‘Like the Burradale ones,’ I agreed.
‘Don’t forget, though, that they’re twice the height. Twice the visual impact, huge blades spinning. The Burradale ones, you can see the flicker of their shadows down on the golf course and right across the Tingwall valley, nearly a mile away.’
That rang a bell. We’d once had a trainee aboard the Dauntless who’d had an epileptic seizure through squinting at the sun past a flapping flag. ‘Wouldn’t that have an effect on people with epilepsy?’
‘There are all sorts of health risks spoken about, though wind turbines are so new nothing is really proven. Dizziness, nausea, headaches – they make a noise, you know, a low thrumming that carries through the earth, or in mist. They disrupt TV signals too, though most people have satellite these days.’
I didn’t want to get too far from the film. ‘Ted insisted on using Shetland because it could be all the locations he needed,’ I said. ‘If he can finish the movie, other film-makers would see what can be done here. It could be a whole new industry, but not if there are huge turbines along the hills.’
‘You’re right, it could be an excellent industry for Shetland, excellent. We have the infrastructure to cope with it, but the turbines would kill it stone dead.’ He rose and went over to the window, sweeping one arm outwards and lifting Inga’s scarf with the other hand behind his back. My peripheral vision caught a glimpse of him tucking it behind the computer screen. ‘That hill there, there are going to be half a dozen in sight. Up there, another ten. And from the front door –’ He motioned me before him. ‘A dozen turbines there.’ He turned, looking down across the greener hills behind the first corner of Brae. ‘All the way down to Eid. More on Scallafield there. There won’t be anywhere in Shetland that you won’t be able to see at least three or four.’
‘So that really would scupper filming,’ I said.
‘Scupper it entirely. But it’s not just the visual effect. What do you know about peat?’
‘It bends your back, cuts your hands, and dries your skin out,’ I said promptly. His solemn mouth curved in a smile that improved his face hugely.
‘You suffered too, as a child.’
‘We all did,’ I said, diving promptly into this promising opening. ‘We didn’t have any peats of our own, but I helped Inga’s family – do you know Inga Nicolson, no, what’s her married name? Em … em …’ I’d genuinely forgotten it, so the blank look I gave his suddenly watchful face must have been convincing. ‘You know, Peerie Charlie’s mum. The wee boy in the movie.’
‘Anderson,’ he said.
‘Yes, that’s it. Anyway, I’d go and help her family. I was even up on her bank yesterday morning.’
‘Yes. Well, here in Shetland the depth varies, but it can be very deep indeed, several metres, and it absorbs carbon dioxide. You know, the gas that causes global warming. Our peat is a great help to our struggling planet.’ Handy slogan. He went back to the lecture. ‘If the turbines go ahead, not only are we going to lose that absorption medium, but the digging work will release the stored CO2, thus worsening global warming – the very thing we want the turbines to fight against.’
‘It’s mad, isn’t it?’ I paused for artistic effect, and to shift my position so I could see his face. ‘Wasn’t Favelle concerned about that? I know you spoke to her about it.’
He jumped as if I’d run a marlinspike into him. ‘You weren’t there.’
I decided to really chance my arm. ‘Anders overheard you talking that evening. She was really nice, Favelle. I’d have thought, if you explained it all to her –’
‘I did,’ he said. His voice became curt, as if he was regretting telling me this much. ‘She said that if I’d bring the literature down to the set the next day she’d read it, and consider.’
‘Ah,’ I said. ‘So she was maybe going to think again about doing the wind farm publicity?’
‘I’m sure she was,’ he said. His very positiveness struck a false note. ‘She couldn’t help but see, once she’d heard both sides of the story, what a disaster this would be for everyone if it went ahead.’ He paused, pulled himself up to his full height and prepared to make his winning tack. ‘And of course I’m happy to say that her changing to our side totally removed any motive malicious people might have used in suggesting wind farm objectors might have been responsible for her death.’ The smug expression he wore to contemplate this truly awful sentence made me wonder if he really rated my intelligence that low. All Favelle had done was fob him off: bring me the leaflets, I’ll read them.
‘Of course,’ I said instantly. ‘I can’t believe anyone would really suggest such a thing. I’m sure the police don’t think it.’
