The killing stones, p.1
The Killing Stones, page 1
Ann Cleeves
THE KILLING STONES
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
For Stewart Bain: Orcadian, reader and friend.
Acknowledgements
I loved writing this book and having time to explore Orkney. Thanks to everyone in Westray who made me welcome – especially the knowledgeable volunteers at the heritage centre, Mabel Kent of the Pierowall Hotel and Tom and May Bain. Stewart Bain was my driver and fixer throughout my research, and through him I learned about cold beans and fatty-cutties. I’m grateful to Orkney Islands archaeologist Paul Sharman for sharing information about the Noltland dig; to Sandra Miller and her team for organizing the trip to Maeshowe; and to Neil Stevenson for checking that I didn’t stray too far from the reality of the Ba’. Of course, all mistakes are mine.
My friend Dr James Grieve appears again as himself in the novel, and I’m pleased that he continues to work in fiction, even if he might eventually retire in fact. Thanks to the relatives of Rosalie Greeman, who donated a considerable sum to charity at Bouchercon San Diego for her name to be remembered in this novel.
While writing is a solitary occupation, it takes a team to get the book to readers. Thanks to the support team at Pan Macmillan – Alex, Lucy, Fran, Ellah, Charlotte, Natasha, Stuart, Rosa, Mary and all the reps who spread the word. In the US, I’m grateful to Kelley, Catherine, Kelly and Sarah; in Australia to Praveen and Candice; and in Canada to all at PGC and especially to Jen. Huge thanks to my agent, Moses; to all the overseas co-agents and publishers; and to Rebecca of VHA. I’m grateful as always to Jean and Roger of Cornwell Internet for their friendship and for managing my website. A special shout-out to Emma, fabulous publicist and fun travelling companion. Also, touring wouldn’t be the same without Steve and Geoff of Benchmark.
I’ve had a great time working with the Reading for Wellbeing and Woodyard projects. I don’t do much of the actual graft, so I’m thankful to the people who do – my assistant, Jane, all the staff in libraries, the NHS and voluntary organizations for Reading for Wellbeing in the North-East, and the Woodyard committee members striving to turn our community centre plan into reality in North Devon. Special thanks go to Naomi, who had that idea, and my best friend, Sue, for agreeing to be a part of it.
Finally, thanks to all the booksellers and library staff who share the magic of reading, and to the readers themselves who allow me the joy of telling stories.
Prologue
ARCHIE STOUT SCREAMED INTO THE STORM. His voice was as loud and echoing as a foghorn, but the noise of the wind blew the words away, scattered them like spindrift over the water. Incoherent and pointless. The person they were aimed at couldn’t have heard them anyway. The torchlight had already disappeared, swallowed up by the midwinter darkness, and Archie was alone.
He was Orcadian, a Westray man born and raised. He loved a good gale, the power and the drama of it, and there was a trace of childish pleasure in his fury now. An exhilaration. He loved a good argument too, especially when he knew he was in the right.
That moment passed. He was dressed for the weather, but there was no joy in standing here, ancient bones and rocks under his feet, when the Pierowall Hotel bar was waiting for him, and his friends had been expecting him an hour ago. He imagined the warmth of the fire and the laughter when he arrived, soaking, his hair sleeked to his head and his beard still dripping. Their words: ‘Where have you been, man? What the hell have you been doing out in this kind of weather?’
There was still that problem that had been troubling him all day. Archie wasn’t sure how that could best be dealt with. It wasn’t something to discuss with Vaila, certainly. If his father had still been alive, he might have known the right thing to do. For the island and the family.
Then it came to Archie that he could talk to Jimmy Perez. Jimmy was his oldest and closest friend, a relative of a kind. Jimmy was a wise man. He could tell what other folk were thinking and feeling. Archie would phone him first thing in the morning. That decision made, it felt as if a weight had been lifted from him, and he shone his torch away from the sea and towards the path to his car.
The light coming his way almost seemed like a reflection of his own torchlight at first, wavering through the gloom. Archie stood where he was, curious, waiting for it to reach him. He saw a figure appear before him, shapeless, wrapped in a waterproof that reached to the boots. Anonymous until Archie shone his torch into the face.
‘Ah,’ he said. ‘So it’s you.’
Chapter One
WILLOW LOVED GETTING TO THE ISLANDS by ferry, even now with a baby in her belly, and a four-year-old to care for, and the boat already late because of the earlier storm. Winter in Orkney stirred her like no other season. It was the exhilaration of wild, windy days and the chance of exploring the islands’ secrets alone for a while, until the tourists came again. Digging in. Rooting herself and her family in this place. Because she and her man, Jimmy Perez, had already decided that they would never leave here.
She’d treated herself to a Magnus Lounge pass, and sat on one of the comfortable sofas, with James lying sleeping on her lap, staring out at the darkness and then at the approaching lights of home, thinking that if she weren’t pregnant, she’d be raising a glass of Highland Park malt whisky to this place and her life here. She’d been south to visit an elderly relative in Aberdeen while she could still travel, and now she was glad to be coming home again. The child was due in six weeks’ time. She’d be giving birth to a winter baby and that thrilled her too.
