by Lin Anderson
Rhona peered into the well-lit space.
‘We set up an arc light for you,’ Erling said. ‘Otherwise you would have only had a head torch to work by.’
‘Whoever was here was in the dark?’
‘Some lighting was still functioning when we brought you on board earlier. Remember the mad chorus from the audience in the arena? We switched it off when you’d completed your examination of the computer room victim.’ He handed her a radio. ‘How long will you need?’
‘A couple of hours minimum.’ She began getting kitted up.
‘Give us a call when you’re finished. Good luck,’ he offered.
Rhona listened to Erling’s retreating steps. Eventually silence fell except for the continuing creaks and groans of metal on metal, plus the constant drip of water from somewhere close at hand.
The cell, she estimated, was roughly six foot by six, the height a little more than that. She took a series of photographs from the low doorway, then, stepping inside, took a full 360-degree video.
There was a bed of sorts along the back wall, a little pile of clothing on the right-hand side. On the left was the food and rubbish area. A stack of unopened tins of beans, tuna, corned beef; a plastic bag with the empties. A cutlery set was there, but no plate or bowl. It looked as though whoever had hidden here had been eating straight out of the tin. There was also a stack of water bottles, one partially drunk.
Before lifting DNA samples, she checked the clothing. Jeans, tops, jumpers and some underwear which all suggested the stowaway had been female.
Erling had exhibited some unease at Rory’s announcement of that the previous evening. Most likely because she hadn’t yet examined the hideout and its contents.
However, if a girl had made it to shore from the Orlova, the best way to find her would be to alert the local population to her existence. And the sooner the better.
As she worked, Rhona was conscious that the Orlova was never still or silent, but constantly ringing with sound as it strained against its anchor. The noises, of course, were never of human life. It was as though the ghost ship had swallowed everyone, including whoever had taken refuge here in this hidden room.
Two hours later, she had collected her evidence. Long strands of human hair, dark blonde in colour, DNA saliva and blood samples and, interestingly, some short animal hairs, both white and black.
The thought had crossed her mind that the room may have been used in one of the many games played on board, so the animal hairs might relate to costumes similar to the Viking outfits, the blood spots to minor injuries sustained. Then again, from experience, when viewed via her magnifying glass, she thought the hairs had possibly come from a dog, although she would have to confirm this under the microscope back in the lab.
Shortly after she’d bagged everything, Erling reappeared.
‘It’s getting a bit wild out there, so we’d like to get you off and safely back to Houton.’
‘What about Glasgow?’
‘The helicopter won’t go now. You’re here for another night, I’m afraid.’
Making their way up on deck, Rhona was surprised at the increased pitching of the Orlova, something she’d missed during her time in the cell. The wind having risen, its gusts now threatened to take the feet from under her, until Erling grabbed a hold.
At the ladder, he lowered the evidence bags first before roping her to him. ‘I’ll go first,’ he said. ‘Just look straight ahead, not down.’
Their descent passed in a blur, much like when she’d abseiled down Kilt Rock on Skye, the difference being she didn’t land on solid ground this time, but on the rocking police launch. There was a brief welcome from the pilot, then they were slicing through the waves towards the Houton slipway.
‘I’ll take the evidence through to the station,’ Erling told her as they parted on the jetty. ‘It’ll go down with you tomorrow.’
Stepping into the solid stone of Magnus’s house, Rhona said a silent thank you to whatever Norse god had seen her safely back.
Magnus, working in his study, came out to greet her. ‘You’ve had a couple of phone calls,’ he said. ‘They tried me when they couldn’t reach you.’
‘Who?’ Rhona said, hoping one caller might have been McNab.
‘Check your mobile.’
Reaching her room, Rhona did exactly that. There were, in fact, three messages. One from Chrissy demanding Rhona call her, one from Bill asking the same.
The third wasn’t from McNab, but from Ava Clouston.
I need to speak to you alone. Can you come to the farm. Now.
