The Killing Tide

by Lin Anderson

  After that, they’d moved on to Ava’s reporting on the MV Orlova.

  ‘Of course, I’m aware of the restrictions on talking about the crime scene,’ she said. ‘What I am intrigued by are the ship’s secrets. Who owns it, what was happening on board in general? I’ve spent all my time since its arrival trying to discover its backstory.’

  ‘And have you?’

  As Chrissy asked the question, Rhona was conscious of water lapping against the thick stone walls of the house. It was like being aboard the Orlova, yet not like it at all. In here was warmth and light and a knowledge of permanence. Out there – she glanced through the glass at the moonlit darkness beyond – the ghost ship would be juddering and creaking in its perpetual circle round its anchorage.

  ‘Did you hear that, Rhona?’ Chrissy said, breaking into her thoughts. ‘Ava says the Orlova was offering trips aboard via a company called Go Wild. So that’s what the GW insignia stood for,’ she added triumphantly.

  ‘I understand from Erling that a couple of detectives are arriving tomorrow to take a look at the ship?’ Ava said.

  Chrissy looked to Rhona. ‘It wouldn’t be McNab, would it?’

  ‘I’m sure if it was we would have heard by now,’ Rhona said.

  ‘This is the McNab from the Nigerian story?’ Ava said, sensing Chrissy’s excitement at such a prospect.

  ‘My wee boy’s named after him,’ Chrissy said proudly. ‘Michael McNab saved my life when I was pregnant.’

  ‘Wow,’ Ava said. ‘A friend indeed, then.’

  Ava left after that and Rhona, mindful of the prospect of their early rise, and the fact she wanted to update her notes, indicated she was bound for bed. Chrissy, already yawning, joined her.

  ‘I’ll leave a packed lunch out for you and set the timer on the coffee machine, although I may not see you before you leave,’ Magnus said. ‘Good luck tomorrow.’

  Now in her room, Rhona settled in bed with her laptop. The meeting with Ava had been fruitful, she thought. If anyone could discover the hidden world of the MV Orlova, she suspected it might be her.

  15

  The close seemed back to normal. Tape was down, litter was appearing on the stairs instead of metal treads. Only the door on the top landing remained sealed.

  Having taken a look, McNab proceeded down again and approached Jimmy’s door. This time, his knock was swiftly answered and he was greeted with a big smile.

  ‘Come away in, Sergeant. Just in time for a cuppa.’

  McNab was shown into the sitting room where Lucifer eyed him with evil intent from the windowsill.

  ‘He likes you. I can tell,’ Jimmy assured him, before heading, McNab assumed, to fetch his tea.

  Minutes later he came back with two mugs. One supporting Glasgow Rangers, the other Celtic. He handed McNab the Celtic one.

  ‘Am I right?’

  ‘I don’t follow football much, but if I did . . .’ McNab toasted him.

  Jimmy smiled at that. ‘I’m glad it’s just you, son, this time. It’s not that I didn’t like the lassie, but I’m not sure it’s safe to have women on the front line. The world can be a terrible place for them. Like that poor lassie.’ He glanced towards the window, following Lucifer’s fierce gaze into the back court.

  They supped for another minute or two, before McNab said, ‘I just wondered if there was anything else you remembered that you wanted to tell me. Or maybe something you didn’t want to say in front of DS Clark?’

  Jimmy threw him a shrewd look. ‘If you guessed that, then no wonder you’re a detective, son.’

  ‘So what was it?’ McNab prompted.

  ‘There was shenanigans going on up in that flat.’

  ‘Shenanigans?’ McNab said.

  ‘Sexy shenanigans,’ Jimmy explained. ‘I followed Lucifer up there. He pees on the stairs sometimes, and folk complain.’ He hesitated.

  ‘And?’

  ‘They were going at it in there. Hell for leather,’ he added, his eyes wide. ‘Screaming even.’

  ‘A woman was screaming?’

  ‘Screaming and moaning. The man too.’

  ‘Was someone being hurt?’ McNab tried.

  ‘It’s difficult to say nowadays. What with this rough sex stuff you read about in the papers. Women asking men to choke and hit them. I cannae believe it.’