The lounge was almost empty. There weren’t many visitors at this time of year, and most of the locals were in their cabins. She’d never been seasick, and James seemed to have inherited her resistance to the affliction. The boat would move on to Shetland once they’d stopped in Kirkwall. Shetland would always be special to her – Jimmy Perez had been born in Fair Isle, the southernmost island in the group, and Shetland was where they’d met – but gentler, more fertile Orkney was the home they’d made together.
It was midnight when they arrived. She carried the child, still sleeping, to the car deck and strapped him into his seat, then drove out with the handful of other vehicles onto the dock, with its shadowy industrial buildings, out of Kirkwall and into the country.
She’d been expecting Perez to be up, waiting for her, the fire still lit. She’d texted when they’d come close to shore and phone signal had been restored. There’d been no response, but Jimmy was as taciturn in text as he was in speech. There were lights in the downstairs windows of the old manse when she drove up. She could see them seeping through gaps in the curtains that had been drawn against the cold. But when she let herself in, she could tell at once that the house had been empty for a while, although there were still embers in the grate and the heating had been left on. If he’d been in, Jimmy would have heard the car pulling up outside and come into the hall to greet them, reaching out for his son, insisting that he be the person to put James to bed. His adopted fourteen-year-old daughter, Cassie, was part of the family too, of course, but she was in Shetland for the school holidays, staying with Duncan, her birth father and Celia his partner. Over Christmas, it would just be the three of them. And the child waiting to be born.
Now, Willow climbed the stairs and put James to bed. He’d already been changed into his pyjamas. She wasn’t anxious about Jimmy’s absence. It would be a work matter. He’d always cared too much about work, and now she was on maternity leave, he was more conscientious than he’d ever been. His patch included Shetland and Orkney and he was often pulled away. Perez had married when he was young, but the marriage hadn’t lasted. His wife couldn’t cope with the time and energy he’d given to his work. She’d called him ‘emotionally incontinent’, and it was true that all his sympathy seemed to be channelled towards the victims, the relatives and even the perpetrators of crime. Sometimes Willow wondered how he had anything left to give to his family. But she was passionate about her work too, and she understood.
She pushed the kettle onto the hotplate of the Rayburn to make tea, before seeing the note in Jimmy’s handwriting propped on the kitchen table.
Archie Stout is missi
She didn’t try to phone him. He’d be busy and anyway there’d probably be no signal. She wondered how he’d managed to get to Westray. It got dark so early at this time of year, and the weather had been so wild, though the wind was dropping now. Perhaps the lifeboat crew had taken Jimmy over there. It was possible that Archie had been out in his little creel boat and got into difficulties. He was a farmer more than a fisherman. The storm had come on suddenly, and its ferocity hadn’t been forecast. There was a niggle of anxiety at the back of her mind, but she knew it was pointless to guess what might have happened and tried to close it down. She’d taken up with Jimmy Perez knowing who he was, and she’d been determined not to try to change him.
Besides, she understood his desperate attempt to get to the island of Westray. Archie Stout was a friend. The closest friend he had in Orkney. Perhaps his closest friend ever. They were relatives of a kind. A grandfather, or a great-grandfather, or uncle had moved to Orkney from Fair Isle, and Archie had spent many of his holidays on the Perez croft. Archie farmed on the island of Westray, living in Nistaben with his wife and two boys, and now the families were close too.
Willow drank her tea and went to bed. It was too late to phone Archie’s wife, Vaila, and in any case the man was probably safe at home. They might well be sitting in the farm kitchen eating a late supper, drinking in celebration at his return. He was a sociable man, a grand fiddle player. He liked a party, and any excuse would do. Willow was tired.
She woke in the morning to the quiet. No wind at all. It was still dark and there was no sound from James in the next room. She wondered for an instant what could have woken her and realized it was the humming of her phone. She’d switched it to silent, but she was a light sleeper and the buzzing had penetrated her sleep.
She reached for it before it stopped, saw it was from Perez, and allowed the relief to swirl round her stomach. Until then, she hadn’t realized that she’d woken with a sense of anxiety. There’d been a troubling dream, perhaps, though she couldn’t remember the detail.
‘Hello. You still in Westray with Archie and Vaila?’ The image she’d conjured the night before of the three of them drinking into the early hours, Archie playing his tunes, returned to her.
Then she realized that Perez was gasping and could hardly speak. It was as if he was struggling for breath.
‘Jimmy! What is it?’
‘It’s Archie.’ The words seemed to be forced out of his mouth. ‘He’s dead.’
‘How?’ She might be on maternity leave, but she was a detective. Not quite Jimmy’s boss, and with a wider brief, covering all the Scottish islands, but still with an instinct to be in charge. Her brain was already firing with the procedures that would have to be followed.
