None but the Dead (37 page)

Rhona used her mobile to take a photographic record of the scene, then took a short video.

‘How did the search party miss this place?’ Magnus said.

‘Inga made a pretty good job of burying the entrance. She obviously didn’t want anyone to discover her den.’ Rhona gestured to the jotter. ‘Let’s go outside and
take a look at this.’

Trying to study the diary in a whipping wind proved difficult, so they decided to make their way back to the cottage. A few yards from the building, they made a dash for it as a squall hit, with
hailstones rather than rain this time.

Once inside, Rhona put on the coffee maker again. Then they sat down at the table with the jotter.

Each entry had been dated, and assuming she began the diary when she’d discovered her den, then Inga had been using the bomb shelter since the summer. The beginning of the school holidays
in fact. Inga hadn’t written an entry for every day, but apparently only when she’d visited the shelter.

Rhona skimmed through the other entries which talked about birds she’d seen while lying hidden in the entrance tunnel. She’d recorded too what she thought was the Orkney name for
each bird and a little drawing. Eventually they neared the present day.

There followed an entry on her determination to find the missing skull.

The discovery of the flowers in the schoolhouse loft had definitely fired her imagination.

Then she’d recorded her visit to Mike Jones.

‘So Mike Jones’s story of their encounter was true,’ Rhona said.

The final entry was dated Friday.

Magnus met Rhona’s gaze.

‘Sam was afraid for her and that fear centred on water,’ he said.

‘I’m going to try McNab again. If I can’t reach him I’ll try Erling. Then we’ll head for Kettletoft.’

The squall had moved south-west, darkening the sky over Eday. Here the sun was out, its shafts of light like stairways to heaven. In Scotland, she thought, you could experience
every season in one day. Here on Sanday, you could face all the seasons within ten minutes.

Sheltering behind the lookout, she tried McNab’s number again. It didn’t even ring out but informed her there was no connection. She was luckier with Erling.

‘I’m docking at Loth as we speak,’ he told her. ‘I’ll head for Kettletoft to see this boathouse, then McNab and I will go to the community centre, where we can keep
in contact with the coastguard.’

Rhona quickly told him of finding Inga’s den.

He listened in silence. ‘You were looking for her body?’

‘At one point, I thought I’d found it.’

On the road to Kettletoft, Magnus in the driving seat, Rhona ran her thoughts out loud.

‘Assuming he has her on board this boat. Where would he go?’

‘If he launched it on Friday night, it would have been before dawn. The girl was taken on Saturday morning by jeep.’ He considered this. ‘He got rid of the jeep on Cata Sand,
so chances are he’d anchored by then in the Bay of Newark, north of Cata, or Sty Wick, to the south.’

‘Sty Wick,’ Rhona said, trying to recall where she’d heard the name. Then it came to her, with a shudder. The last victim murdered on Sanday had been found buried in the dunes
of Sty Wick.

But that won’t be the case for Inga.

‘Then where?’ she said.

‘If he wanted to hide, then somewhere not easily accessible from the land or the sea.’ Magnus paused. ‘I don’t know the coast of Sanday well enough to guess
where.’

‘Wouldn’t he just sail to another island, or Orkney mainland, or even Caithness?’

‘It’s possible, but he’d be noted on one of the smaller islands. The girl’s disappearance is big news. And –’ he paused – ‘it all depends on his
reason for snatching her.’

Rhona waited for Magnus to explain further.

‘Did he really want the girl with him or did he just want to punish her mother?’ he said.

‘Maybe he had no plan other than to snatch her,’ Rhona said.

‘That’s possible,’ Magnus conceded. ‘Domestic violence is all about control of the partner. Torment and torture feature strongly. Of course,’ a shadow crossed his
face, ‘the ultimate torture for the mother would be . . .’

‘If he were to kill the child,’ she finished for him.

They settled into an uneasy silence, each party to their own thoughts. Rhona’s transitory relief at discovering that the old bomb shelter hadn’t contained Inga’s body had long
departed. The flat fields rolled by the window. Magnus drew in at a passing place to let a local car pass and was given the customary wave. The surrounding scene of island life suggested peace and
tranquillity, made more beautiful by the watery sunlight that graced their path.

Yet, wherever you are, the surface of life rarely portrays what lies beneath.

The tide was out on Cata Sand and the bonfire had grown larger since their previous visit. A couple of pickups were there now, unloading, with a few figures stacking the wood that had been
delivered.

‘They’ll go ahead with the bonfire?’ she asked Magnus.

‘It’s an island tradition, designed to glue the community together in hard times. It’s their act of defiance against the long dark days of winter. The w
e will survive
gesture.’

‘Despite Sam’s death, and everything that’s happened?’

‘I believe Sam would be the first to wish it so.’