  ‘You think that was what was going on?’ McNab said.

  ‘I’m just telling you what I heard, son.’

  ‘Was that the night of the fire?’

  He shook his head. ‘Naw. I didnae go up there that night. Too frightened to move for the wind. And Lucifer was in here with me.’

  ‘When was the last time you heard the . . . shenanigans?’ McNab found himself saying.

  ‘A couple of days before the fire.’

  ‘Do you know who owns or rents the flat?’

  ‘Naw. But folk come and go regularly. I thought at first it was a druggie place – you know, where they buy the stuff – but there’s been no syringes or nothing about the close, and no weird smells, except for the flat across the landing from it. Ah think they’re on the wacky baccy.’

  ‘Did you tell this to any of the officers taking statements?’

  ‘Och, naw. Ah saved it up for you, son.’ He smiled. ‘Maybe get you a promotion, eh?’

  I’ve already been there and done that, McNab thought. His time as a detective inspector hadn’t lasted very long. He rose to go.

  ‘Oh, you’re off, are you?’ Jimmy looked disappointed. ‘Will you come back if I remember anything else?’

  McNab handed him a card. ‘Call me if you do.’

  He was well aware that the old boy was lonely, and talking to the police about that night might have been his only contact with the outside world for God knows how long.

  Heading up the stairs, he wondered if he was destined to end his days like Jimmy Donaldson. Sitting in his flat alone – he definitely wouldn’t be having a cat – not knowing any neighbours. Hey, he didn’t know any of his neighbours now, he realized. What would happen to him if he didn’t have the job to hang on to, the company of his workmates to rely on?

  Reaching the door of the so-called wacky baccy brigade, he pushed such thoughts away and rang the bell. After a minute or two he heard footsteps approach the door, followed by silence, when no doubt his ID was being examined through the peephole. Eventually the door swung open and he was confronted by a bearded bloke wearing a T-shirt and shorts.

  Since the storm, the weather had brightened, they’d even been blessed with some sunshine, but weather for shorts? McNab didn’t think so.

  Jimmy had said the place stank of weed. McNab made a point of taking a deep and obvious breath in. As he did so, the guy’s face took on a worried look.

  ‘Can I help you, officer?’

  McNab took a couple more sniffs, and wrinkled his nose, causing more consternation. Finally he said, ‘The neighbouring flat.’ He gestured towards the crime scene tape.

  The relief on the guy’s face at what he saw as a change of direction was obvious. ‘Yes?’ he said eagerly.

  ‘There’ve been reports of noises from the flat of a sexual nature.’

  The guy stared at him. ‘You’re really asking me if I’ve heard folk fucking next door? Well, the answer’s yes, as I’m sure they’ve heard me at it too.’

  ‘The reports suggest it was of a violent nature. Screaming and moaning?’ Even as he heard himself say the words, he knew what would happen.

  ‘Sex can sound that way at times,’ the man said with a knowing grin. He’d relaxed now over his fear of getting busted, and was enjoying himself.

  ‘Do you know who owns or rents the flat?’

  ‘The uniforms who interviewed us already asked us that and the answer is no one knows. But there’s definitely a big footfall. Maybe an Airbnb? Then again, who would want to stay here for a weekend break?’

  Heading down the stairs, McNab wondered if Jimmy had set him up. Anything to keep his company for a bit longer. He me
t the cat on the way, heading upwards, intent on what? Peeing on the top landing? Glancing up, he saw Lucifer staring down at him through the bars, a malevolent glint in his eye.

  McNab got quickly out of the way, just in case Lucifer’s latest spray of urine was directed at him.

  Back on the bike, his stomach reminded him how late it was. His day, he accepted, had evaporated and he was no further forward on anything. He contemplated returning to the office to report just that, or alternatively head for the chippy and satisfy one hunger at least.

  Did he decide to go by the tattoo parlour or did the bike take him there of its own free will? Whichever it was, that’s where he found himself. This time the place was in darkness. So no one was in there getting inked, or laid, by Ellie.