50
The rain was on in earnest. Driven by the wind, it splattered the windshield so insistently that Rhona had to slow to a crawl to spot the track down to the Clouston farm. Untarred, the route was already puddled and muddy.
She could see the house lights in the distance, the Flow beyond, the distant hills of Hoy looming through the rain. Although still daylight, the scudding dark rain clouds made it seem more like dusk.
She’d stopped registering the presence of the Orlova. Perhaps because its ghostly shape felt more threatening than the dark sky, the wind or the rain.
Approaching the farmhouse, she found a long stone building, two-storey, with three attic windows facing the sea. Between the house and Scapa Flow stood a cluster of farm buildings, the largest, probably the byre, the furthest away. Nearest the shore was what looked like a small boathouse.
As she pulled up in front of the house, Ava appeared at the front door to welcome her in.
The kitchen was bright and warm, a laptop open on the kitchen table. Alongside the range was a dog basket lined with a tartan blanket.
‘You have a dog?’ Rhona said.
‘Finn. He’s down at the boathouse with Dougie.’
‘They’re not going out in a boat in this weather?’ Rhona said.
Ava shook her head. ‘Dougie likes to spend time on the Fear Not, whatever the weather. Can I get you a tea or a coffee?’ she offered, waving Rhona to a seat at the table.
‘Coffee, please,’ Rhona said.
Ava prepared the coffee in a silence which didn’t end when she joined her at the table. Whatever she’d wanted to say to Rhona in person, she was finding it difficult to do so, now she was here.
Eventually she blurted it out. ‘You were on the Orlova today looking for evidence of the girl Rory was talking about.’ It was less of a question than a statement.
Rhona gave a brief nod.
‘Did you find it?’
Rhona saw no reason to lie. After all, Erling would no doubt be relaying the news to the island, asking for folk to look out for a possible survivor from the Orlova.
‘I can’t discuss what I found, but yes, I believe someone has been hiding there. Probably female.’
There was a long pause, while it appeared Ava was fighting herself as to how she might respond. Eventually it arrived.
‘She’s here,’ Ava said. ‘Dougie brought her from the ship.’ The words finally out, she was waiting on Rhona’s response.
Rhona hadn’t wanted to examine the dog’s blanket, but sitting so close to it, she’d already registered the white hairs against the blue of the tartan, which had made her suspect that the dog and Dougie may have been on the Orlova. To hear he’d brought the girl ashore was both surprising and wonderful news.
Before she could say this, Ava rushed on. ‘Dougie told Nadia she would be safe here with me. That I was investigating Go Wild, and I would tell her story, but no one could know she was here.’
Rhona now understood what last night’s behaviour had been all about. Ava’s reaction to their discussion at the dinner table and her wariness of Rhona being on Orkney again.
She knew I would examine that room in the ship. She knew a forensic search might reveal that Dougie and the dog had been there.
‘You need to tell Erling about this,’ Rhona said. ‘She’s a witness in a murder investigation and has knowledge of Go Wild.’ She avoided the words ‘pos
sible suspect’ although conscious of that possibility too.
‘She begged me not to, not until I release her story. She says the company has connections everywhere. They’ll find her and kill her. She’s convinced they’re already on Orkney. It was never imagined the Orlova would come ashore anywhere. It was just another ghost ship floating about in the Atlantic. What happened aboard would never have been discovered, and if it was, it would be years from now, when the bodies were nothing but skeletons.’
What Ava said was more than likely true. The Orlova, like many of the ghost ships littering the world’s oceans, was a curiosity, nothing more. Until it had come ashore at Yesnaby.
‘Nadia would be placed in protective custody,’ Rhona said.
Ava dismissed that. ‘You don’t know who you’re dealing with here, you can’t imagine their reach and influence.’ She fell silent and Rhona realized there was something more she wanted to say. The real reason for her request that Rhona come here.
‘Why are you telling me all this?’
‘If the story of a possible survivor is leaked from Glasgow, anyone sent to kill her will look there. That takes the focus away from Orkney.’
