Ghosts of the Vikings

by Marsali Taylor

  ‘Of course, Per said smoothly, ‘it is not easy for an onlooker to see what is really happening.’ He turned to the senior officer, hands spread. ‘I should perhaps not say this, but Cassandre’s mother has had many difficulties with her. I am a musical director of good repute, of international reputation, I am proud to say. I think my word would be accepted.’

  ‘You haven’t asked me,’ I said, gently, ‘why you would want to push me in.’

  ‘I did not ask because I did not do it.’

  ‘I realised,’ I said to Gavin, ‘what Kamilla saw in the kitchen, when the sun dazzled her.’

  Per sat back with a dismissive swirl of one hand. ‘She saw a letter. What it was, why it should have upset her, I do not know.’

  I looked straight at him. ‘She saw,’ I said, ‘the face that she had almost forgotten, from twelve years ago. The man who’d come round the corner in his car, and found the sun right in his face. You told us about it, over dinner yesterday. We should have noticed then.’ I turned to Gavin. ‘He told us from the point of view of the driver, do you remember?’ I tried to quote his exact words. ‘He spoke about the houses almost touching each other above the road. Coming into them would have been like a tunnel to the driver, he said. Then he came around the bend at the end of the houses and out into the sun, shining straight into his eyes. Kamilla saw the man who’d killed her brother, just as she’d seen him then, tipping his head away from the sun. She remembered.’

  Blud shared wi’ my blud, bane o’ me bane,

  Son o’ me faider, uncle tae me son.

  ...my brother.

  Sunday, 29th March. Palm Sunday (continued)

  Tide Times at Mid Yell, BST and at Lerwick

  High Water06.59, 1.8m; 07.20,1.6m

  Low Water13.31, 1.0m; 14.06,0.8m

  High Water19.55, 1.7m; 20.18,1.6m

  Low Water02.00, 1.2m; 02.23,0.9m

  Sunrise06.41

  Moonrise12.05

  Sunset19.36

  Moonset03.36

  Waxing quarter moon

  I’ll come unbidden, and stay as I please,

  I’ll chain dee in misery, drag dee in mire,

  Or make dee dat blyde at du’ll walk i da air,

  For me du’ll clim mountains, or walk into fire ...

  Chapter Twenty-four

  We spent the rest of the afternoon in the police station, making statements. I was worried I’d miss the end of Maman’s concert, but a squad car drove us back, just in time to see the last of the audience filing out, with that excited buzz of talk after a good show. Ten minutes, to let them disperse, then the singers joined us: Caleb first; Bryony, the substitute Hippolytus; and, vying to be last, the substitute Phaedra and Maman. Naturally, Maman achieved the final entrance, timing it to get the doorway to herself.

  Dad went up and kissed her. ‘Another triumph, Eugénie.’

  She waved the compliment away, pleased. ‘They were a good audience. Did you enjoy it, Cassandre?’ Her eyes went round the foyer. ‘Where is Per? We would need to eat quickly, those who want to, then go on the ferry.’

  I exchanged a ‘Will you tell her, or will I?’ glance with Gavin, then, when he nodded, stepped forward. ‘Maman, Per’s being questioned up at the station.’

  She froze, her dark eyes staring at me. ‘Per?’

  I gestured with my hands. ‘It was he who killed Kamilla and Adrien.’

  She looked past me at Gavin, seeking confirmation. He nodded.

  I put an arm around her. ‘Let’s have a coffee in the upstairs place, and I’ll tell you all about it.’

  Dad took charge. He gestured the others towards the downstairs café. ‘If you all go and have a coffee, I’ll check up on the transport to the boat.’

  Maman let herself be led through the café and upstairs, to the quiet seats on the mezzanine floor, where the chink of mugs and babble of conversation drifted up, muffled, over the balcony. ‘Per?’ she said again. ‘But why? He didn’t even know Kamilla. He’d never heard of her when I suggested her, he wasn’t keen on having her.’

  ‘He killed her brother. He was the driver who knocked him down and didn’t stop. She didn’t recognise him until Friday, when she saw him under the same conditions, with his face screwed up against the sun. Then she remembered.’

  ‘It would have been the finish of his career,’ Gavin said, ‘to be tried and convicted of killing a child. He’d get a prison sentence, at the very least, and when he came out, people would remember.’

