by Iain North
‘Was it Amber?’ he asked.
Jim nodded, head in his hands. ‘She didn’t look good.’
Ambulances, fire tenders and police cars were scattered like skittles across the quayside. Jim was taken from the boat to one of the ambulances.
‘I’m okay!’ he protested. ‘I don’t need this.’
George stepped in. ‘Get yourself checked over. I’ll find out what I can.’
Reluctantly Jim let a paramedic poke and prod him. The diagnosis: shock. What the Hell did the man expect?
He sat in the back of the vehicle, his body trembling uncontrollably.
‘All I need is a cigarette,’ he mumbled. But the medic insisted he stay put, with no cigarette.
George returned after five very long minutes.
‘They’ve flown her to Raigmore.’
‘Is she okay?’
‘She’s alive,’ George said. ‘But she’s got serious injuries.’
‘I’ve got to see her.’ Jim was insistent.
George glanced at the paramedic. The medic shook his head. ‘I can’t force your friend to stay here, but he does need to be treated. Shock can be very dangerous.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ Jim insisted.
George hesitated. ‘I can get you a helicopter flight to Inverness.’
‘What are we waiting for then?’
Jim ripped the blood pressure monitor pad from his arm and leapt out of the ambulance.
‘The company’s flying some of their men to Raigmore as a precaution,’ George explained as they walked towards another, larger helicopter. ‘There’s a spare seat. It’ll be quicker than driving.’
Jim held up his quivering hands. ‘I don’t think I could drive at the moment.’
‘What about the story?’ George asked. ‘You could make a fortune from this.’
‘That’s the last thing on my mind.’
‘You know the Bellboy’s going to have a field day.’
‘I don’t care.’ He had to shout to be heard under the deafening whirl of the rotors. ‘I
don’t care!’
Jim was belted in and airborne in seconds. As the helicopter flew out over the loch, Jim peered down at the burning rig. The fire was still going strong. There was no sign of the royal flight on the pad. Charlie would be halfway back to Balmoral by now.
*****
Amber was in theatre when Jim arrived at Raigmore Hospital in Inverness. He sat in a corner of the waiting room, drinking vending machine coffee and staring into space.
Occasionally a nurse would pass by, promising to find a doctor. But no one came to speak to him.
The hours passed. More coffee, more trips outside for cigarettes – he ignored the prominent ‘No Smoking’ sign adjacent to the doorway, guessed that most people did judging by the stack of butts in the bin. Or maybe they were all his. He’d lost count.
George phoned a couple of times, but there was nothing to report.
Finally, just after 7pm a man in a white coat appeared.
‘Are you a relative?’ he asked.
‘A close friend,’ Jim replied. ‘How is she?’
‘Do you want to come this way?’ The doctor led Jim into a small room off the main corridor. ‘Have a seat.’
Jim perched on the edge of a squeaky plastic chair.
‘Miss Harris sustained fairly serious injuries. We’ve operated and we think she has a very good chance of pulling through. ‘
‘What sort of injuries?’
‘There were some minor facial lacerations, some bruising to her head.’
‘And?’
‘She was hit by a piece of metal. It punctured one of her lungs. We operated as soon as she arrived. We removed the metal and repaired the damage. She came out of theatre about five minutes ago. ‘
‘Can I see her?’
‘Miss Harris is still unconscious. She’s been moved up to ITU’
‘Intensive care?’
The doctor nodded. ‘Intensive Therapy Unit. You can go up and see her, but we don’t expect her to come round for a few hours. ‘
‘But she will come round?’
‘We have every expectation she will. She lost a lot of blood and it will take her some time to recover from the operation.’
Jim wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. ‘Thanks, doctor.’
‘You can go up and see her shortly. But it would help us greatly if you could give us a few details about Miss Harris first. For our records.’
Jim realised at that point that he knew very little of her background. Amber Harris. 18. 14 Bellfie1d Avenue, Dundee. Trainee reporter. That was about it. Parents? She never talked about them. Brothers or sisters? No idea. Boyfriend? He shook his head. ‘Not really.’
The green line rippled like the surface of a Highland lochan. Jim stood next to the monitor. He looked down at Amber, lying silently on the bed, a crisp white sheet pulled up over her chest. Her arms were limp by her sides, plastic tubes plumbed into her arteries and veins. He lifted one of her hands, curled his fingers around hers and held it in his sweating palm.
‘Please don’t leave me,’ he whispered.
*****
Chapter 21
The Blackberry woke Jim from his slumber. It took him a minute to drag out the handset from his jacket, which was acting as a makeshift duvet.
‘Aye?’ he mumbled.
It was George. ‘How’s Amber?’
‘She’s not come round yet.’
He sounded concerned. ‘Are things okay?’
