Fiona gnawed on her nail again. She didn’t know what she thought.
No, she realised, it’s not that. I know exactly what I think. It’s just that it feels crazy saying it out loud.
I think it was sabotaged.
But why?
Had it been Dom, perhaps?
But no, this had happened two weeks ago. Dom had only come up on Sunday. Though Dom was a liar, and …
Wait … thought Fiona, the hairs on her arms starting to rise in cold realisation.
Hadn’t Callum told her he’d loaned Madison a company laptop when her own went off for repairs?
40
Grangeholm, Orkney, January 2020
The fat sideways snow had changed to sleet as they emerged on the driveway, and the freezing mud had sucked at their feet as they’d trudged from the van. Fiona had clung, feeling faintly sick, to the dirty seat in the back, while the others, silent and sleepy, had been shaken up and down by the van’s cantankerous shock absorbers.
She’d abandoned her own car at the Helly Holm car park on the way to the quay at Langmire – she’d be coming back via the causeway. There was no need, she thought with a shudder, to risk two boat journeys in one day.
The sea was grey, agitated, nipping at the van’s treads as they rolled up next to the little jetty at Langmire.
Terrified but determined, Fiona followed them out of the van.
Nobody knows you know anything, she told herself. You just need to get on the boat, help them out, and then go.
Come on. You can do this.
‘We ready then?’ asked Iris, leaping out. It was now seven in the morning, and the red pennants of dawn were starting to vanish behind tumultuous grey clouds. Unlike the others, she looked brimming with life and enthusiasm, her cheeks glowing.
She threw a questioning look at Jack.
He was gazing upwards towards Helly Holm, then at the boat, shivering against the icy wind. ‘That doesn’t look good.’
The tips of the waves were trimmed with little bursts of white foam, springing into existence, vanishing again. Fiona didn’t know much about the sea, but it definitely looked angrier than it had yesterday. She had been told the boat trip was very short from here to Helly Holm. She hoped so. Already her heart was starting to hammer.
The boat, about thirty feet (the size of the buried Viking boat, she realised), stirred, plunging up and down against the quay like a nervous horse. Its ropes and fittings jingled with a shrill ringing in the high wind, the prow battered by the choppy seas.
Fiona merely stared at it, while gulls criss-crossed over and above it.
‘All right, everybody, start loading up,’ shouted Iris. ‘Come on, we need to get off.’
Fiona didn’t move, hypnotised by the way the boat surged and bumped against the small quay, the slap of the waves against its fibreglass sides.
‘Fiona …?’ Jack had stopped next to her on his way to the van, was searching her face. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I can’t get on that,’ she said. Her chest felt tight, as though no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t squeeze any breath in.
‘What do you mean?’
‘That boat. I can’t get on it. It’s too small. The sea’s too rough. Just looking at it tied up to the quay is making me feel sick.’
Iris, aware there was a problem, was striding towards them both. She looked impatient, her lips thin, a few strands of escaped hair whipping her red cheeks below her woollen hat.
‘Come on, you two! We’re on a clock here.’
‘I can’t,’ said Fiona, the words sticking in her throat.
‘What?’
‘I get seasick and I’m frightened of the ocean.’ She was trembling now, and not just with the cold. ‘I can’t …’
‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous …’ Something hard had appeared in Iris’s face.
‘No,’ Fiona said. ‘I told you, I can’t.’ She sucked in a great breath. ‘I can’t.’
‘Wait,’ said Jack, holding up a quelling hand. ‘Iris, wait. She’s scared.’
Iris rolled her eyes at Fiona. ‘For Christ’s sake, the journey’s only ten minutes …’
Fiona felt herself then, being chivvied like a spoiled child, and suddenly something turned over in her chest.
She would not be treated this way, not for a second longer.
‘I said,’ and she could hear the ring of steel in her own words, ‘I am not getting on that boat.’
There was a moment of silence, and she realised that, even though she had not raised her voice, had not sworn, somehow they had been profoundly unsettled, even shocked.
