The Dark Isle

by Katherine Pathak

  Bill carried on, as if echoing his wife’s thoughts. “You had previously assumed that the island was chosen as a place to dispose of bodies because of its remoteness. But the discovery that it has been used as a burial ground by ancient peoples, going back thousands of years shows that there was clearly more to the choice of location than just that.”

  Andy’s expression was incredulous.

  “The island is sacred,” Joy added simply.

  “If the place is so magical, why dump a murder victim there?” Andy snapped.

  Bill shrugged his shoulders. “I’m not sure how this fact fits into your investigation, Sergeant, but you must bear it in mind.”

  Dani nodded, deciding it was time to encourage the Hutchisons to return to the warmth of the Gordon Hotel. “We will take this into account, I promise.”

  Bill put his arm around his wife’s shoulders and grinned triumphantly.

  Dani took the opportunity to hustle them in the direction of Nabb’s main street. The couple strode off ahead, their brisk pace indicating a positivity of purpose.

  “I’m not sure we should encourage their crazy theories, Ma’am,” Andy muttered to his companion.

  “I know, but so often the Hutchisons’ insights have assisted us in the past. We dismiss them at our peril.”

  “Okay, you’re the boss. But the pair might really have lost it this time. The stunt they pulled with me on the island the other night was a step too far. They could both have died of exposure out there.”

  Dani sighed heavily. “I agree with you. But our best approach is to humour them. If the pair are safe and sound at the hotel, dreaming about ancient burial rituals and Viking long-ships, we shouldn’t have anything more to worry about.”

  Chapter 22

  DC Tom Carrick was applying a method to the way he was sorting through the responses they had received to the photograph of their peat John Doe. The information he was trawling through was heart-breaking. Just about every poor soul in Scotland with a missing male relative had got in touch with Fort William MIT after The Herald published its piece.

  Before he did anything else, Carrick scanned through the details, searching for the date these individuals disappeared. If it was before 2008, the print out got a red-line straight through it. Sadly, they didn’t have the time or resources to inform these people not to get their hopes up. Their agony was set to continue.

  The process had at least halved Carrick’s list. It was haunting to read how long some families had been searching for a loved-one. In a few instances, it was over thirty years. But the young detective didn’t have time to dwell on this. He examined his revised list carefully. He would be ringing each and every contact number to check on details such as height, build and ethnicity. Carrick sighed, taking a sip of tepid water from the plastic cup on his desk, in preparation for the lengthy task ahead.

  *

  The wind had died down along the northern shores of Nabb. Sean Ballater decided it was calm enough to collect in the lobster pots he’d placed along the pebble beach that could be reached from his cottage. He’d put on thigh length waders over his trousers and a woollen sweater to complete the task. He would usually take out his wee boat, but the tide was low enough to manage it on foot. The worst that would happen would be that he got a little wet.

  Ballater had noticed all the activity taking place on Ghiant over the past few days. A visit to the bar by the harbour had provided him with an explanation. That crack-pot old couple had dug up a body on the Rushbrooke farm. Now the whole island was being turned over looking for more. He’d make a point of asking the Glasgow detective what they’d found. He’d be sure to tell him on the hush-hush, the guy had too much to lose if he didn’t.

  The waves were lapping up to his midriff by the time Ballater had reached the first of his pots. The current was stronger than he’d anticipated. He wrenched open the door of the trap and pulled out a couple of wee nippers which he shoved into a waterproof sack secured over his shoulder.

  It took the fisherman a while to re-set the trap, the waves were threatening to lift him off his feet. The clouds had also moved in, making it feel as if dusk had already fallen. His stomach felt empty and he yearned for the stew his wife was preparing as he’d left the cottage.

  Regretting the decision not to bring the boat, Ballater waded against the current towards the outcrop of slatey rocks where he knew his next cluster of pots were positioned.

