Trick of the Dark

by McDermid, Val

  Though there must have been nearly a hundred people milling around between the lawn and the marquee, I spotted Magda instantly, a measure of how tight we'd been drawn together. She was mingling expertly, a few words here, a laugh there, then subtly moving on to the next knot of friends or swirl of dancers pausing in their swooping polka to talk to the bride. As I watched, I felt dazed by her beauty and the change in circumstance that had brought it under my hand. It was almost more than I could credit.

  Before she could start the next paragraph, Jay heard the distant sound of the front door closing. 'I'm home,' Magda called up the stairs. Probably just as well, Jay thought, saving the file and retrieving the memory stick. She slid it into her pocket and stepped away from the desk.

  'I'll be right there, hon,' she shouted back, switching off the light as she left the office. It was a good place to stop, while things were still scary in a good way. Before they became terrifying for real.

  4

  Saturday

  When Charlie woke, the light was too bright. Her head felt thick and heavy, her stomach uneasy. 'We're going to miss breakfast if you don't get out of your pit,' Maria said cheerily, one hand still on the curtain as she stared out at the view. She was wrapped in a bath towel, her hair a damp unruly mop. 'It's a gorgeous day.'

  'Unh,' Charlie grunted. If she didn't move, it might be all right.

  'I did think you probably should have passed on that last round,' Maria said, absolutely no sympathy in her face or her voice. 'But you seemed determined to drink your own body weight in Shiraz. It's not like you, Charlie. You generally know when to stop.'

  'Yeah, well. We were having such fun,' she said tonelessly.

  'Yes. They're good company, Lisa and Nadia.'

  'Oh yes. Good company.' If you enjoyed spending your evening on tenterhooks, wondering whether the sky was about to fall on your head. Wondering whether she was revealing her true feelings every time she looked at Lisa. Wondering if Lisa was going to reveal her true identity, instead of hiding behind 'I'm a trainer. I help people develop a variety of people skills.' That Maria had not skewered such vagueness with her usual practicality still had Charlie reeling. It was a powerful reminder of Lisa's charisma.

  Maria plonked herself down next to Charlie. 'Come on, babe. Time to get up. Look at me, showered already. I can't wait for breakfast. After that wonderful meal last night, it should be something really special. According to the room service menu, they have award-winning sausages and black pudding from Lewis.'

  Charlie's stomach lurched at the very thought of black pudding from anywhere. 'I'll get in the shower,' she mumbled. Anything to escape Maria's relentless good cheer. She rolled out of bed, knowing it was fifty/fifty whether she was going to hold on to the contents of her guts. She made it to the shower, where things improved dramatically. They usually did, in Charlie's experience of hangovers. By the time she'd finished, the prospect of breakfast had grown markedly less unsettling.

  The prospect of seeing Lisa, however, was as disturbing as ever. Hiding her feelings while scrutinising Lisa's every glance or remark for significance was exhausting. 'We should have ordered room service breakfast,' she grumbled as she dressed.

  'That's what you said last night. God knows why, because you never want room service in a hotel. You always complain that it's never hot enough and they never get the order right.'

  Seven years of negotiating Charlie's prejudices and preferences meant Maria was right, of course. 'I was a bit pissed. I suppose I fancied a lie-in,' Charlie said.

  'Not much point when you have the mountain rescue guys coming at ten. While you're with them, I thought I might take a drive, see a bit of the island. Is that OK with you?'

  Anything that took Maria out of the ambit of Lisa and Nadia was a major plus in Charlie's book. 'Fine.' She turned on the hairdrier, effectively ending the conversation.

  To her relief, the dining room was empty when they walked in. Their table from the night before was the only one still set for breakfast. 'Looks like Lisa and Nadia had an early start,' Maria said. 'That's a pity. I was thinking about asking them if they fancied linking up this morning.'

  Charlie hid her relief behind the breakfast menu, deciding to try her luck with the award-winning sausages and some scrambled eggs washed down with enough coffee to jump start her synapses. She tried not to think about the acid in Maria's freshly squeezed orange juice or the noise generated by her muesli crunch. Their meal was drawing to a close when Charlie's reprieve ended.

