THE GARANSAY PRESS
THE
DARK
ISLE
DCI DANI BEVAN #10
BY
KATHERINE
PATHAK
Books by Katherine Pathak
The Imogen and Hugh Croft Mysteries:
Aoife’s Chariot
The Only Survivor
Lawful Death
The Woman Who Vanished
Memorial for the Dead
(Introducing DCI Dani Bevan)
The Ghost of Marchmont Hall
Short Story collection:
The Flawed Emerald and other Stories
DCI Dani Bevan novels:
Against A Dark Sky
On A Dark Sea
A Dark Shadow Falls
Dark as Night
The Dark Fear
Girls of The Dark
Hold Hands in the Dark
Dark Remedies
Dark Origin
The Dark Isle
Standalone novels:
I Trust You
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form or by any means - graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or information storage and retrieval systems - without the prior permission in writing of the author and publishers.
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
© Katherine Pathak, 2017
#TheDarkIsle
Edited by: The Currie Revisionists, 2017
©Cover photograph Pixabay Images
Author’s Note
The Isles of Ghiant and Nabb are purely fictitious and will not be found in the locations described.
Scotland’s Small Isles consist of Rum, Eigg, Canna and Muck.
I hope you visit them one day.
Prologue
A family of otters had created a shelter amongst the remains of a stone wall. Twigs, sea grasses and mud had been packed tightly together in the gaps between the rocks. As night fell, their sleek bodies could be seen surfacing from the water, moving with swift stealth across the smooth sand towards their holt.
What had once been the shop and post office was now a haven for assorted wildlife that would have delighted any enthusiast. Shags and Guillemots were nesting in the chimneys, whilst bats had made their home amongst the rafters of the disintegrating cottage next door. In fact, the island was as full of life as it had ever been, in all its long history.
Except none of it was human any more.
On this perfect early Spring evening, things were no different. The wind had died down and only a thin wisp of cloud covered the sky as the sun set to a deep pink over the sea.
Dusk revealed the island’s nocturnal inhabitants; including the black rats who, on this particular occasion, had found a reason to materialize in their dozens, congregating on the concrete floor of one of the barns which had once been part of the largest farm on Ghiant.
The rats had found something new to feed upon.
In the semi-darkness, their bodies moved almost in unison, feasting upon a fresh carcass, half hidden under a pile of damp straw. Their frantic activities brought in a swoop of gulls, keen to enjoy the pickings that this flurry of scavenging surely signalled. Their urgent squawks filled the evening sky and shattered the peace.
But there was no one to disturb. The otters were curled comfortably in their shelter, uninterested in the furore. They’d fed well that day on crabs and clams. The shoreline being rich territory for them without the fishermen’s ubiquitous pots and lines.
The cries of the gulls on the still air soon abated. This rare disruption to the subtle ebbs and flows of the island had passed quickly. An eerie silence took its place. What was left of the body still lay on the barn floor. Soon, the growing darkness would have enveloped it completely, obscuring its presence in this remote location, where no living human made its home.
Chapter 1
A decision had been bothering Bill Hutchison all day. The quandary had almost spoiled the walk he and Joy had taken amongst the foothills of the Cuillin mountains. Which was a great shame, as the weather was clear and bright, with far-reaching views across the sound to Rum.
Upon their return to the modest guesthouse in Portree where they were staying, Bill vigorously brushed chunks of mud off their hiking boots, whilst perching on the back step. The owner kindly offered him a mug of peat brown tea whilst he worked.
“You were lucky with the weather today,” Mrs Stewart commented idly.
“Aye,” Bill replied with feeling. “It was our first proper walk of the holiday.”
He twisted round to catch her eye. “And it seems set fair for the remainder of the week.”
The lady smiled tolerantly. She was used to this kind of pre-occupation with the meteorological conditions of Skye from her residents, particularly the older ones.
Bill continued, “only I’d thought that with the wind settling down, we might visit some of the smaller islands.”
Isla Stewart rested her weight on the door frame and took a sip of her own tea. “The Robertsons run a daily boat out to Rum and Nabb. You can spend a good few hours on either before returning to Skye. There are several nice wee cafés and shops to visit. The beaches are to die for.”
Bill wrinkled his brow. “Aye, I’m aware of that particular service.” He cleared his throat. “My interest was actually in the Isle of Ghiant. I’ve been doing a little amateur research into its history, you see.”
Mrs Stewart pursed her lips, creating a fan of spidery lines around her mouth. “There’s nothing to see on Ghiant any longer, Mr Hutchison. The last family left in the early sixties. My husband went there once, with the geographical survey team – back in ’91. He says that the council haven’t bothered to make the old buildings safe.” She drained her mug. “It’s certainly not a place for tourists.”
Bill gripped his brush more tightly. “But there are ways of reaching it?”
