None but the Dead (25 page)

‘Inga?’ he forced out.

‘I don’t know.’

At that point McNab heard Rhona’s voice calling, asking what was wrong.

‘Where?’ he said to Jones.

‘In the middle of the causeway.’

Rhona appeared beside him in hastily donned trousers and a sweater. Her hair was tousled and her cheek creased by sleep. McNab, even in that moment, thought how lovely she looked.

‘Any signs of life?’ she said as she pulled on a jacket and stuck her feet into wellington boots that were obviously too big for her.

‘I couldn’t . . . I didn’t get close enough to check.’

‘Show me,’ Rhona said. She pushed past McNab. ‘Get a hold of DI Flett then follow us down. You’ll get a signal at the rear of the cottage.’

It had only been hours since she’d stumbled back along this path, sodden and near to hypothermia. Drowning while crossing the causeway had been a definite possibility. A
slip underwater. A failure to regain your footing. The current against you. Your clothes waterlogged, pulling you down.

Half walking, half running, hampered by the oversized boots, she made her way back along the track, a reluctant Jones at her heels. Already she was trying to decide how she would handle this.
The expression ‘dead weight’ was even truer for wet bodies. It could take four to six people to lift them. But maybe Jones was wrong and whoever it was wasn’t dead.

She’d reached the end of the path, with Jones panting a little behind her. She looked to him for guidance and he pointed to the right-hand side.

‘Over there.’

Rhona jumped down onto the beach. She retraced her steps from earlier, over dry sand, sinking into crusted seaweed, until she was below the high-water mark. Waterlogged sand gave way to slippery
rocks. She turned, checking she was still heading the right way, and shone her torch in the direction of Jones’s outstretched arm.

Then she spotted what he was pointing at. About halfway across.

Rhona splashed into the water.

He’d dressed for the weather when he’d joined the search party for Inga. But not well enough to protect him from a sea of water. Rhona crouched beside the body that
had once been Sam Flett. His skin had a spongy look, the cheeks and eyes nibbled as though they’d been the starter, the main course waiting beneath the waterproof clothing.

Rhona did a quick calculation. Tides were semi-diurnal, twice a day with a period of roughly twelve hours and twenty-five minutes between. So the time between high and low tide was just over six
hours. She’d read the tide clock wrong before, but going from when she’d made her return crossing, she estimated the next low tide had been around midnight, which meant it was likely to
be on its way back in.

The body would have to be moved from here as soon as possible. But where? Protocol said secure the body, and keep it clean and safe. It certainly couldn’t stay here on a tidal causeway.
The cottage was too warm, but an outhouse might work until they could transport it off the island.

As Rhona made her way back, McNab came running along the track.

‘Is it Inga?’

‘It’s Sam Flett,’ she said.

Relief flooded McNab’s face, to be replaced by puzzlement. ‘How?’

Rhona didn’t attempt to answer his question. ‘I need you to bring me a new tarp from my gear and a roll of brown parcel tape. We have to secure the body and bring it ashore before
the tide turns.’

McNab, who knew all about drowned bodies, glanced back at Jones. ‘Three of us won’t be enough to lift him.’

‘Is Erling coming?’

‘Yes, and both his men.’

‘Then we’ll manage.’

‘Where are you planning to put him?’

‘The shed at the schoolhouse,’ she said. Seeing McNab’s expression, she added, ‘It’s too warm in the cottage and the outhouses there are full of cats.’

‘I take it you’ll tell Jones the good news while I fetch the gear?’

It was the second time in two days she’d felt sorry for Mike Jones. She was making a habit of it.

‘Just until the helicopter arrives,’ she promised. ‘And I’ll stay with the body.’

Her assurance appeared to ease his fear a little. ‘I thought it might be Inga,’ he admitted. ‘That’s why I couldn’t go close enough to see. I should have
checked.’

‘You were right to come and get us.’

‘Did he get caught in the tide?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said honestly. ‘I’ll go back to the body. Could you wait here? We might need your help lifting it.’

That prospect didn’t appeal, but he nodded anyway and headed back up the beach, to take a seat on the grass and await McNab’s return.

