by Robin Flett
'Don't know, the boat was pretty full,' the lad shrugged.
'Okay then, thanks a lot.' Stewart watched them leave. A passing constable, busy with filing, commented, 'Someone will be round looking for it before lunch I bet.'
'You're probably right.' Stewart moved the camera over to a shelf, out of harms way.
In the middle of the afternoon Mike Hollis sat in the Range Rover in the long-stay car park near to Stromness ferry terminal. He was double-checking the contents of his old Karrimor Outward Bound rucksack. If he left anything behind now then he would have to get by without it. He wouldn't see the car again until the job was over.
The Outward Bound was a longish sack, designed to be carried high on the shoulders for optimum weight distribution. It was also a good size to conceal Hollis' replica filter unit. He wore well-used boots, veterans of hundreds of miles of walking through the west highlands and elsewhere, and an expensive, Swiss-made Goretex parka. On a whim, in Kirkwall the day before, he had also purchased a dark blue thick-knit woollen hat.
An experienced backpacker, Hollis was fully prepared to spend many days living rough if he had to. The car would be here awaiting his return, by whatever means he could beg, borrow or steal. Although he expected to be on foot. Given the choice, he intended to abandon the dory somewhere on the coast within walking distance of Stromness and his transport. Then he would simply disappear back to the cottage to finish the rest of his "holiday" while the forces of law and order ran round like headless chickens, checking all the ferries and aircraft departures.
He was even prepared to move into an hotel after his rental period was up if he thought it necessary to wait a little longer.
There was no hurry. Wait them out. Damned right, if all went well there would be nothing, nothing at all to link one more holidaymaker with the tragic death of the heir to the throne. The last thing he was going to do was be panicked into a hasty, and therefore suspicious, departure.
Hollis’ final action before leaving the Range Rover was to check the NUJ papers zipped into an inside pocket. Just another journalist covering the big show.
The bus was crowded. Local people going into Kirkwall were balanced just about evenly with tourists in various guises. Four other rucksacks had gone into the storage bays along with the blue Karrimor belonging to Mike Hollis. The owners sat three rows in front of him, two girls and two boys, conversing quietly in a mixture of Swedish and English. No-one took any notice of the older hiker sitting by himself, staring out the none-too-clean window and lost in thought.
When sergeant Anthony Davis returned to duty on the Friday afternoon the first thing he spotted was an expensive-looking video camera sitting forlornly on a shelf. 'What's this thing for?' he wanted to know.
'Some careless begger left it on one of the north isles ferries last night,' said the outgoing sergeant John Stewart. 'We've been hoping the owner will come looking for it, but so far nothing.'
Davis hung his coat in the cloakroom and met his colleague again in the office doorway.
'Nothing outstanding, other than that thing.' Stewart jerked a thumb at the camera. 'Remember to send a van to meet the Edinburgh plane this afternoon and pick up the ten extra lads we've been sent for tomorrow. I understand Special Branch have sent up a bod as well, so look for him too.'
Davis nodded.
'They're probably grumpy enough about being sent up here, without having walk into town as well!' They grinned at each other.
'You're over there tomorrow too, that right?'
'Houton at six am, God help us,’ answered Stewart. ‘You're well out of it in here my lad! See you later.'
'Cheers.'
'Well I think it's got to be worth a try!'
'Alison,' said Ken Basker patiently. 'Can you really see someone finding a piece of expensive equipment like that and actually bringing it back'
'You have a very jaundiced view of your fellow human beings.' Alison was leaning into the back seat, tucking Eric's loose jersey inside his windproof jacket. It was a size to big but he would grow into it soon enough. The children were more subdued than normal at this time of the day. Daddy was not in a good mood.
'Damned right!' Ken snorted. 'Most of them would steal the shirt off your back if they thought you might not notice!'
Alison pulled a face at him. 'That's ridiculous. Just because it hasn't been handed in to the ferry place! If I found something like that I would take it to the police. What can it hurt to ask?'