  As Ballater ran his hands along the smooth rock, searching for the feel of the rope which was securing the stash of pots within a natural recess, he felt a sudden surge in the tide. Wondering if a motorboat might be passing through the bay he looked up to the horizon. He saw nothing, bending back into his task once again.

  The water was now nearly up to his chest which was tight with frustration. He just couldn’t find the place where he’d set the traps. Crouching down, so that he could feel the cold water seeping through the wool of his sweater and gushing over its cable-knit neckline, gathering at the belt of his trousers, he finally rested his fingers on the rough plait of the rope.

  “Thank Christ,” he muttered irritably.

  Before there was a chance to check his catch, Ballater felt his legs sweep away beneath him and his head go under the waves. The fisherman pumped his legs in an attempt to regain his footing, but a force gripping his shoulders was holding him down.

  Just as Ballater felt the fight going out of him, the grip was released. He shot out of the water and gasped in the sea air; coughing and spluttering intermittently. Before there was a chance for him to turn on his assailant, Ballater felt the force of that grip on his shoulders once again, dunking him back into the ice-cold sea. This time he was more prepared, managing to gulp in a lung-full of air before he went under. But this only meant that whoever was holding him, clocking this, kept him down for even longer.

  When Ballater was released the second time, he managed to rasp, “why are you doing this? What do you want from me?”

  There was no reply, his head was simply shoved back under the water, if anything, more roughly this time.

  The truth was that Ballater knew why this was happening to him. He understood only too well. He also knew exactly how it was going to end.

  Chapter 23

  Dani stood at the top of the shore, gazing down at the efficient way the forensic team were examining the area around the tarpaulin tent they’d set up on the beach to shield the body from the elements. The sky was the deep, dark blue of twilight, but two powerful arc lamps lit the crime scene.

  She turned to Calder. “It was his wife who found him?”

  Andy nodded. “Aye, Gail Ballater was preparing dinner when her husband informed her he was going to bring in the catch from his lobster pots along the shore here. When it got dark and the meal was cold, she headed down with a torch to search for him.”

  “The body had been washed up on the beach?”

  “That’s right, the tide was coming in at the time, but the currents in this bay tend to deposit debris along the rocky headland where Ballater’s body was discovered.”

  “Do we think it was a straightforward drowning?”

  Andy sighed, kicking the pebbles under his boot. “We’ll have to wait for the PM. But the doc at the scene seemed to identify all the tell-tale signs of drowning – white froth at the mouth and nose, blueish tint to the skin. His body was washed up before much bloating had been able to take place.”

  Dani shook her head in disbelief. “But it’s hard to imagine this was purely an accident, not with everything else that’s been going on.”

  Alice Mann marched across the shingle towards them. “A WPC has taken Mrs Ballater back to the cottage, she’s going to ring her mother, but the family are several hours drive from here.”

  “Poor woman,” Dani muttered. “Andy tells me she’s pregnant?”

  “Yes, Ma’am,” Alice replied levelly. “Nearly five months.”

  “Bloody hell. This will be tough on her.”

&nb
sp; Alice narrowed her eyes. “She said something odd, Ma’am, as I was making her a cup of tea and trying to get her warmed up.”

  “Oh yes?”

  “She was mumbling to herself, but I could just about make out what she was saying. It sounded like, “I knew he’d do this, I knew he’d leave me like this.” She sounded more angry than sad.”

  Andy looked up sharply. “The wife thinks he killed himself?”

  Alice nodded. “I believe so. I suppose it’s possible he simply walked into the sea.”

  Andy furrowed his brow. “Each time I interviewed him, Ballater seemed overwhelmed with the responsibility of supporting her and the bairn. He was exhausted with all the extra work he was taking on. It’s not unimaginable that it all got too much.”

  Dani screwed up her face. “I just don’t buy it. The man was too tied up in that island for this to be a coincidence.” She zipped her jacket up to her neck. “I’m going down to view the body. I don’t even know what this guy looked like.”

