‘He didn’t get off,’ Anders agreed. ‘All the others did. They all behaved perfectly normally, except for …’ He gave me an awkward glance.
‘My cousin Sean. I know.’ I frowned. ‘He was up to something. Hiding something, maybe? Someone? I watched him go below. He went right down to the pantry area.’
‘You think that he might have something to do with this man?’
‘I don’t know. But if he was hiding him, how did he manage to spirit him off the ship?’
‘Could a boat have taken him off during the night, unseen?’ We considered that one, looking at each other, then both shook our heads. ‘I don’t see how,’ Anders answered himself. ‘For a start it’s light enough all night to see something approaching, and we were sailing, so we’d have heard it too.’
I agreed. ‘If he was taken off by a boat, the lookout deserves keel-hauling. To say nothing of all the people on deck.’
‘As we arrived in port, when everyone was looking the other way?’
‘Maybe … there were other boats coming in and out of the harbour. If he doubled a rope around a ratline to shin down to water level, I suppose he could have got off like that. He’d have been seen, of course, from the other boats, but they’d just think it was one of these things tall ships do.’
‘The man was certainly aboard,’ Anders repeated. ‘We were both sure of that.’ He ate his last piece of bread and rose. ‘And now he is not, so we can relax and have a peaceful voyage to Belfast. I must check they’ve done nothing to our engine.’
Our engine; his and Johanna’s. ‘See you later.’
I shifted Cat and Rat enough to lie down on my bunk myself, and got my mobile out. Five bars, and it was half past one in Scotland now; definitely Gavin’s lunch hour, if he was having one.
He answered on the first ring. ‘Cass, halo leat!’ His voice warmed me. ‘Did they find the stowaway?’
‘Oh, Gavin, I’m in the doghouse. A squad of Special Force men just searched from stem to stern, and found nothing.’ I felt my voice rising, and lowered it. ‘He didn’t go ashore, so the only thing that I can think of is that he somehow got off the ship before she landed.’
He was silent for a moment. ‘Tricky. But, Cass, the captain will have thought of that too. You acted for the safety of the ship.’
‘I know,’ I said, drearily. ‘And I suspect my cousin Sean is involved somehow.’ I described the way he’d slipped below just as the ship had docked. ‘He was just so casually furtive, you know. Butter wouldn’t have melted.’
‘Would it be helpful if I had a look for him in our computer system?’
I thought about that for a moment, with memories of all the trouble he’d got into in our teens galloping through my head. ‘No. No, don’t. He’s family. If the Irish police are after him, they can get him when we reach Belfast – if they can catch him.’
Gavin’s voice went serious. ‘If he’s wanted by the Northern Ireland Constabulary, it won’t be for a parking ticket.’ He paused, and I thought for a moment he was going to remind me I’d be an accessory, but he went straight to the important bit of the dilemma. ‘The Troubles are far from over in Ireland. Do you want a death on your conscience?’
‘No.’ I thought of things Sean could be involved in: gun-dealing, drugs, planting bombs. He was family, but if he was involved in something like that, his innocent victims had to take precedence over kinship. ‘No. Look him up. But if the police are going to be waiting on the quay, then don’t tell me. You know what a poor liar I am.’
‘I do indeed. Give me two seconds.’ I heard his fingers click on computer keys. ‘E-A-N or with an H?’
‘S-E-A-N.’
‘Nothing so far. Hang on.’ The keys squished again. ‘Nothing. No. I don’t think he’s there.’
‘He just hasn’t been caught yet,’ I said, but I was relieved.
‘Is that all the worries?’
I cast a quick glance at the curtain hanging in front of the door space. ‘Agnetha, you remember her? Second mate. Tall, fair.’
‘A high-flyer.’
‘Yes, that’s her. But it’s something I overheard. I didn’t mean to listen; it was one of those awkward things.’ With another glance at the curtain, I lowered my voice. ‘It sounded like she’s having an affair with Erik, you know, my watch leader, and she’s expecting his baby. It’s all horrid.’
There was a pause while he considered that. Above my head, footsteps padded softly. ‘She looked like a career girl to me, and Eric and, what’s his wife, Manuela?’
