A Handful of Ash Page 18

  I shook my head. ‘I don’t think it would have made any difference. I think you were very brave, to have stayed there, and noticed so much.’

  The hand that clutched the mug of drinking chocolate relaxed a little. ‘I felt safer in the dark behind the skip, but then I couldna bear no’ kenning where it was either. I was just about to inch my head out again when there was this snuffling sound, like a dog, but I thought it was the tail, it was horrible, like it was alive, the way it moved. Then there was this grunt noise, not quite an “ouch”, more surprised, then a thud, an I heard footsteps, coming to the skip. I was that feared I thought I was going to pee myself. I just huddled into the shadow, below the slanted end of the skip, and made myself as peerie as I could, but I could imagine that tail waving back and forward, seeking me. I heard the demon looking into the skip, and even looking under things, I heard them shift in the skip, but then it moved back again, and by this time I was over feared to move a muscle. I just froze, waiting for it to come back, only this time it would see me.’ Her voice wavered; something glittered in her eyes. She blinked furiously.

  ‘I’d a been terrified an all,’ I said. ‘It sounds like one of those horrible nightmares where you can’t run.’

  Shaela nodded. ‘It was. Then there was this dragging noise, then a thud and chink of pebbles, as if something had gone ower onto the beach. Then the demon laughed. It was horrible, this cold laugh. I stopped even thinking o’ running away then. I just screwed me eyes up tight and prayed it wouldn’t see me. Then, when it had all been quiet for a bit, I opened me eyes. I stayed there for ages over feared to look an’ see if it had gone. I thought it would just be lurking, ready to get me. An when I did stand up, I was that cold at I could only hobble, and I thought I was a goner for sure. But the stiffness eased off by the time I’d crossed the street, and I didna bother wi’ the eggs, I just ran for home as fast as I could, and climbed in the window, and dived into bed and got my head under the covers.’

  Her eyes had been round as a child’s, as Cat’s when he was frightened of a sudden noise outside the safety of Khalida. Now, abruptly, she returned to a teenager. ‘It can’t really’ve been a demon, o’ course. It was stupit o’ me to be so feared. I didna ken then that the dragging noise, the thud and the pebbles –’ Her eyes were bleak. ‘That was Nate. The demon was just a grulik.’

  It was a word I’d never heard. ‘A what?’

  ‘A grulik. It’s the old word for a guizer. He was just in a costume. The red eyes, that was some kind o’ a torch. It was spooky, but that’s all it was. Even the tail, I’m seen that meself at Hallowe’en pairties. It has a wire in the inside, to make it wave every time the person moves. There was no need for me to panic like yon – but I was on me ain, an’ in the dark, an’ no supposed to be out, an so it was the scariest thing I’m ever seen.’

  ‘I’d have been scared too,’ I said.

  ‘But the thing is, Cass, what am I going to do now? I wasna meant to be out, and if me Mam learns at I was, she’ll ground me for ever, mebbe even put the computer off bounds except for school work. I wondered if maybe – see, that man in the kilt, the other night, maybe you could tell him about it, without me needing to.’

  I shook my head. ‘You want whoever killed Nate to be caught, don’t you?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Then I can’t tell it. I wasn’t there, you see. There may be little things you noticed that you haven’t told me because you barely noticed them yourself, but the police will help you remember everything, and maybe in among it all will be the clue they need to catch him. The man dressed as a demon. It has to be you.’

  She shook her head. ‘Mam will be that mad.’

  I tried to think myself back into the mindset of a thirteen year old, but it was too long ago, and by then my Mam had gone off to France, leaving a wardrobe of dresses behind. I gave it straight. ‘You were old enough to risk your Mam being mad to have fun. I think you should risk her being mad to get justice for Nate.’

  I managed to persuade her, in the end. I hoped her parents would be so glad she’d not come to any harm that they’d forget it, after the initial explosion, but it was a very subdued Shaela that I walked along Port Arthur road and back to the corner of her street. I watched her into her house, and set out back to the marina, walking briskly, the hood of my oilskin jacket pulled so far over my head that only the tip of my nose showed.

  A man dressed as a demon, to keep spreading the idea of the Devil being loose in Scalloway … but who?