  Lisa and Nadia drifted into the dining room. 'Morning,' Lisa said. 'You're very dutiful, getting up for breakfast. We were lazy and had it in bed.' She looked remarkably pleased with herself. Charlie was gratified to see Nadia was looking less thrilled with life. She had the faint pout of a woman who thinks she's not getting enough attention.

  'I like my breakfast piping hot,' Charlie said. 'Always worth getting out of bed for.'

  'What are your plans for today?' Lisa asked.

  'Charlie's got some people to see this morning, so I'm going to go for a drive. What about you? You're welcome to join me, if you want.'

  'That's very tempting,' Lisa said. 'Is this work then, Charlie?'

  'I'm interviewing a couple of the mountain rescue team.' She'd managed to keep that out of the conversation the night before, she was pretty sure. Nadia looked as if she was about to pass out with boredom.

  'Really? They have some sort of unique insight into abnormal psychology?'

  'You'd be amazed,' Charlie said. 'They do have to deal with people in extreme situations. It can be very revelatory.'

  'I suppose you have to manufacture things to keep yourself interested while you're waiting to find out your fate,' Lisa said with a sad smile. 'I know we didn't mention it last night, Charlie, but I am familiar with your situation.'

  Nadia perked up. 'What are you on about? What's Charlie's situation?'

  'I'm temporarily suspended from practising. I have a disciplinary hearing coming up,' Charlie said, wondering momentarily if this was Lisa's way of showing support. If it was, it backfired immediately.

  Nadia's mouth opened and she covered it with her hand. 'Oh my God,' she said. 'I recognise you now. I thought you looked familiar. You're the one who got that bloke off who went on to murder all those other women. God. How do you live with something like that?'

  'Charlie has nothing to reproach herself with,' Maria said, abruptly standing up. 'There's nothing clever or good about helping the prosecution convict an innocent man.'

  'He wasn't very innocent, though, was he? He killed four women. And that's just what we know about,' Nadia said.

  'He did not commit the first murder he was charged with,' Maria said. 'That's what everybody seems to forget.'

  Nadia shrugged. 'But nobody else has been arrested, have they?'

  'For heaven's sake, Nadia. We should stop talking about this,' Lisa said, visibly dismayed at the turn of the conversation. 'Thanks for your kind offer, Maria, but we're planning on making a full day of it. We're going up to Dunvegan Castle.'

  'I'm sure you'll have a lovely time,' Maria said, her voice cool now. 'Charlie, you need to keep an eye on the time, your guys will be here soon.'

  Charlie seized the chance to escape the room. 'I need to get my stuff. Thanks for reminding me. See you girls later.' And she was off, walking briskly out the door and trotting upstairs. She closed the bedroom door behind her with a sense of relief, squeezing her eyelids tight together to keep tears at bay. She felt like her emotions had been hurled into a washing machine on the spin cycle. It had been hard enough when she'd thought her feelings for Lisa were not reciprocated. But now that it seemed something significant was coming back at her, it was harder and harder to deal with the situation. The point where she was going to have to make a decision was growing closer. And whichever way she jumped, Charlie knew her present sense of being in hell would be a day at the seaside by comparison.

  The two men sitting in the bar could hardly have looked less a
like. One was short and wiry, folded into the chair like a jack-in-the-box waiting for the lid to lift. His wavy hair was black, his beard slightly ginger in the sunlight flooding into the bar. He had the raw-boned look of the Gaelic Celt, blue eyes dark and darting under a ridge of black brows. The other was much bigger, a Viking of a man with broad shoulders and chest. His red-blond hair was tied back in a ponytail, his thick beard a shade darker. His long legs sprawled carelessly at angles to each other. With their weathered skin and hundred-yard stares, they could have been any age from thirty to fifty. Charlie had no doubt that these were the men she was due to meet.

  The small dark one jumped to his feet as she approached. The other, more languid, just leaned forward. 'Dr Flint?' the small one said, sticking his hand out to shake.

  Charlie took it. 'That's right. You're Calum Macleod?'

  He shook his head. 'No, I'm Eric Peterson. Everybody thinks I'm the local, but he is.' Now he'd spoken more than two words, it was evident that he came from much further south. Cumbria, at a guess. He jerked his head towards the other man. 'He's Calum.'

