The High Island (DI Erling Flett #1)

Chapter 1

Sandy and Ivor had been best pals, despite the stretch of water between them, spending most weekends on each other’s family farms.

‘They were like twins, separated at birth,’ Erling’s father, Tommy, had once told him.

‘Although they resembled one another not at all, apart from a fierce love of the water and boats. My father built his own boat and used it to cross back and forth to Lyrawa Bay to see Ivor. Until he met my mother, that is. She feared the water and feared for him when he went out on it. So your grandfather gave up the boat and took the ferry to please her.’

Sitting beside his father now, Erling could hear his grandfather Sandy’s voice clearly in his head, telling stories of his youth when he and Ivor would camp out near the Nissen hut sites on Hoy.

This stream of memories was now interrupted by his father’s voice, saying in an undertone, ‘The Mowats are all here and that doesn’t bode well.’

Erling glanced at his father’s worried face. ‘Bode well for what?’ he said.

‘The wake at the Kirkwall Hotel,’ Tommy said. ‘Are you going?’

‘I wasn’t planning to,’ Erling told him. ‘I need to get back to work.’

‘If you’re seen to be there, it might prevent a fight,’ Tommy said as the congregation rose to sing the final hymn. ‘But tempers are running high at Lyrawa.’

‘About what?’ Erling said under his breath.

At this his father gave him a look he remembered well. ‘I can’t imagine how you, a detective inspector, don’t know about the land feud on Hoy, not to mention that eco-house being built on the old Mowat croft above the bay.’

Before Erling could respond to this, the voices around him rose in a loud rendition of ‘Abide with Me’ as the coffin was lifted and carried up the aisle by six brawny male members of the family.

‘That’s Hugh and Albert, the two eldest, in front, then Harald and Cameron,’ Tommy said quietly. ‘The final two I assume are younger members of the family.’

As the faces passed him by, Erling tried to gauge the mood of the pall-bearers, noting what he thought were thunderous looks being traded across the coffin and also in the direction of a young male a couple of rows behind.

‘I told you,’ Tommy whispered beside him.

Emerging from the cathedral, Erling checked his phone to discover a message from Jo Green, his detective sergeant, asking him to call her back.

As he did so, the coffin was loaded into the back of the hearse, the pall-bearers’ rigid face-off more obvious now.

‘Is the funeral over?’ Jo said.

When he answered in the affirmative, she added, ‘Well, Leo Strachan’s here, boss, keen to speak to you about a situation last night in Albert Street.’

Leo Strachan was the leader of the local street pastors in Kirkwall, who were to be found out on the streets of central Kirkwall on weekend nights, religiously or benevolently helping those the worse for wear among the revellers.

‘Tell him I’ll be right there. And, Jo,’ he added before she rang off, ‘ask PC Tulloch to head for the wake at the Kirkwall Hotel. My father thinks his presence might be required.’

‘Right you are,’ Jo said, with an amused question mark in her voice.

The hearse had departed, heading for Houton and the vehicle ferry to Hoy, where Ivor had wished to be buried.

Some of the mourners would accompany him to his final resting place, but not all of them.

Those who didn’t plan to follow the cortège were already on their way down Albert Street to the harbour and the Kirkwall Hotel bar where refreshments awaited them.

‘I’m going over to Hoy,’ his father told him when he’d finished his call with Jo. ‘There’ll likely be arguments there too, but I owe it to my father to see Ivor laid to rest.’

‘I’ve organized a police presence at the hotel. PC Tulloch will be on his way,’ Erling said.

Tommy raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m not sure young Ivan Tulloch’s a match for the Mowat clan,’ he said with a concerned look.

‘He’s not the boy you remember from Sanday,’ Erling found himself saying. ‘And he’ll call for help if required.’

Parting company with his father at the foot of the cathedral steps, Erling set off on the short walk to the police station, his mind replaying the scenario Tommy had outlined in the church regarding the Mowat family.

Orkney had a long and well-recorded history of family feuds stretching back in time to their Viking ancestors, with St Magnus the Martyr, after whom the cathedral had been named, being involved in one of them.

He tried to recall anything he’d heard about Hoy and the original Mowat family land.

