Shadows of Death

by Jeanne M. Dams

  ‘I am reminded less of Alice,’ he said, ‘than of Don Quixote, running madly in all directions and tilting at windmills.’

  ‘We have, in short, been dancing quite nicely when our strings were pulled.’

  ‘Precisely. It’s time to sit back and think properly about what’s been happening, instead of merely reacting.’

  ‘So many things have been happening,’ I objected. ‘It’s hard to make them fit into any sort of pattern.’

  ‘Then forget about the many things and concentrate on the most important thing. What’s the big piece in this jigsaw puzzle we’ve been trying to work?’

  ‘Carter’s death. Do you know, I’d nearly forgotten about him with everything else that’s been going on.’

  ‘I think that’s exactly what our puppet master, whoever he or she is, intended. I think that’s what all these other little mysteries have been meant to do, distract attention from Carter’s murder and hence from his murderer. So let’s forget about the rest of the puzzle for a little and think hard about the big piece. One way of understanding an action is to observe its result. What is the net result of Carter’s death?’

  ‘The Friends get a whole lot of money, and the dig can continue, forever, as far as I can tell.’

  ‘And who benefits from that result?’

  ‘Almost everybody except Mr Carter. Orkney, the Friends, the kids who’re working on the dig … oh.’

  ‘Yes. Who gets what amounts to a job for life, given the time that excavation requires? Who gets to make the decisions about the project, the critical decisions like how far down to go, how much of the late history to destroy to reach the earlier levels? Who ends up with enormous distinction in his field as director of the most important archaeological discovery of the century?’

  ‘And who,’ I asked, ‘has the only new key to the museum?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Alan, massaging the back of his head. ‘That MacKenzie woman claimed not to know. I’ll bet she does know, but she wouldn’t tell me. I’ll ask Baikie; he’ll know.’

  ‘Was it the police who put the new lock on?’

  ‘I think they saw to it, but at the Friends’ instigation. And we need to find out who holds the key at this point. But there’s only one answer to the rest of the questions.’

  ‘Fairweather.’ I finished my coffee and poured some more. ‘We suspected him right at the first, but then … I can’t remember why we forgot about him.’

  ‘The cat, remember?’

  ‘Oh, yes, poor old Roadkill. He died and then Norquist disappeared, and we thought Norquist must be responsible for at least one of the deaths.’

  ‘Misdirection, in short. And remember who found the cat at the dig?’

  ‘Fairweather, of course.’

  I drank coffee and pondered. ‘So why hasn’t Baikie gone after Fairweather, now that the terrorism business has abated a little?’

  ‘He’s a prominent figure, for one thing. He’s doing a great deal to bring sorely-needed money to Orkney. Baikie is going to want a good deal of solid evidence behind him before he tries to make a case, and there’s none. We can build a great hypothesis, but it’s as fine as spider’s silk.’

  I shuddered involuntarily. I’m terrified of spiders.

  ‘Sorry, love. Insubstantial as a butterfly’s wing. Is that better?’

  ‘Much. All right. How do we go about turning that butterfly’s wing into handcuffs – no, the metaphor doesn’t work. How do we build a case against Fairweather?’

  ‘I don’t know if it can be done. I think Norquist was the vital witness, and I think Norquist is dead.’

  ‘Well, I don’t. Think he’s dead, I mean. I can’t tell you why, but I just cannot make myself believe it. So I think the first thing that we need to do is find Norquist.’

  ‘My dear woman, what have we been trying to do for days now?’

  ‘You’ve been trying to find his body. There’s a big difference. A dead man stays in one place. A living man might not. Assume he’s living, and then try to think where he might have gone and why.’

  Alan was silent for a while. He didn’t, I could tell, entirely buy my theory, but he was willing to test it.

  ‘The why part isn’t hard,’ he said at last. ‘He’s hiding from Fairweather.’