  Chapter Fifteen

  Gavin came round just after eight o’clock, phoning first to tell me he was almost at the marina gate. ‘And have you eaten?’

  ‘Ages ago.’ I’d had a boiled egg, bannock, and apple at six. ‘Have you?’

  ‘I had fish and chips in Lerwick.’ He didn’t sound as if it had been an experience to savour.

  ‘Frankie’s is the best,’ I agreed, and went along the pontoon to let him in.

  The rain had settled down from drenching to that persistent mizzle that creeps into every crack in your oilskins, insinuates itself down the sides of your boots, and gets you just as wet as the hosepipe stuff in the end. Gavin was back in his usual green jacket, collar turned up against the rain, but he walked with his shoulders back and head high, obviously believing the old Scots idea that rain will only get you as wet as you let it. When he reached Khalida, he shook off the drops that had clung to him and hung his jacket under the sprayhood.

  ‘It’s not that warm inside,’ I warned him, and put the gas on.

  He hauled a jumper out of the inevitable carrier bag. ‘I brought some biscuits.’ They had a sticky puff outside and lemon icing. I decided I wasn’t going to worry about the way he associated me with the tartness of lemon, and turned my attention to the sludge-green jumper he was struggling into.

  ‘Did your Granny knit that for you?’

  His face emerged from the neck. He gave me a sideways grin. ‘She did.’ He smoothed the misshapen sleeve. I’d forgotten how to do the three-colour Fair Isle knitting I’d been taught in primary school, but I could tell where someone had had trouble increasing the stitches. ‘She wasn’t fond of knitting, Granny Mharsailidh, but she knew it was something grandmothers did, so she persevered. This one was for my eighteenth birthday, the last she knitted for me.’ He pulled the waistband down to hip level. ‘The best fit, too. She was very pleased with it.’ He grinned again. ‘Our mother is beginning to say it’s past wearing, so I bring it with me when I come away.’

  My favourite navy gansey had belonged to Alain. The police had taken it to examine for bloodstains, in the film murder, but I’d got it back, and either had to wear it straight away or accept that I never would again. Perhaps I should have given it away, but it was one of the last links I had with Alain. I’d bought it for him in a Breton market, when we’d not been together for long, and were crazy with love and sea-fever, and planning our first Atlantic crossing together. It had taken me ten years to accept my guilt for his death. Now I wore his gansey in memory of the good times.

  The kettle whistled, and I spooned the drinking chocolate into the mugs, added the water, and stirred. ‘I have an eyewitness for you.’

  His head went up, the eagle spotting a fish, then he brought out his black policeman’s notebook, and waited, pencil poised. Above us, the rain pattered on Khalida’s fibreglass roof. I sat down opposite him, and Cat jumped on my lap.

  ‘It was one of the guizers who came round the other night. Shaela, the one who was dressed as a witch.’ His eyes narrowed, focusing, then he nodded. ‘She didn’t want to be left out of the egg-throwing fun, so she climbed out of her bedroom window, and headed down to the shore.’ I gave Shaela’s account, as much in her words as I could remember, and he scribbled, then closed his notebook and put the elastic around it.

  ‘Is she in general a truthful child?’

  I shrugged. ‘She was frightened. Her eyes went like saucers when she was talking about it. Also, the way she describe
d Nate’s death and the body being thrown over, she said, ‘this dragging noise, then a thud and chink of pebbles’, it’s not very dramatic. If she’d been making it up, she’d have put in a cry at least.’

  Gavin nodded. ‘She’s described exactly what happened: someone hit Nate, then went to the skip for rope to tie him up.’

  ‘I noticed the rope in the skip the night Annette died,’ I said. ‘I even pulled it out to see if it could be useful for something. It was too old, no strength left in it.’

  ‘Strength enough.’ Gavin’s mouth set in a grim line. ‘Don’t mention this further. Nate was still alive when he was thrown in. We have to wait for the official PM, but all the signs were that he drowned.’

  A cold hand clutched around my heart. Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live. The blow Shaela had heard had only stunned him. Then he’d been bound with rope from the skip, gagged, and thrown on the beach for the tide to take … I frowned. ‘That was risky,’ I said. ‘It was after high water, so he wasn’t taken off then, but just lay there on the shore until it came in at eight this morning. It might just have been that someone, a disco-goer, would have found him still alive. Nate’d have known who it was that had left him there.’