'I don't even know where the police station is here.'
'It's in Burgh Road, not far from that nightclub we saw the other night.'
'How do you know that?' Ken was astonished.
'Because I looked at the street map!' answered his wife in exasperation.
'Oh.'
'Are you going or not?'
'Oh, all right then, it's worth a try I suppose.' Ken turned the key and started the car.
It was good fifteen minute walk from where the bus had dropped him, but Hollis enjoyed the exercise. The small jetty was somewhat overshadowed by Scapa Pier, where a surprisingly large ocean-going tug was berthed. The dory was there as promised, an envelope stuck to the inside of a window with a piece of tape. Hollis dumped the rucksack in the tiny cabin and opened the envelope. It contained rudimentary instructions for starting and operating the outboard motor. Three spare gallon cans of fuel were secured along the port-side gunwale.
The motor started with surprising ease, and a few minutes later Hollis was heading out under the gray overcast into the vast expanse of Scapa Flow, with steep cliffs rising out of the sea close by the port side. As before, there was little shipping traffic to be seen, and what there was would be no hazard in broad daylight. Hollis checked again that the throttle was wide open and settled himself on the hard plastic seat behind the wheel. He estimated the speed at around fifteen knots, so he expected the journey across to Hoy to take something less than an hour. Maybe a little more if he took the time to check out the coastline either side of Lyness. At the very least he would need to find somewhere secluded to leave the boat overnight.
But he had plenty of time. There wasn't a lot he could do until close of business, presumably between five and six. Well and good. Hollis tried to relax and enjoy the trip.
Might be the last trip we ever make.
Shut up.
The constable turned the video camera over in his hands. 'What are you going to do if nobody claims this thing?'
Sergeant Davis looked round over his shoulder. 'It'll just have to go into Lost Property with all the other stuff.'
'I'm surprised no-one’s been in here already.'
'So am I,' Davis admitted.
'You ever shot home movies. sergeant?' the constable asked.
'It’s never been my thing. Why?'
'I've got one of these too. Smaller than this one, fit in your hand almost. The first thing you do when you get one is video the whole family. You know: kid's birthdays and suchlike, great fun.'
'So.' Davis was not a photography nor a video freak.
'Well, if you take one of these on holiday with you, you're bound to end up with a lot of footage of the family as well as the scenery. Stands to reason.'
'Is there a point to this discussion?'
'Well, Sarge, if he was videoing the family holiday, like––and they had a car with them...'
Davis turned his head around and looked at the constable. 'He might have filmed the car in the background. Maybe even the licence plate!'
The constable nodded. It was a lot easier to trace a car than one anonymous family. And the licence number would of course give them the owner’s home address.
'Full marks, my son!' Davis came over and lifted the camera in one hand. 'How can we look at what's in here?'
'We could use the viewfinder screen to play back the recording but it's pretty small.' He pointed with a finger. 'We should be able to hook it up to the PC monitor, if I can find a suitable cable.'
Davis glanced at the ca
mera body. There was a variety of connecters and sockets on the thing. 'Well go find one, lad. Fetch!'
'Yessir.'
Hollis turned the dory through 180 degrees, the water slapping rhythmically at the hull.
No point in going too far. The sooner he was off this island tomorrow the better. As long as the dory was out of sight of Lyness and, most importantly of all, secure for the night, that was all that really mattered.
He cruised slowly back northwards, watching for the bay he had spotted a few minutes ago. Here. He chopped the throttle and glided the boat alongside what appeared to be the remains of some wartime slipway. Ashore, red brick structures still stood among the weeds, a few seemingly well-preserved while others were little more than rubble. More discarded remnants of Orkney's place in world history. He cut the engine and sat there for several minutes, listening and waiting. Beyond the mournful cry of an unseen seabird, there was total silence.
Good.