  ‘Of course. If we’ve worked out that he’s a danger to Fairweather, because he knows something – we don’t know what – Norquist would have realized it much sooner. And he would know exactly why. The man may not be quite on the same planet as the rest of us, but he’s not stupid. He’d want to get off Orkney entirely, but he might not have had enough time, or he might have been afraid that Fairweather could trace any of the commercial carriers. For whatever reason, I don’t think he left. I think he’s right here. And I think all the searchers have been wasting their time going to caves and ancient sites, because those are exactly the places where Fairweather would look.’

  ‘Given all that, and it makes a certain amount of sense, where would you suggest they look?’

  ‘I haven’t the slightest idea, but I know who might.’

  ‘Mrs Tredgold.’ He didn’t make it a question.

  I pulled out my mobile.

  She answered on the second ring. ‘Nora Tredgold.’

  ‘This is Dorothy Martin, Nora. I’m sorry to bother you again so soon, but Alan and I have been doing some thinking.’ I took a deep breath. ‘You may find this hard to believe, but we think we know who killed Henry Carter. That was what started this chain of events, Carter’s death. I say we think we know, but we haven’t a shred of actual evidence, just speculation. And we believe Mr Norquist may have the evidence needed to bring the murderer to justice. Now Alan still thinks he may be dead, but I don’t and I don’t think you do, either.’

  ‘No, I don’t, though I can’t give you sensible reasons for that belief.’

  ‘Nor can I. That doesn’t matter. What does matter is that if Mr Norquist is a crucial witness, he would know that he’s in danger, and would go into hiding. It’s terribly important that the police find him before the murderer does.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘The thing is, police and volunteers have searched what they believed to be the most likely places. So he’s hiding in some unlikely place. He hasn’t left Orkney, at least not by any commercial plane or ferry. Does he have friends with a plane or a boat who might have taken him to Scrabster or some such place?’

  ‘He has very few friends, really no one who’s at all close. I find that notion very far-fetched.’

  ‘So do we, but we wanted to have our ideas confirmed. That means he’s still in Orkney somewhere, probably on this island. You know him well. Do you have any idea where he might have gone?’

  There was quite a long silence before she said, ‘If I knew where he was, I would tell you. I don’t. But I do believe his hiding place will have something to do with the two ruling passions of his life, his worship of the ancient peoples and their ways, and his fear of his mother.’

  ‘Fear? Not love?’

  ‘The two are so intermixed in his mind that they have become one. Indeed, he has almost become his mother, so completely has she absorbed him. She is the sort of mother who eats her young, you know.’

  ‘That’s … horrible.’ I swallowed. ‘How can you endure your visits to her?’

  ‘I try to keep remembering that every human creature needs love, and she has no one to love her.’

  ‘No one could love her!’

  ‘Exactly. So I try. I very seldom succeed, but I try. Sometimes I can manage genuine pity, which she doesn’t at all welcome, but which is akin to love. And on the days when all I can do is wish I could bop her on the head,’ she added, and I could hear her faint smile, ‘I try to think of her as my cross to bear.’

  ‘Well, I think you’re a saint, but I still can’t work out where Norquist might be. Of course I know almost nothing about these islands, except for the major Neolithic sites. I’m not sure where else we might try.’

&
nbsp; ‘There are quite a number of burial places not known to the general public. Even Inspector Baikie and his men might not know of them. Charlie excavated some of them himself. Unfortunately I can’t tell you where they all are, but Mr Larsen would undoubtedly know. Those might be possibilities, though they’re hardly big enough to stay in for any length of time. Nor would they provide any degree of comfort.’

  ‘But they’re Neolithic?’

  ‘Oh, yes, quite certainly.’

  ‘Then we’ll talk to Mr Larsen.’ Here at last, I thought, was something positive to do. ‘I’m not sure it matters that they’re small and uncomfortable. Norquist wouldn’t have had to stay in the same one the whole time, if they’re not too far apart. He could be hopping from one to another, trying to evade pursuit.’

  ‘Surely that would increase his risk?’

  ‘In one way, but not in another. If he stayed in one until he had some reason to believe someone was seeking him there, he could move to another and then come back to the first, on the principle that it had already been searched and thus was safe.’

  ‘Perhaps. These cairns have not yet been mapped, you understand, and may be quite hard to find.’

