Night Falls, Still Missing

by Helen Callaghan

  ‘I … I honestly don’t know where Madison is.’ He shrugged at her, a quick little twitch. ‘Whatever the circumstances, if I knew, I would tell you. It would only be fair. But I don’t.’

  She studied his face for a long moment, sighed.

  ‘I mean,’ he went on, as though sensing her dissatisfaction with this answer, ‘at first, when you mentioned the stalker, I suspected something had happened to Madison.’ He thrust his hands into his pockets. ‘But now I wonder.’

  Fiona widened her eyes at him. ‘Wonder what?’

  ‘Well, think about it. Why’s her mum not here, or texting?’

  Fiona was bewildered. ‘I don’t understand what you mean.’

  They had reached the megaliths, with their long, thin shadows. They were cut out of some slate-like stone which made them straight as scalpel blades, towering over both of them. The heather quivered in the wind, a tiny tremor which made it look possessed of oddly mobile life.

  ‘Perhaps,’ and he seemed to choose these words carefully, ‘her mother’s not come because she already knows Madison isn’t here.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I mean,’ he said, ‘perhaps Madison’s been in touch with her.’

  Fiona didn’t know what to say. What on earth was he driving at? ‘But … but that’s ridiculous. Why wouldn’t they tell me?’

  He took a moment before speaking again, his clenched jaw making his chin jut out a little. ‘Secrecy? Embarrassment? I’m sorry, Fiona. I just don’t know. None of this makes sense.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s just an idea.’

  She let the pieces of this fall through her mind.

  Perhaps Madison was safe and sound somewhere, and Judy knew it.

  It might possibly be true. They’d fallen out – they were always falling out over her dad’s money, because Judy always favoured Hugo (Hugo – for a second she was lost in the memory of his blubbery wet lips pressing themselves against her face and shuddered).

  Judy had been funding his various unsuccessful business ventures, leaving Madison, who she perversely considered a failure, out in the cold.

  But Hugo constantly schemed to be named as power of attorney and executor if Judy died – Judy was a wealthy woman with a bad heart and Hugo was constantly short on funds. If, as Iris had suggested, Hugo had visited Madison on Orkney, it would be in connection with this and nothing else.

  And while Judy might be a fond and foolish mother, she wasn’t completely stupid.

  What if, somehow, Madison found out that her sick, frail mother was catching a plane out to Orkney in response to her disappearance? Hugo would be left in charge …

  She might decide things had gone far enough, break cover to tell her mum.

  Madison could be difficult, there was no denying it, but she and her mum did love each other, in their own dysfunctional way.

  But why not tell me?

  Stop it. Stop it, she told herself. You don’t know this. This is just Jack guessing.

  She glanced up at him. Or is he guessing?

  Does he know something?

  24

  West Orkney, January 2020

  When Milly had seen the tiny woman lying out on the rock, with her round eyes and grooved hair and carved wings, she had known that she was special.

  She was not beautiful, particularly – not like the rose-gold Swarovski locket that Alicia Sutherland had been given for Christmas and never shut up about or stopped fiddling with – this pendant was too odd, the woman’s expression too neutral, her little disc-like eyes almost creepy. But even so, there was some hidden magic in her – the soft way her gold glowed against the wet rocks, how heavy she had been in Milly’s hand despite her tiny size – it was like how Milly imagined a bullet to feel. Her first impulse had immediately been to snap a picture of it on her phone and share it, and her second impulse, accompanied by a flash of alien cunning, was to absolutely not do this. She had a feeling it was not something she would be allowed to keep to herself, and so it proved.

  ‘What’s that you got?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Milly said, shoving the precious thing roughly in the pocket of her jeans and standing up from where she had been crouching on the rocks.

  ‘No, you found something.’ Tom, her younger brother, gave her a gimlet stare, his eyes narrowed. ‘Show us.’

  ‘It’s just an old necklace.’ She pulled her hood up to protect her thin fair hair from the sea spray.