Sam Flett would have known these waters, this causeway, like the back of his hand. Surely he wouldn’t have allowed himself to get caught by the tide? Rhona directed her torch beam at
Sam’s head, looking for any obvious wounds.

Maybe he lost his footing and banged his head on the rocks. People might drown in a few inches of water if they were unconscious. As far as she could see, there were no open wounds, no bloody
gash, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t suffered a blunt-force trauma.

Other things might have made him fall down and drown. A heart attack or a stroke. Sam was an elderly man. Fit, as far as she’d been aware, but past his three score years and ten.

She felt a surge of sadness. Sam had been nice to her. Helpful. So concerned about Inga. That in itself could have put his heart under strain.

But why was Sam near the causeway in the first place?

Had he suspected that Inga had crossed to the island and gone looking for her? That was one possible explanation.

Another one occurred which she didn’t welcome.

That Sam had something to do with the missing skull. That he had been the one to take it and hide it in the mound. It was obvious he wasn’t happy about the grave being disturbed or the
flowers for that matter. Or maybe he hadn’t wanted the skull to be reconstructed.

Maybe Sam suspected he knew who the victim was.

Rhona shivered as the breeze found its way under her jacket. Not fully clothed, she would have to put on another couple of layers if she was intent on sitting up the rest of the night with
Sam’s body.

McNab was coming towards her carrying the tarp.

Ideally she should wrap and secure the body here then carry it ashore, but Rhona had been watching the level of the water in the rock pool and suspected it was rising.

McNab was observing her, awaiting instructions.

‘How long before Erling gets here?’ she said.

‘He was picking up the community ambulance and hopefully the doctor. He said twenty minutes or so, but a vehicle that size won’t get along this far, half the path’s crumbled
into the sea.’

Rhona made her decision.

On her right was a stretch of sand with fewer rocks.

‘Lay the tarp out there,’ she instructed. ‘We’ll roll the body onto it.’

Protocol said she should touch nothing without a witness or forensic help. At this moment she wished with a vengeance that she hadn’t sent Chrissy home.

McNab had done as bid while Rhona attempted to clear the seaweed that had tangled the body.

The water was rising. She was sure of that now.

‘We’ll need Mike’s help,’ she said.

McNab baulked at that.

‘In normal circumstances—’ he began.

‘These aren’t normal circumstances.’ Rhona called to the figure still waiting on the shore.

Jones came sloshing through the water towards them.

‘Okay,’ Rhona said. ‘Here’s what we do.’

Twenty minutes later, they had dragged the body via the tarp to a spot above the waterline.

‘What now?’

‘Is there any chance they’ll bring a body bag?’

‘I didn’t think to say.’ McNab looked put out by the omission.

Rhona hoped the doctor or Erling would have thought of that.

‘I’ll parcel it up for the moment,’ she said.

‘What about the clothing?’

‘We leave it on.’

She had plenty of evidence bags with her gear, enough to use one for each item of clothing, but here wasn’t the place to undress him.

Rhona set about making up her human parcel, instructing McNab when necessary, securing it all with tape. By the time Erling arrived, the body would be cocooned, with no chance for him to look on
Sam’s dead face.

He doesn’t even know who it is yet.

‘Maybe you should call Erling. Warn him about the body.’ Reading McNab’s expression, she added, ‘Or would you rather I did that?’

‘No, I’ll do it.’

Rhona registered his determination but didn’t comment on it.

‘There’s a signal here. You should let Magnus know too. Stay with the body. I want to check out the rock pool we found him in.’

Mike Jones moved away as though he didn’t want to be within earshot when McNab made his calls.

Leaving McNab to it, Rhona re-entered the water. In normal circumstances the locus would have been thoroughly lit and searched. In this case she would be rooting around in the dark, and the next
tide would wash this scene of crime clean (if it was the scene of a crime).

Rhona came to a stop, pretty sure she was at the right place, marked by a larger upright rock that had probably halted Sam’s passage across the causeway.

The sand patch they’d used was waterlogged now. The disturbed seaweed was back and floating in the rock pool. Rhona knelt down on a flagstone slab and began to search the water in which
the body had lain. She’d thought she’d caught a glimpse of something earlier among the tendrils of seaweed, but had been too preoccupied with getting the body to safety to
investigate.

