The knife stilled for a long moment, finished its slice and was laid aside. His shoulders were rigid under the blue cloth. ‘I hadna heard that, now. That’ll be what the police car came to the door for, earlier. I didn’t bother to answer them.’ He added oddly, ‘It can be cold these nights, for all it’s warming up through the day.’
‘Yes,’ I agreed, and waited. He brought over the plate of biscuits and cheese. I suddenly remembered it was past lunchtime and launched in.
Magnie took a bite too. ‘Aye. These youngsters all drink too much, I ken he’s got a bee in his bonnet about it. All the same, he shouldna have left her there. I thought that at the time, and then I thought, well, it’s no far off morning, she’ll wake up and go home. So she never woke up. Poor peerie lass.’
He shouldna have left her there – The breath left my body with a jolt, as if someone’d punched me in the stomach. Dear God, Magnie had seen –
‘Wha’ shouldna have?’ I said, forcing myself to speak calmly. ‘Wha’s he?’
Magnie paused as if he was surprised that I didn’t know, jerked his head forward to peer at me, like a turtle coming out of its shell, and jerked back. There was a long pause; his pebble-round eyes watched me, doubtfully.
I put my chin up. ‘I’m the skipper,’ I said, ‘and she died on my boat.’
He laughed at that, a wheezy laugh that ended in a cough. ‘So you are, lass. So you are.’ He shook his head and fumbled in his pocket for a tin of tobacco, began making himself a roll-up, and I knew that he’d tell me now. A skipper had the right to know what happened aboard his own vessel. But he’d tell it in his own way, and in his own time.
‘He,’ he said at last, mimicking my tone, ‘was that great streak o’ ill-tempered misery you have aboard to make mischief. Jessie’s man. Gibbie o’ Efstigarth.’
‘Gibbie,’ I repeated. I made my voice very matter-of-fact. ‘Can you tell me what happened fae the start, Magnie?’
He began to laugh again, shaking his head. ‘Man, to think I’d see the day. I’m fairly blyde I’m no one of your deck hands. You’re a right wee tyrant. A man wouldn’t be allowed to sneak a drop o’ rum while he was on watch aboard your ship.’
That made me smile too. I’d been fitting other faces among skippers I’d known, and now he was doing the same with me. ‘The Vikings had a bottle aboard, after we’d done the filming.’
‘Ye, ye, I heard all about that. And you keeping an eye on it as it went round.’ He wheezed again, and took a draw on his cigarette. ‘They said you kent what you were about.’ From a Shetland seaman to a slip of a lass, it was a compliment that made a warm glow of pride swell within me. ‘Keep eating, lass. I’m had my dinner.’
I took another biscuit, which kept me quiet with mouthfuls of flaky crumbs for a couple of minutes. Come on, Magnie …
Honour was satisfied. Having made it clear he was telling me only of his own good will, he patted his knee for the cat, got it settled under one of his gnarled hands, and began. ‘Well, Cass. I bought a half bottle afore the club closed, and I got into the car, ready to drive home. I had a mouthfou –’
I’d seen Magnie’s idea of a mouthful, a quarter-bottle swig.
‘– and then I just sat back in the car and dozed for a bit. Then something wakened me.’
‘A car?’ I asked. Someone bringing the body?
Magnie shook his head. ‘I dinna think it. Footsteps, more like, I’d say, but I wasna paying attention.’
‘D’you have any idea of the time?’
‘No’ far off dawn, though it was still dark. Two o’clock, maybe. There was this lass stumbling down towards the marina, plain as plain under these new street lights. I wondered for a moment what she was doing there, and then I remembered your young lad, and I thought, well, she’s been drinking at the disco and she’s come to try her luck with him.’ He let out a great cackle of laughter. ‘For all they’re so clever, these bairns, they can’t see what’s under their noses.’
I gave him a puzzled look. ‘He’s very good-looking.’
Magnie gave me an old-fashioned look, and didn’t explain further. ‘Fairly fou, she was, stumbling and only just keeping upright. She got herself as far as the gangplank when she laid her length on the floor.’
