Chapter 4
With the end of May fast approaching, it had stayed light just long enough for Professor Nelson to extract the fragile coffin with its contents and transfer it to the police launch.
After which Erling and Jo had secured the tarpaulin over the site to protect it in advance of the arrival of a SOCO team tomorrow morning.
Sitting now in the vehicle waiting for the ferry to pick them up, Erling retried the number given him by Ian MacDougal, regarding the new owner of the Mowat croft.
On the two previous occasions, he’d been forwarded to voicemail and had left a message explaining who he was and asking for a return call. Which hadn’t happened, much to his annoyance.
However, this time, someone did pick up.
Trying to keep the irritation from his voice, Erling introduced himself yet again and asked to speak to Mr Maitland.
The male voice that responded politely explained that Mr Maitland was en route to Orkney with his wife, and was due to arrive in Kirkwall tomorrow morning.
Something Erling already knew, courtesy of Ian, the digger driver.
‘Nonetheless, I’d like to speak to him this evening,’ Erling stressed. ‘May I have his personal number?’
Silence fell at the other end, before the voice said, ‘I will pass your number on to Mr Maitland and ask him to call you.’
‘You will immediately text me Mr Maitland’s personal number,’ Erling told him, ‘or you will be charged with wasting Police Scotland’s time.’
The silence that followed lasted a mere couple of seconds before the number pinged in.
‘Hallelujah!’ Jo exclaimed in a voice that sounded like an Alabama preacher.
When Erling threw her a look, she said, ‘I told you my father was a minister.’
‘In Caithness,’ he responded.
Jo laughed. ‘We’re good with the hallelujahs there too,’ she said. ‘Anyway, you finally got the number. And the ferry’s here.’
The next few minutes were taken up by boarding, plus a thank you to the ferry master for doing an extra run to get them back tonight.
Moving to the empty lounge, Erling settled down to make the call, while Jo fetched them coffee from the machine.
Listening to the mobile ring out, Erling wondered if Maitland had been forewarned of the impending call and wouldn’t answer.
He was proved wrong almost immediately.
‘Bethany Barrett here, who’s speaking please?’
Surprised to hear a woman, Erling introduced himself once again before saying, ‘I understood this was the number for Richard Maitland?’
‘It is,’ the voice said. ‘Richard’s asleep. Can you tell me what this is about, Detective Inspector?’
‘I require to speak to Mr Maitland personally,’ Erling told her firmly.
A moment’s silence, then the voice said, ‘Okay, I’ll wake him.’
Jo, arriving with the coffee, noted his annoyed look and made a face. ‘God, who is this guy?’ she said.
Then a male voice came on, sounding exactly as though he’d just been woken up.
‘Detective Inspector Flett, I apologize,’ he said. ‘Martin told me to expect your call, but we’ve been travelling and I fell asleep. We should arrive in Kirkwall tomorrow morning as I believe Martin intimated. May I ask why the urgency in contacting me?’
The voice was soft and melodic and definitely not hostile. Whatever he’d been expecting, Erling realized it hadn’t been that.
‘We have discovered human remains at the site where you plan to build on Hoy, Mr Maitland. I understand you’re due to be there tomorrow, together with a crew of workmen.
That won’t be possible. The old Mowat croft is now a designated crime scene and therefore off limits to everyone until further notice. ’
Silence came from the other end.
‘You’re telling me you unearthed a body in the ruins of the old house?’ Maitland finally said in apparent disbelief.
Erling decided not to correct him by saying two bodies. ‘The digger driven by Ian MacDougal discovered the grave next to the ruins.’
‘Good God,’ the voice said. ‘How awful. And that was earlier today?’
‘It was.’ He decided not to go into the details of the discovery and how the police had got to know about it.
Another silence followed, although Erling could make out what he thought was an interchange between Maitland and the woman.
‘I am very distressed to hear this, of course, but I have to ask you how old the grave is thought to be,’ Maitland said, almost apologetically.
‘That is still to be forensically established,’ Erling told him.
‘I see,’ Maitland responded. ‘Might it be Viking in origin?’ he suggested tentatively.
‘It doesn’t appear to be,’ Erling said firmly.
Another background chat ensued, before Maitland spoke again.
‘There has been some opposition to the sale of the Mowat croft and the proposed house to be built there. In fact, Ivor Mowat told us that his family might well attempt to sabotage it.’ He paused there as though waiting for Erling to comment.
When Erling chose not to, he heard what sounded like the mobile being passed, then the woman came back on.
‘What Richard wants to ask, Inspector, is whether it’s possible that this is a prank to hold up work on the site?’
