Page 7 of Midnight Mooring

What bothered me more was the sight of the large hunting knife beneath the fishing rods and tackle. I’d chalked up my reaction to the knife to a general aversion to weapons and such. Aye, I’d grown up on an island where people fished, hunted, shot, and slaughtered animals, but I didn’t like it. Especially the latter. I knew deer apparently had to be culled on an estate, but it didn’t make it any less abhorrent to me.

I’d hurriedly stuffed everything back into the cupboard so he wouldn’t know I’d been nosy and then went on my way.

Now I couldn’t stop thinking about it. It seemed so unlikely that I, of all people, would have insight into these murders. The odds were stacked against me. But I couldn’t help asking myself: Was there proof in that flat that he was the man police all over the country were hunting for?

I couldn’t bury my head in the sand about this just because I didn’t want to contemplate the idea that I’d slept with someone capable of doing these evil, evil things.

But if I were wrong and connecting all the incorrect dots, going to the police now might destroy an innocent man’s life. Because the media would get hold of it, and even if he wasn’t the Iron Ripper, people would think there was an insidious reason he was a suspect.

No, I had to be as certain as anyone could be. Right?

Truthfully, I hadn’t suffered much anxiety in my life. I’d been lucky that way. But I found myself in a constant state of anxiety now. My heart had kept up this chronic fluttering since I’d begun piecing the puzzle together, and I couldn’t shift my sense of dread.

I tapped on my phone screen, opening a popular social media app. Once I’d found his profile, I looked at his stories. He wouldn’t think it was weird because we liked each other’s stuff all the time on socials. His story was from last night. He was with a blond girl, his arm wrapped around her, eyes a bit glazed with alcohol. I tried not to panic for the girl in the photo and instead looked beyond, noting the pub’s logo behind them.

I knew where he was.

A shrill ringing filled the room, and I physically jumped in my seat, my computer sliding off my lap and my phone tumbling to the ground. Heart racing even harder now, I laughed hollowly at my jitteriness and clambered to pick up the phone.

It was Taran.

“Hey, babe,” I answered, trying not to sound weird or shaken.

“You all right?” my sister-in-law asked.

Clearly I’d failed. “Fine, fine, just woke up.”

“Och, crap, I didn’t mean to wake you. Sorry.”

“No, no. What’s up?”

“I’m phoning to remind you about lunch at the Lantern today.”

Right. I was meeting Taran, my brother, London and her husband Murray, and Forde for a welcome home lunch. Ramsay and Tierney couldn’t make it because they had baby Maura, but I had plans to see them separately.

I wanted so desperately to see my friends and family again, but I knew I wasn’t myself. Between that and feeling like I was holding on to this huge secret, it tainted our reunion.

“Sure, sure, I’ll see you then.”

“Okay. Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine. Great!” I winced at my high-pitched response. “Maybe still finding my island legs. It feels like I’ve been away forever.”

“Well, I’m so glad you’re home.”

“Me too.” We hung up, and I stared sullenly at my TV and my pinboard that looked like something out of a crime drama. “Please, please let me be wrong.”

4. Forde

“Forde!”

I stopped mid-stride as I was leaving the garage office and turned back to Caoimhe.

After yesterday’s strained encounter with Cameron, I was eager to get to the welcome home lunch so we could sort this shite between us. It had felt like greeting a stranger yesterday, and I fucking hated it.

Caoimhe hurried over to me, her overalls tied around her waist as she clutched her tablet computer tight to her chest. Her cheeks flushed ever so slightly as she approached. “Just wanted to remind you about picking up Mr. McEwan’s car in Aberdeen day after next.”

Damn it. I scrubbed a hand over my beard. “Thanks for reminding me.”