Death on a Shetland Isle

by Marsali Taylor

  Gradually the mist cleared. Alain’s face swung above me. His hands reached down and yanked me upwards. He burst into furious French. ‘Cass, what the devil are you playing at? Why won’t you answer your phone? I’ve been trying to reach you all day.’

  I shook my arms free of his grasp. ‘I had no battery,’ I spat at him, in English, and turned my back. Up at the house, Inga had Peerie Charlie swung into her arms, with Big Charlie beside her, and a gaggle of spectators gawking from behind them.

  Opposite me, Laura was held between two police officers, with Gavin standing by. She had gone into voluble Italian which, I gathered from her gestures, was accusing me of having attacked her. She ended with some gutter insults, and a disdainful spit at my feet, which I thought was a nice touch.

  ‘She’s Laura,’ I said. My voice came out a croak. I swallowed and tried again. ‘She’s Laura. Hiding in plain sight.’

  Laura gave a contemptuous hiss and went into heavily accented English. ‘I do not know her. I do not know who she is. She attack me.’ An arm swept towards the spectators, taking an officer with it. ‘You ask. They watch. They see her. She attack me.’

  I wasn’t going to let her shake me. Yes, the straight, blonde hair was now a mass of blue-black curls, and her eyes brown, her skin tanned, as you’d expect of an Italian brunette, but I knew the line of jaw, the set of her shoulders below the haughtily held chin. Gloriana. She was Laura, and there were a dozen ways Gavin could prove it: fingerprints, DNA, a confrontation with the accountant who’d talked to him this morning. A confrontation with her brother. I understood now why he’d had that puzzled look, up at the folly. I’d been right about him and Anna Reynolds pairing up in a murder plot; except that Laura had turned the tables on them. It was all fitting together now. Instead of Reynolds killing her, up on the hill in Fetlar, she’d killed Reynolds. The shot from behind had shattered her jaw, so that there were no teeth to ID the body, should it ever be found; she’d put her own ring on one finger, then smashed the hands with stones to spoil the fingerprints. She’d dressed the dead woman in her own jacket, and sent her rolling over the banks. I remembered Oliver looking at the hands of the body, and then snatching a look at the face. Had he recognised the shape of Anna’s hands? Hands were as individual as faces …

  ‘She’s Laura,’ I said again. ‘Laura Eastley.’

  ‘We must ask you to come with us,’ Gavin said to her. He turned to me, voice neutral. ‘You too, madam. We just need to sort out what happened here.’ He nodded to Sergeant Peterson, and she fell in beside me. We marched in line up the steps, up the grass and up the next set of steps to the terrace. Peerie Charlie came running over to me, face flushed with excitement. ‘I runned, Cass, and I shouted.’

  ‘Well done,’ I said.

  He gave a quick look at Inga and lowered his voice. ‘And the bad man tried to stop me, and I kicked him, and he had to let go of me.’

  I looked over my shoulder at Alain, tousled and fuming in our wake, and suppressed a smile. ‘Good,’ I said.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Naturally, it was Gavin who took Laura away, still flanked by officers. I was handed over to Sergeant Peterson and taken upstairs to one of the bedrooms. She waved me to an armchair and sat down opposite me. ‘This isn’t an official interrogation,’ she said. ‘I’m just getting your version of events.’

  I did my best to explain the day: seeing the Italian woman on the road, the game of hide and seek at Brough Lodge, and then Oliver suddenly appearing.

  ‘And then, coming up to the house, I saw her, here,’ I said. ‘I didn’t know whether I could pretend I thought she was just a normal tourist, or if she knew I’d deliberately hidden from her. In which case she knew I suspected her. But what really mattered was getting Peerie Charlie past her to safety.’

  ‘How did you plan to do that?’

  I was incriminating myself here, but there was no help for it. ‘I told Peerie Charlie that when I said “Go” he was to run to the house. I’d detain her somehow.’

  Sergeant Peterson made a face and jotted something down in her notebook.

  ‘Well, what would you have done?’ I snapped. I’d had enough of today. I wanted a cup of tea. I wanted to go to Khalida and curl up in my own berth, and sleep. ‘Peerie Charlie was knackered. The only way to get help was to pass her.’