‘Can I talk to Nadia?’ Rhona said.
‘That can’t happen. If Dougie finds out I’ve betrayed them, they’ll run. He’s threatened as much.’ Glancing at her watch, she rose. ‘They’ll be back soon. You have to go.’
‘What do you want me to do?’ Rhona said.
‘I was planning to ask you to speak to DS McNab but—’ She came to a halt.
‘I can speak to his boss, DI Wilson,’ Rhona said.
‘Can he be trusted?’ Ava asked.
Rhona didn’t hesitate. ‘I’ve trusted him with my life before this.’
Ava nodded, relief showing in her face. ‘Now you have to go.’
‘What about Magnus?’ Rhona said as she donned her jacket. ‘I had to borrow his car so he knows I’m here.’
‘Tell him I wanted to write a piece about a forensic scientist who experienced PTSD after she was targeted by a stalker.’
‘I wouldn’t agree to that,’ Rhona said.
‘Exactly – despite all my efforts to persuade you, you said no,’ Ava said with a hint of a smile.
51
I am he and he is me.
In his drug-addled state, he thought himself back in Kelvingrove Art Gallery, standing in front of Dalí’s painting of Christ, hanging forward on the cross, his hands and feet free of nails.
Just like I hang here, half naked above . . . what?
His eyes snapped open and he saw that he was looking down not on a stretch of water, as in the painting, but on a pool of his own piss.
And I am no saviour, of myself or anyone else.
What had he told them during the beatings? His mind flitted with individual images of the people he might have betrayed, Mark and Ava in particular.
Did he talk about the coffee house, where Mark was holed up? What about Ava? Had he said where she was? What she was doing?
And what about Go Wild? Did he spill everything he knew about them?
No, he thought. I haven’t told them everything . . . not yet. Because if I had, I wouldn’t be hanging here and still breathing.
As whatever drug they’d injected began another retreat, the cold advanced its attack. The shivering would start again soon, knocking his teeth together, burning his extremities, clawing at his chest with long, sharp fingernails.
A ripple began, then a long shuddering icy wave washed up from the soles of his feet, scrabbling up his thighs to focus on his crotch. He would have urinated again, had he had any liquid left in his body.
At this point he heard them approach, the clang of the door and then the advance of the long shaft of light which ended at him.
It seemed it was time to rock and roll again.
The three figures came forward together, the outer two almost as broad as they were high, replicas of one another. Only their tattoos differentiated between them. He’d named them Mutt and Jeff, after the Second World War double agents who had spied for the Allies. They were playing out their good cop, bad cop roles. Having time to study their torsos through drug-addled eyes, McNab knew that Mutt preferred being adorned with naked women. Jeff was more inclined to Nazi symbols. McNab had observed this at close quarters.
At first he hadn’t clocked where he might have seen them before, because back then they’d been fully suited, and the truth was most minders looked much the same. But the more he saw them, the more he believed that they’d been at the bare-knuckle fight with the posh fucker. Which was probably why they were enjoying themselves so much.
Their boss had never stripped or taken part himself. He was the Kommandant, the one, McNab suspected, who dictated when, where and how. Had he seen him before? McNab couldn’t be sure.
By the look of their pupils, Mutt and Jeff were always high on something, probably cocaine. How many times had McNab wished they’d give him that drug instead of the cocktail that was supposed to free his tongue to answer their questions?
He tried to prepare himself for the next bout, but at that moment all he wanted was for them to put his lights out, like they’d done in Glasgow.
Then something happened. The boss proceeded to take off his shirt and, with a smile, said, ‘It’s my turn.’
With a nod from him, Mutt and Jeff freed McNab’s wrists from the rings and he slumped forward onto his knees. The excruciating pain stopped the breath in his throat, just as his heart raced off into a bloody sunset.
Through all of this, he heard the two henchmen being dismissed and, struggling to lift his head, realized the Kommandant and he were alone.
In seconds, his head was dragged back and a knife placed at his throat.