McNab had the look of a man who hadn’t slept. Wild-eyed and high, on a mix of adrenaline and, she’d hoped, caffeine, although she’d definitely got the whiff
of whisky from his breath when he’d come close.

Rhona had seen that look before. Perhaps too frequently. Yet its appearance had often heralded the moment in a case when the breakthrough had happened, or was about to. When McNab’s
terrier determination had dug up the truth.

All that scouring of the Sanday countryside, the endless interviews, listening to stories that appeared to have no relevance, yet fearful that if you didn’t take note of the details, the
answer would have passed you by.

McNab’s life wasn’t that different from hers, she acknowledged. Asking the right questions of a crime scene, and looking for the answers, forensic or otherwise.

He caught her eye and gave her a little personal nod. Rhona felt a rush of . . . what? Annoyance, pleasure, excitement? She broke eye contact before he did, and the wistful look he met that with
made her a little sad.

They were back in the meeting room. Erling and Magnus, she and McNab, with PC Tulloch and the other three officers brought in from Kirkwall. Entering the centre, she’d taken note of Derek
Muir and Hege Aater sharing a coffee and apparently waiting to be interviewed. Both had looked uneasy, although it was Derek Muir that had most concerned her. The man who’d met her from the
helicopter and welcomed her to Sanday was no more, and a stranger sat there in his place.

She roused herself as McNab called them to attention and indicated the photograph of a motorboat which had just appeared on the screen.

‘This is the
Antares
. It’s owned by a Dr Frank Haynes from Eastbourne, who comes up with his family every summer. It was stolen from the boathouse of his holiday home in
Kettletoft sometime on Friday night, possibly in the early hours of the morning, and taken, we believe, by Joe Millar.’

Up on the screen came a list of the boat’s specifications. McNab mentioned a few for emphasis. ‘Suitable for coastal cruising, a four-berther with all mod cons, including a dinghy
and standard navigation equipment. Dr Haynes maintains it’s ideal for Sanday, although he wouldn’t go out in her at this time of year.’

He continued, ‘Some tinned supplies and frozen food has been taken from the storage shed at the Kettletoft shop, which wasn’t discovered until today. So we believe he has provisions.
There have been no sightings reported as yet of the boat off the neighbouring islands, nor in the intervening stretches of water. We’re assuming, therefore, that he’s still around
Sanday somewhere.’

‘After discussions with DI Flett,’ he glanced in Erling’s direction, ‘we decided that Derek Muir was our best bet in identifying suitable locations to hide such a
craft.’

McNab nodded at PC Tulloch who, looking decidedly awkward about being the one to do the job, immediately headed out of the room. Minutes later, the Ranger appeared.

He glanced at Erling, discomfort and shame written on his face. It seemed to Rhona that Erling’s return look was non-judgemental. In his quiet but firm Orcadian voice he asked the Ranger
to tell them where Joe Millar might have hidden the
Antares
.

The Ranger visibly relaxed at the tone, and requested McNab to bring up the Ordnance Survey map of Sanday. At this magnification, all the locations Rhona was familiar with were there. The
cottage, the schoolhouse, the old RAF station, the bays and inlets of Sanday.

‘I would suggest that after abandoning Sam’s jeep, he went south, tracking round the tip of the island and the ferry terminal. Going north would have meant circling Start Island and
the northern coast where we were all searching on land, and the motorboat might have attracted attention.

‘I believe he may have been heading for this area.’ He pointed to a section of the western seaboard. ‘Between the Taing of the Pund and Scuthi Head.’

‘Why there?’ McNab said.

‘It’s peppered with caves, hidden inlets and arches.’ He pointed at the name Blue Geo just south of Taing of the Pund. ‘The Orkney name for a cave or creek is
Geo.’

Rhona recognized the area from her soil map. It had been coloured turquoise, indicating thin soil over strongly weathered rock of old red sandstone, hence the numerous abandoned quarries
indicated on the Ordnance Survey map.

‘He could hide there?’ McNab said.

The Ranger nodded. ‘The main problem is the weather at this time of year. Most fishing boats wouldn’t get close to that part of the coastline in November.’

Rhona saw Ivan nodding vigorously at this.

So he snatched the child and deliberately took her into danger.

‘How do we search then? From land or sea?’ McNab said.

‘Both,’ Erling said. ‘Broughtown’s the closest settlement. It’s not a town, just scattered farms. The road doesn’t venture near the cliffs, so we approach
cross-country. It’s a bit like the cliff area of Yesnaby on mainland Orkney, and as spectacular, I understand.’

‘Just not in the dark or bad weather,’ McNab muttered. ‘And since daylight is short, and the weather predicted to be bad, we’d better get going.’

Magnus came in then. ‘Can I speak to Hege? She may be able to give us some insight into Millar’s frame of mind and the psychology of thought behind his actions.’

McNab opened his mouth to say something, then thought the better of it.