The Trowie Mound Murders (23 page)

She pursed her lips, considered me, then frowned and looked again properly, distracted from her electronic world. ‘Here, I ken you. Aren't you that lass that was in charge of that film boat? I mind your picture in the paper.'

It was the last thing I wanted to be reminded of, but if it was going to get me through to Anders, I'd use it. ‘I was the skipper,' I said, ‘and Anders was the engineer.'

‘And you met Favelle and all them?'

I nodded.

‘Cool,' she said. ‘I'll go and ask what's going on.' She gathered the papers together. Her blue overall rustled as she disappeared through the swing doors.

‘Interesting,' Gavin said. His voice was amused. ‘When I came in you were looking wiped out, then you suddenly got a new lease of captainly life when I tried to be in charge for half an hour.'

‘I'm used to being a captain.'

‘I know. I'm that way too. That's why I prefer being sent out to deal with crofters. It's just me and my sergeant, and no complicated hierarchy breathing down my neck.'

There was low-voiced speaking behind the double doors, then footsteps, and the nurse returned, with an older woman in ordinary clothes with the doctor's badge of a stethoscope round her neck. She carried a clipboard, with the form I'd just filled in at the top of it. ‘Ms Lynch?'

I stood to attention.
Lege … Kapitain.

‘Anders has lost a good deal of blood. He's got a broken shoulder-blade and a torn muscle, but there's no damage to any organs. We've got him under sedation. You could phone later to see how he's doing, and you'll be able to see him tomorrow.'

‘Has someone phoned his parents?'

She glanced at the nurse, who shook her head. ‘You could do that. Tell them he's doing well, his condition is stable, and they're welcome to phone the hospital for news at any time. If they ask for Dr Goodwin I'll give them more details. We'll see you tomorrow.'

She nodded, turned away and strode back into the safety of her ward. I picked my jacket up. ‘What's the hospital number?'

‘Oh, I'll give it you – here.' The nurse scribbled it down on a post-it. ‘That's reception, then this is the ward he'll be in.'

‘Thanks,' I said.

I wasn't allowed to use my mobile in the hospital. I sat on the bench outside, and weighed it in my hand. After Alain's death, I'd chickened out. I knew I should have phoned, but I didn't know what to say.
This is Cass, who killed your son – 
I would do it this time.

The police must have already phoned, for Anders' mother pounced at the first ring. ‘Ja, Elisabet Johansen –' Then she switched to English. ‘This is Anders' mother.'

‘This is Cass.' I tried to compress the important bit. ‘Anders is in hospital here. I have just spoken to the doctor, and he has lost blood. His shoulder blade is broken, and he has a torn muscle. You have to phone the hospital. Here is the number.' I waited for her to snatch up a pen, then read out the numbers from the post-it the nurse had given me.

‘I have it written.' She read it back to me. ‘But how did he come to be injured?'

‘A bull was loose, and he saved a woman from being hurt. He pushed her out of its path, and it caught him instead. He was very brave.'

‘I told him to come home.' Her voice rose. ‘He has a job here, he cannot just stay on a boat with you like a hippy. His father needs him. Now we will come and fetch him home. He should not be with you, getting mixed up in murder.' The venom in the ‘you' stung like a snapped rope lashing out. ‘I told him not to go with you. You are older than he is, you are not interested in him, and there was the man who died at sea, but he would not listen. I have seen on the internet already, there are more deaths.'

I had deserved this tongue-lashing for Alain. Now I realised that I deserved it for Anders too. I hadn't thought of myself as Elisabet Johansen saw me: the older woman, the footloose, uneducated hippy, leading her moonstruck son astray. I'd been blind, wilfully blind, accepting his care for me as friendship, because that was all I wanted. He'd come at my asking on the film-boat adventure with me, and he'd stayed afterwards, in spite of my condescending to him as a nerdish younger brother. I hadn't deserved him.
You are so very young, Cass…

There was a click on the phone, and it was taken from Elisabet. Anders' father's voice boomed in English over the wires. ‘Cass, is that you? What is the news?'

He didn't apologise for Elisabet, and I didn't expect him to. ‘Anders is in hospital here in Lerwick. The doctor says that he's stable. She is Dr Goodwin, you can speak to her. I'll come back in the morning.'