  Sergeant Peterson nodded. ‘A difficult decision,’ she said neutrally.

  ‘Then the woman turned her head, and I recognised the movement. She wasn’t Anna Reynolds, she was Laura. And she saw in my face that I knew her. She put her hand in her pocket. I knew she’d had a gun, and she could be reaching for it, so I launched myself at her. Under those circumstances, you could call it self-defence.’

  ‘Your lawyer could certainly argue that,’ she agreed. She closed her book and went suddenly human. ‘But I hope she’ll have more important things to worry about, once we’ve proved who she is.’

  ‘Fingerprints,’ I agreed. ‘DNA. Or just waiting till the black hair dye grows out.’ I looked her in the eye. ‘Did you know she was Laura?’

  ‘Information received,’ she said, in best police fashion. I glared at her, and she condescended to add more. ‘The Italian police were on the ball. The woman whose name was on the passport died in a car accident when she was seven. They’re still investigating the house bought in her name back in May.’

  May. Money had started going missing from April. I’d got the king of the game wrong: not Oliver, but Laura, who was planning her retreat to the sun. It was all clicking together in my mind. Someone had monkeyed with the office accounts, leaving a trail going back to Oliver. Two million, the accountant had said … that would buy a very nice house in Italy, with spare change to live off. Prison for Oliver, as revenge for her parents’ death, and the dolce vita for Laura. I had no doubt of her ability to have plotted it all out.

  Sergeant Peterson rose. ‘Well, are you ready to face the paparazzi?’

  I wasn’t. I felt bruised all over from that rolling fall down the steps, from the horridness of it all. My throat hurt. There was Inga to face too; I’d seen the blazing fury in her eyes as she’d clutched Peerie Charlie to her. I just hoped she’d be too busy dealing with her hostages to blame me until the first fright was over.

  I saw the flashing camera lights reflecting from the Long Room as soon as we set foot in the corridor, and heard our MSP giving it laldy about the loss of jobs and danger to people through centralisation. Delaying tactics needed. I glanced down at my breeks, saw the mud-stained knees and realised what a mess I must look. Everything you do reflects on your ship … ‘I’ll just wash my face and brush my hair.’

  I went into the powder room and splashed cold water at my face. I had the beginnings of a bruise on one cheekbone and a scrape on my chin. I’d left my hair to dry naturally as we walked along the shore, and it was a mass of wild curls. Naturally I didn’t have a hairbrush on me, but I combed it out with my fingers and re-plaited it. I brushed the grass and mud off as best I could, and was grateful I wasn’t in my white dress uniform.

  I came out looking more like an officer of Sørlandet, and went into the Long Room feeling like I was facing a firing squad. The minute I came through the doorway, all the cameras swivelled towards me, a crowd of black lenses topped by winking red lights. My name echoed round the room.

  ‘Cass, is it true you just tackled a double murderer?’, ‘Cass, did you know what you were doing?’, ‘Do you know who she is?’, ‘Give us your version of events, Cass!’ were all hurled at me, one on top of the other, like a foreboding of ravens caarking. The important thing was to keep cool. I ignored the flashes in my face and took a deep breath. Spin it. ‘I knew she might be dangerous. I was just worried about getting the boy to safety.’

  They liked that. ‘Can we get a photo of the two of you together?’ Within a breath, they were bringing Inga forward and organising Peerie Charlie between us. ‘What’s your name, boy? Can you give Cass a big smile? Now look this way. Cass, look do
wn at him. Lovely.’

  It was better publicity for an officer of the Sørlandet than being involved with a double murderer. Peerie Charlie squirmed in mock-shy mode, and I grimaced, and thank goodness Inga broke it up with, ‘Now, folk, it’s time we released you all. Thank you for coming to support us this day in our fight for keeping things local … and tune in to Radio Shetland or check out wir Facebook page to see what we have planned. This was Powersource Monday, and tomorrow’s Education Tuesday, then we hae Shopping Wednesday, Emergency Thursday and Rural Jobs Friday. It’s aa’ interconnected, and it’s aa’ important to wir way o’ life, so let’s keep fighting together.’

  Blessed word, release. I turned round to Sergeant Peterson. ‘I need to get back to my ship.’

