by Lin Anderson
‘An Italian tourist took a series of photographs of Kilt Rock from the Mealt Falls lookout point yesterday. This morning, going through them, he spotted what might be a body on the shore and contacted the police.’ Jamie passed Alvis his mobile. ‘Here’s the photo.’
Rhona had already viewed the image. The black basalt cliffs which, she knew, got their name from their folded appearance, were skirted by a shoreline of equally dark rocks split and fallen from the cliff face. In the photograph that had so troubled the tourist, there appeared to be a different-coloured shape amongst the stones, which, with a little imagination, might be the crumpled form of a body.
‘The Coastguard have the search and recovery remit, but the Stornoway station’s currently fog-bound,’ Jamie told Alvis. ‘Looks like we might get a chopper from Glasgow instead. Sergeant MacDonald and my MRT teammates will meet us at the viewpoint. For speed they’ll be first responder.’
‘Any forecast for when the mist will clear?’ Alvis said.
‘Word is, it will thin out soon. Enough for us to descend the cliff face, I hope.’
For the moment, driving through what resembled grey soup, that sounded more of a hope than a reality.
It was a testament to Jamie’s knowledge of the road that he didn’t miss the sign for the viewpoint. As they entered the car park, other vehicles loomed out of the haar. Plus a food truck, apparently open and selling coffee and breakfast to the assembled Mountain Rescue Team and police officers.
As they approached the crowd round the van, a concerned Lee came to meet them.
‘Rhona. It’s good to have you here, but let’s hope you’re not needed.’
‘You still don’t know if it’s a body?’
‘It’s not been confirmed as yet, but it wouldn’t be the first one we’ve retrieved from the base of the cliff. Some folk don’t heed warnings and get too close to the edge.’
Lee gestured along the clifftop, barely distinguishable in the mist. ‘A couple of the MRT are on their way down via the gully.’ He turned to Rhona. ‘If it proves to be a body, do you want to view it in situ?’
‘Definitely,’ Rhona told him. ‘How do I get down there?’
‘The gully’s pretty tricky for non-climbers.’
‘Is there another way?’
‘You could wait for the chopper and get winched in or . . .’
‘Or what?’ Rhona said.
‘Have you any experience of abseiling?’
That she hadn’t expected.
‘Once, for charity. Chrissy and I went off the Erskine Bridge,’ Rhona said, trying not to remember exactly what she’d felt about that little escapade.
‘If you’re needed and willing, Jamie could take you down and the chopper could lift you off afterwards when the mist’s cleared,’ Lee suggested. ‘You’ve been helicoptered in before?’
‘Yes, with the MRT on Cairngorm and Police Scotland.’
‘So, nothing to it, then.’
His radio crackled before Rhona could explain that she had neither been lowered from a helicopter nor, for that matter, winched up. Merely stepped out of the rescue chopper onto a frozen Loch A’an.
‘It is a body,’ Lee reported, having answered the radio call. ‘A young guy, so definitely not Jake.’ He was looking at Rhona, awaiting her decision on how exactly she wanted to get on site.
Her mind made up, Rhona turned to Jamie. ‘I’d definitely like to take a look, if you’re okay with taking me down?’
Jamie, perhaps sensing her apprehension, joked with Rhona as he kitted them both up.
‘So you enjoyed your first abseil?’
‘I wouldn’t say enjoyed. It was Chrissy’s idea that we should do it, and she’s pretty persuasive, ‘Rhona told him. ‘I do remember vowing never to do it again.’
‘You can change your mind, you know,’ Jamie offered, with a look of concern. ‘Wait for the chopper?’
Rhona shook her head. Her insides didn’t relish the prospect of dropping 180 feet down a cliff face, but her curiosity about the body on the beach currently held the upper hand.
‘Besides, I trust you not to drop me,’ she said, as much to convince herself as to reassure Jamie. ‘What about my bag?’
‘We’ll lower it down after you.’
The mist enveloped them. Unable to see how far she had to fall was, Rhona decided, somewhat reassuring. And Lee was right when he’d said how sheltered the Kilt Rock was.