In a flash of insight, she understood that none of them refused Iris anything, ever.
‘Listen, it’s simple. Fiona can go over the causeway,’ said Callum suddenly.
‘The tide won’t be out for ages …’ Iris was scowling, but Fiona caught a flicker of surprise there.
You thought you had the measure of me.
‘It’s out in forty-five minutes,’ corrected Jack. He tapped Iris brusquely on the shoulder. ‘Come on. If she can’t do it, she can’t do it. We’ll see her in a little while. But we have to hurry now.’
Iris sighed, careless of all else except her precious dig, and Fiona had a glimpse of that famous focus at work. ‘It’s going to take you forever to walk to the start of the causeway in this weather. If it’s even crossable by the time you get there.’
‘I can drive her,’ Callum said quickly. ‘It’s only a few minutes in the van. I’ll come straight back.’
‘Fine,’ said Iris, her eyes dark, folding her arms and turning her back on them both, striding back to the kit on the quay.
Fiona watched her go, surprised at this sudden turn of events. Why was Callum of all people coming to her aid?
Because you are holding things up, she realised. And he is all about solving problems for Iris.
Anyway, it was an opportunity for her, and she would be foolish not to seize it.
Callum handled the IT for the group. If anyone knew about Madison’s loaned laptop, it would be him.
‘Come on,’ said Callum, not looking at Fiona. ‘I’ll run you up there.’
∗ ∗ ∗
‘Sorry about that,’ said Fiona, as Callum started the van. The others had already boarded the boat, and its rocking movement still managed to unsettle her from the passenger seat. She trembled on the cold leather. ‘I just couldn’t …’
‘It’s all right, don’t apologise.’ There was a chilly pause. ‘Iris is … she just, she cares so passionately, you know.’ His voice took on a defensive edge. ‘And she doesn’t always get the support she needs from the others. She’s under such huge pressure …’
‘Yeah,’ said Fiona, as he gunned the engine. ‘I’m sure she is.’
The Helly Holm car park was only five minutes away, but she was grateful not to have to negotiate her way up the road, over the icy verges. It seemed only moments before they were in the car park, the van pulling to a halt in the space next to her car.
‘Right,’ Callum said, ‘I better get back …’
‘Of course – it’s a big day for you all. Actually, could I very quickly ask you something? If that’s okay?’
‘Sure,’ said Callum, his mouth a thin, flat line, as though okay was the very last thing in the world it was.
She was conscious of Iris like a magnet, or like the lighthouse on Helly Holm, guiding him back to her through the irresistible force of her personality.
You are her thrall, she thought, as his glance twitched towards Helly Holm. A thousand years ago, if she fell in battle, it’s your throat they would cut before they threw you into her grave.
‘You do the IT support here, don’t you? For the team?’ she asked.
‘Yeah – well, after a fashion. It’s not like any official title …’
‘Isn’t it always the way?’ Fiona laughed coquettishly and was gratified to see Callum offer her a faint smile. ‘I wanted to ask you about Madison’s laptop.�
��
‘Me?’
‘Yes. Her own got damaged, and you lent her one …’
‘Oh yes, that’s right.’ Callum rubbed his sharp nose, nodded. ‘Not me personally, she had one of the team laptops. We always have about three with us. We can’t account for who’ll be entering what data on any given day, so we share them.’
She searched his face, but could see no trace of guilt or guile in it.
How would he respond to a direct question?
‘I guess I’m wondering whether anyone could have got into her mail and texts. Do you think it could have been hacked?’
Callum rolled his shoulder up in a sceptical shrug. ‘Well, yes, I suppose,’ he said. ‘They have antivirus and firewalls on them, but if people switch that stuff off – for instance, if they need to install something or update the software, and then don’t switch it back on again – of course they can be hacked.’
‘Risky,’ said Fiona, nodding wisely.
‘Yes. And to be honest …’ he paused, and Fiona felt the tension in that moment – the fact he didn’t trust her, and yet, despite himself, could not give up an opportunity to cast Madison in a bad light. ‘You know, Madison was never good that way. She had no common sense with computers.’