  ‘He didn’t want her,’ Maman repeated. ‘I had to persuade him she’d be good.’

  ‘He knew who Kamilla was. He’d have looked in the papers, afterwards, hoping that the child was only injured. He’d have found out the boy’s name, and the name of the sister who’d witnessed the accident. He would have known.’

  But he’d been lucky; it was only the accident of the sun dazzling his face that had made her recognise him. She wouldn’t have expected to find the hit-and-run driver of many years ago in the respected musical director.

  ‘From a practical point of view,’ Gavin said, ‘he was the person who could access the poison most quickly. He shared a room with Adrien. He just had to wait until Adrien went off to shower, then empty the poison from the ring into a twist of paper. Circumstantial, of course, but it would be harder for someone else to do that; they’d have to hang around the landing waiting for both Adrien and Per to be out. Charles or Caleb might have done it by wedging the door open, but Fournier would have been too obvious, when his room was on the ground floor.’

  Dad came up the stairs with a tray of coffees. I clasped my hands round mine, glad of the warmth.

  Maman sipped her espresso, then looked across at Gavin. ‘And ... Adrien also?’

  Gavin nodded.

  ‘But why?’ Her hands were shaking on the little cup. She took another sip, then set it down.‘He would not have thought she would tell Adrien, he knew relations between them were strained. If it was such a shock that she had to tell someone, she was more likely to confide in Bryony.’

  ‘Our Scrabble,’ Gavin said. He was joining up little incidents too. ‘Don’t you remember, Cass? He was messing about with the letters, and Per was standing watching him.’

  I visualised the board, watching Adrien’s hand with the heavy black ring, re-arranging. ‘He offered me twist, then he began using the tiles on the board to write new words. Sing. Skewer ... brother. And Per, standing there watching him, thought that Kamilla had told him.’

  ‘Again, he could most easily have poisoned Adrien’s water bottle, and from them sharing a room, he’d know Adrien’s habits, like when in the night Adrien drank from it, last thing, mid-night or morning, which meant he’d know when to write the suicide note. Anybody else would have had to hang around and wait. We may get prints from the laptop. His prints or gloved prints, either would be suggestive.’

  ‘Everyone had gloves,’ I objected.

  ‘Yes, but they would be left downstairs, with the coats. You can’t get your sleeves off easily with gloves on. Whereas Per was likely to have those conductor gloves – wasn’t he?’

  Reluctantly, Maman dipped her head downwards.

  Another conversation came back into my head. ‘Didn’t you say you met him in Vienna?’

  Maman nodded. ‘An early music festival. It was in spring – I remember how pretty the tulips were. I could see at once he would be good. We did not speak properly then because he had to rush away, for an interview.’ She frowned. ‘In Graz, I think.’

  ‘We are about the anniversary of her brother’s death,’ Maman had said. That phone call seemed a long time ago.

  ‘Twelve years ago?’ Gavin asked.

  Maman nodded.

  ‘An important interview, that he wouldn’t want to be late for,’ Gavin said. ‘Maybe he’d started out later, or maybe he was taking longer on the road than he’d planned for. Kamilla’s home address was Schrauding, a village on what used to be the Vienna-Graz road, before they finished the dual carriag
eway.’

  ‘Is it too long ago?’ I asked. ‘Or will there still be evidence?’

  Gavin nodded. ‘Now we have a name, the Austrian police may be able to get evidence. They will have a description of the car, maybe flakes of paint, to compare against what car he drove twelve years ago. Still circumstantial, but if the case was put together well, it would be enough.’

  ‘And if Per and Bryony were an item, he could have stolen the letter from Kamilla’s handbag.’ Poor Constable Buchanan, having to turn the bin bags out. ‘He was quick-witted, Per. Making the letter sound important, when he saw I’d seen her seeing him.’ Making up the stuff about me feeling faint and falling in; but my parents didn’t need to know about that.

  Maman shook her head, disbelieving still. I knew how she felt. You never wanted to believe that someone you knew, someone you liked, could be a murderer. Dad laid his hand on hers. ‘Eugénie, I’ll make a few phone calls, then come and take over Per’s berth.’ He looked across at Gavin. ‘I take it he won’t be going anywhere?’