  Calum nodded. 'Pleased to meet you,' he said, the soft sibilance of the islands evident.

  Charlie ordered the Cokes they wanted and more coffee for herself then sat down. They went through the usual ritual of small talk, then after the drinks arrived with a plate of homemade shortbread, she took out her recorder. 'I hope you don't mind,' she said as they attacked the sugar-dusted biscuits. 'My memory isn't what it used to be.'

  'You and me both,' Eric said. 'My wife says it's the drink, but I say it's because I've hit my head too often climbing. She says I've always been soft in the head. No respect, these local girls. You don't bring them up obedient enough, Calum.' He grinned, clearly used to being the cheerful life and soul of the party. Calum said nothing, settling for a delicate sip of his Coke to wash down the biscuit.

  'So, I want to talk to you about what happened on Friday, 18 February 2000. Am I right in thinking you both remember that day?'

  'I remember every rescue,' Eric said eagerly. 'I love to climb, but there's an extra rush that you get from going out there in extreme conditions, knowing somebody's life could depend on how well you do your job. I don't want to sound big-headed about it, but we do save lives out there, and that's a buzz like nothing else.'

  Calum cleared his throat. 'You always remember when the mountain takes a life,' he said, his voice a soft, deep rumble.

  'Well, yeah. Of course. It doesn't always have a happy ending. But we still got somebody off that day. And the lass that died' — the shrug of one shoulder — 'well, she was dead before we were called out. Nothing we could have done about that. These mountains, they're not to be taken lightly, you know.'

  'When did you get the call-out? Do you remember?'

  Eric looked at Calum, who nodded. 'I'm a teacher,' he said. Charlie struggled to get her head round that one. 'It was after the bell went. So, four o'clock. It's never good that late in the winter. You know it's going to be dark before you get on the hill.'

  'Do you remember where the call came from? Was it the hotel here? Or the emergency services?'

  'I never took the call. I just got a page.'

  Eric bounced in his seat. 'I never took the call either. That was Gordon Macdonald. He was the on-call person for the team back then.'

  'Is he still around? Could I talk to him, maybe?'

  'He's dead,' Calum said. 'Car accident on the A82. Head on into a supermarket delivery lorry. Hellish.'

  'Oh. I'm sorry to hear that,' Charlie said.

  'But I remember Gordon talking about the call-out, later that night when we were all in the bar. He said it was peculiar. When we get a call, it's nearly always one of three sources.' Eric counted them out on his fingers. 'One: the emergency services get a call from the climber's mobile. Two: one of the other people in their party worries when they don't make a rendezvous. Three: the hotel or guest house or pub where they've left a climb plan and an ETA. But he said the call-out was wrong. It was a woman. She said she was calling from the hotel, here.' He waved his arm to encompass the bar. 'But we know all the staff here, and it wasn't anybody Gordon knew. She said she'd had a call that two of their guests were in difficulty on the In Pinn — that's the Inaccessible Pinnacle on the summit of Sgurr Dearg,' he added helpfully.

  'She knows that,' Calum said. 'Gordon was uneasy about the call. So he phoned back. Only nobody put their hand up to phoning us. But right enough, they had a couple of guests who'd set off for the In Pinn that morning. So Gordon thought we should take a look.'

  Eric picked up the story. 'It was a shit night. Really cold, snowing on and off. There was a wind coming off the north east like a knife. Not a night when we could call out the chopper. But we know the ground, so we made good time. It's not easy, looking for a couple of climbers on a mountainside in the dark and the snow. But the route up the mountain's reasonably obvious so we reckoned we were in with a shout if they were still on the hill. You'd be amazed how often we get called out for people that are sitting in some pub somewhere nursing a malt because they couldn't be bothered to get back to where they said they'd be.'

  'We came up on the lassie a couple of hundred feet down from the main summit of Sgurr Dearg. She was in a bad way.'

  'That's right. Shock, hypothermia setting in, and dragging one leg behind her like a useless lump of meat,' Eric said. 'We got the thermal wrap round her smartish, because obviously we needed to find out where her climbing partner was. We'd gone out for two women, but we'd only found the one. She was in a helluva state, but she told us right off. She'd had to cut the rope.' Even Eric shut up as he contemplated that.

