Chapter 11
Erling woke at dawn, the light finding its way in through the small but uncurtained window.
It was probably time for the blackout blind again, he thought, as he gave up on another hour in bed and headed for the shower.
Rory, coming from the southern city of Liverpool, had decided the simmer dim of Orkney was fine at night, glorious even.
But as for being wakened at four o’clock in the morning come midsummer, no way was that allowed.
Hence his insistence on the purchase of a blackout blind, which Erling dutifully hung over the single bedroom window as soon as the mornings grew lighter.
That thought, having highlighted Rory’s continued absence, also reinforced Erling’s hope that it would end soon.
Although, even when he was here, their work schedules often clashed.
Which, of course, made their time together all the more important.
The last message he’d had from Rory indicated he would be with him come the weekend, when hopefully Erling too would have some time off.
Pushing the eagerly anticipated reunion to the back of his mind, he reviewed last night’s proceedings while he ate breakfast. Firstly, the visit to his father, which had proved fruitful on the subject of the Mowat clan. Even though, he thought, it had stirred up some sad memories for Tommy.
On heading to the car last night, Erling had heard music start up, and immediately recognized the voice as that of his late mother’s favourite country and western singer, Charlie Pride.
Despite Tommy’s insistence that he was bound for bed, his dad had really wanted to be alone with his thoughts of the past, and Erling’s mum, Ada, had clearly been foremost in his mind.
Switching his thoughts to what had followed at Seaview raised his spirits a little.
Magnus had agreed to take over the background work on the possible existence of Stella.
Something he would have been loath to ask his official team to do.
Spending time and energy on a historical crime was not a priority.
No matter how much he wanted to discover the identity of the supposed Stella.
He called Jo as soon as he considered it time for her to be up and about.
‘A good night?’ he enquired when her sleepy voice answered.
‘Great,’ she said. ‘What about yours?’
‘I made some progress on the Mowat family tree with Tommy. Then spent the rest of the evening watching the hill fire on Hoy.’
The silence as she absorbed this indicated that her great night out had not been interrupted by news of the fire.
‘Can you meet me at Houton in, say, half an hour?’ he said.
As expected, his DS didn’t ask for any explanation, just told him she would be there.
That done, he called the station to indicate that he and DS Green were bound for Hoy to meet with Willie Halcro regarding the fire.
The morning was clear and dry, with a light breeze.
Perfect May weather, which he knew could change at any minute.
Cresting the hill, he had a fine view over Houton Bay, the waters of the Flow and the hills of Hoy.
Gone were the smoke and flames of last night, although he imagined he could make out the blackened landscape the fire had created.
Descending towards the terminal, he noted he was one of a few cars intent on boarding the first ferry across. Joining the waiting queue, he spotted his sergeant’s arrival shortly thereafter.
Parking her vehicle, she approached him on foot, and at a brisk speed.
‘No rush,’ he told her as she slid into the passenger seat. ‘They haven’t started us boarding yet.’
‘I was going to call you, but I thought, since I would see you in person when I got here . . .’ She tailed off and, extracting her mobile, pressed play, then passed it to him to listen.
Erling recognized the voice right away, and immediately an image of the speaker presented itself in his mind. Rachael was crying as she spoke, so that the words were virtually obliterated, but he got the gist of what she was trying to say.
Kris Mowat had not returned to their room at the Stromness Hotel the previous night. His mobile simply rang out when she called him. She had left numerous messages. And now she was certain that something bad had happened to him.
There was a pause as she attempted to gather herself, then, more calmly now, she said, ‘The reading of the will is tomorrow morning. They don’t want Kris there. I think they’ve done something to stop him being there.’ She ended with a pleading request that DS Green should call her back.
Perturbed by this, Erling looked to Jo, who immediately said that she’d tried, but it had just gone to voicemail.
‘When did this message arrive?’ Erling said.
‘My mobile was on “do not disturb” overnight. I found the message just after you phoned this morning,’ she told him.
‘Okay, call the hotel,’ Erling said. ‘Check if she’s still there. If she is, leave a message at the desk that we’ll be round later today.’
As the signal came for them to board the ferry, Jo did as he suggested.
Erling waited until they were settled in the ferry’s lounge before he explained the reason for their Hoy visit.
‘Someone set fire to the digger?’ Jo repeated in amazement. ‘But who would do that and why?’
Erling had tried to answer that question himself and had come up with a few alternatives, all of which he associated with the Mowat clan’s apparent anger at Ivor’s secret selling of the land to Maitland.
As though anticipating his answer, Jo said, ‘You think one of the family might have set fire to the digger to further delay the building work?’
‘It’s a possibility,’ Erling said.
‘So how does Kris Mowat fit into all of this?’ Jo asked. ‘And why does his girlfriend think the Mowat family don’t want him at the reading of the will?’
‘Tommy says the speculation is that Kris will be the main beneficiary,’ Erling said. ‘Which the family aren’t happy about. And Hugh did say they’re contesting the sale of the land since they believe Ivor had lost his wits at the end.’
‘Whether Kris is there or not won’t change what’s in the will,’ Jo said.
Erling considered this for a moment. ‘Unless, at a wild guess, Ivor stipulated that it should?’
Jo shook her head in consternation at such a thought. ‘Why would Ivor do that?’
Erling thought of Hugh Mowat, and his opinion of his father, ‘that auld bugger’.
‘I’m beginning to think Ivor Mowat was capable of anything,’ he said honestly.
Maybe even bestowing the Mowat land on Maitland, knowing he would clear the site and uncover what was buried there?
They lapsed into silence for a moment before Jo spoke again.
‘There’s also the possibility that some locals took umbrage at the building of an eco-styled house overlooking the bay. And further hampered its construction by setting fire to the surrounding area.’
‘Or,’ Erling said, ‘it was simply a spot of fire-raising on the part of local youths.’
‘Which happens here often?’ Jo said with a questioning look.
‘Well, it definitely happened in my day,’ Erling told her. ‘And not that far from where we’re headed.’
She stared at him. ‘Don’t tell me you were involved?’
‘It was, of course, an accident. Although almost a fatal one,’ Erling added, without humour this time.
He explained that it had centred on a camping trip. Four of them had come over on Magnus’s boat from Houton to a wartime site just along the coast from Lyrawa Bay. The Nissen hut that had housed war personnel was long gone, but the concrete floor and chimney were still there.
‘We lit a fire in the chimney space,’ Erling said, ‘and sat round drinking into the early hours of the morning.’
He recalled that the freedom to do as they’d pleased had been exhilarating, their drunken ruckus almost ending in a fist fight.
‘We eventually crawled into our tents. Only to be woken when the fire exploded like a Second World War bomb, firing blocks of concrete at us.’
‘Jeez,’ Jo said, wide-eyed. ‘Was anyone hurt?’
‘Magnus was knocked out cold. I thought he was a goner at one point. I couldn’t find a bloody pulse.’ Even now Erling could taste his fear at that moment. ‘Plus the debris from the explosion set the heather alight, and the fire engine was called out.’
‘Did they catch you?’ Jo said.
‘We were well on our way home to Houton by the time they got there.’ He gave a rueful smile. ‘I wonder, even now, how the law would have dealt with four fifteen-year-old boys if they had caught us. Or worse still, if Magnus had died.’