Page 2 of The High Island

Emerging from the cathedral, Erling checked his phone to discover a message from Jo Green, his detective sergeant, asking him to call her back.

As he did so, the coffin was loaded into the back of the hearse, the pall-bearers’ rigid face-off more obvious now.

‘Is the funeral over?’ Jo said.

When he answered in the affirmative, she added, ‘Well, Leo Strachan’s here, boss, keen to speak to you about a situation last night in Albert Street.’

Leo Strachan was the leader of the local street pastors in Kirkwall, who were to be found out on the streets of central Kirkwall onweekend nights, religiously or benevolently helping those the worse for wear among the revellers.

‘Tell him I’ll be right there. And, Jo,’ he added before she rang off, ‘askPCTulloch to head for the wake at the Kirkwall Hotel. My father thinks his presence might be required.’

‘Right you are,’ Jo said, with an amused question mark in her voice.

The hearse had departed, heading for Houton and the vehicle ferry to Hoy, where Ivor had wished to be buried. Some of the mourners would accompany him to his final resting place, but not all of them. Those who didn’t plan to follow the cortège were already on their way down Albert Street to the harbour and the Kirkwall Hotel bar where refreshments awaited them.

‘I’m going over to Hoy,’ his father told him when he’d finished his call with Jo. ‘There’ll likely be arguments there too, but I owe it to my father to see Ivor laid to rest.’

‘I’ve organized a police presence at the hotel.PCTulloch will be on his way,’ Erling said.

Tommy raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m not sure young Ivan Tulloch’s a match for the Mowat clan,’ he said with a concerned look.

‘He’s not the boy you remember from Sanday,’ Erling found himself saying. ‘And he’ll call for help if required.’

Parting company with his father at the foot of the cathedral steps, Erling set off on the short walk to the police station, his mind replaying the scenario Tommy had outlined in the church regarding the Mowat family.

Orkney had a long and well-recorded history of family feuds stretching back in time to their Viking ancestors, with St Magnus the Martyr, after whom the cathedral had been named, being involved in one of them.

He tried to recall anything he’d heard about Hoy and the originalMowat family land. It was near Lyrawa Bay and, as far as he could remember, mostly hill and heather. He recalled too that Ivor had also owned land on Flotta and had more than likely benefited when the oil terminal was first built. So maybe there was more money with the Mowats than he’d been aware of.

According to Tommy, Ivor had still had all his faculties, even though he’d moved to live in a care home in Kirkwall. Apparently he’d continued to rule the roost from there.

The six pall-bearers had all looked so much like the younger version of Ivor he’d seen in his grandfather’s photographs that their lineage was pretty obvious.

So what had Ivor been up to, to cause such a stramash among his family?

That question remained unanswered as he reached his destination and, entering, checked first thatPCTulloch had been dispatched to the Kirkwall Hotel. He was assured by the stout desk officer that his order had been carried out.

‘No trouble reportedas yet, sir,’PCAlexander added.

Erling refrained from asking ifPCAlexander was expecting trouble among the Mowats and headed upstairs to the conference room. Hearing Leo’s voice followed by Jo’s laughter, he was reminded that his sergeant had been a real asset to the team since she’d transferred to Kirkwall from Caithness.

As for Leo Strachan, his mind was still to be made up on the street pastor.

The laughter ended when he opened the door and the two faces turned to observe his entry. He thought, and not for the first time, thatDSGreen liked Leo Strachan, and that the feeling was mutual. And he believed Jo Green to be a good reader of people. Something that had become apparent in her short time here.

Then again, they were both in their twenties and the rapport between them might be more about that than anything else.

‘Leo,’ he said, holding out his hand. ‘Good to see you.’

The hand that clasped his was firm, the gaze direct. ‘And you, Detective Inspector.’

‘I understand you’ve come to report on your weekend work in Kirkwall?’

‘I have, and my concerns.’ Leo’s expression suggested more had happened on Albert Street when the clubs had emptied than the usual distribution of flip-flops to young women who were no longer in control of their high heels.

‘Okay. What’s got you worried?’ Erling said, aware that the street pastors were, in general, trusted more than officers on the beat, especially in the heady atmosphere of Saturday nights when the pubs and clubs disgorged their clientele.

‘I think there’s a new supply of drugs arriving in Kirkwall.’