It was only then I realised it was Favelle he was talking about. I remembered how Alain had stood after being struck, and spoken; how he’d lain down, then risen again, swaying. Favelle had been struck beside the standing stone, made unconscious, tumbled into the ditch. She’d come to again. We’d got the movement in the wrong direction: not someone else shoving her into the ditch, but Favelle hauling herself out, leaving those handprints. She’d stumbled down towards the marina, where she knew there would be people. There are the traces of one person’s footprints – only traces, nothing to help us, DI Macrae had said.
‘Well, she never got up again. I was just about to go and see if she’d hurt herself, when who should come up from below decks but Gibbie o’ Efstigarth. He lookit around and saw her, and came over wi’ a face like someone’d just cracked open a bad egg under his nose. I thought he was maybe taking on night watchman while that young lad was off with his pal. Ony road, there he was.’ He grinned. ‘I thought I’d have a fine time the next time I saw him, asking what he was up to smuggling young lasses aboard while Jessie’s back was turned. He looked that affronted at her being there.’
He paused to open his tobacco tin again, clumsy-looking hands deft as any girl’s. ‘He bent doon ower her, an I saw him thinking, clear as clear, ‘Serve her right if she lies there aa night.’ He gied her a shake, and she didna waken. He stood up again and lookit again, and then he crouched down and hauled her over.’
‘Recovery position,’ I said. No wonder it had looked familiar.
‘That’ll be it. And then he nipped back down below and brought up his box of tools, and steppit over her and headed for his car, and off he geed. I thought, ‘You’re not been watchman this night. You’re creating mischief. I’ll warn Cass when I see her to check every inch o’ that hull. And then I slept again, du kens the way, and when I awoke, well, it was first light, and I was cold from sleeping in the car, and I never minded me about the lass, I just started up the car and came home.’ The stubby fingers paused on the roll-up. ‘Lord forgive me. Did I leave her there to die o’ cold?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘No.’ The anger was still burning within me. ‘She’d been struck on the head. By the time you woke again, you couldna’ve saved her. But Gibbie could, if he’d no’ been so miserably against anyone having fun.’
No wonder Jessie had looked so upset. She must’ve known he’d been out that night, been afraid of what he was doing to me, to Stormfugl, yet unable to stop him. And then, when Favelle had been found murdered – what sort of life did she lead with him? Did she know he was capable of murder?
‘She was hit on the head,’ I said, ‘not drunk. She’d been struck up beside the standing stone.’
Magnie rose, paced to the door and back again. ‘If I’d no’ so much to drink I’d’ve gone and seen if she was all right. A head injury – they could’ve saved her, in the Gilbert Bain, or in Aberdeen.’
I couldn’t tell soothing lies to Magnie. ‘Maybe. But she’d been injured a while before.’ That time gap was falling into place now. Like Alain, she’d been unconscious for a while, then come to. Just after dusk … I waited but she didn’t come. ‘Just after dusk. Eleven, eleven thirty.’
‘Eleven thirty,’ he repeated. ‘Yea, three hours earlier, four.’ He stopped then, shaking his head. ‘Well.’ The long sound held all he wanted to say of regret and guilt.
‘If it’s anyone’s fault it’s Gibbie’s,’ I blustered into the silence. ‘He left her. Just put her into the recovery position and walked off and left her there to die.’
If that ship which had been in such a hurry had answered my frantic calls on the radio, ‘Mayday, mayday, Sea Princess, mayday …’
Magnie considered me again, round eyes narrowing under h
is heavy lids. ‘He didna ken, any more as me.’
‘But he didn’t hit her,’ I said. ‘You saw him come out from below decks.’
‘No’ he,’ Magnie said. ‘He was up to other mischief.’
I remembered Gibbie’s cat-with-the-cream expression of that lunch at the Hams, when Favelle was swarming all over Anders. He’d heard Favelle’s invitation, and assumed that Anders would go to her. Favelle, slum it aboard an open boat? His gloating had been because he’d expected Stormfugl to be unguarded.
