more than one shot is uncommon in suicide.''

Still, ignore those two points. How credible is the explanation

advanced for suicide in this case? A doctor confirms that

''multi-lobular enlargement'' of the liver is almost certain proof of

''alcohol liver disease'' -- consistent with long-term heavy drinking.

As a psychiatrist, he finds the suicide hypothesis ''not incredible''.

Knowing Raigmore, he is ''suprised'' the blood alcohol was not checked,

but reminds me it is a decade ago and these things have been tightened

up.

And there is no proof at all that McCrae was homosexual. Nor that he

was drunk the night he crashed. Suddenly I remember a Scottish peer,

repeatedly convicted of drunk driving -- five times but never jailed.

My doubts are growing.

Yes, the explanation for the ''pile of papers'' is believable. But

what about the discovery of the gun? I visualise those photos of the

stranded Volvo. I am certain that the onside wheels were on the bank --

not in the burn. And -- because the car was leaning to that side -- I

don't think there was physical space for the gun even to have slidden

beneath the car.

I recall pictures of the gun. Photo of pool where it was allegedly

found -- but no sign of gun, car, or marks of either. Another photo now

recalled -- a bad, blurry one -- a hand holding gun (bagged over a patch

of burn. But was it the same patch? And, even if it was, what does that

prove? Nothing.

Was McRae really trapped in the car? Witnesses say his seatbelt was

off. The driver's window was smashed. And the car was upright . . .

Surely he wasn't so fat that he couldn't crawl out . . .

I suddenly realise how many things are assumed. Nothing missing from

the car -- if authorities could be sure they were first on the scene.

Not the usual things for a weekend . . . if McRae was, indeed, planning

to spend the weekend at ''Camusty''. But what if he had simply dashed up

to fetch something? What, in fact, if he had been on his way back? Yes,

the car could simply have been turned lengthwise in course of the crash.

But its position also fitted -- better? -- McRae driving south . . .

I examine my notes -- and spot a bizarre inconsistency. ''He died at

least 36 hours after wound was inflicted.'' What?! But McRae died at

3.30am on Sunday morning . . . which, if this is to be believed, means

he was shot no later than 3.30pm on Friday afternoon.

McRae was a tough, formidable lawyer. Being rational, would he really

have been frightened by legal proceedings? He'd have known never to

assume the worst possible scenario. He could have said he'd lost the

firearm certificate . . . confiscated weapon from unstable client . . .

admitted to drink problem, but covered himself in contrition, booked in

for drying out, obtained glowing reports of his progress from doctors .

. . if he had been rational. What evidence is there really that he was

not rational -- depressed, unstable?

Precious little . . .

Ronnie Welsh said he owned the gun. Ronnie Welsh said McRae was

depressed. Ronnie Welsh said he had spoken of prison, of suicide. Ronnie

Welsh was to hand when McRae's ventilated corpse was unplugged . . .

Welsh, Welsh, Welsh . . . who has completely disappeared; who, despite

all Herald inquiries, does not seem to have been seen by a living soul

for seven years.

It all hinges on where that gun was found. And I think now in terms

not of logic, but of impressions -- the feel I had, for an hour, of

another human being. Pictures and papers pressed upon me. Incredible

admissions. Happy confirmation of repeated blunders. But, on this

essential point, adamant -- and not a shred of proof presented.

I felt it even then -- I was not being told the truth. Logically,

three possibilities: source knew they were not telling the truth

(lying); source did not know they were not telling the truth (in

circumstances of meeting, improbable); source afraid they were not

telling the truth (so deliberately had not checked).

Suddenly, I can no longer take anything I was told -- perhaps even saw

-- on trust. Immediately, I despatch two faxes -- one to confirm

accurate notes of two assertions from source. The reply is relayed --

positive. The second fax is to The Herald. I want certain things checked

by a trained, hardheaded reporter.

For there is no real evidence of suicide -- only circumstantial

evidence. Ignore a hypothesis that conveniently fits the facts -- one of

which, in any event, I am now certain was a lie. There is no proof.

And there ethics come in. As a Gael, I find suicide repellent -- ''the

ghost of the suicide walks, cursed . . .'' As a Christian, I regard

suicide as wicked. If I am ever found shot, dying, in my car, I would

want it to be a nice clean murder. And I am not going to accuse a dead,

defenceless bachelor of such a heinous act without overwhelming

evidence, which I have not been given.

I wait . . .