‘I will phone this doctor. We will come. There is a direct flight from Bergen. You must phone again if you have more news, or when you have seen him.'

‘I will,' I promised. 

Chapter Twenty-five

I put the phone away, and walked over to Gavin's car. He was already seated behind the wheel. I climbed in beside him. His grey eyes flicked up at my face, then looked back at the dashboard. He put the car into gear. ‘He's an adult, you know. He chose the risk of being hurt himself to make you and Kirsten safe.'

‘I know,' I agreed. I didn't feel guilty about his being hurt. I knew he'd weighed up the risks. He had lightning-quick reactions, Anders. I felt guilty about not having seen him.

Gavin let the car roll towards the exit. ‘Fish and chips, Indian or Chinese?'

‘Chinese would be exotic.' Chinese was a once-every-two-months treat – there was a team of chefs who went round the country halls in turn, preceded by a hand-painted notice, and one of their ‘kitchens' was the boating club.

‘Eat-in or takeaway?'

‘Takeaway. I need to get back to
Khalida.
' She was my home, my security, and right now I wanted her. I turned my wrist to look at my watch, and could hardly believe it was only twenty to five. ‘There's a five o'clock bus.'

‘My B&B's up near Brae, remember? I was going to give you a lift back.'

‘Oh –' I was annoyed to find myself blushing. ‘Thanks.'

He pulled out across from the Clickimin Leisure Centre, an oyster-shell building coiled around with flumes for the swimming pool, and flanked by a double football pitch and a red asphalt running track, and negotiated the roundabout by Grantfield Garage.

‘I can't believe how much you're paying for petrol up here. I thought we were bad in Glengarry, but you're fully 10p a litre more.'

‘I know,' I said. ‘Especially since most of it arrives here, up at Sullom Voe. I suppose it has to go south to be refined before it comes back, but all the same, someone's getting rich on it.' I cast him a sideways glance. ‘Anders and I were even thinking we'd have to get rid of the car.'

He sighed. ‘No licence yet?'

‘I've applied,' I said defensively. ‘I presume that means you don't want to sail to Brae, and then let me run you back for your car?'

‘Only if you'll accept me driving it on my own third-party insurance.'

I considered that one as he pulled in across from the Red Dragon Takeaway and parked above the council houses. He was, after all, a police officer, and in rural Scotland that meant a lot of time talking to teenagers about the importance of a proper licence to make sure you were insured, for the sake of everyone else on the road.

‘I hardly ever drive it these days,' I conceded. ‘Most places, I can walk or take the boat, and there's a good bus service to Lerwick, so long as you don't mind hanging about.'

We crossed the road to the Red Dragon. It was a tiny shop on the street corner, with two wooden benches and a counter, and tantalising smells filtering from the kitchen beyond. A hanging lantern made of plastic jade and red cloth jingled as Gavin closed the door. ‘Nearly legal in someone who's not naturally law-abiding counts as a success story.'

‘I'm naturally law-abiding at sea,' I retorted.

We leaned companionably together over the counter and considered the menu. ‘What do you call those little parcel things, with the red sauce,' I asked, ‘and may I eat them in the car?'

‘Crispy won tons. Can you manage not to drip the sauce over Bolt's seat covers?'

I gave him a withering look. ‘I've drunk soup at sea in a force 7 without spilling a drop.' He grinned, unwithered. ‘I'll have those as a starter, and a chicken satay with egg-fried rice.'

‘Mmmm. I'll go for the prawn toast, then a chow mein.'

We took the white plastic bags of foil trays back out to the car and munched our starters companionably along the highroad back to Voe. The road passed the field of coloured foals chasing each other around their grazing mothers at Gott, and cut between the hills to skirt the loch of Girlsta.

‘Did you know,' I said, crunching the folds off the top of one won ton parcel, ‘that the Vikings used ravens to find the nearest land, like Noah with his ark?'

‘Floki the Navigator,' Gavin said. ‘I've seen the model in the museum in Reykjavik.'

‘His daughter Gerhilda was buried on that island in the loch,' I said. In the back seat, Gavin's phone shrilled. I was pleased to hear he'd opted for a simple ring. He glanced at me. ‘Can you get that, while I pull over?'

I reached behind and fished out the phone out from his green tweed jacket pocket. It felt too intimate, like a lover's gesture. ‘Hello, Gavin Macrae's phone.'

