‘I need to go now,’ Maddie said.
He wished he could read people. He stared at her face, her eyes. He didn’t have a clue what was going on in her mind. Regret and remorse? Guilt and shame? Self-interest? He couldn’t tell if her face was the face of someone scared for her life, desperate to get away from an abusive husband, or the face of a cold-blooded killer. If she had killed Kev, surely she could kill again. Maybe Finn was in more danger than he knew. Or maybe she just felt attracted to him and wanted his help to escape to a new life. Did she even have any feelings towards him?
‘What kind of life will you have?’ he said.
‘What do you mean?’
He sat up in bed and took her hand. He meant the gesture to be kind but he half grabbed it and she narrowed her eyes.
‘Say I take you to the boat,’ he said, ‘and you successfully sail over the firth. Then what? The police are looking for you. You’ve got no transport, are you going to steal a car? They’ll be watching the bus and railway stations. If you get to an airport your passport will be flagged up.’
Maddie sighed. ‘Things aren’t that connected. Everyone thinks people in power are competent but they’re not, they’re as clueless as us. They’re not suitable to be in charge any more than we are. Probably less so, because they want to be in charge in the first place.’
‘It’s unrealistic.’
‘What’s unrealistic is staying here expecting things to die down before the Lewises come back, or your gran books a tour party. I’m going mad and I’ve only been here two days. At least if I run I’ll be doing something.’
‘Those aren’t the only options, you know that. You can give yourself up.’
‘You’re like a broken record,’ Maddie said. ‘I’ll get life in prison. Or worse.’
‘What could be worse?’
She gave him the raised eyebrows. ‘What you said about the money. If someone killed Kev because he didn’t have it, maybe they’ll kill again to get it.’
‘You think guys are after you?’
‘Why not?’ Maddie said. ‘Everyone else is after me.’
‘Do you know who these guys are?’
Maddie thought for a moment. ‘Lenny would know.’
‘He didn’t strike me as the kind of person willing to share information.’
‘Exactly my point. He’s rotten, the whole thing is rotten. I need to get away.’
Finn felt Maddie staring at him but he didn’t turn to her. Every time he looked in her eyes he did what she wanted. He was sick of himself, but he loved it too, loved the baseness of it, the venality, so unlike when he was with Amy. It made him feel alive.
‘I’ll drive you to the boat,’ he said.
She kissed him. ‘Thank you.’
‘But not right now.’
‘Why not?’
‘Can you sail it in the dark?’
‘There’s a torch in the boat.’
‘That’s ridiculous. We’re talking about miles of open water. Do you even know the tides?’
‘So when?’
‘Tomorrow. I’ll check the tides, maritime traffic, weather. I’ll put together a backpack of stuff you can use. You’ll need to change your appearance when you reach the mainland.’
He almost said ‘if’, not ‘when’.
Then he had a thought. ‘Where’s the money?’
‘Why?’
‘Just checking it’s safe, that’s all.’
‘It’s safe.’
He thought about the crossing. It was madness, but then this whole thing was madness.
‘So where is the boat, exactly? I need to know where I’m going.’
‘It’s easy to find, turn left off the back road at Orphir, it’s signposted Swanbister. At the end of the road, park outside Swanbister House. From there you walk round the bay to the right, there’s a small pier at Toy Ness. The Maddie is there.’
‘The Maddie?’
A cloud came over her face. ‘He named it after me.’
‘Christ.’
‘It was a long time ago.’
‘And it’s remote, no one will see us?’
Maddie shook her head. ‘You sometimes get dog walkers on the beach in the bay, but no one at the pier. There are two other boats tied up, but they’re for summer fishing. Kev kept the boat there for a reason, he didn’t want anyone seeing him going out.’
Finn was silent for a moment. ‘So he used to dive in Scapa Flow?’
‘With Lenny.’
Finn thought about that. ‘You think Lenny killed Kev?’
He was giving her a way out, an alternative story for her to build on.
‘Maybe.’ She looked at him. ‘I was so angry finding him with Claire, I thought she might’ve done it. But maybe Lenny makes more sense.’