She nodded begrudgingly. “You’d have to take the wee ferry boat to Nabb. I believe there’s a chap at the harbour there who takes a speedboat over every so often to photograph the birds. He accommodates passengers for a fee. There may be other boats that go too.”
Bill got to his feet. “Thank you, Mrs Stewart. I’ll look into it.”
Isla shook her head of cropped grey curls disapprovingly. “I hope you’ll not be taking Mrs Hutchison with you on that trip. I’m not sure the territory will be suitable for a lady of her age - if you don’t mind me saying.”
“I don’t mind at all, but I’m afraid that Joy is just as interested in the place as I am – even more so, perhaps.”
Isla frowned, realising there wasn’t going to be anything she could say to put the man off his scheme. She knelt down to retrieve Bill’s mug, which was still half full and proceeded towards the sink, where she unceremoniously tipped the remainder down the drain, thinking that this couple who she’d found rather sweet and charming when they arrived, had turned out to be really quite odd.
*
The forecast had proved correct. Their sailing to the Isle of Nabb was comfortably smooth. The skipper, who Bill decided must be one of the Robertson brothers, brought the small vessel up to the jetty at Nabb harbour. Another man, with short sleeves and muscles that strained beneath them, pulled the boat into its mooring fiercely before securing the bow rope.
The stronger built of the two reached out a hand to each of the passengers on board and practically lifted them ashore. He took care to be gentle with
Joy, who, despite her bulky walking gear, was beginning to look a little frail. With his wife safely escorted to the harbour wall, Bill raised his gaze to take in the scene.
The Isle of Nabb was only marginally larger than Rum. Its low-lying, undulating topography, largely laid to pasture, meant that the island possessed three decently sized settlements and enough farmland to support the economy. The harbour was located in the main village of Gordon. There was no impressive Cuillin peak to provide a backdrop to this small collection of shops and houses, as there was on its neighbouring Rum, but the landscape of the isle had its own, uniquely barren charm.
Bill had never visited Nabb before, but he had an immediate sense that the scene unfolding before them at the harbour was an unusual one. The Robertson brothers had been swept into a tight group of fellow sailors; their rugged faces even more deeply etched with lines than normal.
Joy slipped her arm through his. “Do we have to wait long for the boat over to Ghiant?” She asked innocently.
Bill frowned. “There should be a service running at midday.” He took a few steps towards the cabal of burly men, just as one of them began gravely punching numbers into his mobile phone. “Excuse me,” Bill called out to the Skipper who’d brought them over from Skye. “Where should we go to board the ferry for Ghiant?”
The eldest Robertson brother grimaced. “It won’t be running today, I’m afraid. You and your wife will have to stay here in Gordon until I take the boat back to Armadale at five.”
Bill couldn’t hide his disappointment. “But the weather is perfect. I can’t envisage any reason why the voyage to Ghiant wouldn’t be possible.”
Another man stepped out of the group, the one who’d just made the phone call. “It’s nothin’ to do wi’ the conditions, Grandad. I’ve just been onto the polis at Portree.”
Bill became suddenly alert.
“I took a group of zoology students out to Ghiant this morning. It seems they discovered more than they bargained for.”
Nervous laughter rippled round the group.
“What did they find?” Bill asked flatly.
“A dead body,” the man replied with relish. “Stripped to the bone by rats, but still clear to any observer it was human.”
The younger Robertson rounded on the man sharply. “I don’t know why you’re enjoying this so much, Jim. These boats are our livelihood. Who’s going to want to come to the Small Isles after this?”
The other man gave an unpleasant smirk, revealing a line of overlapping and misshapen teeth. “Oh, I think you’ll find it’s quite the reverse.” He rubbed his weather-worn hands together with undisguised glee. “Give it a few hours and this harbour will be crawling wi’ folk. We’ll discover we’ve never been so busy in our whole lives.”
Bill sighed deeply, deciding with sadness the man was probably quite right.
Chapter 2
The room seemed familiar to DCI Dani Bevan. She’d never been to the Isle of Nabb before, but the childhood she spent on the Inner Hebridean island of Colonsay, where her father was the primary school headmaster, meant the detective had often been in places just like The Gordon Hotel.
The bed was neatly made with a floral duvet set and positioned in the centre of the room, beneath a window which provided a view of Gordon’s pretty bay. The harbour was just visible at the headland to the east.
Dani had her laptop and case files laid out on the bed. They’d arrived late the previous night, allowing themselves a few hours of shut-eye before making a start. There was no great urgency to begin the investigation. It wasn’t Dani’s case, or within the jurisdiction of her serious crime division. But the SIO had identified a link to Dani’s past early on in his inquiries. He was intent upon exploiting it.
Stuffing her phone in a jacket pocket, Dani swung open the door before DS Andy Calder had time to knock on it.