‘It's his brother, Kenny.' His voice was older than Gavin's, with a much stronger accent, as if he habitually spoke Gaelic. ‘Is that Cass?'

‘Gavin's driving.' The car swerved to the left, into the gravel verge, and stopped.

‘Ach, I'm no' needing to speak right now. You could be telling him to phone me later.'

‘He's just pulled over.'

‘Have you found your missing boat now, Cass?'

‘I'm afraid so. Here's Gavin.' I handed the phone over and listened as Gavin broke into a flood of Gaelic, musical as water running over pebbles. His whole face softened, talking to his brother, lost that wary look he gave me, and livened into expression; he gestured with his other hand as he spoke, as if his brother could see him. I concentrated on my won tons, dipping them into the chewing-gum red sauce, and looking out across the water buttercup swaying at the edges of the lochan below us. I was trying not to listen, but I caught my name a couple of times. Gavin ended the call with a laugh, tossed the phone behind us, then started the car again.

‘Our ram is giving bother. He's found he can get out of his field, if he charges the posts, and so he's having to live on a tether. He doesn't like it.' His square brown hands were steady on the wheel.

‘Is he much older than you, your brother?'

‘Ten years. My mother was already in her thirties when she had him, and then I was even more of a late baby. She'll be seventy-nine next year.'

We came past the peat banks opposite the Half Way House, and into the wide moorland valley between the East and Mid Kames. ‘So this,' Gavin said, looking round at the heather hills, ‘is where your father's windfarm is to be. How is that going?'

‘Stalled. The Shetland Islands Council made a lot of noise about consulting the people, then passed the buck to the Scottish Government.' Inga was strongly anti-windfarm, and her group hoped for a public enquiry so that the issues could be aired properly. ‘Dad's down in Edinburgh just now, lobbying.'

‘Have you decided where you stand yet?'

I made a face. ‘It's getting more and more difficult. These hills look so barren and empty, but it's a whole eco-system out there, with rare birds nesting, and the peat storing carbon. The folk who're going to have to live with a hundred huge turbines on their horizon are unhappy too.'

‘They're springing up all over the Highlands,' Gavin said. ‘People are discovering health problems the developers kept quiet about.'

‘Dad's firm promised a health survey, but they've not done it yet. And that's another thing,' I said. ‘As you say, wind farms are springing up everywhere. Why will people buy our more costly electricity, with the interconnector to repay as well as the turbines, when they can get it from somewhere nearer? If it doesn't work out, we've got an unsightly white elephant, and we've ruined acres of pristine moorland for nothing. But then –'

‘There's always a “but then”.'

‘I read last year's seabird breeding figures the other day. They made awful reading. Birds I thought were common, like the black shags you see out in the voe, and standing on Papa Little, I knew there were fewer of them here, but on Fair Isle there were forty per cent fewer. Forty per cent! And I went to the museum one day when they were showing film from the thirties, and there was just a cloud of seabirds around every cliff. I've never seen that many gulls here – no, I've never seen that many gulls anywhere. I don't know what's killing them, but if it's climate change then we've got to do our bit, whatever it costs.' I brooded for a moment, looking out at the smooth sweep of heather-green hill sliding past. ‘Imagine Peerie Charlie going out in a boat round Papa Little and there being no guillemots popping up to look at you, no eider ducks going, ‘whor' as you pass, no shags on the cliff, no kittiwakes. We can't let that happen, if we can stop it.'

‘Onshore's not necessarily the answer, though,' Gavin said. ‘Look at your tides in Yell Sound. You could run a dozen turbines with them.'

‘Yes, and I'm not sure big's the answer either. Surely it would make more sense if each community generated its own electricity, like they do for each hall.'

‘Not everywhere's got as much wind as Shetland.'

‘So we need to share with those who've got none.' I sighed. ‘I'm sitting on the fence at the moment. I think my head's with dad, and my heart's with the objectors.'

The long road continued round the smooth curve to Voe. I could hear a flutter of music from the showfield. The beer tent was still open, and there would be a dance later. Anders had asked me to dance with him …

We turned off down towards the pier. It was busy here too, with every table filled, and a waitress running from hatch to customers with plastic boxes of fish and chips. Gavin parked beside the restored fishing boat, and we headed for
Khalida
with our foil boxes. I switched on the gas as we climbed aboard. ‘Cup of tea?'