  When she reached the tent, DI Peyton was about to give the order for the body to be placed in the mortuary bag.

  Dani lifted her hand. “May I just take a look, first?”

  “Sure, there’s no hurry. We won’t be able to get him on a boat to the mainland until the morning.”

  She stepped gingerly forward, aware there was no way the shingle under her feet could be preserved as evidence. The tide would be in again in a couple of hours. Dani crouched down beside the broad shoulders of Sean Ballater and leaned in close.

  His blue eyes were open. The froth bubbling around his mouth and nose were the first thing Dani noticed. But the second thing was the crookedness of that nose. Like the man had spent his youth on a rugby field, or in a boxing ring.

  She twisted on her haunches. “Grant, can you come here a sec?”

  Peyton strode forward. “What it is Ma’am?”

  “Do you recall what Charles Lowther said about his sister’s lover? That he was sandy-haired, with a crooked nose?”

  Peyton bent down and eyed Ballater’s lifeless features one more time. He turned towards one of the tech officers. “Get a few more close-up shots of his face would you, Mick?”

  *

  Gail Ballater was hunched over the kitchen table. A tartan blanket had been placed around her shoulders. She was gripping a large mug of dark brown tea.

  Dani pulled out one of the chairs and sat beside her. “Mrs Ballater, I know this is a really difficult time. But I need to ask you some questions.”

  Gail shrugged. “Go ahead.”

  “How long have you and your husband lived here on Nabb?”

  “Since we got married, that’s nearly ten years ago now. Sean wanted to be a fisherman like his father was. We saw the cottage come up for sale. It was cheap enough for us to buy.”

  “Where did you both live before that?”

  “I was a nurse, at the Royal Infirmary. My parents still live in Sighthill.”

  “The Glasgow Royal Infirmary?”

  “Of course.” Gail looked up for the first time, meeting Dani’s gaze. “Why does that matter?”

  “I’m not sure if it does. What about Sean? Where did he work before you came here?”

  “He did odd jobs, short-term building contracts mostly. I don’t think my parents ever really thought he was good enough for me.”

  “Sean never worked for the police?”

  Gail tipped her head to one side. “Why do you ask that?”

  “I just wondered if he might have had a reason to be mixing with police officers, back when you lived in Glasgow?”

  Gail’s expression became thoughtful. “No, he was never in the police. But he did have a desire to help others – do his public duty, you know? Although recently you would never have realised it.” The woman’s voice cracked, tears were now escaping onto her pallid cheeks.

  “In what way did Sean perform a public duty?”

  The middle-aged WPC gave Dani a stern look, as if she felt the interview should end there.

  Gail took a breath, trying to curb her sobs. “When we first met, Sean was a fireman. He volunteered for the station near the polytechnic. You know, the one on Cowcaddens Road?”

  Dani nodded, resting her hand on Gail’s arm. She did know it. When she worked at the police station there, she passed it every single day.

  Chapter 24

  The Caledonian Hotel was across a busy road from Fort William railway station. Dani parked on a side street and approached the entrance.

  The building was made from traditional sandstone and the lobby decorated in an old-fashioned but classy manner. The restaurant could be found beyond a long corridor, carpeted a deep burgundy and with stag-heads protruding from the walls.

  Charles Lowther was seated at a table by one of the tall windows, the afternoon sun’s low rays were placing his features in shadow. Dani took the seat opposite him.

  “Thank you for agreeing to see me again.”

  Lowther shrugged his broad shoulders. “I’m just sitting in my hotel room most of the time, waiting for news about the case.”

  Dani decided not to beat around the bush. She brought a file out of her bag. It contained the photographs taken on the beach at Nabb Bay. She selected one which only showed Ballater’s face. “Is this the man that you saw Juliet with back when she was working in Glasgow?”