‘No,’ Fiona said. ‘She was never very techy.’
He grinned conspiratorially, his large white teeth very visible. Once again Fiona had the sense that criticising Madison made him very happy in a way he couldn’t openly own, even to himself. Iris must have really liked her. ‘She just, you know – it wasn’t her fault, I suppose. She clearly had things on her mind.’
‘So everyone tells me,’ said Fiona, letting a little mournful note enter her voice, as if this was something she was being forced to admit was true after all.
It was bait, and she was astonished at how quickly he took it, snapping at it with those big teeth.
‘See, the team laptops are only for team use, but this laptop was a loan to replace a personal one.’ He let out a deep, theatrical sigh. ‘We probably shouldn’t have done it because it was company property, but it would have been pretty mean to deny Madison a laptop while she was working here.’
‘I suppose.’
‘No, it really would have been.’ He gestured out towards the islands. ‘The locals aren’t doing without the internet, I can tell you that, especially in this weather. People need to stave the long winter nights off, and I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but some of the team can be … um, kind of prickly.’
Fiona offered him a half-smile, an invitation towards complicity. ‘I’ll take your word for it.’
He laughed then, though she noticed he was already becoming a little more anxious, glancing at his watch. Relentless Iris would be waiting on the quay for him. ‘Yes,’ he said, with a smug little snort. ‘It would be hard to miss.’
‘But none of that explains how anyone could have got hold of Mads’ account details. In fact, it makes it even stranger.’
‘Did they? Is that what happened?’ He blinked at her, and his surprise seemed visceral, genuine.
Was he surprised it had happened, or surprised someone had found out about it?
Fiona twisted a curl of her windblown hair around one finger. ‘Um, well, the police asked me about it …’ she lied.
Callum blushed then, his high cheekbones turning scarlet.
‘Ah. Ah. Yes. So, what you probably need to know about our company laptops is that they all have a keylogger installed on them.’ He knotted his hands together, his large, bony knuckles prominent. ‘It’s policy.’
‘What’s that?’ Fiona recognised the word, wondered for a minute from where.
‘A keylogger records all the keystrokes on our computers. It’s so we can tell what you’re browsing, who you’re emailing, that kind of thing.’ He made a little typing mime with his hands. ‘Which means it also collects your passwords too.’
‘Collects passwords?’ asked Fiona, astounded.
‘Yes.’
She found herself astonished by his flat reaction to this question.
‘Isn’t that illegal?’
‘Not at all,’ he said. ‘Those laptops are company property, and it clearly states in our contract, the one everyone has to sign, that you can only use your computer for work and its use can be monitored. There’s to be no personal information on there. I mean, obviously people do use them that way, but strictly speaking, you’re not allowed to.’
‘Why would you do that?’ Fiona was horrified.
‘Do what?’
‘Spy on their computer use like that? Isn’t that an invasion of privacy?’
‘No.’
‘It seems very hardcore.’ Fiona’s thoughts flicked to her own machine in the office, which she frequently used to email scandalous work gossip to Mads and check her bank balance on. ‘Is it usual?’
‘In archaeology? No. It’s the first I’d heard of it. But basically, there was …’ he paused, then stammered, as though he’d been led down a conversational avenue that constituted a distinctly wrong turn. ‘Anyway, there was this scandal. If you could call it that. More of a nano-scandal.’
‘Oh yeah?’ asked Fiona, playing her wide-eyed, breathy surprise just a bit more than was natural. Madison would have laughed at her. But then Madison would have done it all better. ‘What kind of scandal?’
‘Hmm, well …’ Callum blushed again, and this time the very tips of his ears went pink as well as his neck. ‘Uh, we’re not supposed to talk about it, but I suppose … you know, considering what’s happened, it would be okay to tell you. Just don’t say you heard it from me, okay?’
‘I promise,’ said Fiona. She would have promised him her firstborn child at that point.