‘Please.'

Rat swarmed out as soon as I lifted the washboards, and Cat followed him. I scooped Cat up and put the lower washboard back, to keep him coralled while we ate. Rat whiffled at Gavin, then perched on the washboard, head moving, eyes bright and interested. Cat scrabbled up and over in a scraping of claws. I gave them each a chicken piece on the cockpit floor. A young man of Anders' build came down the hill, and Rat sat up taller, watching him, then settled again, whiskers drooping. I got out two plates and cutlery, and we settled on each side of the table, Gavin in Anders' place in the corner. He looked at home there, his hair blending into the red-brown of the mahogony bulkhead, the light from the window highlighting his cheekbones.

‘Well?' I said.

‘I'm starving,' he replied. ‘Can I eat first?'

We launched in. He ate neatly and quickly, like someone who was used to meals being squeezed in between other activities. I didn't believe he'd manage to keep quiet right through, and he didn't. Once his plate was half-cleared, he laid the fork down and began.

‘Well. A lot of what we'd already surmised was right enough. Newcastle's still being tight-lipped, but I think we're safe to take Sandra Wearmouth as the police mole. They seemed relieved it wasn't Peter. She, or she and David, or the three of them together, could have been the Mr Big who dealt in art for drugs using David and Madge as couriers, but that's not certain. Maybe she just supplied information to the real Mr Big.' He took a forkful of chow mein. ‘This is good.'

‘But,' I said, ‘if David and Madge were in cahoots with Sue, how come they thought Anders and I might be the police spies? Why search
Khalida
? Why draw attention to the burglaries the way they did?'

He answered that question with another. ‘If you were really running an operation using the trowie mound, would you draw attention to it the way they did? Shots, lights, coming into Brae, taking the boat out at midnight –'

I hadn't thought about that. ‘They almost went out of their way to draw attention to the whole operation. Talking about it, the motorboat coming in to Brae, the trip to the trowie mound, leaving the boat overnight – Madge taking her out, when it would have made more sense, surely, for Sandra to take
Genniveve
and David and Madge the motorboat.' I narrowed my eyes, concentrating. ‘So what were we meant to think?'

‘Sandra'd taken off, remember,' Gavin said. ‘They'd killed Peter, and presumably she was all set to leave with David and Madge.'

‘Yes,' I agreed. ‘When Peter and Sandra didn't return, someone would ask questions. They'd find us and Magnie, nice respectable residents –' His eyes crinkled at the corners. I ignored them. ‘– who could tell how they'd set off up to the trowie mound. If they looked there, if they got in – and an investigation would soon find Brian's tunnel – they'd find the crates and boxes, and the birds flown. If they asked a bit further, we'd tell them how
Genniveve
left in the middle of the night, and we couldn't swear it was Sandra or Peter at the helm. They'd think that Peter, the good guy, had fallen foul of the bad guys up at the trowie mound. They'd killed him and Sandra, and stolen the boat to sell. If they'd investigated further, and found the yacht, well, there was Peter's body aboard.'

 ‘It was only the cat that made us find the yacht.'

Peter's cat.
She doesn't talk to me …
 jettisoned, left to drown.

‘Killed by the nasty art thief couriers, who'd headed off in their unmarked motorboat to parts unknown, on a full tank of diesel.'

‘Or killed by the local man.'

‘Was it Olaf?'

‘He's admitted to having had connections with your motorboat pair over his sex videos, in the days before you could just whizz everything over the internet. He says he's had nothing to do with them for the last five years, and knows nothing about any art theft, and now can he get back to his wife, who's in great distress over the loss of his boy.'

‘If he's that innocent, what was he doing setting a bull on us?'

‘He saw Kirsten with your priest and panicked, thinking his porn enterprise was about to be public knowledge. His lawyer agrees that that's a perfectly reasonable way to think. The Lerwick Inspector's thinking of what they can charge him with.' He smiled. ‘Apparently there's an offence of releasing a wild animal to the danger of the public, which has never yet been used in Shetland, but he and one of the sergeants got technical as to whether a bull was a wild animal exactly, so they may just go with breach of the peace.'