1509806989 by Lin Anderson

Author:Lin Anderson
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9781509806997
Publisher: Pan Macmillan
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

31

‘No CCTV, no police station, no Wi-Fi, no mobile signal most of the time. How the fuck do you catch criminals?’

‘We don’t have many to speak of,’ Tulloch had said.

The answer had only served to infuriate McNab further. ‘Give me the mean streets of Glasgow any day,’ he’d muttered under his breath.

He’d set up shop at the heritage centre, which had a reasonable Wi-Fi connection. Sam hadn’t accompanied him. The old man, shaken by events, had nevertheless insisted on joining the search party. For the moment, they were checking all farm outbuildings and derelict properties, of which there were many in the vicinity of the girl’s home. The various beaches and their neighbouring dunes were also on the list.

Sam Flett seemed particularly concerned about the water, as though he expected to find that Inga had drowned, but he could offer no rational explanation for that fear.

The last known sighting of the girl had been by her mother, as she’d left the house to go to Sam Flett’s. The walk there, along a single-track road, or a shorter way through the site of the former camp, should have taken less than ten minutes.

Apparently, no one had seen her after that, although the mist that morning had been blanket thick.

Had McNab been able to muster a helicopter, a sweep over the farmland would have been useful. With no trees to block the view and few buildings, it would have been easy to spot a body, alive or otherwise.

But they didn’t have a helicopter. And it would soon be dark.

Glancing out of the window, he was struck again by how quickly the night descended here. The girl had told him she, or her gang, were searching for the skull. According to the other members of the gang, Inga had taken over. She thought she knew where the skull was. Where, they had no idea. How she knew had brought an equally blank response.

The kids were as puzzled as everyone else.

Or someone is lying.

McNab took out a flask of coffee, laced with Highland Park. He’d made it in the cottage before he left, anticipating something – probably his inability to cope.

His mobile pinged, delivering a text message from an unknown number.

McNab opened and read it.

Magnus stood on the police launch watching the approaching island, remembering the last time he’d visited Sanday. Then, home from university for the holidays, he’d been recruited for the Stenness football team, who were short of a goalkeeper, and frankly would have accepted anyone who’d offered. It had been midsummer’s day. The team had met up in a Kirkwall pub and boarded a ferry, hired for the occasion. The trip had taken a couple of hours.

It had been a fine night to cruise up through the islands, though Magnus hadn’t seen much of them as he’d spent the journey, like the others, in the bar. Everyone had tumbled off the boat at Kettletoft and headed for the football field near the school. They’d played the game in broad daylight at midnight.

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