Now, how did that affect our timetable? Perhaps Favelle, too, had expected Anders to come to her. When he hadn’t arrived, she’d set out, just after half past ten, when Elizabeth had said good-night. She’d met Kenneth at the standing stone around eleven. Anders had grabbed Rat and his sleeping bag and headed for the clubhouse; our murderer had come along on his bicycle and struck Favelle. She’d been lying in the ditch when Gibbie had strolled quietly down the grass, swung over the wire fence onto the marina curve, and headed for Stormfugl. He’d gone aboard and worked away for a couple of hours – what the devil had he been doing, in all that time? I had to get aboard Stormfugl to look. Then he’d heard footsteps stumbling towards the boat, on the gangplank. He’d heard her fall. He’d come up and seen what he thought was a drunk girl looking for Anders. He’d felt a brief flash of conscience towards a young lass unable to help herself, and put her in the recovery position. Then he’d gathered up his tools and legged it.
‘Lass,’ Magnie said, watching me, ‘you canna come up wi’ answers when you’re running round in circles. You need to sit apo the top o’ the hill and joost think. I’ll walk you half the way.’
So we walked up the Ward together as far as his peat bank. I left him there casting, and climbed up until Khalida was a toy boat moored in a half-circle of pale green water. Then I thought. I thought about triangles. Dad, Maree, Maman. Dad, Maree, Michael. Ted, Favelle, Elizabeth. Ted, Favelle, Anders; even Ted, Favelle, me. I thought about Peerie Charlie, about Favelle walking briskly along in the dusk to meet her lover, dreaming not of him but of his child, trying to keep her errand secret and being waylaid by Kenneth talking of wind farms. I thought of someone coming silently up behind her on rubber wheels. Brake, strike, roll the body into the ditch, fast, fast, in the half-light, before someone looked out of a nearby window, too fast to really check the shallow pulse, turn, and pedal away. I thought about letters: anonymous letters, beginning long before the world knew about the plan for Favelle to publicise the wind farm, a letter from a sperm analysis lab stuffed in a coat pocket. I thought about a rock tumbling down a green hill, and a heap of video tapes burning in the night. When I put it all together I began to see a pattern confused only by doubles: Favelle and Maree, Maree and Favelle. It was a pattern with one ruthless brain behind it.
I had to talk to Gavin Macrae. I pushed myself up from my rock and set off down the hill. Before that, though, I was going to look at my ship. I needed to know what Gibbie had been up to on board.
It took less than half an hour to sail the two miles back to the marina, and five minutes more to tie Khalida up. Stormfugl was still festooned with ticker-tape and swarming with people in spacesuits. I paused by the gangplank and called, ‘Hello?’
A couple of heads looked up. I called again, and put a foot on the gangplank. Immediately one came over.
‘Sorry, miss, nobody’s allowed on the ship. This is a crime scene.’
‘I understand that,’ I said. ‘I am the skipper of this vessel, Cassandre Lynch. I have reason to believe someone has been attempting to sabotage her, and I’d like to check she’s safe for you to be on.’
He was from south, didn’t know me at all. ‘We can’t let you aboard, madam. DI Macrae is in charge of the case. If you have concerns, or of course any information, he’ll be very pleased to discuss that with you.’
‘I’m concerned about your safety,’ I said. I tried a smile and an appeal to fellow-feeling. ‘Look, if she sinks under you it’ll be my head on the block.’
‘We’ll look out for water, madam,’ he said. ‘Now, if you don’t mind.’ He made an ushering movement.
I stood my ground, fished out my mobile and called Gavin Macrae. ‘Hi, it’s Cass. Listen, I really need to check Stormfugl, but your forensic officers won’t let me aboard.’
‘Oh?’
‘I’ll explain when I see you. Can I go aboard?’
‘How urgent is it?’ He sounded harassed. I could hear a woman’s voice in the background, giving orders.
‘I won’t know till I’ve looked.’ I wasn’t going to read out sealed orders in front of the forensic deck-hand. ‘Look at it as an insurance problem,’ I said. ‘Who’s liable?’
Now I heard him smile. ‘The words that guarantee instant attention from any official. What kind of sabotage could someone do that would endanger people working on the boat?’
‘Really dangerous stuff?’ I reflected, then spoke at the watchdog. ‘Drill a hole in the boat, and fill it with something that would dissolve over time.’ Gibbie was more accustomed to working with wood and rope, he’d go for those before going for the engine. ‘Cut part-way through one or more ropes so that the mast or yard fell when the last one snapped. Weaken a plank so that it would give when someone stepped on it.’
