Page 75 of The High Island

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 withDSGowan 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 notedthat 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 andDSGowan entered the room.

‘DSGowan, what can I do for you?’ Erling said, taking note of his expression.

‘The plans for tonight’s patrol of Kirkwall,’ Gowan said. ‘Anydealing 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.

36

The ferryman, she realized, was probably around the same age as herself. Free now of the orange oilskin and dark knitted hat pulled low on his brow, he looked quite different, and definitely friendlier.

‘Ethan Howie,’ he said, offering his hand. ‘We talked briefly earlier—’

‘At Moaness,’ she finished for him.

He adopted an embarrassed air, before saying, ‘I’m sorry for my behaviour back there. And my responses to your quite valid questions.’

Jo nodded her acceptance of his apology. ‘So,’ she said. ‘You have some information you’d like to give us regarding the fire, the body on the beach or perhaps the disappearance of Kris Mowat and his partner, Rachael Everett?’