‘Micaela.’ They’d invited us up for a meal while Gavin was over, seven weeks ago, Micaela’s best fiery cooking.
‘They seemed like a devoted couple. Are you sure you haven’t got the wrong end of the stick?’
I turned my head away from the door, and spoke softly. ‘She said she wasn’t going to change her mind. That was the first thing I heard. Then she said something about her hormones being all over the place. Then he said that she had plenty of time to think it over, a baby was a big decision. Neither of them sounded happy. He was speaking about his children, how you could see their faces in the scan, and then they spoke about telling his wife. He said it had to be done, and she disagreed. She said she wasn’t going to turn into a housewife with a toddler.’
‘Sounds more like she wants to bring the baby up on her own.’
‘That’s what I thought. He wanted to tell Micaela and move in with Agnetha, and she didn’t want that.’
‘Or that she wanted to have an abortion.’
I hadn’t thought of that. Now Gavin had said it, it was blindingly obvious. I tried the conversation again in my head, and nodded. ‘Yes. She’s headed for captain level. But would she want her career that much?’ Even as I asked the question, I heard the answer in my head. Yes, she did.
‘Some people really do see a baby as a collection of cells until it’s born. Well, not quite that, perhaps, but as something that isn’t properly alive yet.’ He considered that for a moment, then added, ‘Well, a lot of people. The whole developed world doesn’t see abortion as murder. It’s an in-out clinic visit.’
I’d never been in the situation, so I hadn’t thought about it. I’d taken the church’s view for granted: a child had a right to protection from conception onwards. ‘I’d never thought about it.’
‘But you’re not one of the “it’s my body” women?’ He was trying to keep his voice casual, but I could hear it mattered to him. I thought hard before answering, trying to imagine a child growing like a seed within me.
‘It is my body, of course, but it’s the child’s body too. I don’t have rights over that.’
Gavin said, tentatively, ‘I’d like to have a family.’
It was strange how it was easier to talk on the phone. In Shetland, I’d regularly looked after my best pal Inga’s three-year-old, Peerie Charlie. I tried to envisage myself with a tribe of Peerie Charlies tumbling around my feet. Life ashore, in a house, with regular meals, and a story at bedtime. Playdates and mother-and-toddler groups … Maybe in a few years I’d be ready to give up wandering and become normal, the selkie wife giving up the sea to live ashore with her fisherman. I knew what had happened to her; she’d pined for the sea, and when she found her skin she ran off without a second glance. I tried to answer as honestly as I could. ‘I’m not against it, in principle. I enjoy messing about with Peerie Charlie. I think I’m good with young people. I’d just never imagined myself living ashore. Give me time to think about it. I’ve only just got home. A few more years of wandering.’ Even as I said it, I remembered I was thirty. In five years I’d be in danger of leaving it too late. ‘Two or three years anyway. Let’s talk about it when we’re together.’ I tried to lighten the tone. ‘Are you still all set to join us in Belfast?’
‘All set. All annual leave being cancelled doesn’t happen as often in real life as it does in detective stories. Until then, I’ll follow you on the Sail Training website, and wave as you pass the nearest point to me. A
re you coming between the islands?’
‘Between Orkney and the mainland, then between the outer Hebrides and Skye.’
‘The Pentland Firth and the Minch, Scotland’s two most notorious stretches of water.’
‘It’s a shorter way.’ I smiled. ‘The Viking way to Ireland.’ I changed the subject. ‘What’s the news with you? How’s the growth in the fields?’
‘Och, it’s good.’ His voice quickened as he talked of his land world, and I listened, and heard how much he loved it. The hills were in his bones as the sea was in mine. His grandmother’s croft was ready and waiting for his summer holidays. I hadn’t yet seen the cottage, but he’d described it: simple, pine-lined rooms, lit by Tilley lamps. I could imagine him there, steadying the boat for a pair of russet-headed kilted boys to clamber into. I thought I would like them to be mine too; just to be sure, I tried imagining another mother – his Shetland sidekick Sergeant Peterson, for example – and was startled by the wave of rage that swept through me.