  'We all understood,' Calum said. 'It's something you think about. If you don't climb, you can't understand.'

  'The way she explained it, it made sense,' Eric added. 'She didn't have any choice. Cut the rope or you both die. Cut the rope and one of you has a chance. To tell you the truth, we all felt for her. We knew she'd get stick, but there was nothing else she could have done. Not and lived.'

  'Were you surprised that they were up there in those weather conditions?' Charlie asked.

  Eric's face twisted into an expression of concentration. 'Not really. The forecast hadn't been that bad. The weather definitely closed in much worse than we expected that afternoon. And what you have to remember is that if you love to climb in snow and ice, there is nothing in the UK to match the Cuillin ridge in winter. Nothing. It's the biggest challenge in British winter climbing. The nearest you can get to the Alps.'

  'So you didn't think it was selfish? Out of order, going up in weather like that, knowing that if anything went wrong it was putting you guys at risk?' she persisted.

  'If you think like that, all climbing's selfish,' Calum said. 'I wouldn't quarrel with their choice that day.'

  'They got unlucky,' Eric said. Out came the fingers again. 'One, the weather turned against them. Two, the lass Kathy, she slipped on the narrowest bit of a narrow ridge. Three, she hit her head so she couldn't help herself. Four, the other lass couldn't find an anchor for the rope. And five, the other lass dropped her backpack with all her gear on board so she had no equipment to get them out of the mess they'd gotten into. They were — forgive my French — fucked every which way. I tell you, we all pray we never have a day like that on the hill.'

  'So you knew even then there was no point in looking for Kathy Lipson that night?'

  Calum gave her an incredulous look. 'We knew she'd gone the best part of three thousand feet down a mountain. What do you think?'

  'Our priority was getting the other lass off the hill and to hospital. You look to the living before you think about the dead,' Eric said. 'But we knew we'd be out there at first light. You don't want civilians stumbling across a body. Believe me, you don't want to think about what somebody looks like after a fall like that.'

  He was right. Charlie absolutely didn't want to think about it. 'You said that Jay Stewart had dropped her backpack. Do you know how that happene
d?'

  'She was spread-eagled across a ridge in the middle of a blizzard supporting another woman's entire body weight. The pack slipped through her fingers as she was trying to get access to her gear. Like Eric said, bad luck. Sometimes when one thing goes wrong, everything goes wrong.' Calum stared gloomily into his Coke, then knocked it back. 'Like dominoes.'

  They all sat locked in glum silence for a long moment, then Eric looked around expectantly. 'You think they'd bring us some more biscuits if we asked?'

  Charlie went off in search of more biscuits. She wasn't finished yet and if shortbread was what it took, she'd make sure they got it. When she returned, Calum was on his feet, examining an old map of the island that was framed on the wall. 'They're bringing some more,' she said. 'Did you ever find Jay's pack?'

  'We found it before we found the body,' Eric said. 'It burst when it hit the ground. There were cams and hexes and nuts scattered all round, a split water canteen, all the usual stuff.'

  'What about her phone?'

  Calum turned back. 'It was near the backpack. Busted to smithereens. It looked like it had come flying out on the way down.'

  'That's right,' Eric said, excited at having his memory jogged. 'She said it had been in a side pocket on its own.' He caught Charlie's look. 'What? You thought we wouldn't ask about a phone? We're not new to this, you know. Out here, it's a bit like the Wild West. The cops can't be everywhere so we've got to weigh in and do what we can to help. So we ask questions if there's anything needs explaining. And Gordon was still trying to make sense of the funny phone call. He wondered if she'd maybe called a pal or something. But she said no, she'd lost the phone before she could use it. So we were none the wiser.'

  She could have been lying, Charlie thought. Maybe she did make a phone call. But if you're hanging off a mountain with your business partner on the end of a rope, who are you going to call? 999 was the obvious answer. Charlie couldn't imagine calling anything else. Even if you couldn't do that with a sat-phone, which she didn't know anything about, surely there was an operator you could contact? And a sat-phone operator wouldn't need to pretend to be calling from a hotel on Skye. Nothing made sense, and all Charlie's instincts told her that when nothing made sense, something was going on that shouldn't be.