“Morning, Ma’am. Hope you slept well.”
Dani noticed her DS was sporting a wide grin. She supposed this was a pleasant change for him. They were out of Glasgow and working on a case which wasn’t directly their responsibility.
DI Alice Mann looked less cheerful. “I hope there’ll be time for me to get up to speed, Ma’am. I didn’t get a chance to read anything on the ferry.”
Andy mimed sticking a finger down his throat, before treating them to his best retching noises.
Alice elbowed him sharply. “The sea was bloody rough.”
Dani looked at her pretty, freckled face, deciding she was even paler than usual. “I hope you’re not coming down with anything, Alice. We could have asked Sharon to come instead.”
“No, not at all,” the DI replied swiftly. “I’m fighting fit.”
“Alice could be suffering from the bubonic plague and she’d still be fitter than Sharon.”
Dani shot Andy a stern look. “It’s that kind of comment that lands male officers in deep shit with the disciplinary board.”
Andy shrugged his broad shoulders dismissively. “It’s the sort of thing I’d say to Sharon herself – it’s affectionate.”
Dani grunted, deciding this was a battle worth saving for another day. “We’ll grab some breakfast in the dining room. Then I can fill you in on what we know so far, Alice.”
*
Andy busied himself scraping the locally produced jam across his toast.
“The body was found in a barn on the outskirts of what was once the main village on Ghiant.”
“But nobody lives there now?” Alice glanced at her boss over her coffee cup.
Dani shook her head. “Nope. The last inhabitants left in 1962. There just wasn’t a way of making a living on the island any longer.”
“It’s not an unusual story,” Andy added. “I read there are nearly 800 islands off the Scottish coast, plenty of them are deserted.”
“That’s true,” Dani said. “But not all of them are used as a dumping ground for dead bodies.”
“Not that we know of,” Andy put in.
Dani shrugged off this unpleasant thought. “Anyway, there was significant degradation to the corpse due to rodents having fed on it for several days.”
Andy glanced at the thickly spread strawberry jam on his triangle of toast, dropping it back on the plate. “We’ve got a time of death then?”
“The corpse was relatively fresh,” Dani continued. “The PM suggested it had been on the island for 2-3 days. The murder site was somewhere else, however.”
Alice raised her eyebrows quizzically.
“The cause of death was multiple stab wounds to the upper torso. There wasn’t enough blood on the concrete floor of the barn for the murder to have been committed there.”
“So, the island is definitely a dump site.” Andy sipped his tea, having given up on the idea of food.
“Correct.”
“And the identification of the body is the reason we’re here?” Alice asked with trepidation.
Dani sighed. “Forensics are still running the DNA tests, but the dental records were conclusive. Plus, the glaring fact the body was clothed, with a purse containing cards with her ID on it.”
“That could have been the killer throwing us off the scent. It wouldn’t mean much without the forensic tests to back it up,” Andy supplied.
“Well, it wasn’t. We’ve definitely got a perp who doesn’t care if his victim gets identified.”
“Unless they didn’t expect the body to ever be found,” Alice suggested.
Dani crinkled her brow. “Whoever put her there made a rudimentary attempt to cover the body with straw. We’ve got to assume the killer had some local knowledge, otherwise they wouldn’t have known Ghiant was uninhabited. They also must have been aware she’d be found at some point. Ghiant is quite a hot spot for naturalists. If the body had been buried, it might have been a different story.”
“We definitely know the victim was a woman?” To Andy’s irritation, Alice had begun taking notes.
Dani nodded. “The PM told us the woman was 5’9” tall, well-no
urished and healthy. The ID and dental records informed us she was Juliet Lowther, a 48 year-old fitness instructor from Fort William.”
“How on earth did she wind up dead on a deserted island out in the north Atlantic?” Alice puffed out her cheeks.
Dani cradled her cup in her hands. “Juliet wasn’t always a fitness instructor. Up until five years ago she was a cop. In fact, she was a DI down at the Cowcaddens Road station back when I was a DC. We worked on a number of cases together. I suppose you could call her a mentor of mine.” The DCI paused, taking a sip of her drink. “And a friend.”
Alice nodded with understanding. “And that’s why we’re here.”
Chapter 3
There wasn’t a police station on Nabb. The nearest was at Portree on Skye. Detective Inspector Grant Peyton from the Highlands and Islands division, had brought a handful of officers over from the mainland and set up a temporary headquarters in the Nabb town hall.
Peyton was tall and wiry. His hair had receded back to his pate but was shaved short to his scalp to reduce the effect. Dani decided he was about her age. The DCI always found the H and I officers to be more laid back and less obviously ambitious than their city counterparts.
Tables had been spaced out around the hall. A number of locals were being interviewed at each of them. Peyton strode towards Dani as they surveyed the scene.
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