Of course, he might have done something totally different that would only cause havoc when the boat was moving. He hadn’t expected a murder to keep her in port, he’d expected the final day’s filming. He could have sawn through the rudder straps, or split a plank and plugged it with something that would come out at speed, or weakened the mast so it would crash down when the sail filled.
‘Okay. Obviously I’ll warn them to get out fast if she starts filling with water. Can you check as much of the rigging as you can from the shore?’
‘If your officers will allow,’ I said pointedly.
‘Give me five minutes. When you’ve done your check, come over and tell me what you’ve found out.’
He rang off. I waited, scanning the sky airily. Within half a minute the intercom on the officer’s belt buzzed. There was a short conversation, consisting mostly of ‘Yes, sir’. He put the set back and turned to me.
‘You have permission, madam, to examine the ship visually from the shore. Please do not touch anything.’
He watched me as I went slowly along the pier, looking hard at each of the leather blocks. Then I went across to Khalida for my spy-glasses and looked across at the other side, then up the mast. There was nothing visible. I couldn’t tell from here if the yard’s wooden pulley was intact. There were no breaks in the hull above the waterline, and the mooring ropes were secure and un-frayed.
I called Gavin back. ‘Cass again. It looks fine, but I wish you’d let me aboard to make sure.’
‘They need the rest of today. Can you tell me anything they shouldn’t do, for safety reasons?’
‘Touch any of the ropes. Tell them not to undo them, loosen them, lean on them, or use them to steady themselves.’
‘I’ll tell them. See you soon, Cass.’
I said goodbye politely to the watchdog, happy to leave him casting worried glances up at the mast, and headed round to
Khalida . I’d go round and tell Gavin Macrae all that I’d learned in a minute, but I was sleepy, so sleepy. I’d been up most of the night. Ten minutes, just ten minutes … I lay down on
Khalida ’s starboard seating and fell asleep.
Chapter Eighteen
I was only out for half an hour, not enough to start anyone worrying. I felt refreshed as I headed back to the car and drove around to Brae proper.
The incident room had been set up in Brae Hall. A young woman was on duty at a table just inside the door, and past her I could see Gavin Macrae, with a group of officers gathered around him. He was setting up a notice-board covered with photographs and post-it notes, and there was a flipchart easel beside him.
‘Yes, madam?’ the young woman said.
‘I was wanting to see D
I Macrae,’ I said. ‘It’s Cass Lynch. Don’t disturb him, I’ll wait outside. Can you tell him I’m here once he’s free?’
I could tell by the way she looked up that she’d heard of me. ‘Yes, madam, I’ll tell him. Will you be in your car?’
‘Thereabouts,’ I agreed.
I left her making a note and strolled back out into the sunshine. The air was filled with the smell of cut grass. The low wall around the back of the hall was the obvious place to wait, back against warmed brick, watching the waves playing with the seaweed at the shore’s pebbled edge. There was a wriggle underneath, a small explosion of water, and the smooth back of an otter curved over and dived again, to re-surface ten yards on. The cat-face popped up to look warily around, but the hall behind me hid my silhouette. Reassured, she ducked under again in a scuffle of crinkled kelp. I was following her progress along the shoreline and wondering where her cubs were when I heard Sergeant Peterson’s voice floating from the window above me.
‘A few useful comments, sir. A car went along around dawn, someone called Magnie o’ Strom. I tried his door, but there was no reply. Several people saw Cassandre Lynch’s boat going out at the time she said.’
‘She and the Norwegian working together,’ put in a male voice. It was DI Hutchinson, the one who’d interviewed Anders. He had a very definite I-am-right air which made me take against him immediately. ‘He took the boat to give her an alibi, while she did the murder.’
‘There was that odd ‘we’, sir, the first time she spoke of it,’ Sergeant Peterson said. ‘“We sailed.”’
Another voice spoke, a Glaswegian man. ‘Why deny his alibi later?’
‘Rogues fall out,’ Inspector Hutchinson said promptly.
Sergeant Peterson continued smoothly. ‘One woman saw ‘one of these film folk walking along the road’ just at dusk, but she couldn’t positively ID Favelle, just said it ‘could a been her or the other one staying at Efstigarth’. Nobody saw anyone on a bicycle.’
‘How about the people up Ronas Hill?’ Gavin Macrae’s voice was crisper, with the soft Highland lift almost gone, the police officer at work.
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