‘The doctor is happy enough with her progress.’
‘Are you still in the hospital?’
Jim levered himself up from the waiting room bench. The clock on the wall read 7am. He rubbed his eyes. ‘What’s happening down there?’
‘That’s why I phoned,’ George said. ‘The police know who did it.’
‘Yeah?’
‘A guy called Andy Mackinnon. He was a sparkie at the yard.’
‘Was?’
‘They found his body in the tower where the explosion went off. Mind, there wasn’t much of him left.’
Jim’s mind was hazy, but he recognised the name instantly. ‘Mae Mackinnon’s son? The painter and decorator?’
‘Aye,’ George confirmed.
‘But why?’
‘No idea.’ George paused for a moment, then continued: ‘Just thought you’d like know.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Are you coming back down?’
‘Maybe. Amber’s parents arrived during the night. They’re with her just now. I should give them a bit of space.’
‘I can take care of things down here if you want to stay with her.’
‘I don’t know.’
Jim looked into the intensive care unit. Mr and Mrs Harris were sitting at their daughter’s bed, one on either side. Mr Harris was clutching Amber’s hand, his eyes red.
‘Any change?’ Jim whispered.
Mrs Harris shook her head, tears in her eyes.
Jim remained silent. He was uncomfortable.
Mr Harris spoke. ‘Thanks for all you’ve done, son.’ Jim nodded.
He backed out of the room. There didn’t appear to be a place for him here anymore. Her parents were taking care of things. He hung about in the corridor for an hour or so, pacing up and down. He was surplus to requirements.
What would Amber want him to do?
*****
Jim took a taxi from Raigmore Hospital to the railway station, bought a pack of cigarettes, smoked several and then boarded the train to Strathcarron. The journey took a little over an hour, an hour of staring blankly at the mist shrouded West Highland scenery through a rain-streaked window.
At Strathcarron, there wasn’t a formal taxi rank. And no taxis either. Jim had to phone from the hotel for a car to take him to Kishorn. That took almost as long as the train journey and it was after noon when he was delivered to Mae Mackinnon’s cottage.
There was a car parked at the end of the drive – a scruffy white
Ford Focus with McDonald’s wrappers piled knee deep in the passenger foot well. It was Brian Bell’s heap.
Jim cursed under his breath. He lit another cigarette and waited for Bell to come out Five minutes elapsed. Jim wandered over to the water’s edge and peered out at the blackened Moray Alpha platform, sea fog swirling between the rig’s three squat legs. He was half way through his nicotine stalk, half way through working out the events of the previous day, when the front door of the house opened. Bell stepped out, spoke briefly to Mrs Mackinnon and then strutted down the path to his car. Jim flicked his tab into the loch and jogged over.
Bell saw him and smirked: ‘You are too late, mate. I’ve got the story in the bag.’
‘What did she say?’ Jim asked.
‘You can read all about it tomorrow, like everyone else.’ Bell slipped out of his overcoat and tossed it into the back seat of the car.
‘How’s your little friend?’ he asked.
‘She’s doing okay,’ Jim answered civilly.
‘It was an awful thing to happen,’ Bell sounded genuine enough.
‘She’s still in intensive care,’ Jim added.
‘So I guess you won’t be getting a shag for a while, then,’ Bell sneered.
Jim leapt on him, grabbing the lapels of his jacket and dragged him down towards the ground.
‘What the fuck did you say?’ he shouted.
Bell scrabbled to free himself, but Jim had a good grip.
‘Just kidding, mate. Don’t take life so seriously.’
‘You’re a fucking shite, you know that?’
‘Where’s your sense of humour?’ Bell stuttered.
Jim tightened his fists, drew Bell up until their faces were just an inch apart. He could smell Bell’s acrid body odour. ‘I left it in the hospital, which is where you’re going.’
He drew his head back and then lurched forward, his forehead cracking the bridge of Bell’s nose.
‘Fuck!’ Bell spluttered, blood streaming down his face.
Jim pushed him away and released his grasp. Bell fell backwards, slumping on to the bonnet of his car and slithered to the ground, clutching his shattered nose.
‘Don’t you ever speak to me like that again,’ Jim glared, driving his boot into the side of Bell’s prone body, once, twice then a third time. Bell pulled his legs up to protect his fleshy stomach but Jim was done. He stepped back, surveyed the damage and walked away.
Mrs Mackinnon was peering out under the net curtain in her living room. Jim straightened his clothes, wiped Bell’s blood from his hands with a hanky and knocked on the door. She opened it hesitantly, just as he was stuffing the hanky back into his jacket pocket.
‘Hello, Mrs Mackinnon,’ Jim smiled.
‘What’s going on?’ she asked.