  He pulled up alongside to answer his phone, hoping against hope that it might be Ellie, while knowing full well that it wouldn’t be. There was a female name on the screen, however. It just wasn’t the one he wanted. Still smarting from his previous thought, he answered.

  ‘Michael? It’s Mary. How are you doing?’

  ‘Good,’ he said, even though it wasn’t true.

  ‘How’s the Harley going?’

  The Harley you gifted me, you mean, McNab thought, but didn’t say.

  ‘Great, thanks. On it now.’

  ‘Glad to hear it.’ She sounded pleased. ‘I wondered if you fancied an Italian and a catch-up soon?’

  It was something he’d promised her, but reneged on. Because of Ellie, a wee voice reminded.

  ‘Sure thing. When?’

  ‘Later tonight?’

  McNab contemplated the evening stretching ahead with only thoughts of Ellie and Baldy and sexual shenanigans to fill it, and made a decision.

  ‘Okay. Text me where and when. I’ll be there.’

  16

  Erling knew the two men were the visiting detectives as soon as he spotted them walking across the concourse. It wasn’t because he’d met them before, rather that they stuck out from the troop of returning Orcadians, who knew how the whole thing worked, including the gusts of wind that tried to lift their feet from the tarmac.

  He waited until the men had composed themselves before he moved forward to greet them.

  ‘DS Campbell and DS Neville? Welcome to Orkney. How was your flight?’

  It was DS Neville who answered. ‘Bumpy, especially over the Pentland Firth. So no hot drinks allowed, but I enjoyed my caramel log.’

  ‘Do you want to pick up a coffee here before we head for Houton Bay?’ Erling offered.

  ‘No need,’ Neville said. ‘We’ll survive.’

  They kept the discussion until they were inside the vehicle and on their way out of Kirkwall. Erling did his best to give a quick overview of the events up to now, including Dr MacLeod’s examination of the bodies from the previous day.

  ‘Have the remains been taken south yet?’ Neville, the apparent spokesman, asked.

  ‘Should have gone first thing, but we delayed because of the wind this morning, which means you’ll get a chance to see them in situ.’

  ‘What was Dr MacLeod’s opinion?’

  ‘That there was likely an assailant,’ Erling said. ‘She and Chrissy are working on the computer guy this morning.’

  ‘Chrissy McInsh’s here too?’ DS Neville asked.

  ‘She is,’ Erling said. ‘No show without Punch.’ He laughed. ‘I take it you know Chrissy?’

  DS Campbell, who was seated in the front, motioned to his colleague in the back. ‘He does. Or I should say he wishes he did.’

  They talked a bit after that about the SOCO team that had been working the ship.

  ‘We know you’ve done a good job here,’ DS Neville said. ‘The powers that be just thought it would be a good idea for us to see the locus in person. The ghost ship, as they’re calling it, has grabbed the news, with much of the press stating it has Russian backers.’

  ‘I suspect it may be even more international than that,’ Erling said. ‘We have Ava Clouston, the investigative journalist, home on Orkney at the moment. She’s covering the story.’

  DS Campbell shot him a look. ‘She’s a friend?’

  ‘Everyone knows everyone else on Orkney,’ Erling said. ‘That doesn’t mean we reveal police business.’

  They were approaching Houton Bay and the men’s eyes were drawn to the image of the ghost ship anchored offshore.

  ‘An old cargo ship?’ DS Neville said.

  ‘From the outside,’ Erling said. ‘Once aboard, it’s a whole different world.’

  ‘How do we get out there?’ DS Campbell said.

  ‘Police launch and a climb up a long ladder.’

  Their trip out earlier that morning had proved choppy, and the ladder climb a little more hair-raising, although Chrissy for one hadn’t flinched. In fact, Rhona had got the impression that her assistant had begun to relish the experience.

  Despite plans to transport the first two bodies south, they were still here, with a revised time of departure later today. Which meant the two Glasgow detectives from the serious crime squad who’d landed earlier at Kirkwall would get a chance to view them.

  Rhona had just announced a loo and coffee break, which had provided Chrissy with the opportunity to watch for the arrival of the police launch and the said detectives. Her assistant, of course, really wanted to view their ascent of the ladder.

