The cots, unnecessary for the time being, were all stripped bare to their mattresses. As I stared at them, so much fell into place. Since hearing about Tronal, I’d been puzzling how a maternity clinic could exist, given how few babies were supposedly born here each year. Now I knew the officially recorded babies were merely the ‘cover’ for the island’s more sinister activities.
The clinic had been built to facilitate the births of the Trows’ own baby sons. The rooms upstairs would house the abducted women – often drugged or restrained – during the whole of their pregnancies. When containment wasn’t necessary, when no outsiders were on the island, the women might even be allowed a certain level of freedom: because Tronal was as impenetrable a prison as any I could imagine. How many pregnant women would risk swimming half a mile of rough ocean? Of course, if they knew that shortly after giving birth they’d have weird Nordic symbols hacked into their flesh, that their hearts would be cut from their living bodies, I imagine one or two might just risk it.
The six or so babies born from these women would be adopted by Trow men and their wives, previously discouraged, as Duncan and I had been, from having children of their own. To legalize these babies, their adoptive mother would be registered as their birth mother and would appear as such on their birth certificate. Did that mean these adoptive mothers, the men’s wives, were colluding in what was going on? Did Elspeth know the truth about Duncan’s birth? Not a question I really wanted to dwell on.
Duncan and I ran across the room towards a door at the far end and stood listening. Nothing. We opened the door and went into a storeroom. More wooden cots had been dismantled and were propped against a wall. Folded buggies leaned against another. Two other doors: one opened on to the corridor, the other led outside. Duncan crossed to the external door and pushed it open. A rush of cold air came in as he leaned out and looked all around. From somewhere in the clinic I could hear voices but none of them seemed close.
But the Trows only made babies in every third year. The babies offered legally for adoption were few and far between. The rest of the time, the facilities on Tronal would sit empty and unused. So the enterprising Trows had come up with yet another use for the clinic: a facility for illegal late abortions. Finding desperate women through a network of hospitals, family-planning centres and abortion clinics around Europe, and dressing up the service as ‘counselling and advice’, they’d probably found plenty of women happy to pay over the odds for their operations. A few days on the island and these women would resume their normal lives, oblivious to what they’d really left behind on Tronal.
They’d never know that their own flesh and blood was still alive; growing and developing in the clinic’s intensive-care unit until well enough to be sold to the highest bidder. It was brilliant. Monstrous, but brilliant.
Duncan came back into the room. ‘OK, the dogs are locked up and most of the staff here will be moving the women down to the boat. But you still have to be careful. Go as fast as you can and don’t be seen.’
I’ve never performed a parachute jump, but I imagine the moment of standing at the open plane door, waiting to jump, must feel exactly as I did then. I knew I had to go, leave Duncan and make my way across the island alone, but couldn’t quite bring myself to do it that second. Then Duncan pushed me, not remotely gently, out of the clinic and I ran.
Stopping for just a second to get my bearings, I made for the ridge of rock that would shelter me from anyone searching the immediate grounds. I reached it and dropped low, giving myself a second to get my breath back and make sure I hadn’t been spotted. Looking back at the clinic, I saw the door had been closed. There was no sign of Duncan. When I had enough courage I set off again, retracing my footsteps. I found the rucksack I’d left earlier and pulled on my waterproofs, then followed the cliff path until I reached the marker stone I’d left on the wall. I climbed over, squeezed through the gap in the barbed wire and ran to the cliff top. I was about to start the scramble down when I stopped. Something was moving on the beach.
It was the cliff birds. They’d scared the hell out of me earlier; they were just doing it again, that’s all. I had to get down there. Duncan was going to need help. Whatever it was moved again. I froze. No bird could be that big. I crept down the cliff path. A loose rock went tumbling beneath me and I froze again. Below, where I guessed the boat would be, a light flashed on. A beam of light started to creep around the rocks. I flattened myself against the cliff and kept as still as I could. At one point the torch’s beam touched my foot but didn’t linger and after a minute or two it was switched off.
