‘What’s that?’
‘Flight.’
At Dyce Airport, Rebus showed his warrant card and asked if there were any flights out to Sullom Voe.
‘Not for a while,’ he was told. ‘Maybe in four or five hours.’
‘We’re not fussy who we fly with.’
Shrugs, shakes of the head.
‘It’s important.’
‘You could always hitch a ride to Sumburgh.’
‘That’s miles from Sullom Voe.’
‘Only trying to be helpful. You could rent a car.’
Rebus thought about it, then had a better idea. ‘How soon could we be out of here?’
‘To Sumburgh? Half an hour, forty minutes. There’s a helicopter stopping there on its way out to Ninian.’
‘Fine.’
‘Let me talk to them.’ She picked up her telephone.
‘We’ll be back in five minutes.’
Jack followed Rebus over to the public telephones, where Rebus made a call to St Leonard’s. He was put through to Gill Templer.
‘I’m halfway through listening to the tape,’ she said.
‘Better than Saturday Night Theatre, isn’t it?’
‘I’m going through to Glasgow later on. I want to talk to him myself.’
‘Good idea, I’ve left a copy of the tape with Partick CID. Have you seen Siobhan this morning?’
‘I don’t think so. Which shift is she working? If you like, I can try to find her.’
‘Don’t bother, Gill, long distance doesn’t come cheap.’
‘Oh hell, where are you now?’
‘Ill in bed, if Ancram comes asking.’
‘And looking for that favour?’
‘A phone number, actually. Lerwick police station. I’m assuming such a thing exists.’
‘It does,’ she said. ‘Under the auspices of Northern Division. There was a conference in Inverness last year, they were complaining about keeping tabs on Orkney and Shetland.’
‘Gill...’
‘I’ve been looking it up while I talk.’ She reeled the number off; it went into his notebook.
‘Thanks, Gill. Bye.’
‘John!’
But he’d cut her off. ‘How are you for change, Jack?’ Jack showed him some coins. Rebus took most of them, then called Lerwick and asked if they could lend a car for half a day. He explained it was a murder inquiry, Lothian and Borders. Nothing to get het up about, they’d only be interviewing a friend of the victim.
‘Well now, a car...’ the voice drawled, like Rebus had asked for a spaceship. ‘When would you be arriving?’
‘We’re on a chopper out of here in about half an hour.’
‘Two of you?’
‘Two of us,’ Rebus said, ‘which rules out a motorbike.’
His reward: a deep gurgling laugh. ‘Not necessarily.’
‘Can you do it?’
‘Well, I can do something. Only problem might be if the cars are out elsewhere. Some of our calls are to the back of beyond.’
‘If there’s no one to meet us at Sumburgh, I’ll phone again.’
‘You do that now. Cheerio.’
Back at the desk, they found they were on the flight in thirty-five minutes.
‘I’ve never been on a helicopter,’ Jack said.
‘An experience you’ll never forget.’
Jack frowned. ‘Can you try that again with a bit more enthusiasm?’
29
There were half a dozen planes on the ground at Sumburgh Airport, and the same number of helicopters, most of them connected as if by umbilical cord to neighbouring fuel tankers. Rebus walked into the Wilsness Terminal, unzipping his survival suit as he went, then saw that Jack was still outside, taking in the coastal scenery and bleak inland plain. There was a fierce wind rising, and Jack had his chin tucked into his suit. Post-flight, he looked pale and slightly queasy. Rebus for one had spent the entire time trying not to remember his outsized breakfast. Jack eventually saw him signalling, and came in from the cold.
‘Doesn’t the sea look blue?’
‘Same colour you’d turn after two more minutes out there.’
‘And the sky... incredible.’
‘Don’t go New Age on me, Jack. Let’s get these suits off. I think our escort with the Escort has just arrived.’
Only it was an Astra, snug with three of them inside, especially when the uniformed driver was built like a rock formation. His head — minus the diced cap — brushed the roof of the car. The voice was the same as on the telephone. He’d shaken Rebus’s hand as though greeting some foreign emissary.
‘Have you been to Shetland before?’
Jack shook his head; Rebus admitted he’d been once, but added no further details.
‘And where would you like me to take you?’
‘Back to your base,’ Rebus said from the cramped back seat. ‘We’ll drop you off and turn the car in when we’re finished.’
The woolly suit — whose name was Alexander Forres — boomed his disappointment. ‘But I’ve been two decades on the force.’
‘Yes?’
‘This would be my first murder inquiry!’
‘Look, Sergeant Forres, we’re only here to talk to a friend of the victim. It’s background — routine and boring as hell.’
‘Ach, all the same... I was quite looking forward to it.’
They were heading up the A970 to Lerwick, twenty-odd miles north of Sumburgh. The wind buffeted them, Forres’ huge hands tight on the steering-wheel, like an ogre choking an infant. Rebus decided to change the subject.
‘Nice road.’
‘Paid for with oil money,’ Forres said.
‘How do you like being ruled from Inverness?’
‘Who says we are? You think they come checking up on us every week of the year?’
‘I’d guess not.’
‘You’d guess right, Inspector. It’s like Lothian and Borders — how often does someone from Fettes bother travelling down to Hawick?’ Forres looked at Rebus in the rearview. ‘Don’t go thinking we’re all idiots up here, with just enough sense to set light to the boat come Up-Helly-Aa.’
‘Up-Helly what?’
Jack turned towards him. ‘You know, John, where they burn a longboat.’
‘Last Tuesday in January,’ Forres said.
‘Odd form of central heating,’ Rebus muttered.
‘He’s a born cynic,’ Jack told the sergeant.
‘Well, it’d be sad for him if he died one.’ Forres’ eyes were still on the rearview.
On the outskirts of Lerwick, they passed ugly pre-fabricated buildings which Rebus guessed were connected to the oil industry. The police station itself was in the New Town. They dropped Forres off, and he went in to fetch them a map of Mainland.
‘Not that you could get very lost,’ he’d told them. ‘There are only the three big roads to worry about.’
Rebus looked at the map and saw what he meant. Mainland comprised a shape in the vague form of a cross, the A970 its spine, the 971 and 968 its arms. Brae was as far north again as they’d just come. Rebus was going to be driving, Jack navigating — Jack’s decision; he said it would give him a chance to sight-see.
The drive was by turns awe-inspiring and bleak: coastal vistas giving way to interior moorland, scattered settlements, a lot of sheep — many of them on the road — and few trees. Jack was right though, the sky was amazing. Forres had told them this season was ‘simmer dim’ — a time of year without true darkness. But in winter, daylight became a precious commodity. You had to respect people who chose to live miles from everything you took for granted. Easy enough to be a hunter-gatherer in a city, but out here... It wasn’t the sort of scenery to inspire conversation. They found their dialogues crumbling into grunts and nods. As close as they were in the speeding car, they were in isolation each from the other. No, Rebus was damned sure he couldn’t survive out here.