by Lin Anderson
Erling muttered something about changed days in Orkney and all three set off towards the tent with Magnus following. When Magnus re-entered, his place by the body had been taken by Dougie’s colleague, Simon. Magnus watched as he began to take samples from the body, knowing the mouth would be somewhere on his list.
He didn’t have long to wait before the mystery item was extracted.
It was a stone, just as he had thought.
‘May I see that?’ Magnus asked.
The stone was bagged in clear plastic and handed over.
Magnus held it up to the light. One side was blank, the other had a number scratched on it.
‘I would say that was a four?’ Magnus suggested and Simon nodded.
Dougie looked surprised. ‘I’ve just remembered something Roy said. The victim on Cathkin Braes had a stone in his mouth. It had a five scratched on it.’
13
Magnus emerged to find the wind on the rise and flapping at the tent. He caught Erling’s eye, realizing what his friend was thinking. The chances of the forensic tent being whipped away before the body was properly processed were high. There were few places on Orkney that weren’t exposed to the transatlantic winds that swept the islands, and the Ring of Brodgar wasn’t one of them. Had the victim been discovered in the Forest of Finstown, tucked down in the valley among its stunted trees, wind may not have been a major problem. Out here it most certainly was.
‘I may have to call in an inflatable air shelter and generator,’ Erling said as he observed the rushing clouds. ‘Even that might not hang about for long. And it’s noisy.’
The summer equinox had a history of producing high winds. Magnus could recall numerous stories, some amusing, others tragic, that focussed on this time of year. The previous summer a couple of German climbers had pitched their tent near the Yesnaby cliffs, planning to scale them. The wind had risen to gale force overnight and swept the tent and its sleeping inhabitants straight over the cliff and into the surging sea below. Had the climbers made their plans known to the locals, they would have been warned away from the cliff. Probably warned away from camping altogether, unless in someone’s walled garden.
‘So what do you think?’ Erling said as they walked towards the gate.
Magnus wasn’t sure he wanted to voice his thoughts yet. ‘May I come to the strategy meeting?’
Erling gave him a penetrating look. ‘We’ll be glad of all the experience we can get. Murder isn’t a speciality in Orkney. At least not since the Vikings.’
‘I thought I’d give Glasgow a call. Check out Dougie’s story about the victim on Cathkin Braes,’ Magnus said.
They had reached the gate. On the other side the narrow road was lined with police vehicles and a queue of local traffic full of people desperately trying to go about their everyday business. Add the fact that the Ring of Brodgar was a natural heritage site, popular with summer tourists and cruise visitors, and Erling had his work cut out for him.
‘Do you want a lift back to your car?’
Magnus shook his head. ‘I’ll walk, thanks.’
Erling nodded. ‘I’ll text you a time for tomorrow’s meeting.’
Magnus set off along the narrow road, the roughened waters of the Loch of Harray on his left. He’d chosen to walk in order to call in at the latest excavations on the Neolithic temple complex that lay between the Rings of Stenness and Brodgar. A team of archaeologists worked it every summer when the weather allowed. Magnus had been following their progress since the first large flat slab had been revealed during ploughing some years before. Orcadians were used to living among ancient ruins, but this particular discovery, believed to pre-date Stonehenge and the Pyramids, had placed Orkney at the centre of Neolithic history.
Magnus turned up the path that led to the bungalow adjoining the site, now used for storage and a place to get out of the weather. Atop its small hill, it gave a grand view of the excavation stretching northwards to Brodgar.
The working group were on a coffee break or else had got together to discuss the revelation that a body had been found at the nearby Ring. When Magnus’s tall figure appeared, it was immediately spotted by Jack Louden, the eminent young archaeologist currently in charge of the dig, who separated himself from the chatting group and approached Magnus, coffee mug in hand.
‘Wondered when you’d appear.’ Jack indicated the mug. ‘Coffee?’
Magnus accepted and was ushered into the bungalow. The smell of freshly dug earth was as strong inside the kitchen as out, but Magnus also caught other scents: coffee, cigarettes and, again, the scent of cannabis.