‘Unless, of course, we get high winds from the west, when the waterfall next to the lookout is simply blown away, never reaching the ground.’
Rhona tried not to envisage herself in such a situation as she began her descent, firmly gripped in Jamie’s arms. And for the moment, thankfully, there was little movement in the air, just the damp fingers of mist on her face and the sound of the sea breaking on the black rocks below.
As her feet eventually touched the ground, the mist began to thin and, glancing up, Rhona realized just how far she’d descended.
‘Okay?’ Jamie said as he released her.
‘Thank you for my life,’ Rhona said with a relieved smile.
‘I was really looking after my own,’ Jamie joked back.
Freed now from her harness, Rhona took stock of where she was.
Looking up and to her left, she could just make out the lights of the rescue vehicles behind the railing that encircled the viewpoint. To her right, Jamie had explained, lay the steep gully used by the MRT to access the foreshore.
‘The way I brought you down was easier, and quicker,’ he added.
Having orientated herself and retrieved her bag, Rhona now followed Jamie across the jumble of rocks to his two teammates.
Introduced by Jamie as Scott and Allan, they in turn led her to the cordon they’d set up around the body.
‘We’ve taken a 360-degree recording and checked for ID but the pockets we can reach without moving him are empty,’ Scott told her. ‘There’s no evidence that he abseiled down or planned to climb the cliffs, although his outfit and boots suggest he was prepared for a walk at least.’
From where she now stood, the crumpled and twisted body was partially visible between the black rocks. Rhona glanced upwards again, trying to visualize where he may have fallen from.
‘They’ll have secured the possible fall-off area for you to take a look at,’ Jamie assured her.
Outer jacket removed, a forensic suit now encasing her body, Rhona stepped over the tape.
Although the MRT guys had already recorded the scene, Rhona did it now for her own purposes. Jamie had assured her that the remains lay above the high-water mark, unless and until a storm brought surging seas to Staffin Bay. The ongoing weather forecast apparently didn’t indicate such a possibility, but that could change as swiftly as the weather on the Cuillin, according to Jamie.
Rhona noted that the body, now in full view, didn’t appear swollen or waterlogged, as it would have been had it been washed ashore. Instead, the broken shape immediately suggested a high-impact fall. None of the limbs held their basic shape, but were twisted back on themselves where they’d hit the boulders.
Landing on his front, the victim’s left cheek and partial forehead were visible, as too was the back of the head. The hair was blond, the facial features too battered to be recognizable.
The victim’s height Rhona estimated as close to six feet. His build was lean and muscular, much as she imagined a rock climber who might tackle these cliffs would be, but as Scott had indicated, there was nothing on or near the body to suggest the victim had fallen while climbing the cliff.
‘How long will you need?’ Jamie called out to her.
‘As long as it takes,’ Rhona told him.
23
‘We last met when you were heading to Sanday with Dr MacLeod,’ Neil, the observing officer stationed in the rear of the Air Support helicopter, reminded Chrissy.
‘When you promised we would land on a beach,’ she accused him in return. ‘Which we didn’t.’
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��You’ll have to get sent to Barra for that,’ Neil told her above the beat of the helicopter blades. ‘Although I can’t imagine there’ll be a big call on your services out there in the Western Isles.’
‘That’s what we thought about Sanday,’ Chrissy said. ‘Turns out we were wrong.’
‘So what’s it this time?’ Neil asked.
‘A body at the foot of Kilt Rock. Dr MacLeod’s on the scene. Luckily she was on Skye when it was discovered.’
Neil threw Chrissy a sympathetic look as though he already knew the background to Rhona’s presence on the island, which wasn’t surprising. If Scotland was a village, Police Scotland was a big family, and not always a happy one.
‘Where will you put me down?’ Chrissy said.
‘As near as possible to the lookout point on the clifftop. By the time we get there, the mist should have lifted.’
Looking down on a beautiful clear view of the snow-covered western Highlands, it was difficult to imagine a mist-bound Skye.
‘How do I get onto the foreshore?’ Chrissy said.
