Chapter 9
The recent update from Eleanor Gilmore, who headed up the SOCO team on Hoy, indicated that they’d found nothing of interest so far, but planned to head back there tomorrow to complete their examination of the area surrounding the croft house.
‘Mr Maitland will have to keep his workers waiting at least another twenty-four hours,’ Erling said after hearing Jo’s report.
‘He’ll not be happy about that,’ Jo offered.
‘There’s something else he won’t be happy about.’ Erling told her what Hugh had revealed concerning the family’s dispute over the sale of the croft.
‘Are they not too late to change that?’ Jo said.
‘I don’t know,’ Erling said. ‘Maybe the sale hadn’t been completed before Ivor died. And if they can prove he wasn’t of sound mind when he contacted Maitland and offered him the land . . .’
‘Just as I said before . . . families and how to survive them,’ Jo said with a shake of her head. ‘Anyway, if that’s all for today, sir?’
‘It is, Sergeant. Enjoy your evening away from the prying eyes of your family,’ he added with a smile. ‘As for me, I intend to visit my father again, in the hope that he’ll supply me with a copy of the Mowat family tree.’
‘So an exciting night for both of us, sir,’ Jo said, a twinkle in her eye.
Erling wondered, after she left, whether there was perhaps a man in tonight’s picture. There had been some mention of a young farmer out Birsay way. Was that still ongoing? Then he remembered hearing Jo’s laughter when he’d arrived back to speak to Leo Strachan, the street pastor.
Surely Leo would be the wrong choice for someone trying to escape the manse?
But, he told himself, there was no accounting for taste. What about his own choice? A DI shacked up with a convict. Former convict, he reminded himself. Anyway, he hadn’t been that law-abiding in his own youth. It was just that he’d never got caught. Unlike Rory.
On that thought, he made his own escape, aware that the evening that stretched before him would be anything but exciting, Rory being either on Flotta or somewhere out in the North Sea. And himself heading to Home Farm and his father.
An earlier call to Tommy had produced an offer of dinner, as well as the promised Mowat family tree.
Plus whatever tales Tommy could remember regarding his own father, Sandy, and Ivor Mowat.
For once, Erling found himself eager and willing to listen to memories of the past in Orkney.
In particular, after his recent meeting with Hugh Mowat.
Passing Houton Bay, he noted what he thought was smoke coming from the chimney of Seaview, and wondered if that meant his friend Magnus was home.
Magnus Pirie was a professor of Criminal Psychology at Strathclyde University in Glasgow. They’d gone to school together, and Magnus had, on occasion, provided his expertise on murder investigations here in the islands.
He also had a wealth of knowledge on Orkney’s heritage and its people. If Magnus was around, it would be worth speaking to him regarding the history of the Mowat family on Hoy, in particular during the Second World War.
He would give him a call later when back at Langwell, he decided. Magnus was a night owl and, if he was home, would surely answer.
Turning down towards Home Farm, he wondered what might be for dinner. Tommy had taken over the cooking when Erling’s mother, Ada, had become ill. She’d died almost five years ago now and he still missed her. As indeed did Tommy.
As a teenager, his parents had appeared to him as remote and uninterested in his take on the world.
Erling had spent a lot of time on Sanday during the summer holidays with his Uncle Sam and Aunt Jean, who demanded little of him, except that he should enjoy himself.
Jean was gone too now, but he still visited his Uncle Sam whenever he found the time.
They had known and accepted his sexuality, definitely before he had.
As for his parents, he’d thought them distant, although now he wondered if they’d just been giving him room to decide for himself.
His return to Orkney, in his present post, had mended any chasm between himself and Tommy. Sadly, his mother hadn’t lived to see that day, although each time he walked into his childhood home he could picture Ada there, waiting to welcome him.
Tonight, he could smell the chicken before he opened the door. Pot roasted slowly in the Aga, with whatever vegetables Tommy had had to hand, it smelt delicious. At that moment, Erling paid attention to just how hungry he was.
Tommy, glancing up from his seat near the stove, set down the book he’d been reading.
‘What’s the book?’ Erling said, taking off his jacket.