  Gavin nodded. ‘Perhaps not, if the demon had kept his disguise on. It’s more of a chance than I’d expect a murderer to take. On the other hand, how much would a non-seafarer know about tides? I’m like you, I’m used to seeing the tide ebb and flow each day, and knowing what state it’s at without even thinking about it. A normal Scalloway inhabitant, now, would they know how much beach there is at low tide, or would they expect it always to have water over it?’

  ‘It mostly does,’ I agreed. ‘And you’re right, it always surprises me how even sensible children don’t connect the moon with the tides, or know unless you tell them to look whether it’s ebbing or flowing. But here in Scalloway I think an adult would know. It’s a seafaring community. Maybe the killer just didn’t care.’

  ‘It was a long chance,’ Gavin said. ‘People nearby weren’t looking out of their windows, because of the disco. They just shut their curtains and turned the TV up. The only person who saw anything was Mr Otway, and his bunch sounded like stragglers. We’re trying to trace them, in case they saw someone around, but he doesn’t know the local children of that age, so he couldn’t help with names.’

  ‘And the beach was in shadow,’ I said. ‘There are streetlights on the pier, and up on New Street, but nothing around there.’ I swallowed. ‘So Nate lay there, injured maybe, in pain, on the cold beach all those hours, with all the youngsters in Scalloway dancing and drinking and having fun, just a hundred metres away, until the tide came.’

  ‘He might not have known anything about it,’ Gavin said. His voice was gentle, as if I was a relative. ‘Cold would have made him lose consciousness.’

  I thought about that for a moment, and was comforted. ‘If the rope was taken from the skip, does that mean the murder was on the spur of the moment?’

  ‘The murderer could have spotted the rope earlier, as you did, and counted on being able to use it. It’s interesting that Nate seems to have walked freely to the skip car park with his murderer – but we knew that. Some time after dark, according to his mother, there was a knock at the door, and she heard voices, then Nate taking down his coat and going out. A good while after she’d gone to bed, she thought. She’s an invalid, and usually starts going to bed around nine.’

  ‘“Ages after the disco started” was the best Shaela could do.’

  ‘Ten o’clock. Mr Otway went out just after eleven, later than he would usually go, he said, because he and Mrs Otway had been watching TV.’

  ‘Is that significant, do you think?’ I asked. ‘Peter’s pretty well known in Scalloway, he walks the dogs every evening, and always along the same way. Up through the fields, to let them race, then over the fence opposite Fraser Park, across the roundabout, down Castle Street, New Street, along the sea front, and home. The murderer would have expected him to be well past by “ages after ten o’clock”.’

  ‘Especially if it was a murderer that was familiar with the household,’ Gavin said. ‘We’re going to be interviewing James Leask tomorrow.’

  ‘Peter told you he saw him?’

  ‘Going up from the street, from the skip car park maybe, towards the castle. He was out on his boat when we called. I’ll talk to him tomorrow.’ Gavin drained his mug and set it down. ‘We had to search Nate’s room, of course. Do you know the family?’

  I shook my head. ‘Maman told me a little about them. The father was a minister, and the mother was in a wheelchair.’

  ‘They’re shattered. Mr Halcrow’s been in post for over thirty years, but he’s not originally from Shetland – he was brought up in Invergarry. My impression was of a good man, very committed to his ministry, and the elders speak well of him. Mrs Halcrow is a poor, tired soul. Nate was the apple of their eye, “the boy”. They expected him to be a doctor or a university professor.’

  ‘Maman remembered him. Spoiled rotten, she said, and Rachel neglected.’

  Gavin nodded. ‘I’ve spent the day talking to people. Several of his past teachers said he was lazy at school. He found the work too easy at first, then got out of the way of thinking. His English teacher said he had a passion for computer gaming. His reports go downhill. He skimmed through his Standard Grades then failed his Highers, spent his sixth year “discussing” ideas in the common room, but not producing any work. After that, three months in his mother’s office, three months with a band, a year in computer programming at college, a year at art school – the same story in both of them, a lot of good ideas, genuine talent, but no self-discipline.’ He paused. ‘They had one of his paintings.’ Another pause, then he said, with fastidious distaste, as if he was having to pick a stinking fish off the deck, ‘I suppose it was powerful. There was a fire in the centre of the picture, with hooded figures crouched around it, and a great black horned man dominating them.’