The first breakthrough: the grid reference number is checked. It is

nonsensical. Sheet 34 is a standard Ordnance Survey Landranger map. For

such, an eight-digit number -- 21 95 80 66 -- is meaningless. So we

check . . . and, according to this, Willie McRae was found about a mile

southwest of Spean Bridge, 20 miles perhaps from Loch Loyne, well off

the A87, and in the middle of woods! It takes us a day to sort it out.

If we remove the first and last digits, we get 19 58 06.

Then, we make a little adjustment. We twiddle the last three digits.

And that gives us 19 50 68. Which -- as we already know -- is the grid

reference for the official memorial cairn to Willie McRae, by the banks

of Loch Loyne.

Whoever recorded this mangled number was incompetent. And my informant

is now confirmed as incompetent, dishonest or both.

There is only one way to finally verify the site. I leave Edinburgh

immediately. Four hours later, I have walked into my photographs -- in

the teeth of sluicing sleet and rain. The memorial cairn -- if not a

precise mark -- is, in the immortal words of the fellow who removed

McRae's car, as ''near as dammit''. I find the burn, the pool, the

waterfall. I verify this as the site I viewed in the photographs. I

attest that it is much nearer the road than widely reported in the past.

Inspecting the ground, the positioning of the car can be accepted

whatever the original direction of travel. And -- carefully -- I inspect

the tiny, gurgling, frothing burn, the little pool with the waterfall.

The rain, which has been coursing throughout my drive, deigns to stop.

I clamber up to the road and leave.

* * *

THE second breakthrough: we find the copper, the policeman first on

the scene. And -- we can scarcely believe it -- the same officer who,

the following day, found the revolver in the burn. Kenny Crawford still

only in his thirties, has spoken entirely freely to The Herald. There is

every reason to believe he is telling the truth. He can have nothing to

gain, nothing to prove, by his insistent testimony that he found the gun

''some yards downstream''.

Crawford has also insisted that, nevertheless, he believes ''it was

knocked from a ledge in the car'' when McRae's body was recovered; and

that, having fallen into the burn, the current must have swept the Smith

& Wesson downstream.

I might acidly remark that it says little for Scottish journalism that

this vital witness, whom my colleague readily found within 48 hours, has

been unknown and untraced for 10 years.

Now here is a very important point. In a court of law, Crawford's

speculations -- sincere as they appear to be -- would be entirely

inadmissible. He could only attest to what he had personally witnessed.

And what he witnessed -- what he surely reported at the time, what was

surely conveyed to the authorities, what must be in the secret Crown

Office records -- is one fact alone: that the gun was found several

yards from the final position of Mr McRae's car. And from that point the

authorities were surely engaged on a murder inquiry.

For suicide cannot be sustained on the fact of a gun several yards

from McRae's car, a gun with no fingerprints whatever.

Mason's Forensic Medicine for Lawyers, 1984 edition, describes the

Scots law which surely applied at the time of McRae's death. ''Should

the Fiscal decide, or should he accept the advice of a police surgeon,

that a post-mortem dissection is required, he will seek the authority of

the Sheriff . . . The dissection is carried out by two doctors whenever

the circumstances give grounds for suspicion or suggest the possibility

that criminal proceedings may follow; it is only necessary for one

pathologist to give evidence in Court.''

Assume that McRae's autopsy was conducted after the discovery of the

gun -- entirely possible. Assume that gun, history and description of

scene were available to Thomas Aitchison, procurator-fiscal, and Dr

Henry Richmond, Inverness pathologist. And then two things become clear

as daylight. First: there must have been a second doctor attending the

dissection. Who was he? And what was his expertise?

Second: take back any aspersions on Dr Richmond. For -- if he was able

to dissect McRae after receiving an accurate history -- he would

properly have felt no need at all to swab the right hand. Not to have

done so -- simply on the excuse the hand had been repeatedly washed --

could, I am told, amount to great incompetence. But, on this scenario,

it makes perfect sense. Richmond would have been certain he was dealing

with a homicide -- that McRae's hand never fired the gun.

And who else for 10 years, off the record, has been softly,

persuasively, subtly belittled by a high and anonymous tongue.

An instance -- McRae was alive when found; therefore -- assuming, as

it appears, that PC Crawford was so advised when he reached the scene

that Saturday morning -- then the officer's behaviour is entirely

defensible. His duty, at that point, was not to rope off the scene and

preserve perfect forensic order. He felt properly obliged to assist in

getting a seriously injured man to hospital as quick as possible.