He darted me a sharp glance. ‘I have not as yet talked to the inspector.’
‘How did you come to meet that evening?’ I asked.
‘I had heard – that is to say, I was told – that she has a habit of going for a run most evenings, just at dusk, along the Muckle Roe road.’
I closed my lips firmly on the ‘But –’ I’d been about to utter. It hadn’t been Favelle who went running, but Maree.
‘So I went out,’ he said, ‘and hung about, just half-way round the Busta turn-off there, by the standing stone, and waited for her. She wasn’t actually running, just walking briskly. I gave her a bit of a fright, stepping out in front of her, but she was really happy to listen to me, and she said if I’d bring her the literature tomorrow, she’d have a look at it. I thanked her, and offered her a lift back to the hotel, and she said no thanks, and off she went.’
‘In what direction?’ I asked.
He gave me a blank look. ‘Towards the main road.’
That meant towards the marina. ‘You know,’ I said, ‘I think you should be telling this to the police. You could be a really important witness.’ The thin shoulders swelled a little; the weedy chin went up.
‘Well –’
‘For example, one of the people you passed on your way home could have been the murderer.’
‘But that was at dusk,’ Kenneth objected. ‘Eleven o’clock. She didn’t die until very much later.’ The watery eye bent on me was suddenly shrewd. ‘I heard just before ten to four, when you came in.’
Bang on, but how did he know that? He wouldn’t have seen me from here.
‘I drove away from her at just after eleven. She wouldn’t have hung around all that time. She must have gone back to the hotel and come out again. Anyway …’ I saw him thinking about it. ‘No, I didn’t pass any cars. You don’t think about it, of course, but I’m pretty sure I didn’t. I have a vague impression of someone on a bike, coming towards the marina, just after the Busta turn-off.’ He gave me a long look, bit his lip uncertainly, then lifted his head and gave me that unexpectedly likeable smile again. I wondered suddenly if he was simply rather shy with strange women. ‘Look, I don’t want to interfere, but I wondered how well you know your mechanic, the young Norwegian. It’s common knowledge he’s been sleeping aboard your longship some nights. Well, she could have been visiting him. He’s a bit – well – who knows what he could be up to?’
‘Not committing murder,’ I said vehemently. But why hadn’t he heard his phone last night?
Kenneth shook his head, his disapproving upper lip lengthening, and took a step back into his doorway. ‘Well, I must be going, or I’ll be late for school. Now think about what I’ve said, Cass, and if you agree then come along to our next meeting. We’ve all got to stand together to stop this happening. Otherwise Shetland will be desecrated because of apathy. Desecrated.’
‘I’ll think about it,’ I promised. He whisked back inside and I put out a hand to stop him. ‘One last question. Did you know about Favelle wanting to adopt Peerie Charlie?’
His face darkened; his eyes narrowed. His hand on the door jamb clenched into a fist. If looks could kill they’d have been choosing the sail for my shroud. ‘You’re not the police,’ he snapped, and slammed the door.
Well, well. I walked back to the
car. He was, of course, being far more positive about what Favelle had said, but he had good reason for that. What he’d said did fit in with Anders’ account: they’d met at the stone, he’d been trying to persuade her, and she’d been wanting to get rid of him, so that she could go to Anders. She’d said she’d look at the stuff, and he’d gone, according to his account.
That last spurt of temper was unexpected. I wondered how he’d have reacted if she’d flatly refused to discuss the wind farm and told him to go away and stop bothering her. Might he have struck out at her? Then there was Inga’s scarf, that he’d whisked away as neatly as a sail-maker stowing his knife. That sleight of hand could have lit a fuse in the gap between two stones without anyone noticing.
In spite of that last spasm of sympathy I really couldn’t see how Inga could bear him. It was something about the combination of gangly height and straggliness that made me react as though he was a human spider. I wouldn’t have had an affair with him for all the tea in China. However it seemed that Inga might be, while big Charlie was away at the fishing, and in her house too, because although Kenneth wouldn’t have seen me coming up the voe from his own bedroom window, he’d have had a grandstand view from Inga’s.
I was almost back at the marina when a police car passed me. The driver clocked me, did a U-turn, and escorted me to the marina. DI Macrae got out, his easy-going face grim.