Now she rooted around with one hand while the other held the torch. Her reluctance to give up eventually paid off.

‘Got you.’ Rhona extracted the small object and held it in front of the torch beam.

It was a brooch, or more exactly a sweetheart brooch, not dissimilar to the one in the grave. She turned it over and examined the back. On this one there were initials.

EF BH

As Rhona bagged the brooch, she heard voices from the darkness.

It took five men to carry the corpse to the ambulance, which waited at the turn into the cottage. It had been decided to transfer Sam’s body directly to the
doctor’s surgery to await the helicopter dispatched by MIT West which would arrive sometime tomorrow, both weather and schedule permitting.

Sam was now double-wrapped. Dr Cameron, who hailed from Manchester, had supplied the body bag. A man in his fifties, he’d deserted the city some five years back to be the resident
jack-of-all-medical-trades on Sanday, and had planned to spend his spare time birdwatching.

‘I haven’t had quite as much spare time as I thought,’ he’d told her as they’d made their way back along the dark single-track road.

‘I’d like to strip and forensically examine the body,’ Rhona said. ‘Is that possible?’

‘I have somewhere I do minor surgery, but you could wait until you get it to the mortuary in Kirkwall, or better still Inverness or Aberdeen.’

‘I’d like to take a look while it’s still here.’

Their conversation for the remainder of journey was about Sam Flett. The doctor knew Sam well, having spent time at the heritage museum researching the island he’d come to live on.

‘Sam knew everyone. He was a good bloke.’

After a pause, he brought up the subject of Inga. ‘I take it there’s no word on the girl?’

Rhona’s silence gave him the answer.

‘I haven’t spoken to the detective yet because it involves patient confidentiality.’ He thought for a moment before continuing. ‘But I believe Inga’s mother told DS
McNab why she and the girl moved here.’

Rhona had heard nothing of this from McNab, so she waited for more.

‘There was a problem of domestic violence. I treated Claire Sinclair shortly after she arrived on Sanday. There were some cuts to her arms that had healed, bruising, old cigarette
burns.’

Rhona intervened. ‘What about Inga?’

‘She was fine. Her mother assured me of that and I believed her. Often in such circumstances the women take the beatings to protect the children.’

Rhona had a sudden thought.

‘Her partner doesn’t know where she is?’

‘She’s certain he doesn’t.’

‘Why is she so sure?’

‘Apparently she never revealed that her family came from these parts. She said he would never contemplate that she would leave the Carlisle area, let alone come to Scotland.’

The ambulance had drawn to a halt.

The back door was thrown open and McNab peered in.

‘We’re here, Dr MacLeod.’

The treatment room served her purpose very well. Brightly lit, clean, with a range of equipment to supplement what she always brought with her on jobs.

The body having been carried in, Rhona suggested that she bring Erling back in once she and the doctor had unwrapped the body, so that he might see his ‘adopted’ uncle.

‘There’s a machine in the waiting room,’ the doctor had said. ‘It produces not bad coffee.’

McNab’s expression had brightened at this, then realizing he would be sharing the space with his superior officer, didn’t look quite so keen.

‘Come on, I’ll buy you a coffee, Sergeant,’ DI Flett had said.

Left to their own devices, Rhona offered the doctor a forensic suit to don.

‘I’m not sure what’s required here,’ he said.

‘I just need a witness. This isn’t a post-mortem. I need to check out his clothing then pack it, each item separately. I’ll examine his body, take samples and make notes about
what I find.’

He nodded without comment, although she was pretty sure this wasn’t a common occurrence for Dr Cameron in his general practice. He would be called to certify death on occasion, but as far
as she could gather, anyone
in extremis
was normally whisked to the nearest hospital, that being Balfour Hospital, Kirkwall. If not there, then Aberdeen.

As she unzipped the body bag, the tang of the sea filled the room. The cocoon she’d created to preserve Sam was still intact. Rhona carefully cut the tape and unwrapped the tarp.

She pondered at this moment whether it might be better for Erling to see Sam fully dressed, rather than stripped naked and covered with a sheet. Under the waterproofs Sam was wearing a thick
sweater and trousers. All of which were sodden. But at least he looked normal. Okay, his face showed signs of being in the water but . . .