‘That’s for the MRT guys to decide,’ Neil said with a mischievous grin.
Chrissy chose not to imagine how that might be exactly. She’d googled Kilt Rock after McNab’s morning phone call, but a quick glance at the scary black cliffs was all she’d managed before getting ready for her helicopter ride to Skye.
She’d been feeding wee Michael at the time. Seeing McNab’s name on the screen had sent her into a paroxysm of worry after last night’s conversation about Rhona. In fact she’d already discussed with her mum whether she would keep wee Michael and let Chrissy drive to Skye on the coming weekend.
‘This is your chance to see how Rhona really is,’ McNab had told Chrissy. Hearing her hesitation, he’d laid it on even thicker. ‘Rhona’s likely to be with the body for most of the day. She would welcome some help, according to Sergeant MacDonald at Portree.’
‘Does Rhona know DI Wilson’s sending me out there?’ Chrissy had asked.
‘It’ll be like Orkney all over again,’ he’d urged, not answering her question.
‘I was thinking of driving over this weekend,’ Chrissy had admitted at that point.
‘Perfect,’ McNab had declared, before swiftly ending the call in case she should change her mind.
‘We’re almost there.’ Neil broke into Chrissy’s thoughts. ‘There’s the bridge ahead.’
Chrissy had never been to Skye. Sanday had been the first Scottish island she’d visited. Back then she’d taken a vow to visit more of them. Like many city dwellers, previously she’d thought more of seeking the sun when she had time off, rather than heading north or west.
Above the landmass now, Neil pointed out various places as they passed over.
‘The long island on the right is Raasay,’ he told her. ‘The flat-topped mountain in the middle is Dun Caan. And ahead is Portree.’
Portree, she saw, was clustered round a bay with a pretty little harbour. If this was a population centre, it wasn’t very big.
‘There’s a police station in the main square with the sheriff court alongside. Sergeant MacDonald, who you’ll meet soon, is based there. We’re heading a bit further north to Ellishadder. That’s where the lookout point for Kilt Rock is.’
They followed the road, departing from the coastline to pass above a string of dark lochs. To the left rose a sharp pinnacle of rock, which Chrissy was told was the Old Man of Storr.
‘They had a big electrical storm on Skye last night,’ Neil told her. ‘Knocked out the power for a while.’ He pointed ahead. ‘And there’s Kilt Rock.’
Chrissy craned her head for a better view of the pleated rock formation, which looked even more daunting in real life. Her stomach somersaulted at the sight of it.
‘Shit! Rhona’s at the foot of that?’
‘One hundred and eighty feet down, the pilot assures me. Hope you have a good head for heights,’ Neil said brightly.
As they began their descent, Chrissy spotted a car park busy with police and MRT vehicles. Plus what looked suspiciously like a burger van.
‘Is that what I think it is?’ she said, her spirits lifting.
‘The Black Sheep food truck,’ Neil assured her. ‘And I intend visiting it.’
Chrissy only realized the full extent of her hunger when she was offered her haggis roll. This morning’s early start avoiding the lab had meant missing her usual copiously filled roll and coffee breakfast, which she and Rhona had liked to indulge in.
On the way here, she’d resigned herself to a locus out in the wilds with no food on hand. A common enough problem when out on the job. At least in Glasgow they could send a young obliging uniform to the nearest chippy.
Chrissy certainly hadn’t imagined finding such an outlet here in a car park in the middle of nowhere.
Already in receipt of her coffee, she now gratefully accepted the loaded haggis roll she’d ordered and proceeded to add some tomato ketchup to it.
‘I’ll need another one of these,’ she said after the first bite. ‘Chances are I won’t get anything after this for a while.’
The young woman nodded with a smile.
‘Oh, and do you know if any food’s been sent down to Dr MacLeod on the shore?’
‘I don’t think so,’ the girl said.
‘Then make that two more haggis rolls, and stick some bacon on them too.’
Armed with her second breakfast, Chrissy turned to find a black-and-white Border collie waiting next in the queue.
‘Hi, Blaze,’ the girl in the van was saying. ‘The usual?’