‘Or someone else,’ Finn said. ‘Who did he and Lenny do business with? These other guys.’
‘They moved stuff around,’ Maddie said. ‘I presume drugs.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Kev never told me details, but they got a call every now and then, guys with foreign accents. Scandinavian.’
‘Smugglers?’
Maddie nodded. ‘They’d go out in the boat at night after a call, be gone for hours.’
‘They didn’t bring stuff back home?’
Maddie shook her head. ‘Must’ve stored it somewhere.’
‘Where?’
‘Does it matter?’
Finn touched her arm. ‘I’m just trying to work out the logistics.’
‘Why?’
‘Don’t you want to know what they were doing?’
‘It doesn’t make any difference now.’
‘There could be drugs hidden out there,’ Finn said. ‘Maybe only Kev knew where. Maybe Lenny needs to find them. Maybe your foreign friends are after him, I don’t know.’ He looked around the room. ‘And you definitely have the money safe.’
‘You already asked me that.’
‘Sorry, just nervous. Want to make sure everything’s planned out.’
She stood up and pulled on her panties then padded to the toilet.
He looked around the room but didn’t see the holdall anywhere.
He got dressed and met her coming out of the toilet.
‘I’d better go,’ he said. ‘Amy is up the road, and Ingrid. Everything has to look normal.’
‘You’re really going to help me.’ Maddie kissed him and squeezed his arm. ‘Thank you.’
‘Don’t thank me yet.’
33
‘John Tolbert, Mary Tolbert, Evan Reilly, Brian Dean, Graham Wallace, Stephen McDonald, Derek Drennan, Sean Bayliss.’
His voice was a low murmur, an incantation of the dead. He knelt in the dirt and leaned forward, rubbing his thumbs and forefingers against the order of service in his hands.
‘John Tolbert, Mary Tolbert, Evan Reilly, Brian Dean, Graham Wallace, Stephen McDonald, Derek Drennan, Sean Bayliss.’
He began rocking backward and forward. The tomb was freezing cold, his breath billowing out into the raw earth inches from his face. He looked up at the skulls. Only five of them, and now eight names on the dead list in his hands. It wasn’t perfect but it would have to do. The skulls stared down at him from through the centuries with empty eye sockets.
He rocked on his haunches until his knuckles were scraping the earth. He held the order of service on the ground and placed his forehead against it.
‘John Tolbert, Mary Tolbert, Evan Reilly, Brian Dean, Graham Wallace, Stephen McDonald, Derek Drennan, Sean Bayliss.’
This time from memory, not reading it. It was working, he was absorbing them into his mind, his body, he was keeping them alive in his synapses.
He remembered the widow kicking him in the back as he lay on the ground. He would find out about her and her dead husband, find out which one he was, everything about him, his hopes and dreams, the little disappointments in his life, the compromises, his secret guilty pleasures, all of it. And he would do the same for all of th
em. He would dedicate himself to their stalled lives, their brief blips of existence on earth. He would keep their candles flickering in the darkness.
He clutched the order of service and sat up, faced the skulls, his chin raised as he stared back at them and their grimaces.
‘John Tolbert, Mary Tolbert, Evan Reilly, Brian Dean, Graham Wallace, Stephen McDonald, Derek Drennan, Sean Bayliss,’ he said, louder this time.
*
He slipped into bed next to Amy, his feet freezing. The bedside clock said half three and his mind buzzed. He reached out and touched Amy’s back and she muttered under her breath. He could feel grit in his fingernails. He lay on his back and listened to the wind outside, erratic gusts, unpredictable and unknowable.
He’d said he would help Maddie but now, away from her spell, the look in those eyes, her body next to him, he wasn’t so sure. If he drove her to the boat he was helping a fugitive. More importantly, he was likely driving her to her death. Taking a boat all the way across the Pentland Firth was insane at any time, let alone winter. If the wind was up she would get blown off course, end up in swells the size of oil tankers. A Polish cargo ship had sunk recently in just a few minutes out there as the wind fought against the tide, the ship hit from all sides.