Jack poured coffee from a large flask and handed Magnus a mug. ‘You’ve been to the Ring?’
Magnus nodded. ‘I take it you’re not missing one of your female students?’
‘Not at my last count. Although we do get hangers-on from time to time. Are you permitted to issue a description yet?’
Magnus was aware that the details would be on the news, likely within the hour. ‘Dark hair, cut short. Late teens, early twenties. Dressed like your lot, jeans and boots, with dirt under her fingernails, and I detected the scent of cannabis from her clothes.’
Jack met his eye. ‘She does sounds like one of ours, but the team’s adamant they’re all present and correct.’ He took a mouthful of coffee. ‘The Ring’s a popular hangout this time of year for the young, both locals and visitors. Ancient site, long summer nights to party in.’
‘Sex and drugs?’ Magnus said.
Jack nodded. ‘Much like our Neolithic ancestors, I suspect.’
Magnus cut to the chase. ‘Do you know of a cannabis supplier on the island?’
Jack scrutinized him. ‘You needing some for your ruminations?’
Magnus shook his head. ‘I’m a home-brew man, myself.’
A flutter of concern crossed Jack’s face. ‘I don’t want any of my lot getting into trouble.’
‘Ask them in confidence and let me know?’
Jack thought about that, then indicated that he would.
Magnus finished his coffee and set the mug down. They headed outside. The group were back on their knees among the ancient stone ditches, slowly scraping away the earth. Painstaking forensic work, much like what would be happening at Brodgar.
Jack glanced up at the sky. In the far distance, black clouds clustered over Skaill Bay. ‘We may have to cover up soon.’
Magnus thought of the forensic tent and the spreadeagled body of the young woman that lay inside. Heavy rain, common in all seasons in Orkney, would wash the wider crime scene clean. It wasn’t only the wind that Erling had to worry about.
He waited until he was back at the Standing Stones Hotel and inside his car before he made the call. Walking along the open road in the wind, a mobile call had proved impossible.
Selecting Rhona’s number, Magnus hesitated. He hadn’t spoken to Rhona in some time. He’d wanted to, but was unsure whether his attentions would be welcome. He was also aware how his mind had quickly jumped on Dougie’s story of the death on Cathkin Braes, seeing it as a reason to get in touch with her.
His psychological study of his feelings and reasons for action or inaction frequently irritated him, but he could do little to stop it. Magnus pressed the button and listened as it rang out. Rhona answered on the third ring. As soon as he heard her voice, Magnus was assailed by the memory of her scent. Not a chosen perfume, but the natural scent of her skin. It made him forget his carefully chosen words.
‘Rhona?’ he said to buy time.
‘Yes?’ She sounded mildly irritated.
‘Magnus here.’
A short pause. ‘Magnus, how strange. I was just about to call you.’
He found himself inordinately pleased by her confession even though he knew it would be a work-related call.
‘Where are you?’ she said.
‘Orkney.’
‘I thought you might be. No matter.’
Magnus convinced himself she sounded disappointed. ‘What was it
you wanted to speak about?’
‘A murder on Cathkin Braes.’
‘The victim with a stone in his mouth?’
He heard her intake of breath.
‘How did you know about that?’
‘An R2S team arrived here this morning with the news.’
‘Why are R2S in Orkney?’
‘A body was found in the Ring of Brodgar this morning. The victim had a flat stone marked with the number four in her mouth.’
14
Rhona listened intently as Magnus described the impaled hands, and the laying out of the body.
‘I estimate her arms are pointing southeast and southwest,’ he added.
‘Any indication of how she died?’ Rhona asked.
‘Nothing obvious, but judging by the lack of blood, the hands were probably impaled after death.’
‘How far on are Dougie and Simon with processing the scene?’
‘Not sure, although the wind’s rising here with the solstice, so he’ll have to be quick.’
Rhona had planned to call Magnus to run her own scenario past him and was considerably thrown by the reversal of the situation.