  ‘Not tonight,’ Gavin agreed.

  ‘Then you’re going to have to choose your new tenor. Music students, wasn’t it?’ He put his arm around her, and gave a little shake. ‘Now, girl, there are castles waiting for you, and all the critics in Edinburgh, to say nothing of the hundreds of people who’ve bought tickets for this tour. You’re not going to let them down.’

  He’d had three decades of dealing with her. She nodded, and took a sip of her coffee. A little colour returned to her cheeks; her hands were steady on the cup. Dad let her drink up, then rose, holding out his hand to pull her up. ‘Let’s get these people upstairs to explain to them what’s happening.’

  We got them to the ferry terminal at last. Like Maman, they hadn’t found it easy to accept the news that Per was now in custody for attempted murder and, once the forensic results came in, double murder. Caleb was inclined to be indignant, wanting to rush straight to the station with a lawyer, until Gavin took him to one side and talked evidence. Bryony went into a fit of hysterics at the idea she’d been sleeping with a murderer. I wondered, cynically, how long it would take before she realised that the papers would pay for her story.

  It was ten to six now. I’d given Maman and Dad a last hug, waved them through the pale wood door onto the walkway, and waited at the window to wave again each time they appeared in the windows of the metal corridor, until they crossed the opening at the gangplank and disappeared aboard. The company straggled behind: Caleb, with Bryony clinging to his arm, Gabriella, and Charles lugging his keyboard and amplifier. Edinburgh tomorrow.

  ‘We’d better hurry, if we’re to make this Mass,’ Gavin said. He smiled suddenly, and caught my hand, and we ran together down the stairs and to the car.

  We made it with two minutes to spare – ample, given Father Mikhail’s habit of allowing another two for latecomers. Kneeling beside Gavin in the pew, I wasn’t sure what to pray for. Kamilla, of course, and Adrien, then the company, heading south with this new shock still numbing them, and Maman, who would have to lead them. Per, waiting in the grey police cell. I wondered if he would be angry or relieved that the past he’d spent so long escaping had caught up with him at last. Then the little bell rang, and Mass began: a plain one, this evening mass, with no music, and because it was Passion Sunday we moved from this present-day tragedy back two thousand years, to the older tragedy of God become Man being put to death. It was the long gospel, from St John, read like a play, with Father Mikhail reading Jesus, two parishioners taking the Narrator and the single speakers, and the congregation reading the crowd. Ever since I was little I’d felt a shiver down my spine at taking the part of those who betrayed Him, although I did it day after day, denying him with Peter, adding my failings to the weight of the cross on his shoulders. I thought about my waspishness towards Bryony, my cynicism about Adrien’s dramatic grief, and was ashamed. The sky darkened, the veil of the temple was rent, and gospel ended with the quiet of the tomb.

  We went to communion together, and knelt side by side afterwards, as if we were asking God’s blessing on this new relationship, and suddenly everything felt right. My worry about taking him back to Khalida slipped away. It was my home, an extension of who I was, and if he felt at ease with me, as I did with him, he’d feel at home there too. I slipped my hand into his as we stood for the blessing, and his fingers curled round mine.

  On the way out, Father Mikhail looked at us, and smiled.

  We slid back into the car. Gavin checked his watch. ‘20.15 for the ferry. We’ve got twenty-five minutes in hand. Shall we get a Chinese or Indian to re-heat on board, or fish and chips to eat on the ferry?’

  ‘Indian would be a treat, if there’s time.’ There was an excellent Indian takeaway at Brae, but it was slightly far to walk from the marina. ‘The Raba’s the same folk as at Brae, and their chicken pasanda’s wonderful. Right on the north road.’

  We put in our order, and waited, hands linked, fingers meshed. Gavin’s tweed jacketed shoulder was warm against mine. ‘When do you hope to leave?’ he asked.

  ‘Dawn on Tuesday. That’ll have me coming up to the Norwegian coast after dark on Thursday, so I’ll be able to see the lights and get my bearings, and arriving during Friday.’

  ‘And Khalida?’

  ‘One of the crew lives just north of Kristiansand, in Eidebukta, and his house has a pontoon where I can leave her. Ten minutes by bus from Sørlandet’s berth, with a ten minute walk at the end.’