Slowly, carefully, I started to climb back up the cliff, praying I would disturb no more loose rocks. I reached the top and paused for breath. My boat had been discovered. They would be looking for me, would search the island until they found me. I might manage to hold them off until dawn, but once daylight came there’d be nowhere to hide. And they had dogs. If they set the dogs loose . . .
One way or another I was getting off that island; and there was only one other way I could think of. Richard was about to get another passenger. I set off again, running almost due north. Once I reached the track I kept as close to it as I dared for the half-mile or so that took me to the other side of the island. At one point I had to dive for cover when the sound of a diesel engine came roaring up from the harbour. It was a large four-wheel-drive vehicle, similar to the one Dunn drove. It might even be his car. Several men were inside it. They were travelling at considerable speed, given how rough and potholed the road was.
I ran on, getting more and more out of breath. I reached the highest ridge I had to cross and began to stumble down the other side. The water of Skuda Sound was ahead of me and, tantalizingly close, the lights of Uyeasound. The motor launch was still moored to the pier. Its cabin lights were on and, from the bubble of water at its stern, I knew its engines were running.
The wind was still pretty ferocious, masking any sounds that might be coming from the boat, but several of the dark clouds had blown away, allowing a small moon and a few stars to shine through. Visibility was better than when I’d arrived on the island and I could make out the figures on my watch. Eleven-thirty. I ran down to the pier and crouched low, by the side of the launch. It was fastened, port side to, by lines at the bow and the stern. I crept to the nearest cabin hatch and peered through. It was the main cabin. There was a helm, control panel and radio, a small teak-fitted living area with tiny galley, a chart table and three further doors leading off. No sign of Richard. I moved on and looked through the hatch of a small sleeping cabin. Dana lay on the bunk, motionless, but she wasn’t alone in the cabin. I could see the tip of a polished black brogue and a few inches of charcoal-grey trouser fabric. Thank God, Duncan was already on board. As gently as I could, I pulled myself up and swung my leg over the guardrail. The boat rocked only a fraction.
‘Someone up there?’ called my father-in-law from below.
Small boats aren’t exactly blessed with hiding places. Frantically looking round, I could see only one way out – jumping over the side and swimming for Unst. Someone was moving below, climbing the steps.
On the cabin roof was a folded awning, used to protect the cockpit from spray in poor weather conditions. I climbed up, lay down and burrowed into its folds.
The boat rocked as Richard climbed the companionway steps. I could see nothing, but knew Richard would be at the top of the steps, looking around, puzzled to see no one on board. He’d be less than two feet away from me. I held my breath, praying the canvas awning covered all of me and that he wouldn’t notice it looking bulkier than normal.
Below, the boat’s radio burst into crackling, static life. ‘Arctic Skua, come in, Arctic Skua. Base here.’ Richard climbed back down the steps. I prayed the wind would die down a little, just enough for me to hear what was going on.
The radio crackled again; I thought I heard the word ‘basement’ and a couple of expletives but I couldn’t be sure. Then Richard spoke.
; ‘Right, I understand. I’ll be careful. I’m setting off now. Arctic Skua out.’
Below me, Richard was moving again. A cabin door opened and shut, then I heard him heading up top. I counted seven footsteps and then he was in the cockpit. He climbed heavily on to the seat and then the deck. I heard him walk forwards and then the sliding sound of the bow-line being released. At once the boat swung round, the current taking it away from the pier. Then Richard walked back down the deck towards the stern. I waited for him to stop and then I risked peering out over the top of the canvas. He was bent almost double, his back to me, unfastening the stern-line from the cleat. Once released, the boat would drift swiftly away from the pier and he would have to rush back to the cabin to steer us away from Tronal. This was my best chance. Creep up behind him, give one almighty shove and he’d go overboard. It would be the easiest thing in the world then for Duncan and me to drive the boat to Uyeasound.