‘In my opinion, no,’ Erling said, the image of the coffin and its contents clear in his head. ‘Please feel free to visit the station tomorrow and I’ll explain what happens now.’
At this point, he said a quick goodnight before either of them could question him any further on the matter.
Meeting Jo’s sympathetic look, he accepted his coffee and took a mouthful, wishing as he did so that it was something stronger.
‘You can take the vehicle back to Kirkwall tonight,’ he told her.
‘Okay, I’ll drop you home first, though,’ Jo said.
‘No, drop me at the farm. Tommy’s expecting me and I think he’ll have things to say regarding what went down today on Hoy.’
‘Roger that,’ Jo said.
Exiting Houton, Jo took a left along the Orphir road. From the passenger seat, Erling could still make out the shadow of Hoy, like a brooding humpback whale on the far side of Scapa Flow.
When they reached the farm turning, he told her to let him off there and he would walk in. She did so without questioning why, and he thought again how lucky he’d been with his new second-in-command, who understood when to joke, when to question and when to remain silent.
Now, as he made his way on foot towards the distant lights of the farmhouse, the quiet twilight that enveloped him felt comfortingly familiar.
As did the sky with its million and more stars.
The kye had recently been released from their winter sojourn in the barn and he could make out their shadowy movements and lowing sounds as they grazed on new grass.
He contemplated how often as a teenager he’d done this same walk, hoping it would sober him up or blow away the scent of pot on his person.
He’d been a mess back then. Hiding from his own sexuality.
Tormenting others who shared it. Magnus had always known and had encouraged him to accept himself as he was.
But he couldn’t. Not until he left this place and went to university.
That had changed everything. Yet he still couldn’t return.
Hadn’t managed it until after he’d joined the force and his mother had died.
In his turbulent teenage years, Tommy wouldn’t wait up for him, but he’d always known that his father only went to sleep when he’d registered that his son was home safe.
I have no child of my own to worry about, nor ever will, he thought. Although I have everyone’s children here to worry about.
He found Tommy in the kitchen, The Orcadian newspaper spread out on the table in front of him, plus a glass of whisky nearby.
His father wasn’t much of a drinker, and since he hadn’t attended the wake, but gone to the interment instead, this was likely his first of the day.
Tommy looked up and, gesturing at the whisky bottle, asked if he’d like one.
‘I don’t have the car, so yes,’ Erling said, fetching a glass from the cupboard.
Pouring himself a measure, he apologized for keeping his father up.
‘I knew you’d be late back,’ Tommy said. ‘And I’m glad you still came.’
They sipped together in silence for a moment.
‘We managed to extract the coffin and contents and take them by police launch to Kirkwall,’ Erling confirmed. ‘A SOCO team will work the site tomorrow.’
‘And Professor Nelson will tell you if you have a murder on your hands?’
‘That’s about it,’ Erling said.
‘And Mr Maitland?’
‘I spoke to him by phone. He wondered if it might have been a ruse to stop work on his house. Seems Ivor warned him the family might try to thwart his plans.’
A ghost of a smile passed Tommy’s lips. ‘He’s not wrong about the family,’ he said, before his expression changed. ‘But that was no prank Ian unearthed. We both know that.’ He looked straight at Erling. ‘How long have they been there, d’you think?’
Erling was about to give the stock forensic answer, but changed his mind.
‘I think within living memory,’ he offered. ‘Maybe Ivor’s?’ He met his father’s look. ‘Did Granddad ever say anything about what went on among the Mowats?’
‘Plenty, but I didn’t often listen.’ He offered another whisky and Erling found himself accepting. They hadn’t talked like this for a long time. Not since his mother, Ada, had died.
‘Granddad and Ivor were thick as thieves. I remember that,’ Erling said.
‘They were, despite Scapa Flow between them.’
‘Then if Ivor knew about the grave at the old house . . .’ he said.
‘Your grandfather might have too,’ Tommy said thoughtfully.
‘What about Hugh Mowat? What did he say after you two left the site?’ Erling asked.
‘He was shocked about the bodies being there. No doubt about that,’ Tommy told him. ‘Then he registered how it meant that work couldn’t start on the new house, and that definitely pleased him.’
Which was what Erling had read from the situation too.
‘You know that was Ivor’s great-grandson Kris behind us at the funeral?’ Tommy said.
‘I do now,’ Erling told him.
‘Hugh and the other pall-bearers were mightily miffed about that.’
‘Do you know why?’ Erling asked, wondering if the rumour Jo had heard was true.
Tommy met his eye. ‘Possibly because young Kris had become Ivor’s favourite. And they’re afraid he’s here for the money.’