  ‘And your trips?’

  ‘Two weekends at sea first of all, just straight out, round the oil rigs and back. A shakedown for the crew. After that we have the two fjord trips, glorious scenery, not much sailing. Are you still thinking you might make one of those?’

  His lips curved. ‘I’ve got the time off booked.’

  My first rush of gladness was tempered by apprehension. A tall ship was very far from time off. ‘You’ll have to work, mind, stand your watch.’

  He nodded. ‘Climbing masts, coiling ropes, helm, safety watch, lookout. Short showers and ship’s rations. Can we book into a nice hotel for a couple of nights when we get back to Kristiansand, before your next trip?’

  I felt my cheeks colouring. ‘Sounds good.’

  ‘And then you have your tall ships race. Belfast, wasn’t it?’

  I nodded. ‘We’ll cruise to Belfast, race to Ålesund, cruise in company down to Kristiansand, then race to Aalborg, in Denmark. After that, back to Kristiansand, to shine her up before we become an academy.’

  ‘Our summer holiday dates list will be up soon. Maybe I could try for a fortnight, and come from Belfast with you.’

  My fingers tightened on his. ‘Oh, that would be good.’ I suddenly remembered that he’d have to pay for it, and made a face. ‘It’s fairly expensive.’

  ‘I’ll look it up and see if it can all fit in. I’d like to try being right out at sea like that.’ He glanced sideways at me. ‘Your habitat.’

  Our meal arrived, and we returned to the car, fragrant with the smell of almonds and spices. My stomach rumbled all the way to Toft, and had to be pacified with drinking chocolate from the machine in the ferry lounge, which kept me going for the final half hour to Cullivoe.

  The stars blazed above us, and the moon lit the hills with silver. Khalida floated high beside the pier, fender board bumping gently. Cat was sitting on guard, a shadow hump on the foredeck. I stepped aboard and reached back for the food. ‘Come aboard. Hi, Cat. Sorry we’ve been so long.’

  I made as much of a fuss of him as he’d allow, then set to work lighting the oil lamp and getting out saucepans to re-heat the food.

  ‘I’d offer to help,’ Gavin said, ‘but I can see the best thing I can do is keep out of the way.’

  ‘You could clear the forecabin,’ I said. ‘If you lift the sails out on deck, we can stow them in the aft locker for just now, and the storage boxes can sit in the cockpit. I’ve got all tomorrow to re-stow and re-provision.’

  He squ
eezed past me, pausing for a kiss which threatened to distract us both from the tasks in hand. A blast of cold air rushed in as he lifted the forehatch. There were thumping and dragging noises as he shoved the sail bags out, and followed them with the storage boxes. ‘What about the oars and boathook?’

  ‘Them too, unless you want to sleep on them.’

  ‘It’s like camping, or playing housies on the shore.’ A last clatter, then he swung out of the hatch as neatly as I’d have done myself, and leaned back to say, ‘Not that I did that myself, you understand, but I had a girl cousin.’ The boat rocked as he humped the two sail bags aft, and came back for the boxes. He put them in the cockpit and ducked his head in. ‘Cord to secure the oars and boathook?’

  ‘At your right hand there, the blue stuff.’

  He came round to clatter above my head, which gave me time to set up the prop-legged table and lay out two plates. The rice was bubbling; I went out to drain it into the sea, rather than steam up the cabin, and put the kettle on the ring where it had been. ‘Ready.’ I fished out knives and forks, and divided up the pasanda.

  We ate in silence, just smiling at each other from time to time. The cabin had warmed up now, from the gas rings being on; with the washboards and hatch closed, Khalida was a little room gleaming with golden light. Over Gavin’s shoulder, the forecabin looked surprisingly spacious, with the sail bags removed, and the blue and white checked plastic cushion covers stretching forward to the box. Gavin saw me looking, and twisted his head to look too. ‘Plenty of room. Do you fill in the v-gap at the front?’

  I nodded. ‘Anders made an in-fill, so that there was room for Rat to sleep on his pillow.’

  ‘Bedding?’

  Luckily my own sheet, downie and blanket were double, generally doubled over. ‘I hope we’ll be warm enough.’