‘I’m good. You know you told me to let you know if there were any more developments regarding Kulsay. Well, something’s developed.’
In the cluttered living room of the flat he was renting on the outskirts of town, Nick Bayliss listened carefully to what Fiona Whyte was telling him. When she’d finished he said, ‘Interesting. Listen, Fiona, be an angel, get me their names.’
‘I’ll get the register,’ she said. ‘Hold on.’
The line was silent for a few moments. Bayliss rummaged through the piles of paperwork lying heaped on the table he was using as a desk. He found an empty legal pad and a pen and waited, poised to write down the names. This was an unexpected but very welcome development. He’d thought the MOD investigation marked the end of official involvement in Kulsay. The book he was writing about the island had stalled since that ended so inconclusively. Maybe this new investigation would kick-start it again. He really needed to finish it. His publisher’s deadline was looming and he was fast using up his advance. The small pieces he was writing on psychic phenomena for a few of the trashy tabloids and magazines were keeping him in bread, but there was no jam to sweeten its flavor. He was just a week away from throwing in the towel and heading back to his apartment in London.
‘Are you still there?’ Fiona came back to the phone.
‘Waiting with bated breath,’ he said.
‘Okay. Jane Talbot, Raj Kumar…’
He scribbled the names down as Fiona read them out to him. ‘Did you say Robert Carter?’ he said when she finished.
‘That’s right,’ she said, and told him what she’d just witnessed.
‘Well, it is raining rather heavily. If he’d been for a walk he would have got soaked.’
‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘But there was pond weed hanging from his clothes and, as far as I know, that doesn’t fall out of the sky.’
‘Fair point. And you say they’re going across to the island tomorrow?’ He poured himself another whisky.
‘That’s what I was told.’
‘Is your brother still running the pots?’ A plan was hatching in the lower recesses of his brain. The whisky only served to fuel his creativity. The more he drank the better his ideas.
‘Of course. Lobsters are still his life…poor bugger.’ Fiona had a sour opinion of much of life’s rich pattern.
‘Do you think he’d take me across to Kulsay again?’ The island held no fears for Bayliss; that was another consequence of copious amounts of whisky.
‘I doubt it, after the last time? Those Ministry people got quite heavy with him. Threatened to revoke his license.’
‘But you will ask him?’ Overeager, but Fiona wasn’t sharp enough to spot it.
There was the slightest hesitation. ‘You’re a bastard, you know?’
‘They were on my case too, you know?’ The MOD had cast a wide net of suspicion in their quest to keep unwelcome questions at bay.
‘I’ll ask him. Are you coming to see me then?’ There was a fragment of hope in her voice, and eagerness of her own.
‘Oh, I think so. I’ll be there first thing. You’ll be on duty, won’t you?’ It would be easier if she were there to smooth the way with her brother.
‘Nick, I’m always on duty,’ she said, the sourness spreading out like spilt milk.
‘Breakfast would be nice.’
‘I’ll see what I can do.’
He hung up the phone and switched on his computer. Minutes later he was surfing the Internet, running Google searches for the names and writing notes on his pad. He didn’t bother to search for Carter. That information was already on his computer’s database, filed under Bobby Hinton.
He felt a small knot of excitement beginning to curl in the pit of his stomach. He had a feeling that the next few days were going to be very interesting indeed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The early morning air was heavy with the smell of fish as a dozen boats unloaded their cargoes of mackerel and cod on the quayside of the harbor. A watery sun broke through the blanket of gray and glinted off the wet and slippery docks.
‘Could be a fine day,’ Raj said, looking up at the traces of blue showing through the clouds as he lifted a large cardboard box from the back of the Land Cruiser and carried it down to the waiting motor launch.
‘The sea looks calm enough,’ McKinley said as he took the box from him and stowed it on board. The boat rocked gently under his feet and the motion combined with the heavy stench of diesel from the boat’s engine was enough to bring on the first stirrings of seasickness. He hated being on the water and was dreading the crossing to the island. He watched as more boxes were unloaded, everyone lending a hand to get the equipment onto the boat as quickly as possible.
This morning there was a real need within the group to get underway as soon as they could. All except McKinley had passed on breakfast, preferring to travel with empty stomachs, but whether this was due to the fear of sickness or the fact that appetites had been dampened by the anticipation of what awaited them on the island Raj wasn’t sure. In his case it was a mixture of both. He’d slept badly, the night filled with disturbing dreams; vivid and frightening images had woken him half a dozen times. Now in the daylight the images were hazy and unformed, but the echoes of them were still doing their best to unsettle him.
When the last of the boxes had been loaded everyone climbed aboard. Jane went to talk to the pilot, a large, unshaven man called Jimmy Cowan. Cowan’s plaid work shirt was stretched over a prodigious beer belly, straining at the buttons. The sleeves of the shirt were rolled up to the elbows, revealing gaudy tattoos on heavily muscled forearms.
‘All loaded and ready to go,’ she said as she entered the cockpit. ‘How long is the crossing?’
Cowan made some adjustments to the satellite navigation unit to the right of the wheel. ‘Hour and a half, give or take,’ he said, not looking up from the unit. His accent was thick and the words sounded like nothing more than a guttural growl.
‘Right,’ Jane said, uncertain that she’d understood him. ‘Good.’
Cowan finally looked round at her. ‘You’re sure about this?’ he said.
Easier to understand this time, probably because he was now facing her and she could see the patterns his lips made. ‘About what?’ she said.
‘About going across to the island?’
Jane frowned. ‘It’s what we’re here for. Why?’
Cowan shrugged his huge shoulders. ‘Your funeral, lassie,’ he said and went back to what he was doing.
Jane resisted the urge to ask him what he meant. She left the cockpit and went back to join the others.
‘Not much of a conversationalist, is he?’ Kirby said as Jane slid onto the wooden bench beside her.
‘Just a little ray of sunshine, that one,’ Jane said as the engine started with a deep rumble. Moments later ropes were cast off and they were pulling away from the quayside.
‘And so the adventure begins,’ McKinley grinned.
Jane looked around at the faces of the others. Anticipation, excitement mingled with apprehension and fear. Only Carter’s face was unreadable. He was staring over the side at the gray-green water passing under the launch. He hadn’t said two words all morning and his face looked ashen. There were dark half moons under his eyes, giving the impression that he hadn’t slept a wink all night.
She moved in next to him. ‘Everything all right, Rob?’ she said quietly.
‘Shouldn’t it be?’ He glanced at her before turning his attention back to the white-splashed water.
Jane took his arm and squeezed gently. ‘You look dreadful. Bad night?’
‘I’ve had better.’
‘I thought I saw you. Last night. Out by the fountain.’ She weighed the words carefully, almost as if she was reeling in a fish.