‘Yeah. So. We worked on a teaching dig on Lewis last summer. It’s an early medieval Celtic settlement with graveyard … It’s a big, big project – three different universities sending students, been running for eight years. Each year there’s about thirty undergraduates, and then the supervisors on top.’
‘Oh yeah, I think I’ve seen papers presented on the metalwork finds. It sounds great. They found some amazing goldwork there one year, didn’t they?’
Callum nodded.
‘Yes – that said, it was a shit season last year – one of those where you’re digging in all the wrong places and don’t find out till two days before you pack up.’ He sighed. ‘And it pissed down. Every day.’
Fiona nodded. She knew about those kinds of digs.
‘Anyway,’ said Callum, who, having decided to tell the story, had abandoned his reluctance and was doing so with salacious relish. ‘They thought someone was using one of the laptops to harass this female student, Mara Miller. You know, to, well, to send her, um, pictures of a gentleman’s anatomy, shall we say.’
‘You’re kidding.’
‘Nope. Anyway, Ms Miller is not impressed, and there was an investigation – it was a student dig and, you know, political correctness and universities and it’s all very #MeToo at the moment, so people at the top want a paper trail.’ He frowned. ‘Or at least a virtual paper trail.’
‘And what did they find?’
‘Someone had sent them from the team’s email account – we normally left Outlook open on the laptop because not everyone knew the password for it, which was a teeny bit stupid but you live and learn, I suppose.’
‘That does sound like asking for trouble.’
‘One of the other students pranking her, most likely. Much ado about nothing. But anyway, she gets these emails and there was so much noise that Iris just said to me, do what you have to do, but I won’t tolerate a repeat of this. I want this stuff tracked on all the laptops from now on.’ He sighed. ‘So it was left up to me to sort it out, and this is the solution I chose.’
Fiona was astonished by this revelation, by his language in describing it. She was also thinking of Mads’ tweets, the sexual nature of her bullying.
‘So you’re telling me that there was an incident of sexual h
arassment on a dig six months ago?’
Callum looked shifty, as though sensing the switch in Fiona’s mood.
‘Well, if you could call it that. I never understood why the silly cow didn’t just delete the pictures if she was that upset,’ he said. ‘She was hardly a saint. She was all over Jack Bergmann like a rash that summer. Since she was an undergraduate, we could have ended up in trouble, so we had to look tough on this kind of thing. Some girls just like to get upset over nothing. They love the attention; the drama, you know?’
‘You think she shouldn’t have complained?’ asked Fiona, trying to keep the sharpness out of her voice, only partially succeeding.
He shrugged, defensive now, not meeting her eyes. ‘No. Not at all.’ He glanced at his smartwatch. ‘Look, I have to get back …’
Now Fiona was at a wrong conversational turn, and she could feel how her ploy to get into his confidence had backfired on her, made him feel comfortable saying these things to her. She wanted to go on, to explain how undermining and alarming it would be to receive an official email from the dig team and to open it and find ugly, obscene images of someone’s genitalia, and then be unable to trace them, to learn who had done this to her. Was it a student? One of the supervisors? A teacher?
How would that affect how you looked at them all when you turned up for work in the morning? What would it do to your level of engagement, your trust in your colleagues, when you’re a young woman on your first dig?
And when it started to show, and affect your work, how quickly would you be written off as a shirker, a casual, a part-timer?
She realised, looking at Callum’s stubborn expression, that this would all be wasted effort to explain. It sounded as though Iris had already tried and failed.
And if the Divine Iris couldn’t get through to him, Fiona would have no chance.
It didn’t matter, ultimately. She was here on Madison’s behalf. She needed to stick to the programme.
‘Sorry – I interrupted you.’ She leaned in again. ‘You were telling me how these keyloggers work …’
‘Oh yeah,’ he said, also seemingly glad to drop the subject. ‘Nothing easier. You install it on the laptop, and whenever that machine comes online, it sends every keystroke you enter to a log file. Then your sys admin or whoever just accesses the log file.’
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