Page 3 of The High Island

Erling glanced at Jo to check whether she’d already heard about this. Registering her worried expression, he decided Leo had been awaiting his arrival before voicing his concerns.

‘Can I ask why you think that’s the case?’ Erling said.

‘Snatches of conversation. Some of the regulars in worse shape than usual,’ he said.

‘Have you seen anything being dealt?’ Erling tried.

Leo shook his head. ‘We don’t go into the clubs. As you know,our job is on the street with the walking wounded. But . . .’ He paused. ‘Something’s definitely different. My guess is availability has increased, together with variety, and I think that whatever it is, it’s stronger.’

Orkney couldn’t totally avoid the deluge of cheap and dangerous synthetic drugs currently flooding the market in the major population centres, but its remote location might help stem that tide, especially if forewarned.

‘Okay, thanks for letting me know,’ Erling said. ‘And if you hear anything more, give us a call.’

‘What do you think?’ Jo said, once the street pastor had departed.

‘Drugs are an ongoing problem. Anything new in Aberdeen, Inverness or Glasgow will end up here.’

Jo studied him for a moment. ‘You’re not sure about Leo, are you?’ she said in her usual forthright fashion.

‘No, I’m not,’ Erling said honestly.

‘Can I ask why?’ Jo said.

‘I’m not keen on religion in any form.’

‘Me neither,’ Jo admitted. ‘But I don’t think the pastors are out on the streets at night to convert folk.’

‘Then why call themselves pastors?’ Erling said just as his mobile rang. A glance at the screen indicated it was his father, who he thought should be out on Hoy by now.

He answered. ‘What’s up, Dad?’

‘You better get over here, son, and quick. They’ve found a body.’

‘Weren’t they burying a body?’ Erling said, wondering if he’d heard correctly.

Noting his confusion, Tommy explained. ‘It’s out at the old Mowat place. It seems a digger, working on the foundations for the eco-house, has unearthed human remains.’

2

By the time they reached Houton pier, it became apparent that the reason for their Hoy visit was already common knowledge. The ferry captain, a friend of Tommy’s, gave them the most up-to-date version of the story, which, Erling registered, had already grown arms and legs.

It seemed that the remains dug up at the old Mowat place were said to be those of a woman and child, with some folk already ruminating that someone had exhumed Betty Corrigall yet again and reburied her there, ‘to stop the building of that fancy eco-house’.

When Jo had enquired as to who Betty Corrigall was, Erling had told her to take a look on Google. ‘It’s a long and sad story from times gone by.’

‘So it’s a nonsense theory?’ she’d checked.

‘Sadly, no,’ Erling had said. ‘Although I’d hoped Betty would remain at peace for ever under her concrete plinth on the hill behind the Mowat croft.’

As they departed the ferry, another call came in, this time from Hugh Mowat. Erling, who’d only returned to Orkney after his mother Ava’s death five years ago, knew the senior Mowat only by sight and the occasional mention of his name by Tommy. Although he had recognized him right away as the foremost coffin-bearer.

‘I hear you’ve landed, Inspector.’ Hugh’s deep, resonant voice filled the vehicle. ‘If you could come straight to Lyrawa. I’m at the site with Tommy and the digger driver. You’ll see us from the road.’

Confirming he would, Erling ended the call and looked to Jo for her reaction.

‘Is there anything further I should know about the Mowat family history before we get there?’ she said.

‘Better that we view what’s been exposed with an open mind,’ he told her. ‘You’ve worked on archaeological digs in Orkney before. See what you think about the age of the burial when we see what they’ve uncovered.’