Too late. Richard began to turn. I crouched back down.
The boat was drifting fast from the marina. Richard strode through the cockpit and down the steps. Then I heard the engines revving and the boat swung round to starboard. I looked up, trying to get my bearings. Nothing but blackness ahead. Behind me the lights of Uyeasound were shrinking. We were heading east down the Skuda Sound, out into the North Sea.
Richard wasn’t sparing the engines. We sped along at seven or eight knots. Rhythmically, like hammers striking the seconds on a giant clock, waves thudded against the hull. The bow of the boat rose and dipped and spray came hurtling over the deck like an intermittent and very cold shower. It was extremely uncomfortable and I knew the longer I stayed where I was, the colder and stiffer I’d become. When was Duncan going to make his move? I got up. The cabin roof was slippery with sea water and I gripped the rail before lowering myself on to the deck. The rucksack on my back was making me clumsy. I pulled it off and fastened it to a cleat. Then I reached inside. I found what I was looking for and tucked it into the front pocket of my waterproofs.
Then Richard cut down the revs and the boat slowed by several knots. We were heading south; Tronal was about two hundred yards away on the starboard side and around us loomed huge, dark shapes, as menacing as they were unexpected. I’d never been this far east of the islands and I didn’t know that some of the oldest rocks in Shetland can be found exactly here. Stacks of granite, echoes of the majestic cliffs that towered here millions of years ago, were all around us. Some were massive, soaring above us in archways and monoliths, others crouched low in the water like fell beasts waiting to pounce. They’d be beneath us too, making navigation treacherous and explaining Richard’s drop in speed. Like black-cowled monks, frozen in prayer, they stood in silence and watched us passing.
And something weird had got into my head that night, because it seemed to me these rocks were sentient, that the human drama taking place before them was hardly new, and that they watched, coldly curious, waiting to see how the act would be played out this time.
After ten minutes or so we left them behind and Richard picked up speed again. Still no sign of Duncan, but we were travelling away from help. We had to move soon. I wondered if Duncan, down in the cabin, might not realize which direction we were going in. In any case, we couldn’t wait much longer. I moved along the deck until I could step into the cockpit. Glancing down the companion-way, I could see Richard at the helm, chart at his elbow. If he turned, he would see me. I just had to hope he wouldn’t. I raised the lid of the portside locker and looked inside: several coils of rope. I chose the shortest and closed the lid. Then I moved across the cockpit to the steps. I wasn’t going to hide again. When he turned, he would see me. So be it.
I stepped into the companion-way, put my foot on the top step.
Richard didn’t move.
Holding the guard-rail with my free hand, I lowered myself on to the next step down. Then the next.
The third step was damp and my trainer slipped a fraction. It made a faint squelching sound.
‘Good evening, Tora,’ said Richard quietly.
All the wind went out of me and I sat down, hard, on the steps. He turned and we looked into each other’s eyes. I’d expected anger, exasperation, maybe even a cruel sort of triumph. What I saw was sadness.
We stared at each other for a long time. Then his eyes flickered over my shoulder to the port-side cabin. Did he know already that Duncan was on board too? I glanced to one side. The door was closed tight. I turned back to Richard. He pulled back the throttle and the boat slowed almost to a halt. He reached over and switched on the auto-pilot. Then he stood and took a step towards me.
‘I wish you hadn’t,’ he said.
I felt my eyes sting and my jaw start to tremble. Please let me not be about to cry, not now.
‘I suppose Emma gave me away?’ I asked, praying that was the case. If Emma had told them, they might not know I’d met up with Duncan. Richard might not know he was on board. And where the hell was he, anyway? I pressed my right hand against my chest, felt the reassuring hardness beneath my waterproofs.
‘Yes, she mentioned your visit. And then it was a simple matter of checking video footage to confirm it was you. Not that any of us had any doubt. You’ve been very brave, my dear.’