  There was the skitter of flying pebbles, claws scrabbling on wet stone. Slobber the dog, freed from the back of their parents’ car, came racing over towards them, his pink tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth. He barrelled into Milly, his muddy paws hitting her square in her chest.

  ‘SLOBBER!’ yelled Dad. ‘GET DOWN! Milly, don’t let him do that!’

  ‘I didn’t ask him to!’ she shouted back, aggrieved at this unfair blaming. ‘Stupid dog!’

  But Slobber was not put off by this, and licked her face a few times, braced against her on his hind legs, until she giggled.

  ‘Bloody hell, Jules,’ her dad said. ‘She’s only just got out of the car and she’s filthy again.’ He snorted, slamming the boot shut. ‘She takes after you, you know.’

  ‘Milly, come away from that cliff edge!’ Mum called out, with that annoying edge of fear that always entered her voice whenever Milly was about to do or say something interesting.

  ‘I’m miles from the edge!’ she shouted back.

  ‘You too, Tom, both of you come here,’ said their dad. ‘Help me get a lead on the beast.’

  Milly sighed, and looked around as Slobber let her go. No new fossils today, just the slippy broken rocks and the rage of the sea, the very tops of the waves coming up over the cliffs.

  In fact, the rocks looked very broken today, their edges fresh, as though something big and heavy had come through and smashed them. In the algae near where Milly had made her find, there was the splendid sharp print of a tyre mark, though, Milly supposed, that made no sense.

  There was nowhere to drive up here.

  They trudged back to the car, Milly zipping her coat up as Dad fastened the leash on Slobber. It was time for their Sunday walk. They would hike along the headland, out past Yesnaby Castle, which wasn’t a castle, just a stack of slumped stone standing proud of the ocean like a tower. This was to get some ‘fresh air’, which Milly understood to mean ‘become absolutely freezing and have no phone signal’, and then go into Stromness for a late lunch of macaroni cheese and chips in the little café near the harbour, where the owners let Slobber sit under the table if he was good and not too dirty.

  ‘Milly found a necklace,’ said Tom.

  ‘Shut up,’ said Milly.

  ‘What did you find, Milly?’ asked her dad.

  ‘Just a mucky old necklace.’

  ‘Show me,’ said her dad.

  ‘Why? It’s only a …’

  ‘Milly, show it to me now,’ he said, in his I’m Not Messing Around With You Any More voice.

  And that was that. The game was up.

  ‘What is it?’ asked her mum. ‘Isn’t it strange? Is it meant to be an angel?’

  Her dad dangled the little woman from her yellow chain. ‘Ooh, look at that. She’s got a sword.’

  ‘That looks like gold,’ said Milly’s mum, picking up the pendant and peering at it thoughtfully. ‘You know, I think we ought to hand this in.’

  ‘What?’ snapped Milly. ‘Why? It probably came from the sea.’

  ‘I don’t think the sea would have got it up here on its own, Milly. Someone’s dropped this while they were out walking …’

  ‘It’s not fair! I never get to keep anything! It doesn’t belong to anyone and I found it!’

  ‘Now, now, Milly – if we hand it in and the police don’t find the real owner, you’ll get to …’

  ‘I hate you!’ she declared. ‘Keep the stupid necklace!’

  She sulked all along the cliffs while the skuas screeched above them, her own little black storm cloud – constan
tly texting in speedy, jagged little tics, just to make absolutely clear to her family that yes, she was complaining about them all on social media.

  She kept the secret of the tyre marks to herself.

  But her cheesy, carby lunch raised her spirits a little, and by the end she had recovered enough to grudgingly accept the offer of a hot chocolate with marshmallows from her parents, along with a promise that if nobody really owned the necklace, then of course it would be hers.

  And after lunch, on her way to the Tesco in Kirkwall, she and her mum handed the necklace in at the police station, explained where they had found it.

  The police had seemed extraordinarily interested.

  Gratified by their attention, and the respectful way they questioned her, Milly went on to explain about the mysterious tyre marks on the cliff edge, which seemed to interest them even more.

  25

  Kirkwall Airport, Orkney, January 2020

  ‘This is the last flight from Glasgow tonight, yeah?’