Hollis hopped over the side and moored the dory to a badly rusted ring-bolt at the bow and a broken block of stone at the stern. Belatedly, he remembered to leave some slack in the lines to allow for the rise and fall of the tide. It would surely be safe enough here. In any case, it was the best he could do. He hauled the rucksack out of the boat and opened it, stuffing three sandwiches, a can of cola and a small pair of binoculars into his pockets. Then he dropped the sack into a hollow in a nearby embankment, pulling a tattered piece of corrugated iron across to conceal it completely.
Satisfied, he set off to explore the ruins and find somewhere out of the wind where he could wait for evening and keep an eye on things. He whistled to himself as he walked, things were going quite well. Quite well.
20
Friday 23 August, 2013
The young girl pulled a face then turned her back and glowered, almost a caricature of the sulky child. She said something too, but the wind noise drowned her out. The boy was close now, approaching stealthily from behind the seat and taking great care to give no sign. Freezing whenever she moved but knowing that she wouldn't keep her head turned away for much longer.
The boy knew time was running out.
Two arms appeared around the seat, low down and hidden behind her back. Still she suspected nothing. Stillness for a moment, then his arms jerked forward and inward, jabbing at the girl's sides. She squealed and whirled round...
Sergeant Davis pressed the pause button and said: 'Six o'clock.'
'Christ! Are you involved too?' PC Weeks asked.
'No fear! Somebody has to mind the store while you youngsters go on the school trip.'
'Oh my God! Six am! What on earth are we going to do on Hoy at six am?'
'Turn over every flat stone I expect. John Stewart is looking after our lot, but a DCI from Edinburgh came up yesterday, he's the man in overall charge.' Davis swivelled the seat round to face the screen again and restarted the lost video camera’s playback. 'So let's not give him cause for complaints, eh?'
A horn tooted outside. Weeks glanced out the window and looked for his hat. 'Right, that's us off.'
Davis raised a hand in acknowledgment and settled back in his seat to watch the screen. Fifteen minutes later he was getting bored. The amazing quality of modern hand-held video cameras left him singularly unmoved. It never crossed his mind to give any thought to the technological magic they routinely performed at the push of a button. He sighed and pressed play again. He felt he knew this family intimately but so far there had been nothing to identify them, or their car, or the place where they were living in Orkney.
The two youngsters cavorted on the shingle. 'Rackwick,' Davis muttered, recognizing the place immediately. He watched the boy drop the floppy section of seaweed and shook his head wryly when the lad wiped his hand on his trousers. 'Kids!'
His experienced eye took in the hunched figure of the man coming along the beach, but without particular interest. Davis looked over his shoulder when he heard the door behind him open. A tallish man in a roll-neck sweater stood at the desk uncertainly. Without turning round Davis felt for the pause button, pushed it and got up to deal with the caller.
On the flat LCD monitor screen, Mike Hollis' face gazed unseeingly out into the office, frozen in the act of walking past the children on Rackwick beach. Less than a metre away the image on the wanted poster was an uncanny match, almost as if it had been taken from the same piece of film.
'What I do for you, sir?'
'Well...I don't really know if you can do anything,' began Ken Basker. 'Fact is, I left my video camera on the ferry yesterday. The Varagen I think it's called,' he shrugged his shoulders dejectedly. 'I don't suppose anyone handed it in to you?' He stopped when he saw the desk sergeant smiling at him.
'Funnily enough, we've been waiting for you all day! Two boys found it among their luggage and brought it in here first thing this morning.'
'Two lads with rucksacks?' Ken was astonished.
'That's right. Know them, do you?'
'They were sitting next to us in the cabin. I thought I'd never see it again!'
'I've just been running through the footage trying to find some means of identifying your car or accommodation.' He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. 'You've only made one appearance on it so far, but I recognise you all right.'
Ken looked past him at the large monitor screen. He remembered the shot on the beach but hadn't before noticed the man walking past. Oh well, not to worry. He shook his head and let out a long breath. 'Whew, I thought it was gone for good. The wife's about ready to kill me!'