‘Could I have a quick chat?’
She stood back to let him in. ‘What about him?’ She pointed down the path. Bell was hauling himself to his feet, wiping blood off his chin with a matted hanky.
‘Is he okay?’
Jim shrugged his shoulders. ‘We had a bit of a disagreement.’
She ushered him into the living room and spoke in a hushed tone. ‘Do you realise what you’ve done?’
Jim knew perfectly well what he had done. He’d broken Brian Bell’s nose.
‘He’s a policeman,’ she added. ‘They’ll come and arrest you.’
‘A policeman!’ Jim tried hard not to laugh. ‘Is that what he told you?’
She looked puzzled. ‘Aye.’
Jim shook his head. ‘Did he show you some identification?’
‘He had a card. ‘
Jim sat in the same place as before. Only this time Amber wasn’t perched next to him.
It felt strange. ‘I’m afraid he’s not a policeman. He’s a journalist. And not a very good one at that.’
‘Oh.’ Mrs Mackinnon lowered herself into the armchair opposite. ‘He seemed to know an awful lot about what happened.’
Jim took out his pad and placed it on the armrest.
‘Where’s your friend?’ Mrs Mackinnon asked.
‘She’s in hospital.’
Her eyebrows skipped.
‘She was injured in the fire.’ He looked out of the window at the Moray Alpha. ‘On the rig.’
Mrs Mackinnon said nothing.
‘I heard about Andrew,’ Jim continued.
‘Yes.’
‘It must have been a terrible shock. ‘
She nodded despondently.
‘Do you know what happened?’
She pulled a crumpled paper tissue from under the wrist of her cardigan and blew her nose noisily. ‘I always feared something like this would happen.’
Jim remained silent. He let the old woman speak when she was ready.
‘Your friend...’
‘Amber.’
‘What happened to her?’
‘We were on the rig when there was an explosion above us,’ Jim explained. ‘Amber was ahead of me. All I could see was smoke and debris flying everywhere. When it cleared I saw her lying on the ground, people gathered round her.’
Mrs Mackinnon took a deep breath.
Jim’s voice trembled, but he continued: ‘She was hit by a piece of flying metal, a pipe I think. It got her there.’ He tapped the left side of his chest with a finger. ‘Punctured a lung.’
‘And will she...?’ Mrs Mackinnon stopped, heavy eyes seeking an answer from him.
Jim inserted the words. ‘Will she be okay? I hope so.’
‘Is she a good friend?’ Mrs Mackinnon asked.
Jim smiled. ‘A very good friend.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured apologetically.
He sought to reassure her. ‘You have nothing to be sorry about.’
‘Oh, but I do.’ Her hands were starting to shake. ‘I didn’t tell the police this. Or that man.’ She stopped again. ‘But it was all my fault.’ She bowed her head and began sobbing into the tissue.
Jim shifted uncomfortably in his seat until the wailing eventually subsided.
‘Andrew,’ she sniffled. ‘He’s not been the same since... since he and Elaine lost their baby.’
‘Your grandson?’ Jim asked.
Mrs Mackinnon nodded. ‘Wee Andrew. We called him Andrew, after his dad.’
She eased herself up and shuffled over to the mantelpiece. Carefully, she lifted up the picture of the couple standing in front of the waterfall. She examined it lovingly for a moment before passing it to Jim.
‘Andrew and Elaine?’
She nodded. ‘On holiday, in Australia.’
‘Where’s Elaine now?’
‘It was all too much for her. She...’ Pause. More tears. ‘We found her in the car, in the garage. The baby was stillborn. She never got over that.’
‘And your son?’
She shook her head. ‘It hit him badly. It hit us all, but Andrew never recovered.’
Jim pushed her gently. ‘When did they lose their baby?’
Mrs Mackinnon sat back down. ‘I can’t remember exactly. They were just kids when they got married. They had been seeing each other for a few months. Andrew met Elaine when we were living in Glasgow. She worked in a pub. Elaine fell pregnant and I suppose Andrew did the decent thing. He got a job on the rigs and moved up to Aberdeen. Elaine followed and they moved in together.’
Jim was trying to work out why this would drive a man to blow up an oil rig. Then he thought about the earlier scaffolding collapse. Was Andrew Mackinnon responsible for that too?
‘Did something happen when he was on the rigs?’ he asked.
She shook her head. ‘He enjoyed his job. They were very happy.’
‘Have you any idea why Andrew did what he did on the rig out there?’
‘It’s not the rigs,’ she replied. ‘It’s this place.’
‘Kishorn?’
‘The dock out there.’ She paused again. ‘I promised him it would always remain a secret, that I would never tell anyone. But he’s gone and your frie
nd is lying in hospital. The time has come to end this once and for all.’