Maybe he should go with her. But he didn’t know any more about boats than she did. Perhaps there was another way to help her escape. In the boot of the car all the way to Stromness, then on to a ferry. But they would be watching the port, and he wasn’t allowed off the island. Unless he could somehow persuade Ingrid or Amy to drive, without knowing Maddie was in the boot. No, that was impossible.
Then there was the other option. He didn’t have to go along with any of this, he didn’t have to help her at all. Just one call to the police and she would be gone from his life. A handful of words down the line to Linklater and Maddie would be taken into custody. Arrested for murder, for evading the police, whatever else they wanted to charge her with for the crash.
Was she capable of stabbing her husband? He tried to picture himself in that situation. Imagined coming home to find Amy being fucked by some big builder or squaddie or firefighter, someone more of a man than him. He pictured the scene in his mind but all he felt was relief. Relief that he didn’t have to pretend to love his girlfriend any more. Relief that his own terrible behaviour had been cancelled out. Relief that she’d finally found someone to satisfy her in a way Finn couldn’t.
So there it was, he didn’t want Amy, he wanted Maddie, and all the shit that came with her. But he couldn’t have her either. If he took her to the boat and she somehow got across the sea, what then? He couldn’t figure out a happy ending for her, let alone any scenario where the two of them were together. Unless maybe he handed her in to the police and she got off on all charges. So maybe he should give her up for the sake of them both. But she would never forgive him, there was no way round that. And she would never get off anyway, she was right about that. And Amy and Ingrid would know he’d been with her, it would all come out, and his betrayal of his family and girlfriend would be in every newspaper and on every website.
There was no answer. There was no right or wrong. Just different ways of fucking up.
34
‘Finn, wake up.’
Ingrid was shaking him. He scrunched his eyes then tried to open them, squinting at her. The room was still dark.
‘What time is it?’
‘Half eight.’
He’d slept in. Amy wasn’t next to him.
‘Did you move the car?’ Ingrid said.
He pushed up on his elbows. ‘What?’
‘My car,’ Ingrid said. ‘Have you been out in it since I went to bed last night?’
‘Of course not.’
Ingrid opened the curtains. Still dark out there too, just the purple spread of pre-dawn in the east. ‘It’s gone.’
‘What?’
Ingrid looked at him as if he was stupid. ‘It’s not there. Someone’s taken it.’
Finn rubbed at his eyes. ‘Where’s Amy?’
‘In the kitchen.’
‘And she doesn’t know anything about it?’
‘No.’ Ingrid stared out the window. ‘Who the hell would steal my car all the way out here?’
Finn shook his head.
Ingrid turned to him. ‘When did you get to sleep last night?’
‘I don’t know. Late.’
‘And you didn’t hear anything?’
‘No.’
‘It was outside your window, whoever it was must’ve started the engine. Are you sure you didn’t hear it?’
‘I’m sure.’
‘How did they get it started?’
‘People hotwire cars all the time,’ Finn said, immediately regretting his tone.
‘Not in Orkney, they don’t.’ Ingrid headed for the door. ‘I’m phoning the police.’
Finn called after her. ‘Do you think that’s wise?’
Ingrid turned. ‘Why wouldn’t it be?’
‘Just with everything that’s gone on,’ Finn said. ‘Haven’t we had enough of the police?’
‘My bloody car has been stolen from right outside my house, so I’m going to do something about it. Please get out of bed and help.’
She left the room and Finn rubbed his face.
He grabbed his jeans from the floor and went through the pockets. Ingrid hadn’t asked about his spare key but she would soon, or the police would. He went through the pockets again, already knowing the truth. His car key was gone.
He threw his clothes on and lifted his jacket from the peg at the front door. He could hear Ingrid on the phone.
‘Finn?’ He turned to see Amy in the kitchen, mug of tea in one hand, slice of toast in the other. ‘Did Ingrid speak to you?’
‘About the car, yeah.’
‘Where are you going?’ She walked towards him.
‘Just outside to take a look around, in case the car’s been moved or Ingrid’s forgotten where she parked it.’
‘She seems convinced it’s been stolen.’
‘I’m sure she’s right, I just want to see for myself.’