He paused for breath. ‘Have you got the sheep clipped yet?’ I asked. I did know about sheep; the Shetland sheep population was ten times that of the human.
‘Last weekend, so that I’d be free to come to you. Well, good luck.’ His voice warmed. ‘Don’t worry, Cass. Your captain knows you’re good.’
I felt better for his faith in me. ‘I’ll speak to you in a couple of days, once we get near enough to Scotland.’
‘Yes, I’ll speak to you then. Have a safe journey, Cass. Beannachd leat, mo chridhe.’
Blessings on you. I replied in broad Shetlandic. ‘Tak care o deesel. Spik tae dee shune.’
I put the phone away and lay back, feeling restless. They hadn’t found the man. He’d got himself off somehow. Agnetha and Erik weren’t my problem. Sean was. I could go and look down below, to see if there was anything out of place, any sign of what he’d been up to. I swung my legs down, ignoring Cat’s faint growl at being disturbed, and headed towards the banjer steps.
Several of the trainees had come back on board and were making themselves at home. There would be a lot of items in Jenn’s ‘left lying about’ bag before the ship set sail: mobile phones complete with charger cords, a couple of towels, a book, a hat and gloves, a jacket. I said hello to the group of card players around the table nearest the hatch as I passed, and headed down the pantry steps.
The light was already on, so that I could see the two rows of washing in the corridor crossways to the ship, and the long tunnels stretching into blackness each side of her. I felt a reluctance to go down there, and a shiver down my spine as if I might still be being watched. They’d found nothing, I reminded myself, and focused on my cousin. What might Sean have been doing below here? Hiding something, was the obvious conclusion, something he didn’t want to be caught with on his way ashore, and something he didn’t want to leave in his locker, in case the customs searched those. Something pocket-sized; he’d gone and returned empty-handed.
I sighed and cast a look along the port tunnel. There were dozens of places to hide something: the long rows of wide shelves, stuffed with spare sails, canvas and rope, the grey-fronted boxes, the lidded lockers beneath. Still, everything would have been securely stowed for a ship at sea, liable to tilt on her beam ends at any moment. I should be able to see if something had been disturbed. I began at the far end of this section, and peered at each shelf. A thin layer of dust lay over most of it. Beyond the Rope Store door, the shelves were narrower, but without lifting every coil of rope I couldn’t see what was at the back of them. If it was something small he’d hidden, we’d need to take the ship apart to find it, without even knowing what we were looking for.
All the same, I had no feeling of anything being disturbed here, and the bulkhead leading forward to the carpenter’s store would have been closed while we were at sea.
The pantry next. This was a neat, narrow room running across the ship, shelved around, and in constant use with the galley girls coming up and down to collect stores, or slice cold meat and cheese. The shelves were stacked with tins, jars, cartons and packets of rice and pasta, with not an inch to squeeze anything between. Openwork crates of bananas covered the floor. I had a quick look in the cupboards below the shelves, but I didn’t expect to find anything here. Sean hadn’t known that the crew too would be chucked off the ship to let the men in black search; he’d have expected the galley girls to be making lunch as usual, and we all knew that routine by now, with plates of meat and cheese and vats of pickles and herring being brought up the stairs. No, he wouldn’t have put anything in here.
The pantry led into the cold store. I opened the door, walked in and closed it behind me. The shelves here were stainless steel, floor to ceiling, filled with all the perishables a ship’s crew would need for a week: potatoes, onions, carrots, cauliflowers and courgettes, watermelon and apples; long blocks of cheese and cardboard boxes of the cherry drinking yoghurt; buckets of pickled herring, onion, sauerkraut; condiment jars. I went around slowly, checking everything. There were four white boxes, unlabelled, like expanded foam wine crates. I couldn’t open them without taking them out, but a hand under them suggested they were light enough to be empty.
The only place left was the walk-in freezer. The door was stiff, and it took me a couple of tries to get it open. The cold flowed towards me, glittering in the air. He wouldn’t have lingered in here, or risked the door closing on him. I looked quickly at the shelves within arm’s reach, keeping the door open, then backed out again.