I am suddenly very angry.

Still so many unanswered questions! You'd like to know about the car

-- were the lights switched on? Was it in gear? What caused the

puncture? Why was the spare wheel on the back seat and not in the

Volvo's capacious boot? How is everyone so sure that McRae never reached

Dornie, that he was not in fact returning? How do you explain the

discrepancy between Richmond's assertion on ante-mortem injury timing

and the known history of McRae's last days?

Why did the Nationalists abandon this case, repudiate this man? Why

did his own family not push for an inquiry? What worse could have been

said, or found, about McRae that has not hitherto surfaced? How could

they let him lie these 10 years in a suicide's grave?

The evidence is overwhelming. Now deal with Crawford's hopeful

speculation -- which would not be sought in a court of law. I do not,

having seen the site and examined the evidence, believe that gun could

have been shifted as he thinks. I was there on a wet, wet day -- the

hills awash, the rivers full with snowmelt and rain. But this is a tiny

burn. And the pool, though very small, is scooped, hollow, the bottom

rimmed with rock. The ''waterfall'' at most is 2ft (and by my

recollection less). I am certain it is the pool I saw in the gunless,

carless, photograph.

I do not believe that a small, heavy, pointy gun would have been

shifted by that little drain -- not even by the force of water I

observed on Friday. And water is all there would be. The hills above the

road are treeless, the burns are sluiced bare; this is, very nearly, the

wettest part of Scotland. There would be no branches, no flotsam to drag

and pull a revolver.

The car, almost certainly, was removed uphill. So it could not have

dragged an unseen gun downhill. And, from the photos I saw and well

recall, I simply do not believe a bright silver revolver could have

fallen, unseen, from McRae's hands, clothing or feet as he was hauled

from the car -- under full view, it appears, of five people. And if it

had, it would not have fallen into the burn.

A revolver yards away, with no fingerprints.

A reconstruction could be done with another revolver in that burn, but

I am, beyond reasonable doubt, quite certain.

Willie McRae was murdered.

* * *

I AM near the end of my story now. I have left many a question for

later investigation. But I believe I have here established a compelling

argument -- having begun this search convinced (reluctantly) of suicide

-- that Willie McRae died not by his own hand, but that of another.

I have concerned myself entirely with facts of body, scene, history.

Others may speculate on theories of conspiracy. Colleagues have made out

a plausible case that McRae was murdered for nuclear secrets. With all

respect to a fine reporter, I am highly sceptical. There is no proof he

had such material that night, nor is an assassin named. I am not

satisfied with off-the-record allegations. Nor does a shot from an

elderly silly little gun, taking perhaps 24-hours to kill its target,

support the idea of a coldblooded and professional hit.

My hunch -- and the evidence of the wound -- is that Willie McRae was

killed by someone he knew and trusted, someone of whom he had no reason

to be afraid.

That there has been a conspiracy of another sort -- to cover up

incompetence, to mislead the public, to defame a dead man -- is,

however, apparent.

I now call for two things.

First, the revival of a police investigation into the murder of

William McRae. I can suggest an excellent place to start -- the

long-lost Ronnie Welsh. Welsh may well be dead. But his role in McRae's

death -- and in establishing the evidence on which authorities proceeded

-- demands, at least, that he be located, if only to be eliminated from

inquiries. My own tentative investigations suggest a plausible motive.

Second: a full Public Inquiry is now essential. I demand it, and so

should every rational Scot. The Lord Advocate has power to order the

procurator-fiscal to hold an inquiry ''expedient in the public

interest'' into a death ''sudden, suspicious or unexplained, or has

occurred in circumstances such as to give rise to serious public

concern.'' I submit that this is now manifestly apparent.

The facts support only two hypotheses: unbelievable incompetence at

the highest levels in Highland investigating authorities, or a

calculated and cynical cover-up of, at least, such incompetence. For the

sake of all individuals and offices involved, so that our rule of law in

Scotland retains the public confidence, an inquiry is vital.

I appeal to McRae's family to reconsider their position on this. I ask

you all, each of you reading this essay, to press -- whatever your

station -- for a Public Inquiry into the death of Willie McRae.

* * *

I STAND and gaze to the snowdraped Cuillin Hills. I think of other

hills, three days ago, and of a lonely road, and a simple cairn.

Put a stone on that cairn when you pass by. I did, before I left. I

left rapidly. It is not a spot where you care to linger.