  ‘Yes, and that poses a problem. If we take a large party, Larsen and the police and all, we might as well hire a brass band. We’ll be trumpeting our objectives and could lead the murderer straight to Norquist. On the other hand, if we go alone and quietly, with just Larsen as guide, we could end up in a peat bog somewhere.’

  ‘I’ll trust you to do the sensible thing. And Dorothy, please find him. He’s such a sad little man, and so disturbed, and so helpless. Theodore and I will be praying for you.’

  Alan had been listening to my end of the conversation. ‘And why are we taking a brass band into the peat bogs?’

  ‘We’re not. We’re hoping to avoid the peat bogs, and we’re taking just ourselves, and Mr Larsen, and Watson, who may be the biggest help of all. We’re looking for ancient burial places, cairns or tombs or whatever they’re called. Nora thinks Mr Norquist may be hiding in one of them, and the police wouldn’t have looked there, because they don’t know about them. Almost nobody does, except for Norquist, who discovered them, and Larsen, the overseer of all Orkney’s ancient sites.’

  Alan looked grim. ‘There’s no way to find these tombs except with Larsen’s help?’

  ‘Nora says not.’

  ‘I don’t like it, Dorothy. I know we’ve decided that Fairweather is much the most likely villain, but Larsen certainly had some interest in Carter’s death, too. Are we proposing to lead the fox to the chicken coop?’

  ‘I know. I feel exactly the same way. But what else is there to do? We don’t know for certain that Fairweather knows nothing about these places, and we’ve got to find Norquist first. And we can’t do it without Larsen. We can tell Inspector Baikie what we’re going to do, so if something drastic happens he’ll come after us.’

  ‘And much good that would do anyone, if we’re all lying dead out there on the moors. And in any case we can’t tell him, dear heart, because he’s probably still buried in other matters. And if not, he’d certainly insist on making the search himself, or send a platoon of police to do it, and there’s your brass band laid on. We’re in a cleft stick.’

  ‘No, we’re not, Alan. There are the Tredgolds! When we’re ready to start out, we’ll tell them approximately where we’re going. They’re utterly trustworthy, and if anything happens, they’ll know what to do. Besides, they’re praying for us.’

  ‘I wish I found that a little more reassuring than I do. However, you’re right. We have to make the attempt. I’ll phone Larsen.’

  His voice mail answered with a complicated message about his teaching schedule. Alan rang back twice to get it all. ‘He has a lecture until five, and then a seminar all evening. If we’re going to catch him, it will have to be between five and seven, or we’ll have to wait until tomorrow. What message shall I leave?’

  ‘I don’t think it can wait. I suppose I’m being silly, but I have this terrible sense of urgency. Let’s not leave a message at all. Let’s go over to the university and catch him when he comes out of his lecture.’

  Rather surprisingly, Alan agreed. ‘I thought,’ I said tentatively, ‘that you supposed Norquist to be dead.’

  ‘I did. I’ve not entirely changed my mind, but you’re taking this very seriously, and so is Mrs Tredgold, whom I’ve come very quickly to respect and trust. If you both think it’s urgent, it may very well be. You’d best phone and tell her where we’re going, in case we’re wrong about Larsen’s innocence.’

  I did that, relegated Watson to the patio until our plans were firm, and we set out.

  TWENTY-ONE

  We got a little lost on the way to the university in Kirkwall as Alan didn’t know the way, and medieval cities, even small ones, can be very confusing. But we arrived a little before five, parked in an illegal spot, and rushed into what seemed to be the main office. Of course the building where Larsen was lecturing was at the far end of the complex, but we walked it as fast as two people our age could be expected to walk and arrived, out of breath, just as Larsen was walking out the front door, chatting with a student.

  Alan strode up to him. ‘Mr Larsen, a word, please.’

  Larsen was a little startled at the interruption, which was just plain rude, and entirely unlike my courtly husband. But the student waved and went on her way, and Alan said, ‘I’m truly sorry, sir, but there is a matter that is extremely urgent. Will you walk back to our car with us and let us explain?’