‘Do you know who the victim is?’ she said.
‘Not yet.’
‘Can I get up there in time to take a look at the body in situ?’
‘By helicopter, maybe.’
It was a long shot, especially since R2S were already there, but she could give it a go.
McNab wouldn’t like this news one little bit, especially as it had come via Professor Magnus Pirie. ‘I’ll be in touch,’ she said.
Rhona rang off and immediately called Roy Hunter’s mobile. It took a few rings before he picked up. She heard his muffled voice, then his mask was removed and the words became clearer.
‘Hi, Rhona. We’re not quite finished here yet.’
‘Thanks, Roy, but the call’s about something else.’
She ran Magnus’s news past him and was met with a stunned silence, then a long, low whistle. ‘And you want to take a look yourself?’
‘It might have to be via R2S.’ She explained about the wind. ‘I’d like to take a look myself before I confirm any similarity with DI McNab.’
‘He’s not a Professor Pirie fan, if I remember?’
‘No, he’s not.’ An understatement.
‘Okay. I’ll request the Air Support Unit take you up as quickly as possible, because of the wind and danger to the crime scene. Can you get yourself over to the helipad at SECC?’
‘I’ll head there now.’
Chrissy appeared as she was disrobing.
‘Where are you off to?’
‘They’ve found a body in a stone circle on Orkney Mainland, impaled hands and a stone in her mouth.’
Chrissy wasn’t often at a loss for words. When it did happen, it was worth seeing.
‘I need you to carry on with the tests and to hold the fort for me.’
‘And what do I tell Detective Inspector McNab?’
‘That I’ve been called out on another case.’
‘He’ll ask where,’ Chrissy warned her.
‘Tell him Orkney, and leave it at that.’
‘Does the handsome Viking feature in this?’ Chrissy’s eyes twinkled.
‘It was Magnus that called me.’ Rhona made for the door with Chrissy swiftly following, keen as always to have the last word.
‘Shall I tell McNab that when I see him?’
‘I’d leave Magnus out of it for the moment.’
Chrissy met Rhona’s stern gaze, and her face fell. Baiting McNab was a full-time occupation for her, rendered even more fun by his recent promotion. Being denied such an opportunity was a blow. Chrissy bid her goodbye with a face forlorn enough to make a lesser mortal change their mind. Not Rhona.
All the same, Rhona couldn’t suppress a smile as she exited the building and headed for the car. Chrissy may have been forbidden from mentioning Magnus to McNab, but her face would reveal it anyway.
She exited the university precinct and made for the river. Glasgow was basking in June sunshine, its citizens taking the opportunity to bare more flesh than was easy on the eye. The air in the city centre was thick with exhaust fumes as the one-way signs directed the cars endlessly round its grid system. Despite her familiarity with downtown Glasgow, it would still be easy to make a mistake and end up heading back the way she had come.
Reaching the river, Rhona turned west alongside the Clyde towards the Scottish Exhibition and Conference Centre and the nearby heliport where the Air Support Unit was based. A text arrived as she entered the car park. She drew up and checked her mobile. Roy had okayed her flight and they were waiting for her. She sent a message to Magnus, as promised, indicating she was on her way.
Removing her overnight bag and forensic case from the boot, she crossed the tarmac towards the distinctive black and yellow shape of the waiting helicopter. At her approach, a figure detached itself from the group of three and came towards her.
‘Dr MacLeod? Neil Cameron. We’re ready for you if you want to step aboard.’ He took both cases from her. ‘We’re keen to get there and back before the wind steps up a notch.’
In the calm, simmering heat of Glasgow, it seemed strange to be talking about high winds. He read her expression. ‘Warnings are out for gale-force winds and high seas around Orkney over the next twenty-four hours.’
Rhona thanked him, already wondering whether she’d be able to get back once she’d finished on site. But before that, she had to face the prospect of flying. Something she didn’t relish. Despite her knowledge of physics and the scientific reasons why planes stayed up in the air, Rhona still regarded flying as a strange anomaly which could terminate at any moment. Flying commercially could be tempered by strong drink, usually a double whisky or brandy. Not a likely possibility in a police helicopter.