  ‘I think your friend’s organised something.’ Her voice was neutral, but there was a spark of malice in her green eyes. I stared at her, suspicious, and she waved a hand towards the bar. ‘The Frenchman who lifted you up from the grass. He’s waiting in there.’

  I wasn’t going to wash dirty linen in front of her, and I definitely wasn’t going to ask her if I could talk to Gavin before I went. I made my voice casual. ‘Oh, Alain. OK. I’ll see what he’s planned.’

  It was only as I was turning away that I realised I’d called him by the wrong name; but I didn’t suppose it mattered. She’d called him the Frenchman, and it might have been because he’d spoken to me in French, but maybe he’d given his right name when she’d interviewed him, this morning. I stopped dead. Maybe they knew who he was. I should have thought of that. Like my Dad, Gavin had a razor-sharp memory for faces, a natural ability trained into a professional asset. Back in the longship case, he’d looked up the file on Alain’s death. It would have had a photo in it … he’d have known Rafael’s face was familiar, and put his memory to work.

  This was getting worse and worse. If Gavin had known who Alain was, he must have been wondering why I didn’t tell him. No wonder he’d drawn back from me. He wasn’t going to force my confidence, but he would have expected me to explain … he wouldn’t have thought of anything so bizarre as a lost memory, and Alain’s belief he was Spanish. I had to talk to him.

  Even as I turned back towards the stairs, I realised it was hopeless. Gavin would be tied up all evening, processing Laura. I didn’t know how quickly they could get her identified, but he’d have to be there, in charge of it all. I’d be lucky if I saw him tonight in Hillswick. No doubt Sergeant Peterson would tell him I’d gone off with Alain …

  I turned back towards the bar, shoulders slumping. I just had to go back to Sørlandet, and wait for him to contact me when he could. He’d had faith not to ask. He wouldn’t dump me, not just like that. We were adults, and we had a relationship. He’d give me the chance to talk about it. I forced a smile on my face, and pushed the bar door open.

  Fireman Berg was there, nursing a bottle of local brew. Alain, beside him, had a half of Bellhaven ready for me. ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘Thanks for waiting.’ I took a long swig and felt it hit my empty stomach. ‘I don’t suppose there’s any food going?’

  ‘Next door,’ Berg said, with a nod of his chin towards the restaurant.

  I went to look. Two youngsters were busy clearing away the remains of what looked to have been an excellent buffet. I went straight in. ‘I arrived too late for it,’ I said apologetically, ‘but I’m starving. Can I …?’

  The girl laughed, and gestured towards the plates. ‘Help yourself.’

  ‘You’re a star,’ I said. I loaded the plate with a chunk of fresh salmon, surrounded it with pasta salad, thanked them again, carried it to the bar and launched in. Over my plate, I looked across at Berg. ‘Has Inga organised transport for us, back to the ship?’

  He nodded. ‘A taxi.’ He tilted his chin upwards. ‘It’s in the car park. As soon as Petter comes.’

  Good; and I’d be saved riding alone with Alain too.

  ‘What happened out there? Wasn’t that the Italian lady who was at the dance last night?’

  I took another mouthful of salmon to give me time to think.

  ‘She was Laura Eastley,’ Alain said. ‘I recognised her when I danced with her. I didn’t know what she was up to, but it was none of my business if she chose to jump ship.’ He added, in French, ‘Then there was your bombshell, and that filled my head.’

  I could understand that.

  ‘We need to talk more about that.’ He paused and gave me a sideways glance which turned into a teasing half-smile. ‘Don’t we?’

  I hunched my shoulder against him and concentrated on forking slithery pasta into my mouth. Alain went back into English. ‘It was only when I heard about the body, just after lunch, that I realised her Italian disguise was to cover up murder. I reported to the captain, and he passed it on to the police.’

  After lunch. After I’d left the police team and headed off to Brough Lodge. No wonder both he and Gavin had been trying to contact me.

  ‘I was worried that you might recognise her too. I thought you’d be safe enough in Fetlar, with the police team.’ He paused, biting his lip. ‘What I couldn’t remember was where she was going next. She’d told me, but all the names up here sound foreign. Then I heard the radio, as we were coming into Hillswick. There was an interview with a woman who said that they’d just got their last hostage, and named you. She said they were holding everyone at Busta House, in Brae. It was the name I’d forgotten. That was when I realised that you were heading straight for trouble. I phoned a taxi and headed here as soon as we’d docked.’