There was a long pause. ‘It looks like murder.’ Another pause. ‘It must be murder.’
‘Is there a doctor on the island who can certify death?’
‘Oh, he’s certainly dead.’ Jimmy was sobbing now. He was no longer holding it together. That excess of emotion again.
‘But you know the procedure, Jimmy. You know how it has to work.’
‘Sure. Yes, there’s a doctor.’
‘Where was he found?’ Now, Willow had the bedside light on and had found her notepad and a pencil.
‘On the Links of Noltland, just inland from Grobust beach. Close to the old archaeological dig.’
‘Any sign of cause of death?’
‘Blunt force trauma to the head. The weapon is still next to the body.’
‘We’ll get Dr Grieve from Aberdeen onto the next plane. You’ll make sure nobody else can get into the site.’
‘Of course.’ His voice was already calmer.
‘Who found the body?’
‘Me,’ he said, almost in a whisper. ‘It was me.’
Chapter Two
IT WAS COLD, THE FIRST FROST of the winter, shocking after an autumn of mild, windy days, and after the previous night’s storm. Jimmy Perez stood on a narrow dune, keeping guard over his friend’s body. When it was properly light, he’d have a view of the long beach. There was a footpath where dog-walkers came, a bench looking out to the sea. He’d asked Vaila’s mother to stay with Archie’s wife and bairns and was glad to be here alone until colleagues arrived from Orkney mainland on the early ferry into Westray. He looked north into the first light of dawn, everything shadowy and blurred, and not quite real. There was still a pale moon.
The fact of Archie’s death wasn’t real either. The man had always been very much alive, even larger than life, a risk-taker, fearless as a boy, leading the quiet Jimmy into mischief and adventure that he’d never have had the guts to face on his own. Perez had loved him for that. Perhaps it was Archie who’d given him the courage to move south to Aberdeen to join the police service, and Archie who’d pulled him back to the Northern Isles when his first marriage had failed. They’d been opposite in every way. Perez had inherited the dark looks of his Spanish ancestors and Archie was Viking through and through. Sandy-haired and icy-eyed, impulsive and quick to laughter and to anger. Tamed by Vaila, his childhood sweetheart, but not entirely. There’d still been an edge of danger to him.
Archie had been overjoyed when Perez had told him he was bringing his family to Orkney. He’d wrapped Jimmy in his arms and repeated over and over again: ‘What splendid news! Just splendid! The old team together again.’ The j in ‘just’ pronounced ch in the Orcadian way.
He’d helped them to find their new home in Harray, unloaded boxes and bags and drunk to their health. Archie was one reason why Perez had decided he never wanted to move again.
Perez looked at his phone to check the time. The ferry from Kirkwall would be arriving soon. It was a roll-on, roll-off and the officers would have a car with them. When they got here, he’d have to drive back to Nistaben and face Vaila. After he’d been dropped off at Rapness pier by the lifeboat crew, Perez had called in at the farm and asked to borrow a car. Westray was a big island, three times bigger than his original home of Fair Isle, and he’d known he’d need transport. He dreaded meeting Vaila this morning. She would be full of questions, and he knew that he had no answers to give.
He’d spoken to Willow. She’d manage matters with her usual quiet efficiency. He was overcome suddenly with a wave of gratitude for the woman who always had his back. She might look like a hippy with her long tangle of hair and charity shop clothes, but she was the best detective he knew. The best woman, wise and totally reliable. His woman. Despite his grief, he smiled at his good fortune.
He heard them before he saw them: Phil Bain and Ellie Shearer. Ellie was older, apparently happy to be in uniform and to stay a sergeant, policing their patch. Solid and sensible. She’d grown up in the north of England, had come to Orkney on holiday, fallen for an Orcadian and never returned. Phil was new and raw and innocent, and still looked like the student he’d recently been. He’d gone south to Teesside to do the policing course at the university there, but the pull of the islands had been too strong, and he’d returned. Their words were indistinct, but Perez could make out the tone, a mix of shock and excitement. They might have been aware of Archie as a musician and farmer, but they wouldn’t have known him well.
It was properly light now. The pair were walking down the path from the golf course, following Perez’s instructions, taking the route he’d used when he’d found Archie. They’d left their vehicle in the golf club car park. It always made Willow chuckle that Westray was sufficiently wealthy to have a golf club. There was a driveable track from the village, but Perez wanted to keep that clear in case of tyre marks. The rain of the previous night had left it a boggy quagmire though and he wasn’t hopeful that they’d find much of use. Now he called out to his colleagues to stay where they were. He didn’t want them stumbling over the body. Then he moved down the slope to greet them, only aware of how chilled he’d become as he started moving. He circled a good distance from the locus and joined them.
‘I’m sorry, Jimmy.’ Ellie spoke first. ‘I know you were good mates.’ She looked towards the body. It lay between patches of heavy black plastic, which was held down by dead tyres. ‘What’s this place? Some kind of dump?’