As it turned out, the noise was worse than the actual take-off. Rhona concentrated on that, her eyes half shut, not registering the rapid rise as Glasgow became the equivalent of a Google map below her. Then they were up, turned, and away, the city landscape swiftly replaced by deep dark lochs and mountain peaks, a patchwork of bright light and deep shadow.
Conversation verging on the impossible, Rhona eventually found if she dwelt on the magnificence of the landscape below her, she forgot to worry that there was nothing between her and those mountains but air.
The steady throb of the blades lulled her into a false sense of security as they beat their way across Caithness and its scattered abandoned townships. By the time they approached the Pentland Firth her anxiety was on the rise again. Buffeted by a rising wind, the officer who had welcomed her aboard signalled that she should hold on tight.
Below, a choppy sea swept through the deep water channel that divided Scotland from Hoy, the second biggest island in the Orkney group. Dark, heavy clouds swathed the western seaboard around Stromness, split by the sun’s rays over the grey inland waterway she knew to be Scapa Flow.
Rhona concentrated on looking for Magnus’s house on the northern shore, east of Stromness, and thought she spotted it next to the small local ferry terminal at Houton Bay. The sight of the stone house, part surrounded by water, generated sufficient memories to see her through to her destination.
Minutes later they were dropping into a field close to a circle of tall stones she knew to be Brodgar. Then she was back on solid ground, the noise fading to be replaced by a whistling wind.
With smiles, the co-pilot ushered Rhona and her bags wide of the blades, to immediately return to the helicopter. The noise rose to deafening levels once again and Rhona watched as the black and yellow shape took to the sky, grateful she was no longer aboard.
She waited in the blustering wind until it disappeared southwards before she took her bearings. No doubt someone had seen her arrive and would come looking for her. She picked up her bags and, head down against the wind, set off in the general direction of the Ring.
As she met the intervening road, lined wit
h cars and police vehicles, a tall figure dressed in a forensic suit appeared in search of her. The height and build suggested Magnus, then Rhona noted the hair colour and facial features and realized it couldn’t be.
The man approached, hand extended in welcome. ‘Detective Inspector Erling Flett. You, I believe, are Dr Rhona MacLeod? R2S said you were coming. I’m very pleased you made it before we had to remove the body.’
‘So quickly?’
‘If we don’t, the wind will.’ He took her overnight case from her. ‘We decided against erecting an air tent because of the forecast. It would mean dismantling what we have already. Better to use the time as best we can.’
He weaved his way among the parked vehicles. ‘You can leave your overnight bag in the boot of my car for the moment.’ He pressed the remote. The boot sprang open and he deposited her bag inside.
‘I’m assuming you’ll kit up here?’
Rhona had already begun. The wind, though strong, was warm, and once inside the suit she immediately felt the prickle of sweat on her skin. She struggled into the boots then pulled on gloves, taping them first to the suit, before pulling on a second pair. The hood in place, her hair no longer whipped at her eyes.
‘Ready?’
She gave a quick nod.
‘This way.’
Rhona followed the tall figure to a revolving metal gate. Fattened by the bulky suit, she squeezed herself through. DI Flett ignored the gate and used his long legs to leap the fence.
In front of Rhona lay a gentle incline, traversed by a grassy path. The incident tape had indicated an outer cordon beginning at the gate. A second cordon had been erected just past a three-foot ditch that encircled the Ring. Her first impression was of the difficulty of the location, the extent of the crime scene, and its importance in the tourist life of Orkney. It was the island equivalent of discovering a midsummer murder victim in Edinburgh Castle.
Walking in a forensic suit wasn’t easy, especially over rough ground. DI Flett waited for her to catch up.
‘We’d better stick to the long way round and avoid the heather.’
The stones stood in a trimmed grass circle, which differed in width, while the central area was mostly heather-covered. Difficult to walk through and even more difficult to forensically search.