  Larsen was slightly annoyed. ‘I’m afraid I haven’t much time. I’ve a seminar at seven—’

  ‘Yes, I know. I do apologize, but this won’t wait.’ Alan looked around. There was no one nearby, no one paying any attention to us. ‘It concerns Mr Norquist, who is still missing, and whom we believe to be in considerable danger.’

  Larsen stopped walking. ‘Norquist? Surely the man’s dead? Suicide, I thought.’

  ‘We don’t think so, Mr Larsen,’ I chimed in. ‘We believe he’s in hiding, and we think we know where he might be. We need your help to find him.’

  ‘My help? But my dear lady, I haven’t the slightest idea—’

  ‘We think he might be in one of the unmapped tombs, or cairns, or whatever you call them,’ said Alan. ‘I understand you and he are the only ones who know where they all are.’

  ‘That’s quite true,’ said Larsen thoughtfully. ‘The Friends have been trying for some time now to get them mapped, but it’s an expensive proposition, and the dig at High Sanday has been taking all our time and money and attention. The cairns are not at all spectacular, nothing like Maes Howe. They’re tiny. What makes you think Norquist might be there?’

  ‘We think he’d go to a place that’s important to him, and that means one of the Neolithic sites.’

  Larsen nodded. He no longer seemed to be in a hurry. ‘That man doesn’t live in the twenty-first century, you know. His clock is set somewhere around 2500 BC. He’s only happy when he’s communing with Stone Age people, and I quite honestly believe he thinks they’re still here.’

  Well, so do you, almost, I thought, and so in a way do I. But this wasn’t the time to go into it.

  ‘So you could be right,’ he went on. ‘If he wanted to go into hiding, he might think the new cairns – newly discovered, I mean – a perfect place to go. But why would he want to go into hiding?’

  I had the answer to that one worked out. ‘A great many unpleasant things have been happening of late,’ I said. ‘Mr Norquist is not a strong man, and he is, as you say, a little unbalanced on the subject of the Neolithic peoples. All of these events might have disturbed him to the point that he felt he had to get away and “commune” with the ancients, as you put it. And he isn’t at any of the big important sites, or even the smaller but reasonably well-known ones. So when we learned about these secret ones—’

  ‘Ah, yes. And just how did you learn of them? They’re not ex
actly secret, but very few people do know about them.’

  ‘Do you know Mrs Tredgold, wife of the vicar of St Mary’s?’

  ‘Ah. I understand. A good woman, that, and how she finds out everything that happens in these islands I’ll never know. She doesn’t snoop. She just knows. A bit frightening, actually. Well, now.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I have a seminar in not much more than an hour, and I’d hoped to get a bite to eat and look over my notes beforehand. But you feel this matter is urgent?’

  ‘Don’t you?’ We had arrived at our car. I put my hand on Larsen’s arm. ‘If that poor man has been out there for two or three days in all weathers, he could be ill by now, and in any case he’s probably frightened and disoriented. He must be found.’

  Larsen nodded. ‘You’re right. I’ll just ask the secretary to put a note on the door saying the seminar is cancelled for this evening, and then I’ll go to my office and get my rough sketch of the cairns. It’ll be light for hours yet; we can make a start, anyway. I’ll meet you here in ten minutes.’

  We got in the car and Alan started it just in time. A traffic warden was approaching with blood in her eye, but Alan explained that we were just waiting for someone, and his charm did its work. She allowed us a few minutes.

  Larsen was away longer than he had estimated, and I began to worry. ‘Alan, what if he’s gone off to hunt that poor man down? What if he really is the one?’

  ‘He’d hardly do that and leave us here. We’re witnesses. If he intended … but here he comes.’

  He had a light pack with him. ‘I took the time to change, and I brought a few tools. You’ll want to change, as well. The cairns aren’t nice and tidy, and the entrances are less than three feet high. You have to crawl.’

  Crawling is not something my artificial knees enjoy at all. And I could feel my claustrophobia kicking in at the very thought of crawling into an ancient tomb in the middle of nowhere. But if it had to be done, I’d grit my teeth and do it. I remembered Alan’s late wife, Helen. I’ll bet she’d explored similar places without a qualm, and I wasn’t going to show myself a coward by comparison.