  Lowther slipped on a pair of designer reading glasses and examined the image closely. “It was a long time ago, Detective Chief Inspector, and this man’s features have been distorted by death.”

  “I realise that. But the crooked nose is still evident, and the sandy hair and pale colouring.”

  Lowther nodded. “Yes, it could have been him. Although I’d struggle to provide you with a definite identification.”

  Dani fished in her pocket for another photo, this one was a print of one of Sean and Gail’s wedding shots. The man looked younger in this one, his sandy hair cropped neatly around his ruddy face. “How about this? It was taken a decade ago.”

  Lowther took the picture from her. “Yes, this is the man Juliet went out with. This picture must have been taken around that time.”

  Dani nodded. “His name is Sean Ballater, he married his wife in the summer of 2007. She had been a nurse at the Royal Infirmary and he was a volunteer fireman at the station on Cowcaddens Road. What made you believe that Juliet’s lover was a fellow police officer?”

  Lowther removed his glasses and set them down on the crisp white tablecloth. “If I’m honest, I may have assumed it. Her boyfriend had the same mannerisms as the colleagues of my sister’s that I’d met previously. I’m sure they talked about cases together.”

  “Okay, well, Ballater was never a cop, but I believe that his and Juliet’s paths may have crossed in a professional capacity. This may be why you assumed he was a fellow police officer.”

  He shook his head in puzzlement. “And now this man is dead too?”

  “His post-mortem indicates death by drowning, it could have been an accident. But I agree with you. This can’t be a coincidence. Sean Ballater provides the link between Juliet and the islands that we were looking for.”

  “Do you think Juliet travelled to the Small Isles to meet with Ballater? Could they still have been lovers?”

  Dani sighed. “She could have been meeting him, certainly. But his cottage and boats were examined closely after her body was discovered. The man had been eliminated from our inquiries. No evidence linked him to Juliet’s death. The forensic tests on her abandoned car didn’t indicate the presence of another individual either. It seems she was assiduous in making sure whoever she met with, didn’t travel in her vehicle.”

  “Then does this discovery bring us any closer to finding out what happened to Jules?”

  Dani nodded. “It provides us with new lines of inquiry. If Ballater wasn’t the person who killed Juliet, perhaps it was her murderer who killed them both.”

  Lowther considered this for a moment, pouring water into a crystal
glass and sipping it slowly. “Then the reason for their deaths may lie back in Glasgow, not here at all?”

  Dani gave a sad smile, impressed that the man’s line of thought was mirroring her own. “Yes. Juliet and Sean were lovers for a short period of time. Something brought them together over a decade ago. We need to find out what that was.”

  “Well, if there’s anything I can do to assist you in finding that out, you only need to ask.”

  *

  Andy emerged from the Harbour Bar feeling miserable. He’d interviewed most of the fishing community on Nabb over the previous few hours. Sean Ballater was clearly well liked on the island. Nobody was claiming he had an enemy in the world.

  He strolled back towards the hotel. Alice was standing in the lobby, examining the evening’s food menu which had been laminated and pinned to the noticeboard.

  “Feeling hungry after our busy night?”

  Alice glanced over her shoulder. “One minute I’m ravenous and the next I’m ready to retch my guts up. I’ve also got to avoid the sea-food, soft cheese and the chicken-liver paté starter.”

  “I’d say it’s worth avoiding those anyway, especially in this establishment.”

  Alice chuckled. “Any results from interviewing the locals?”

  “Sean was a decent bloke, according to his fellow fishermen. He was in the bar most Friday nights, good for a laugh, and helped out friends when they needed it. Most of them were saddened by his death.”

  “No motive there to want him dead, then.” Alice sighed. “I’d say Gail was the one person on the island most hostile towards him.”

  “And now he’s gone, she’s fallen to pieces.”

  “Left alone with a baby on the way.” Alice automatically placed a hand on her own belly.

  Andy lowered his voice. “Have you spoken to Fergus yet?”