  While Chrissy was on watch, Rhona was enjoying a cup of Magnus’s coffee, and one of his bannocks, while she considered what they’d discovered so far about the body in the computer room.

  Electrocution occurred when a victim became the fastest pathway to earth for an electrical supply. To achieve this they had to touch an exposed live electrical cable or a metal surface connected to such, and to be standing on the ground or on something that conducted electricity.

  Barefoot was best because the rubber soles of shoes prevented conduction to earth, or at least slowed it down – so the victim might get zapped, but not be killed.

  Electrocution didn’t severely burn a body, except at the point of contact, where you would likely see very deep burns, blackening of the tissues and sometimes a loss of fingers.

  The myth that if you were in contact with water and an energized electrical cable was placed in the water then you would be immediately electrocuted was just that, a myth. Such a thing didn’t happen unless the water was able to conduct the electricity in the first place. That only happened if it was contaminated, for example with salt.

  In this case, no water was present, either with or without salt.

  Something else had happened here. The figure in the chair had been on fire, but that hadn’t been the cause of his death. The bloodshot eyes, the fibres and oil deposits she’d retrieved from around the mouth and nose suggesting a cloth of some kind, the pressure bruising, all of these pointed to suffocation.

  The fire, she’d concluded, had been set to primarily destroy the computer equipment, the partially charred body being an appending causality.

  Rhona was writing her notes alongside the victim when Chrissy reappeared.

  ‘They’re on their way,’ she said. ‘You should have seen them on the ladder. DS Neville looked positively green. Mind you, it’s rougher than yesterday,’ she conceded.

  ‘Did they see you spying on them?’ Rhona said, already feeling sorry for the visiting detectives.

  ‘No way,’ Chrissy said. ‘I’ll save that up for later.’

  Seeing Chrissy’s mischievous grin, Rhona suddenly realized, ‘You know DS Neville?’

  ‘I do, but not in the biblical sense,’ Chrissy assured her with a smile.

  At that moment the two detectives arrived, suitably kitted up. While Erling did the introductions, Rhona observed a swift look pass between DS Neville and Chrissy. So there was a tale to tell there, and no doubt she would hear it in due course.

  Rhona gave them a brief résumé of what she’d read from her examination of the computer room victim. After which they headed downstairs to the
arena.

  All murder scenes were unique and frequently bizarre, but she suspected neither man had viewed anything quite like this one before. Silence prevailed as they all stepped their way across the treads and into the centre of the maze.

  As luck would have it, the ear-splitting sound and lights of the bloodthirsty crowd came into action as they entered the locus. Even having been forewarned of this, the two men were visibly disconcerted, though trying not to show it.

  Erling and Chrissy stayed outside the tent while Rhona led the detectives in to view the bodies. After a silent and close examination, Campbell asked about the weapons found on site and Rhona produced the bagged short swords.

  ‘So you don’t think either of these swords inflicted the fatal wounds?’ Campbell said.

  ‘The major cuts to the neck and chest caused them to bleed out. I don’t think the swords are capable of inflicting those wounds. They aren’t sharp or heavy enough. Neither would they be able to chop off a leg,’ Rhona said. ‘Some of the smaller cuts on the arms and legs may have been inflicted when they were actually fighting one another. There is also a resident rat population, although they wouldn’t have liked the intermittent bright lights and screaming from the virtual audience.’

  They’d emerged now from the tent.

  ‘So they were actually trying to hurt each other?’ Neville said.

  ‘I think that was the idea.’

  ‘They booked a holiday on the Orlova with a company called Go Wild. One assumes they knew what they were coming to do,’ Erling said.

  ‘But a fight to the death wasn’t on the cards?’ Neville asked.

  ‘Men will go to all sorts of lengths to kill their partner,’ Erling said.

  ‘But I don’t think the male victim was the perpetrator,’ Rhona reminded him. ‘I believe we have evidence to suggest the presence of a third party. And hopefully at post-mortem, forensic proof that neither sword inflicted the fatal wounds.’

  ‘I assume you’ve not located another weapon in the vicinity?’ Campbell said.