It was near Lyrawa Bay and, as far as he could remember, mostly hill and heather.

He recalled too that Ivor had also owned land on Flotta and had more than likely benefited when the oil terminal was first built.

So maybe there was more money with the Mowats than he’d been aware of.

According to Tommy, Ivor had still had all his faculties, even though he’d moved to live in a care home in Kirkwall. Apparently he’d continued to rule the roost from there.

The six pall-bearers had all looked so much like the younger version of Ivor he’d seen in his grandfather’s photographs that their lineage was pretty obvious.

So what had Ivor been up to, to cause such a stramash among his family?

That question remained unanswered as he reached his destination and, entering, checked first that PC Tulloch had been dispatched to the Kirkwall Hotel. He was assured by the stout desk officer that his order had been carried out.

‘No trouble reported as yet, sir,’ PC Alexander added.

Erling refrained from asking if PC Alexander was expecting trouble among the Mowats and headed upstairs to the conference room. Hearing Leo’s voice followed by Jo’s laughter, he was reminded that his sergeant had been a real asset to the team since she’d transferred to Kirkwall from Caithness.

As for Leo Strachan, his mind was still to be made up on the street pastor.

The laughter ended when he opened the door and the two faces turned to observe his entry.

He thought, and not for the first time, that DS Green liked Leo Strachan, and that the feeling was mutual.

And he believed Jo Green to be a good reader of people.

Something that had become apparent in her short time here.

Then again, they were both in their twenties and the rapport between them might be more about that than anything else.

‘Leo,’ he said, holding out his hand. ‘Good to see you.’

The hand that clasped his was firm, the gaze direct. ‘And you, Detective Inspector.’

‘I understand you’ve come to report on your weekend work in Kirkwall?’

‘I have, and my concerns.’ Leo’s expression suggested more had happened on Albert Street when the clubs had emptied than the usual distribution of flip-flops to young women who were no longer in control of their high heels.

‘Okay. What’s got you worried?’ Erling said, aware that the street pastors were, in general, trusted more than officers on the beat, especially in the heady atmosphere of Saturday nights when the pubs and clubs disgorged their clientele.

‘I think there’s a new supply of drugs arriving in Kirkwall.’

Erling glanced at Jo to check whether she’d already heard about this. Registering her worried expression, he decided Leo had been awaiting his arrival before voicing his concerns.

‘Can I ask why you think that’s the case?’ Erling said.

‘Snatches of conversation. Some of the regulars in worse shape than usual,’ he said.

‘Have you seen anything being dealt?’ Erling tried.

Leo shook his head. ‘We don’t go into the clubs. As you know, our job is on the street with the walking wounded. But . . .’ He paused. ‘Something’s definitely different. My guess is availability has increased, together with variety, and I think that whatever it is, it’s stronger.’

Orkney couldn’t totally avoid the deluge of cheap and dangerous synthetic drugs currently flooding the market in the major population centres, but its remote location might help stem that tide, especially if forewarned.

‘Okay, thanks for letting me know,’ Erling said. ‘And if you hear anything more, give us a call.’

‘What do you think?’ Jo said, once the street pastor had departed.

‘Drugs are an ongoing problem. Anything new in Aberdeen, Inverness or Glasgow will end up here.’

Jo studied him for a moment. ‘You’re not sure about Leo, are you?’ she said in her usual forthright fashion.

‘No, I’m not,’ Erling said honestly.

‘Can I ask why?’ Jo said.

‘I’m not keen on religion in any form.’

‘Me neither,’ Jo admitted. ‘But I don’t think the pastors are out on the streets at night to convert folk.’

‘Then why call themselves pastors?’ Erling said just as his mobile rang. A glance at the screen indicated it was his father, who he thought should be out on Hoy by now.

He answered. ‘What’s up, Dad?’

‘You better get over here, son, and quick. They’ve found a body.’

‘Weren’t they burying a body?’ Erling said, wondering if he’d heard correctly.

Noting his confusion, Tommy explained. ‘It’s out at the old Mowat place. It seems a digger, working on the foundations for the eco-house, has unearthed human remains.’