Chapter 35
A double-page spread from The Orcadian lay on the top of the bundle of papers, surrounded by what looked like old black-and-white snapshots, such as his own grandfather had stored in his deed box. The article itself was dated almost a year earlier and its headline read:
Famous Eco Architect Discovers his Hoy Heritage
Maitland had told Erling that he’d written a piece about his own family’s connection to Orkney for the newspaper. That Ivor had read this, then, after researching Maitland’s background, had offered to sell him the old Mowat croft house and land.
Reminding the team of this, Erling added that Ivor had supposedly implied to Maitland that he was doing this to spite his offspring. They’d agreed a price, which seemed very reasonable to the architect, and the sale had gone ahead.
‘However, Hugh Mowat is currently contesting the sale on the grounds that his father was not of sound mind when he did this,’ he also reminded them, for the benefit of DS Gowan.
Directly below the newspaper was a four-by-six-inch photograph of Ivor’s granddaughter Betty, her name and age written on the back. The image of the pretty girl with long dark hair now appearing on the overhead screen brought a murmur of unease to the assembled group.
‘According to the note on the back, Betty Mowat was sixteen when this was taken,’ Erling told them. ‘This would be a year before she left Hoy and moved to London. After which Kris, her son, was born.’
At this point he extracted the next two documents in the box, explaining the first was a photocopy of Kris Mowat’s birth certificate. ‘Which matches the one already located by our own team. The second document is a copy of Betty’s death certificate, which we also have.’
Reaching into the box once again, he now retrieved the next item, which proved to be a well-thumbed black notebook, similar to a PNB, the police notebook his officers used to record details of incidents they encountered when on patrol.
Opening it, he found pages of tightly written cursive script, or ‘real writing’ as his father called it.
Sending a sample image to the overhead screen, he asked if anyone might be able to read it.
By the non-show of hands, it was confirmed that those present were too young to have learned to write in that fashion, himself included.
‘What about a computer program?’ he checked.
‘There is software available,’ came the response from one of the IT team. ‘But the OCR technology used is trained on standard fonts and styles. Real handwriting like that is distinct and personal. How about one of our elderly residents who learned to write like this in school here in Orkney?’
‘Just what I was thinking,’ Erling said, wondering first about his father, then Auld Mackie, who’d been to school with Ivor and might therefore recognize the people and places mentioned.
Setting the notebook to one side for the moment, the next item in the box was a thick bundle of printed material that at first glance appeared to relate to the stationing of troops and personnel on Hoy during the both the First and Second World Wars. Just as Cathy had predicted.
Was Ivor’s research on the war years in general or around the time of Stella, Erling wondered, as he set the bundle to one side for later examination.
Now all that was left were the small faded black-and-white snapshots of various people from the past. A mixture of men, women and children of varying ages. The Mowat family of yore, he thought, some of whom Auld Mackie might recognize.
And that was it. No correspondence between Ivor and Kris. No images either, of Kris or Rachael. Which suggested these would be found on Ivor’s laptop or phone. Asking this question of his team, he was given the news that the laptop had been wiped and the mobile phone was water-damaged.
No wonder Hugh had been unfazed about bringing them in.
Erling’s angry look brought an assurance that both items had already been sent to digital forensics in Glasgow for the experts to retrieve what they could from them.
So, he thought, the opening of Pandora’s box has produced little more than what we knew already.
After checking that nothing else had happened that he should be told about, and that arrangements for tonight with DS Gowan were all in order, Erling handed over the box for further scrutiny and recording, while he took possession of the notebook.
On reaching his office, he sat down to check for any entries he might easily decipher. Going through it a page at a time, he noted that the text was divided by a series of dates, which, despite the cursive writing, were legible.
Although well-thumbed, he didn’t think the notebook was old, and certainly its age didn’t match any of the dates inside, suggesting this wasn’t a daily diary as such, but rather a record of what Ivor could still remember about what had happened around the time of each date.
Taking his own notebook, Erling worked his way through the text, writing down each of the dates in the order that they appeared, together with a note of any words he could make out that might indicate what the entry was about.
The first time he realized that one of the words might be ‘Stella’ was in the fourth entry.
The date that heralded the entry was 5th May 1941, when Ivor would have been twelve years of age.
The script was dense with multiple flourishes, but the gist of it seemed to be describing the most beautiful thing the boy had ever seen. Which was a young woman called Stella.
Auld Mackie had been right, Erling thought. Stella had indeed been Ivor’s first love.
As he contemplated having Auld Mackie attempt a translation of the journal, he immediately thought of Jo.
He recalled how well they’d got on, his detective sergeant’s ability to win over Mackie and gain his trust. Jo would be ideal for the job, but she would need to be brought back from Hoy to do it.
At this moment in his thoughts there was a sharp knock at the door, then, before he could respond, it was opened and DS Gowan entered the room.
‘DS Gowan, what can I do for you?’ Erling said, taking note of his expression.
‘The plans for tonight’s patrol of Kirkwall,’ Gowan said. ‘Any dealing won’t happen on the street. I’m an unknown, so should be inside the club in order to observe.’
‘You’ll likely be older than the clientele,’ Erling reminded him.
‘My accent’s in my favour. I can play the tourist here on holiday, looking for fun.’
It seemed to Erling that Gowan had already made up his mind which role he would play in tonight’s proceedings. But did he have the experience?
‘Were you involved in the drug squad back in Liverpool?’ Erling found himself asking.
‘I was,’ Gowan said firmly. ‘And in Wick, when I moved north. I know what I’m doing.’
Erling had no doubt he did, it was just the way in which he declared this that concerned him. He found his thoughts shifting again to Jo. Was it her former colleague’s manner she was uncomfortable with, he wondered.
‘Okay, Detective Sergeant, you have my permission to go undercover tonight.’
Was he imagining it or was Gowan’s reaction to this clear statement of who was actually in charge less than acceptable? Dismissing him now, Erling couldn’t help but note what he read as a smug look as Gowan exited the room.
His thoughts returned to Jo. The sooner they could translate the notebook the better and he was now minded to bring her back from Hoy, even though it meant her facing someone she’d lied about knowing. Perhaps with good reason.
However, Auld Mackie was housebound, which meant the attempted translation would, by necessity, have to be undertaken at his home in Orphir. Which meant Jo would not need to come into the station during that time. Nor would she have to face Gowan in the interim.
His mind made up, Erling sent Jo a message with the request that she call him when free.