  I grimaced. ‘The witches’ Sabbat.’

  ‘After that his father refused to bank-roll him, hence the job at the Fisheries College. Now there’s a kind of armed neutrality at home. His parents still hoped he’d “find what he really wanted to do” but the mother at least knew they were just kidding themselves. As for his reputation outside the home, well, the chef at the college shrugged and said he worked well enough. The kirk elders wouldn’t be drawn out. I got a wary, “Ah, well, he’s gone now, poor boy” from two of them, and the others just shook their heads and said it was very hard on the family.’

  It seemed very little for an epitaph. ‘Did you find anything to link him to Annette’s death?’

  Gavin nodded. ‘ You know the house, the white one which stretches from the Spanish closs down to New Street. His room was right up in the top of the house, up a winding stair. We found a number of books on witchcraft, and folders of research on the witches here in Scalloway.’ He grimaced. ‘The room was sick with the stuff. The first thing you saw was a great goat-head poster, above a mantelpiece with black candles, an upside-down crucifix, and a ritual chalice.’

  ‘Didn’t his parents object?’

  ‘His mother hasn’t been able to manage the stairs for some years. His father can’t remember the last time he was up there. “Letting the boy have his privacy.” If they wanted him down for a meal, they just yelled from the foot of the stairs.’ His long, mobile mouth turned down. ‘I had to ask him to come up and look. I was sorry to be spoiling his illusions.’

  I left a sympathetic pause. ‘It’s strange.’ I tried to sort out my thoughts. ‘If he was trying to impress people – ’ The three hooded crows flashed into my mind. ‘Girls, then he’d do that sort of thing, have stupid symbols everywhere. But if he was real – ’ His sea-grey eyes were steady on mine, pupils wide in the dim light. He nodded encouragement. I looked around at Khalida’s cabin: the wooden fiddles, the row of pilot books, the polished wood of the bulkhead, the looped curtain shading the he
ads. There was no need of jaunty ‘Captain’ slogans on the mugs, or framed pictures of signal flags; anyone could see she was a working yacht. By the same token, I wouldn’t be seen dead in the ‘nautical chic’ of southern yacht clubs, navy and white striped tops, white jeans and suede loafers. ‘If he was real, surely he wouldn’t need to draw attention to himself. He wouldn’t need the showy trappings.’

  ‘I thought that too.’

  ‘So … he wasn’t the head witch? He was just doing a DIY witch cult to show off? Compensate for being a failure?’ I remembered the way the girls had gathered round him in the college.

  ‘We found this.’ He fished in his sporran for a Body Shop container, Rose Hand Cream. ‘The container probably came from the Otway household. Mrs Otway uses this cream, and finished a jar recently. Inside – ’ He unscrewed the lid, opened it. The circular box was half-filled with fine red ash.

  ‘The ash from the museum?’

  Gavin nodded.

  ‘So then Nate was the person who was going to exorcise Annette. She’d got the ash for him – given it to him, all ready for the ritual. Except that they didn’t manage to finish the ritual, because she died.’

  Gavin nodded. ‘Nate was the person who made the claw marks too. Rachel called in on her way home from the party, last night, to check her mother was settled for the night. She returned his werewolf suit. A nasty piece of work, with sewing pins inserted in the fingers to make claws that would scratch. Her story is that it was he who offered it to her, for the party.’

  ‘To get it out of the house?’

  ‘We’ll get forensics to make sure, but I’m certain her scratches were made by those gloves.’

  I thought about it. ‘She went to visit him, because she thought he could help. If he’d been doing paintings of demons at college everyone would know that. He’d have a reputation. He told her he wanted the ash, and she wasn’t keen.’ I imagined them, sitting together in Nate’s room. Annette had demurred, and he’d reached for his glove and pulled it on, then caught her by the throat. You want rid of the witch who haunts you, you’ll have to do as I say. ‘His story to me about seeing her with the claw marks, that was bluff. I did wonder if he could really have seen them at that distance. He knew about them because he’d made them. So, in the same way, do you think he brought her back to his house because he thought you wouldn’t suspect him?’