  Fiona was back at the airport with Jack in tow, but once again Judy hadn’t been on the plane. She realised, with a little start of shock, that she had never expected her to be. Already she was tapping on the number, lifting the phone to her ear, prepared for the futile ringing.

  When it was answered, her shock left her stammering.

  ‘Who is this?’ a male voice asked peevishly.

  Hugo. Why was Hugo answering the phone? Where were they?

  But wherever he was supposed to be, he had hold of Judy’s phone now, and he sounded furious, as though she had interrupted something important. In the background she could hear voices and movement, the droning rise and fall of someone talking hurriedly in Spanish, being answered in the same language.

  Judy must still be on Majorca.

  ‘Hugo? Is that you? It’s me, Fiona Grey. I’m here at Kirkwall waiting for you …’

  ‘Well, she won’t be arriving any time soon.’

  ‘What? I don’t understand …’

  ‘She’s had a heart attack,’ he said, clearly enunciating each word, as though Fiona was an imbecile. ‘She collapsed in the taxi on the way to the airport.’

  ‘What?’ Fiona’s fingers were numb around the phone. ‘Is she all right? Where is she now?’

  ‘In hospital, where else would she be?’ he snapped. ‘Look, I have to get back to her …’

  ‘But Hugo, wait,’ she said, stumbling over the words. ‘What happened, exactly?’

  ‘She had a shock. She got a call from the police in Scotland,’ he said. ‘Apparently they found Madison’s car in the sea up there.’

  ‘Madison’s car? You mean the rental car?’

  ‘I haven’t time for this. They’re taking Mum in for a scan now.’

  ‘But did they find Mads?’

  ‘I don’t know. They say it was driven off some cliffs into the ocean.’

  ‘What …?’

  It was too late. He had hung up on her.

  Fiona didn’t really remember much of what followed. She stumbled backwards from the inquiry desk, staring at the phone, too bewildered to speak.

  ‘Fiona, what do you want to …’ Jack re-emerged – he’d gone to the bathroom. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Mads …’ She merely stared up at him, her eyes huge. ‘They found her car. In the sea.’

  He stood there, stock-still, utterly silent. His blue eyes were unreadable.

  ‘You know what,’ he said after a long moment. ‘Let’s just sit you down before you fall down.’

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  Her car, she kept trying to explain to Jack as he drove the van back towards Stromness through the rough winds and buffeting rain, she had to get her car. She had left it in Kirkwall, at the hotel.

  ‘Forget about your car. It’ll be fine. I’ll call them when I get in.’ Jack leaned low over the wheel, and the grey cast had not left his face. He snorted. ‘I don’t think you’re in a condition to drive, anyway.’

  He was speeding, at least twenty miles over the limit, and with the bad weather and the thickening darkness she was growing afraid. It wasn’t clear to her that he should be driving either. This news appeared to have greatly affected him.

  ‘Are you okay?’ she asked.

  He blinked at her, surprised.

  ‘I’m okay,’ he said, then made a little disparaging twitch, as though aware how much his appearance belied his words. ‘I mean, it’s a lot to take in. Oh fuck, Madison. She was … but never mind that. We don’t know the score yet. We need to talk to the police. The others are going to … shit, Fiona,’ he ran a big hand over his stubbled head. ‘This is really heavy.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Fiona in a small, distant voice.

  She had stopped crying now, and instead felt empty, loose, like a kite in the middle of a windstorm.

  Oh God, there is no way Madison would just abandon a car, not for any reason. Something has happened, something has definitely happened, something big and bad, and is it, in some way, my fault? Did I not push her hard enough to report Dom to the police once the tweets started up again? I know how she is. I should have guessed she’d procrastinate, try to blow it off as nothing even as she begged me to come up here.

  Should I have nagged her about it more?

  Oh God, Madison. Please don’t be dead. Please, please don’t be dead.

  As they approached the house, the front door swung open, and Callum was standing in the doorway, oblivious to the rain.