That left the starboard tunnel. The passage this side was wider, the shelves so narrow that you could see the ship’s white sides behind them, patterned by rows of ‘widow-makers’, the heavy pulleys that halved the load on the ropes. I walked slowly along the shelves, looking. Nothing, nothing, until, at the very end, there was the shadow of a smear in the dust, as if a sleeve had brushed it. I reached in, feeling between the wooden blocks, and touched metal. My fingers groped over the smooth barrel, the cross-hatched grip, then closed around the handle and drew it out into the light.
I would have taken it for a child’s toy if it wasn’t for the deadly weight of it in my hand. It was black metal, lighter along the top, darker below, with LOCK underlined in a circle, then 17 AUSTRIA stamped along the barrel. There was no obvious round chamber for putting bullets in, which I supposed made it an automatic. I also supposed it was loaded.
It had no business aboard. Just looking at it made me feel sick. I felt the scar on my cheek burn. If my lover, Alain, hadn’t insisted on having a gun aboard, he couldn’t have shot at me, halfway across the Atlantic … if he hadn’t had the gun, I’d have found some way to calm him down. He’d still have been alive. My heart thudded as if I was still out there, in the grey waste of sea, with Alain’s gun pointing at me, his voice telling me to leave his ship. I never wanted to see a gun again, ever. This thing was going into the harbour as soon as I got upstairs, into the sea, where it could do no harm. My cousin Sean could whistle for it. Holding it by the handle, with the barrel pointing away from me, I’d got as far as the steps when I realised what a sensation going outside with a gun in my hand would cause.
I stopped and took several breaths, until my heart rate steadied. I needed to be sensible about this. Another couple of breaths made me realise, reluctantly, that I couldn’t just get rid of it and say nothing. The right thing to do was to give it to Captain Gunnar … and a pretty set of explanations that would be, especially after the stowaway search that had found nothing. I squared my shoulders, and prepared for life to get difficult. I made a face at the heavy gun dangling from my hand. It wasn’t going in my pocket. There’d be something in the pantry that I could carry the thing in.
I was just putting it into an empty herring tub when I heard footsteps above my head. Someone was coming down to this level, not one of the galley girls, but someone with a purposeful, heavy tread. I straightened up quickly, heart thumping. I had no real excuse for being in there, but there was no way out except the door I’d
come in. I decided to brazen it out. I was looking for something for a late lunch. Potatoes and cheese, a jacket potato, done in the aft galley’s microwave. I dodged back into the cold store, picked out a potato of the right size and returned to the door, lidded bucket carried over one arm, brandishing my alibi before me.
The footsteps stopped at the pantry door, waiting. I could imagine the person looking around, up the tunnels, to see where I’d gone. Then the feet began to move towards the cold store. I jerked open the door, and found myself nose to nose with Captain Gunnar.
He was as startled as I was. We each fell back a step and stood for a moment just staring at each other. I could see he wasn’t in a good mood. The jovial Victorian captain was gone; his white brows were drawn together, his mouth a steel line. I murmured ‘Sir,’ and stood back to let him pass.
He regained his composure with an effort. ‘Cass, what are you doing down here?’
I opened my mouth but couldn’t find the words to begin.
His dark eyes considered me, moved down to the potato in my hand, flicked behind me to the storeroom, travelled round and returned to my face. ‘The police found nobody.’
‘I know, sir. I’m sorry.’
He didn’t ask me if I was sure the man had been aboard, which comforted me a little. ‘We’re not popular with Special Branch. Nor with the office. A diversion for nothing.’ His eyes flicked behind me again, looking at something down in the corner where the unlabelled white boxes were, then flicked back to the herring tub. ‘Potato and pickled herring for lunch?’
‘No, sir.’ Hell’s teeth, why did this have to happen to me? I was going to have to explain, and he wasn’t going to believe I’d found a gun, just like that. He’d think I was mad, not the sort of person you’d employ on board a sail-training ship with young people. I took a deep breath. ‘It’s a gun, sir.’ His white brows rose. ‘I found it, along the tunnel.’ I jerked my chin starboardwards. ‘It was hidden behind the widow-makers.’
Death in Shetland Waters Page 7