I pushed myself up and jumped down into the cabin. Richard took a step back. Again his eyes flickered to the door behind me, but I wasn’t about to be distracted.
‘OK, less of the “my dears”; you and I have never been close, nor are we likely to be in future, given where you’re going. I think the GMC might have a few questions about the services you offer at that clinic of yours. That’s when the police have finished with you.’
Richard stiffened. ‘Please don’t presume to preach at me. Those babies would have died before birth – would have been murdered before birth – without us. Because of us they will have a good life, with parents who love and want them.’
I was close to speechless. ‘It’s totally illegal.’
‘The law is a complete mess, Tora. The law allows us to inject potassium chloride into an infant’s heart, right up until the moment of birth. Up to twenty-four weeks we can do it for no other reason than that the pregnancy is inconvenient to the mother. Yet if a child of twenty-four weeks is actually born, we have to do everything in our power to preserve its life. Where’s the sense in any of that?’
‘We don’t make the law,’ I said, knowing I was sounding lame. ‘And we certainly don’t exploit its weaknesses for commercial—’
‘Do you have any idea how many terminations go wrong every year, when the babies come out alive, often severely handicapped?’ Richard came back at me angrily. ‘Because I’ve come across several in my time; babies whose mothers abandoned them even before birth. What kind of life are they going to have? Surely our way is better than that.’
‘You’re trading in human beings,’ I almost hissed at him.
‘We help women out of difficult situations. We provide childless couples with hope for the future. And we save dozens of babies who would otherwise be murdered for social expediency. We are preservers of life.’
I couldn’t believe he was seriously trying to take the moral high ground. ‘And Dana? Are you planning on preserving her life?’
He seemed to shrink a little into himself. ‘Sadly, no. That’s out of my hands. I hear she was a fine young woman. I’m sorry she had to get involved.’ Then he pulled himself up again. ‘Although, frankly, if anyone’s responsible for Miss Tulloch’s death, it’s you. If you hadn’t been so determined to meddle in the police investigation, she’d never have learned enough to put her life in danger.’
‘Out of your hands, you sick shit? It’s your hands that will be weighting her down and throwing her overboard.’
Richard shook his head, as though dealing with an unreasonable child. I began to wonder if he was mad. Or if I was.
‘This is so typical of you, Tora. You can’t reason your way out of an argument, so you resort to abuse. Is it any wonder we’ve
never been close?’
‘Shut up! This is not family therapy time. I can’t believe you’re preaching to me about saving lives. You tried to kill me last Sunday. You sabotaged my boat and my life jacket.’
‘Actually I knew nothing about that.’
‘Stop lying to me. You’re about to kill me: the least you can do is tell me the truth.’
‘He isn’t lying. I sawed though the mast.’
I whipped round. Stephen Gair stood in the doorway of the port cabin. His face was crumpled, slightly red. My eyes dropped to his feet. Black brogues.
‘Jesus,’ he said. ‘What do you have to do to get some decent kip around here?’
38
I DROPPED THE rope and backed up out of gair’s reach, and came up sharply against the chart table. Gair stepped to one side and leaned against the steps. No way out. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Tora,’ he said, smiling sleepily.
I took hold of the zip on the pocket of my waterproofs and started to inch it down. ‘Don’t tell me,’ I said, ‘reports of your death have been exaggerated. Where’s Duncan?’
‘Duncan had a change of heart. He won’t be joining us tonight.’
I risked taking my eyes off Gair to look at Richard.
‘What have you done with Duncan?’ I demanded.
Richard leaned over and fumbled on the shelf that ran around the cabin’s interior. He straightened up again and I thought I saw the wrapping of a hypodermic concealed in his large hand.
‘And no one’s about to kill you,’ said Gair, his arms stretching high above his head. ‘At least, not any more,’ he continued when he’d done yawning. ‘You’re going back to Tronal.’
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