‘Now, Ms Lynch, while Mr Johansen is giving his new statement to one of my colleagues, I think you should tell me what that little bit of play-acting was all about.’
‘Over a cup of tea?’ I suggested.
His eyes narrowed. There was a long stillness, broken only by the light breeze ruffling the curls in his short hair. Finally, he nodded. ‘Why not?’
I’d had enough tea for one morning but at least it would give me something to do with my hands, or I could follow DI Macrae’s lead and knock up a monkey’s fist while he tied flies. He surprised me, though. ‘You can handle this boat alone, can’t you? How would you like to take me out, if you haven’t any more mischief planned for the morning?’
‘Oh,’ I said, startled. I paused, then asked bluntly, ‘Why?’
He considered me gravely for a moment. ‘It’s easier to talk on a boat at sea. Haven’t you noticed that?’
I had.
He nodded. ‘I want to stand away from these people. Get out in the loch, the voe, and look at them from a distance.’ He looked straight at me. ‘And I want to pick your brains. You’re smart, and you’re involved. I want you on my side. You know what a loose cannon would do to a ship.’
‘Smash straight through the side on its little wheels.’ He was being straight with me. I looked straight back at him. ‘If I can, I’ll help, but I don’t want to betray anyone, or send you off on wrong trails after someone I care about.’
‘I need all the bits of the puzzle before I can make it,’ he said.
‘It’s not a game,’ I said.
‘No,’ he agreed. He turned and bent to speak into the police car window. ‘Ms Lynch is going to take me out around the loch. I’ll be about an hour. Go on with the door to door, from Busta to the main road. Any cars or pedestrians seen.’
He made himself at home in the cockpit, peaceably looping little circular weights on his line, while I started the engine and cast off.
‘Did you know there’s a special variety of Arctic char, found only in Shetland?’ He lifted his head and smiled at me, and suddenly we were both at ease. ‘Now, if we can get this murder solved, I’ll be able to go and try for one. The Lerwick shop hires out rods, though I wish I’d brought my own. How would you feel about taking me out sea-fishing?’
‘I don’t know the best places,’ I said, ‘but so long as I can help eat what we catch, I’m up for it. The Rona was always a good mackerel spot.’
As soon as we were out of the marina I turned head to wind and got the mainsail up. It was a westerly wind, a nice reach both ways. I unrolled the jib and we were gliding along with only the chuckle of the waves at Khalida’s forefoot. ‘Want to take the helm?’
‘No. Helming you can only think about the boat. I want to let my mind run free.’
We settled down, one at each side of the boat. I was aft, with my hand on the helm; he was by the echo sounder and wind reader, auburn hair dark against the white fibreglass curve of Khalida’s cabin, and lifted by the wind coming through the slot between the sails. His head was bent over his line still, but his grey eyes lifted every ten seconds to look outwards: up at the standing stone first, then forward towards Busta. Alain had done that too, concentrated on some task yet aware of every move the boat made. The brown hands continued to work, not needing sight to tie the knots, delicate and assured on the green wool of his lap. I wondered what he’d be like as a lover and shoved the thought away. ‘Where do you come from?’ I asked.
He caught the absolute sense I’d meant. ‘A farm six miles from a little village in the shadow of Ladhar Bheinn. We had to go to school by boat.’
The light brown rectangle of the boating club receded as we followed the shore to Busta. There was a blackened ring on the beach, with a couple of white suits crouching beside it.
‘Do you think you’ll get any clues to the saboteur?’ I asked.
He shook his head. ‘Unlikely. It looked as though the videos had all been dumped in one rubbish bag and just fired. We may get prints from left-over plastic, but I doubt it.’
‘How about prints on the cases?’ I asked.
‘The last person to handle each of them wore gloves. Probably male, by the size of the hands, but only probably. Did you phone Tarrant the moment you smelt the burning?’
‘Oh, yes. Within a minute, anyway.’
‘Dawn’s a good time. Light enough not to need to draw attention to yourself with a torch, dark enough to hide who you are. The hotel, of course, doesn’t keep anyone up all night, and the doors are open. Guests just come and go as they please.’