  He’d insisted, Agnetha told me later. The ship was at anchor, the trainees all set for a musical evening in the St Magnus Bay Hotel, so they could manage very well without him, and if Agnetha wouldn’t give permission, he was going anyway.

  At that point, Petter sidled into the bar, not meeting my eyes. Berg hugged him. ‘Relax, your secret is out. Cass was more envious than scornful.’

  ‘Yes, I wish I’d had the looks,’ I agreed. ‘Beats waitressing any day.’ I finished my last mouthful of salmon, drained my half-pint and stood back from the bar.

  ‘Inga said our taxi’s waiting,’ Petter said.

  Glory be. I followed the three of them up the long flight of steps to the car park. Halfway up, Alain turned and smiled at me again. ‘So …’

  I stiffened. I was too tired for any more scenes right now. When he reached his hand towards me, I drew back.

  He raised one eyebrow. ‘The prince usually gets a kiss after he’s rescued the princess.’

  ‘I rescued myself,’ I pointed out tartly.

  ‘With help from the police.’

  I conceded the police, and admitted I was being ungrateful. If the police hadn’t been on the spot I’d have been glad of him. ‘Thanks,’ I managed.

  A satisfied smile curved the corners of his mouth. They bundled me into the front seat of the taxi and I sat back, willing myself not to look at Khalida as we passed the marina. Sørlandet would be anchored off Hillswick, with Cat waiting for me aboard. The thought was a comfort, even though I couldn’t curl up and will the world away just yet. I’d need to join the rest of the crew and the trainees at the St Magnus Bay Hotel.

  Hillswick had once been one of Shetland’s fishing and whaling stations, developed back in 1700 by Thomas Gifford of Busta. Like most Shetland places, it was a cluster of houses spread along the line of the pebbled shore, with the church, manse and Haa House prominent. We came to the school first, at the head of the voe, passed the turn-off to the lava cliffs of Eshaness and came into Hillswick proper, with the scattering of houses below the road, including the historic böd, now a cafe, down by the shore, and the wildlife sanctuary, which we’d visit tomorrow. Above the road was the hotel, an imposing white wooden building. I had a vague memory of it being all wood inside too, varnished, like an old-fashioned fishing lodge.

  The taxi dropped Petter and Berg at the hotel, then took Alain and me down to the beach. I was so tired I was stumbling. Jonas was on duty at the inflatable. He ma
de no comment at seeing Alain and me together. No doubt the story of his dramatic dash to the rescue had gone round the whole ship. I gritted my teeth and greeted him cheerfully. ‘Hei. Are they all up at the hotel?’

  ‘The whole crew, enjoying themselves.’

  I glanced down at my mud-stained breeks. ‘I just need to change, then I’ll go and join them for a bit.’ I’d be on anchor duty at 04.00, which sounded like a good excuse to be in bed by ten.

  Alain flicked a glance at his watch. ‘I should release Agnetha. I was due on duty an hour ago.’

  All the more reason for me to head for the hotel. The last thing I wanted was to be alone with Alain. We left Jonas ashore and buzzed over to the ship. Cat raised his head from the bed as I came into my cabin. I picked him up and hugged him for a moment, enjoying the warm softness of his fur, then put him down as he growled warningly.

  ‘Sorry, Cat,’ I said. ‘I’ve had a hard day.’ I refilled his bowl, and changed into clean togs while he ate, then I sat for a moment with him purring in my lap. ‘It’s not easy being human, boy,’ I told him. ‘You have to talk to people. You can’t just brush out your tail or bristle your whiskers and be understood.’ I hauled my mobile out and contemplated it. The car had got it to half-charge, and there were two bars of signal, enough to send a text. I opened up ‘new message’ and looked at the blank screen. Hi, I typed. It was a start. It was a good five minutes and several starts and deletions before I achieved: Still hoping you’ll make it up here xxx I hoped he’d understand all I was trying to say: I love you, I want you, I don’t want us to be over …