She was at him now, sad eyes and furrowed brow. She smelled of shampoo and a familiar crisp perfume. He wanted to touch her but he didn’t. He caught the smell of tea from her mug.
‘Wrap up,’ she said. ‘Radio says it’s cold out.’
‘Sure,’ Finn said. ‘Back in a minute.’
He lifted the torch from the shelf by the door then silently picked up the spare key to the Tomb of the Eagles van, using his body to shield the action from Amy’s gaze. He didn’t look back as he left the house.
He stood for a moment where he knew the car had been and looked at the ground. There were patches of gravel, a few potholes and a muddy stretch leading up from the driveway. He examined the mud carefully. No broken glass. He spotted several footprints and put his foot alongside. The prints were a woman’s. He scuffed over them, making a mess, then looked around. It was calm, the wind from last night had died. The lighthouses were still blinking across the firth, dawn creeping towards them. He did a slow three-sixty but nothing caught his eye. Over to the west some lights were on in the farmhouse a few miles down the road, people no doubt huddling over a warm breakfast, getting ready for the day’s exertions. He looked east, behind Ingrid’s cottage, and could make out the roof of the visitor centre. All dark.
He gazed at the building over the rise in the road. He looked back at the cottage, Ingrid and Amy inside. He turned and strode down the road towards the Lewis place, breaking into a run once he was over the bump in the road and out of sight. Five minutes and he was there. He fumbled for the key and opened the door.
Everything seemed untouched. The visitor centre was as it should be. He ran through to the kitchenette, just a mug on the drying rack. He looked in the bin and saw a handful of teabags.
He tried the connecting door to the Lewis house. Unlocked. He went through into the living room. The spread of Maddie’s stuff had a
ll been cleared up, everything back the way it was before. He opened the drinks cabinet. Missing the bottles of gin and brandy they’d drunk together. The glasses were washed and back in place.
In the kitchen, the same, just the empty bottles in the bin.
He went through to the bedroom. The bed was made, her clothes all gone. There was a letter on the bed, a single folded sheet with his name on it:
Sorry, Finn. I didn’t want to leave you, but I don’t want you getting in any deeper than you already are. Sorry about Ingrid’s car. It’ll be where we talked about. I don’t know if you ever believed me, but I didn’t kill Kev. If I make it, I’ll be in touch. I’m sorry you have to face everything alone, about the crash. I know how you feel. We’re the same, Finn, we have a connection, I know you feel it. But sometimes that’s not enough. Good luck.
Maddie xxx
He crumpled the note into his pocket, then went out the front door and strode over to the car park. It was first light now in the east and the wind was picking up again as he unlocked the Tomb of the Eagles van. The blink of its lights and the beep it gave off made him cringe, as if the eyes of the world were on him. He glanced round then got into the van, started the engine and drove north.
35
The weather closed in fast. Squalls of rain splattered the windscreen and the van rocked as gusts of wind swept in from the west. Down past Sandwick to St Margaret’s Hope he could see the chop of the water at high tide out in Scapa Flow. He had a sudden panic that the Churchill barriers would be closed, but as he sped through Cara he couldn’t see a police vehicle. He drove on to the first barrier and was hit by a wave arching over the concrete, the wipers unable to cope as water plumed over the van, the wheels skiting on the surface. He braked and steered into the skid, flicking the wipers to full and nudging the van forward. He peered out but nothing was coming the other way. It was stupid driving over the barriers in these conditions, even if the police hadn’t closed them yet.
He drove over Burray, then the next barrier, no waves this time, but on the exposed road the wind made the van veer to the right. The next barrier past Glimps Holm was the same, the blockship barely visible in the swells to his right. He came over the hump of Lamb Holm and passed the Italian Chapel, just the final barrier to negotiate. He could see that the road was flooded, and as he looked a big wave dumped itself on to the concrete. The weight of it was enough to crush a car roof and smash in the windscreen. He sat for a moment watching, trying to see a pattern in the waves hammering against the barrier, but it seemed random. He looked behind at the fake stucco front of the Italian Chapel, thought about saying a prayer.
Crash Land Page 16