‘A history of Hoy,’ Tommy told him. ‘It was in the box with Sandy’s things.’
‘Are the Mowats in there?’
‘They are. As is a great deal about both wars, the Second World War in particular,’ Tommy said. ‘Let’s eat first. You must be hungry.’
Erling set about the meal with relish, conscious that his own evening efforts when Rory was away did not match up to Tommy’s current offering.
Afterwards, the dishes cleared and stacked in the dishwasher and each of them supplied with a mug of coffee, Tommy produced a sheet of old wallpaper, on the back of which he’d drawn the Mowat family tree.
Anchoring the four corners, he gestured to Erling to take a look.
‘I haven’t filled in the offspring of the older brothers,’ Tommy said. ‘All of whom are older than Kris. His mother Betty’s story is a sad one. I gather she left Hoy pregnant and went south. To where exactly, I don’t know. Anyway, she had Kris, who is twenty.’
Erling nodded, although he was at that moment focusing his thoughts on the earlier generation of Mowats.
Billy, the first born of William and Betty, was born in 1917, while Ivor was born in 1929. Auld Mackie had spoken of Ivor falling for Stella when he was twelve, which must have been in 1941, and would have made Billy twenty-four.
Erling hadn’t told his father about the locket bearing the inscription ‘William’, nor its contents and the engraved date. But staring at the family tree, he could see how the story of Stella and her baby might fit into it.
Moving now to contemplate the next generation, he said, ‘D’you know what happened to Betty’s parents?’
‘Her father, James, was a fisherman. He went down with his boat in a storm in Scapa Flow, aged forty. His wife, Anne, had died eight years earlier,’ he added, his tone one of sadness. ‘Betty was seventeen when she left Hoy. I don’t know if she’s still alive.’
‘And Kris’s father?’
Tommy shook his head. ‘No idea. Maybe a seasonal worker or someone from the oil terminal. You could ask Hugh if he can fill in the blanks?’
Erling wasn’t sure whether Hugh would welcome such a request.
‘I met with Hugh Mowat today,’ he told Tommy. ‘He said the family are challenging the sale of the croft. He also said Ivor had lost his wits at the end.’
‘How convenient,’ Tommy said. ‘Although I doubt it’s true.’
‘This story of Ivor favouring Kris,’ Erling said. ‘In terms of the will?’
‘That strikes me as a distinct possibility,’ Tommy offered. ‘James was his youngest, and Betty, losing both parents and having Kris . . .’ He tailed off, avoiding Erling’s look.
In that moment, Erling realized that his father not only missed his wife, but also knew he would never have a grandchild of his own, never mind a great-grandchild. This branch of the Fletts would end with him.
Families and how to survive them, Jo had said. Erling found the realization that he would be the last of the Fletts here in Orphir to be a sudden and troubling thought.
‘Right, son,’ Tommy said, rising. ‘Time I headed for bed.’
‘Me too,’ Erling said, glad for the change of topic. Rolling up the chart, he suddenly realized that the wallpaper was from his former bedroom. ‘Thanks for putting this together, Dad,’ he offered.
‘No bother,’ Tommy said. ‘You’ll take it over now and fill in the blanks?’
‘I will.’
‘Maybe show it to Mackie in the first instance. Funny how the older we get, the more we can remember of the distant past, rather than the present.’ He gave a little laugh. ‘Anyway, good luck with identifying the lass and the peedie bairn.’
The moon was still big in a clear sky as he headed homeward.
Exiting the farmhouse, he’d registered that the wind had risen since his arrival and waves were already breaking on the nearby shore.
On reaching Langwell, he sat in the car for a moment to survey the view of the now white-tipped Flow and the distant hills of Hoy, its outline enhanced in the moonlight.
It was then he spotted a far-off but bright light. Was there a boat out there with a beam on its bow? Interested, Erling retrieved the hi-res binoculars from the glove compartment and took a proper look.
His heart skipped a beat as he suddenly realized what he was in fact looking at. It wasn’t a ship’s beam. It was more than likely a hill fire. And by his line of sight, he suspected it was the hill above Lyrawa Bay.