  ‘Iris, it’s them, they’re back!’ he yelled.

  They climbed out of the van, Jack coming to her side to support her as they hurried in through the door. Iris and Becky stood in the hallway, and Fiona realised instantly that they, too, had had news.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked Iris.

  Iris looked from Fiona to Jack, then back to Fiona again. ‘I think you need to come in. Becky,’ she barked. ‘Put the kettle on.’

  Becky vanished, without demur this time, and this, more than anything, sent a chill through Fiona.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked again. ‘Judy isn’t coming. She had a heart attack. They found the rental car in the ocean.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Callum. ‘Off the west cliffs.’

  Fiona’s heart was pounding. Her mouth could barely form the words. ‘Where is that?’

  Becky had reappeared, and her face was absolutely expressionless. ‘It’s the local suicide spot.’

  26

  Grangeholm, Orkney, January 2020

  They wouldn’t hear of Fiona leaving. There was a sofa in the living room and she was welcome to stay there. Iris would drive her out to Langmire and together they could pick up her things. Fiona was clearly in no fit state to drive herself.

  Tomorrow they would take her back to her own car in Kirkwall before they started work on the dig.

  Fiona assented to all of this, with the numb misery of being trapped in a nightmare. She was given a cup of tea, which she did not drink.

  It had been Callum who spotted the bulletin on the local news, but Iris who had spoken with the police and somehow managed to garner a few more details. The GPS on Madison’s rental car had led the police to it (how did Iris get the police to tell her these things? Star power, Fiona supposed. Iris had that in spades) after there had been reports of tyre tracks going off the cliffs by a member of the public.

  The others discussed this in hushed, shocked voices while Fiona sat silent, thinking.

  Dom would know about GPS. He understood GPS and phones and emails and hacking texts and being a disgusting creepy inadequate bully, all right.

  If he’s hurt her. Oh God, if he has …

  Then somehow a decision about Fiona had been reached, and she was shepherded into Iris’s rental car, a white Taurus with leather seats. They were going to Langmire, to collect her things.

  She supposed she should text Adi, tell him all this, but somehow the thought appalled, seemed to make it all more real, and the effort involved to do it, to explain it all again, was more than she could face
.

  She was relieved when Iris did not attempt to make small talk on the journey to the cottage or try to cheer her up with platitudes. Fiona simply stared out of the window into the darkness until it was time for her to get out of the car.

  ‘I’m going up to the Fletts’,’ Iris called out to her from the driver’s side window once they arrived. By the swimming lights of the dashboard, she looked drawn, older than her years, her jaw heavy and blunt. ‘I need to tell them what’s happened, and that we won’t be needing the cottage any more.’ She shook her head, her eyes huge. ‘I can’t believe this is happening.’

  ‘Me neither,’ mumbled Fiona.

  Iris simply reached out, squeezed her arm. ‘I’ll be no more than ten minutes. Did you have something to eat today?’

  Fiona shook her head. ‘I’m … I’m fine. I’m not hungry.’

  Iris gave her a thin-lipped smile. ‘Ten minutes, Fiona.’

  Kind though Iris had been, Fiona felt a little flare of miserable relief as the red tail lights of her car retreated up the hill to the Fletts’ house.

  She wanted to be alone, to think; just for a few minutes.

  Though now she was alone, staring out across the sea to the lighthouse blooming then vanishing on Helly Holm, she was not sure what she wanted to think about.

  All seemed hopeless. Madison’s car was at the bottom of the sea. She was not answering her phone or emails.

  And most damning of all, Fiona understood why there had been no more of the horrible messages on social media. It was because whoever was sending them must have known that Madison was dead and would not be reading them.

  Dom Tate had probably killed Madison, perhaps after forcing her to send out her final texts to put everyone off the scent. Then he’d driven her car off the cliffs, with any luck with himself inside.

  You knew this. You worked that out days ago.

  You just didn’t want to acknowledge it.

  The cottage was in darkness, except for a faint yellow glow from the back of the guest bedroom upstairs. Fiona had showered in there that morning. She must have left the light on.