'You wouldn't believe the stuff people leave on buses and whatnot. We've had kids brought in here before now!' Davis moved across to the shelf and lifted the camera and pressed the stop button. From his acute downward angle of vision he could see only a blur on the screen. Ken Basker watched Mike Hollis' face disappear into a white raster.
'There you are, sir. Try and take better care of it––you might be so lucky a second time.'
Ken still couldn't believe it. 'Thanks a lot!' he said with feeling. 'Listen, do you have a charity box or something? I reckon someone's due a donation for this!'
'Happens we do, sir, just on the wall there.' Anthony Davis grinned. It was a long time since he had seen someone so obviously relieved. Made his day.
Ken dropped all the pound coins in his pocket into the slot. 'Thanks again,' he said, gripping the door handle.
'Don't worry, sir, it happens to us all. You just have to turn your back on something at the wrong time and it's gone! Enjoy your holiday.'
Darkness wouldn't help him much: there wasn't going to be a lot of it. In mid-summer in these latitudes, fifty nine degrees north, the sun was barely below the northern horizon all night. In Shetland, land of the midnight sun, they called it the simmer dim. Further south in Orkney there was only slightly more in the way of darkness. On a clear night it was little more than deep twilight. So Mike Hollis was not at all put out when a light drizzle began to fall from the heavily overcast sky in late afternoon, as suggested by the local weather forecast. It would be a murky night and that was better than he could have hoped for.
Just after seven, with the drizzle becoming very intermittent, he visited the rucksack in its hiding place. Packed right on top was a flattened duffle bag with a lanyard attached top to bottom. Hollis opened it out and carefully put the imitation filter and the radio-controlled trigger unit inside and followed it with a tightly rolled up change of clothing and a battery-operated shaver. Other items he transferred from his waterproof parka to the waxed Barbour jacket which he put on instead. The parka and all other unneeded belongings went into the rucksack.
After thoroughly checking the area for signs of his presence, Hollis stuffed the rucksack into the dory, pushing it inside the small cabin. The moorings were secure, the lashing not too tight, he didn't want to have a struggle with jammed ropes at the very time when seconds would be of vital importance.
One more thing he must not forget. Hollis stepped down to one side of
the old slipway and urinated against the cold stone. There wouldn't be opportunity for such things later and the last thing he needed tonight was a bursting bladder! For the same reason he took no food or drink with him. Better a rumbling belly than to be in urgent need of a toilet. Slinging the duffle bag across his back on it's lanyard, to keep his hands free, Hollis started back round the bay to Lyness.
The industrial estate was deserted, as expected at this hour. Hollis rounded the corner nearest to NorthTek, keeping his head down into the turned-up collar of his jacket. Hopefully the security guards at NorthTek's gate would see only a workman heading into an area full of one-man businesses and workshops. The only risk was that they might notice he hadn't come back out. Taking the first lane on the left put a row of buildings between Hollis and NorthTek and he slowed his pace even further, carefully looking for signs of life in any of the workshop units.
All was quiet.
Good.
Reaching the end of the road, Hollis turned and walked back the way he had come. Nothing and nobody moved: as far as he could determine he was quite alone here. The place he wanted belonged to a painter & decorator, the unit almost directly across the road from NorthTek's front gate. All the buildings were alike and all had the same fenced-in yard at the rear for loading and storage. Nobody, it appeared, could be bothered to close the steel and wire mesh gates provided. Hollis shook his head: didn't they have thieves here?
Probably not.
The painter & decorator's back door was securely locked but next to it was a rectangular single-glazed window. Hollis peered in through the glass, checking for alarm sensors on the inside of the window and in the upper corners of the room. Nothing. There was no burglar-alarm box mounted on the wall outside either, but that didn't necessarily mean there wasn't some sort of security system installed. However, he could see no signs of any such equipment, and he couldn't believe that any of the more expensive, sophisticated stuff would be installed in a place like this.
Hollis pulled a medium-sized screwdriver from his pocket and set about removing the putty from around the glass in the window.