‘Nothing to stop an outsider coming in,’ I said. ‘Do you know when the videos were stolen?’
He shook his head. ‘Not accurately enough. It could have been any time in the last couple of days. Everyone’s been too distressed by Favelle’s death to worry about editing.’
‘And nobody saw anyone near the bonfire?’
‘Elizabeth thought she heard a mobile ringing, and she looked out. She saw a dark figure against the flames, but lost it as soon as it moved away from the fire.’
‘Male? Female?’
‘She couldn’t say. You didn’t hear anyone scrunching along the beach? Coming towards here?’
‘No. Definitely not.’
He considered me for a moment. More questions; I gripped the tiller a little tighter and felt Khalida quiver beneath me.
‘How did others get on with Favelle, do you think?’
I remembered what I’d said to Anders that morning about personal dislike. It seemed DI Macrae was thinking along those lines too. ‘She wasn’t quite on this planet,’ I said, ‘but you couldn’t dislike her. It would have been like disliking a beautiful child.’
‘Was she happy?’
‘Oh,’ I said. I hadn’t thought of that, gave a knee-jerk reaction. ‘No.’ A happy woman wouldn’t want to adopt another woman’s child.
‘She had no children of her own,’ he said, slowly, eyes on his knots once more, ‘and several observers have mentioned how very taken she was with little Charlie Anderson. Taken with him, in fact, to the extent of wanting to adopt him.’ The stag-red head came up. the eyes that could have been Alain’s met mine, except that Alain had never looked at me with that grave disappointment, that I wouldn’t help him. ‘I spoke to her lawyer last night. She asked him to phone and offer to adopt the boy. The mother refused, and threatened adverse publicity if she was approached again. The lawyer advised Favelle to re-think the idea.’
‘Inga told me about that,’ I said. ‘She was very angry, of course, but she believed, she truly believed, that she’d put a stop to it
.’
‘Why do you think Favelle was so taken with the child?’
Odd question. ‘Oh, our Charlie’s very cute, blonde curls, engaging lisp, all that. There was the part of her child in the movie. It had been cut, and when she met Charlie she insisted on putting it back in.’
‘Nobody’s mentioned that,’ he said. He added a weight to his line. ‘According to the lawyer, she accepted his advice without arguing. You think she couldn’t have children, or was just wanting to have one?’
‘Maybe she wanted to be a yummy mummy, like all the other film stars these days, but Ted wanted her to keep going with her career. Anders thought –’
That was what came of talking on boats. I bit the sentence off.
‘It’s all right,’ DI Macrae said. ‘He’s told us version two now.’ Then he used my words. ‘Favelle, the beautiful international star, slumming it with a Norwegian engineer. Do you believe it?’
I couldn’t lie out here, with Khalida’s tiller alive under my hand, and the white mainsail stretching above us. Perhaps he’d counted on that. ‘I don’t know. She was being really flirty with him at lunchtime, that day.’ Then it all began clicking in my head. ‘What day was it she tried to adopt Charlie? Hang on –’ He waited silently. I kept feeling my way. ‘Inga said the lawyer said she was ill-treating him. It was the day before. He’d been a total pain coming out of the boat, and she’d skelped him. The next day they used another boy in the morning shots, and Charlie was a right pain in the afternoon. I thought he was making Inga bad-tempered, but it was the other way round. She was in a bad mood and it spread to him. So Favelle had been told no the night before.’
I paused for a moment. Favelle’s first words to Anders: Hi there! Is this your little boy? ‘Favelle thought,’ I said slowly, ‘that Anders was Charlie’s father. When they first met, the day she arrived. The same blond hair and blue eyes. Anders said that too.’ She always smiled at me – I think she thought I was Charlie’s father.
Dominoes were falling in my head. It would be like sleeping with Garbo, Anders had said. I remembered our tough Vikings watching her shadow as it fell across their bare knees. ‘She wasn’t sexy. She was beautiful, like Garbo, romantic. Our Vikings were all protective about her. Helping her out of the boat, pulling the sail round so the sun wouldn’t spoil her complexion. Anders sensed it. She didn’t particularly want to sleep with him, she wasn’t bothered about sex. She didn’t want him. She wanted Charlie.’
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