‘Well done, Jock,’ he hissed. ‘You haven’t told us a fucking thing. Heard you were good with a chib. You’re going to grab this off me and take yourself out of here.’
52
As Rhona took the turn-off to Houton Bay, she spotted a police car parked outside Magnus’s place, which had to mean Erling was there.
God, now she would have to face not only a forensic psychologist, but a detective as well.
Two thoughts had accompanied her on the drive back from the Clouston farm. The first and most important was that the girl from the ship had to be protected at all costs. The second was that Ava’s suggestion of involving Glasgow might have merit. The decision on both of those she would now pass to Bill.
A final thought assailed her as she drew up behind the police car. I have to decide what to tell Chrissy. And Chrissy of all people knew her well enough, both by her expression and her voice, to recognize when she was avoiding the truth.
No one appeared to have noted her return as yet, so Rhona took her chance. If she could tell Bill the truth, it might be easier to face those indoors with a lie. Praying for a quick response, Rhona rang Bill’s number.
‘Rhona.’ He sounded relieved to hear from her. ‘How’d it go today?’
‘There was a stowaway,’ she confirmed. ‘A female. Her name is Nadia Kowalski.’
Rhona told him word for word what she and Ava had discussed. When she’d finished, there followed a moment’s silence, before Bill said, ‘Don’t repeat this to anyone, including Erling and Magnus. The fewer folk know about the girl’s whereabouts, the better.’ He paused. ‘When are you back?’
‘I’ll come with the body in the morning. Any more news on McNab?’ Rhona said.
‘No. I’m beginning to hope he’s gone rogue after all.’
The admission, Rhona knew, showed just how worried Bill was.
‘Let’s talk when you’re back,’ he said, before ending the call.
Rhona breathed a sigh of relief. The call to Chrissy, she would delay until she was inside.
She found Erling and Magnus drinking coffee in the kitchen. Both men turned expectantly on her entrance.
Rhona immediately focused on the reason for Erling’s presence. Sounding concern
ed, she said, ‘Is everything okay for tomorrow morning?’
‘It is,’ Erling assured her. ‘I just came in to say that I’ll pick you up at eight.’
‘Good. I’ve just spoken to DI Wilson and brought him up to date.’
In the short silence that followed, and before she could make her getaway upstairs, Magnus asked how it had gone with Ava.
‘Okay. Better than last night anyway,’ Rhona offered.
The two faces suggested that wasn’t enough, so Rhona added, ‘She wanted to talk to me in private about a piece she was writing on front-line workers and PTSD. She’d read up about the sin-eater case and wanted to feature my experience.’
Magnus looked slightly taken aback by this. ‘Did she mention this last night?’
‘She broached the subject, yes,’ Rhona lied. ‘That was the reason for the awkward atmosphere when you walked in on us.’
Stop talking, she silently reproached herself. Magnus and Erling knew enough about interviewing techniques to recognize that giving too much information was usually done to cover a lie.
The moment ended and with it some of the tension, but not all.
‘If you’ll excuse me, I need to write up my notes from today.’ And with that Rhona escaped to her room.
She had survived the first encounter, but dinner later with Magnus might not prove so easy. Plus she still had Chrissy to deal with. For that she would have to rely on Chrissy’s need to talk, more than her own obligation to reply.
Chrissy must have been holding her mobile, so quick was her response. ‘I was just about to try you again,’ she said accusingly. ‘I thought you were supposed to fly down with the body tonight?’
‘If you could see and hear the weather at this moment, you’d know why I’m here until the morning,’ Rhona told her.
There was a harrumph as Chrissy digested this, then, ‘What happened on the ship?’
Rhona was happy to describe what she’d found.
‘So there was someone,’ Chrissy said thoughtfully. ‘And the beached body?’
‘A young black male, wearing a shirt with the Go Wild crest. Looks like his throat was cut before he went overboard. I’ll send you the images shortly of both the body and the room on the Orlova. Body will come down with me tomorrow.’