The dog seemed to indicate by a single bark that that was indeed the case.
Impressed by this interchange, Chrissy greeted her new acquaintance.
‘So you’re the famous Blaze I’ve heard so much about.’
She held out her hand, not expecting the dog to deliver the high five that it did.
‘And you’re clever too,’ she said. ‘What else do you do?’
A deep male voice answered her question.
‘Blaze has a full repertoire which you can view nightly at the Isles Inn, or alternatively daily in the square at Portree outside the police station.’ The guy held out his hand. ‘Hi, I’m Domhnall MhicAoidh, or in English, Donald MacKay. Blaze’s owner, although I’m sure he probably thinks he’s mine.’
‘Chrissy McInsh,’ Chrissy offered. ‘Rhona . . . Dr MacLeod’s forensic assistant, although I’ve heard on the grapevine that Blaze here might be after my job?’
‘I think he may well be,’ Donald said with an apologetic look. ‘Good to meet you, Chrissy McInsh.’
‘And you.’
‘I take it you’re here to join Rhona on the shore?’
‘That’s the plan. How did Rhona get down?’ Chrissy asked.
‘She abseiled with one of the MRT guys.’
Chrissy mouthed a fuck. ‘Well, if that’s how Dr MacLeod got down there.’ She glanced around at the milling personnel. ‘So who’s to be the lucky guy?’
Donald gestured to a tall bloke near the barrier on the clifftop.
‘Jamie McColl. He knows Rhona from way back on Skye. Come on, I’ll introduce you,’ Donald said, giving Blaze a share of his breakfast roll.
24
Studying the dead brought you closer to them. Everything Rhona recorded here would help paint a picture of the living, breathing person, who now lay lifeless before her.
She was the first mourner. The first to study the body. The first to contextualize the end of their life.
In an autopsy, the body would be recorded in minute detail, focusing on the forensic nature of the wounds and inner organs, but the pathologist wouldn’t be here on this rocky foreshore, with the basalt cliffs towering behind, amid the cry of the gulls and the rush of the breaking waves.
The locus of the body wasn’t necessarily the place where the victim had died. Bodies might be moved after death, disposed of by a perpetrator in order to conceal their death or at least disguise the
way they had died.
A hanging disguised as a suicide.
A murder masquerading as an accident.
So when did this young man die?
According to Jamie on their way down the cliff face – he had kept her talking to keep her mind off the descent – the Italian tourist had arrived at the viewpoint on a minibus around 3.30 yesterday. He hadn’t liked standing too close to the railing, especially when he’d heard the weird moaning sound the barrier made. So he basically pointed the camera, clicked a few times, then headed back to the bus.
‘Were there any other photographs taken that showed the body?’ Rhona had asked.
‘According to Lee, there were at least four tour buses here yesterday. They’re trying to get in touch with the companies involved.’
So it seemed the victim had been on the cliff path sometime before 3.30 p.m. yesterday.
Jamie must have been reading her mind, because he’d said that the call had gone out for any possible witnesses in the area of the cliff around that time.
‘Lots of folk follow the Skye and Lochaber Police Twitter feed. Chances are someone will have seen something, since the alert was already out for Jake.’
Rhona turned, as a sudden shout from behind appeared to call her name.
To say she was surprised by the person currently being disengaged from Jamie’s harness was the understatement of the century. But Rhona’s surprise wasn’t as great as her delight at seeing Chrissy McInsh stumble across the intervening rocks towards her.
‘I’ve brought food.’ Chrissy waved a bag. ‘A haggis roll. Can you take a break?’
They were now seated on a large boulder within sight of the locus. Along with the rolls, Jamie had requisitioned more hot coffee to be lowered down in a flask. After depositing Chrissy, he’d moved to discuss how to take the body away with his fellow MRT colleagues, either by stretchering it up the cliff face or, alternatively, bringing in the lifeboat and taking it out by sea.
‘So.’ Chrissy was regarding Rhona as she now scoffed the food she hadn’t been aware she’d needed. ‘Who’s the dishy guy you knew from before? And why was I never told about him?’