Sacrifice

'There's a car here, waiting to take you home to collect whatever you need. Then we'll put you in a hotel for the night. I'm not sure when we'll need you at the station so just sit tight.'

'Are you in charge now?'

'No, Detective Superintendent Harris is. But I'm officially advising and observing. We're going by the book from now on, I promise you.' She looked round. Several police cars were waiting for us. Then she turned back to me and there was a look on her face I couldn't identify. 'There is something you need to know. A lot of people are in custody tonight, and will stay that way until we're convinced they had nothing to do with all this. I'm afraid your husband is one of them.'

I nodded. I'd expected that. I even welcomed the news. The last thing I could deal with just then was a confrontation with Duncan.

'Also, your father-in-law and your boss from the hospital. You may well be needed at work over the next few days.'

She was right. The hospital couldn't afford to lose me and Gifford. And I'd thought I was getting away.

We climbed down. Helen squeezed my shoulder and stepped into one of the waiting cars. A woman constable introduced herself and led me to a second car. A male constable was driving. We set off on the twenty-minute drive that would take me home. I wondered what I was going to do with my evening, stuck in a strange hotel somewhere in Lerwick.

The car pulled up at the front of the house.

'Do you want me to come in with you?' asked the WPC – Jane, I think she'd said her name was.

'No, thank you. I'll be fine. It won't take long.'

I walked to the front door of the house and found my key. The hall was in darkness and the house had that still, cold feel that houses assume when they've been empty for a while. I walked down the hall to the kitchen, registering but not appreciating the significance of the beam of light shining out from under the door. I pushed the door open.

Duncan and Kenn Gifford were sitting together at the kitchen table, our bottle of Talisker standing open and nearly empty between them.

33

I ALMOST YELLED BUT KNEW THE OFFICERS OUTSIDE WOULD never hear me. I considered making a run for it, but Duncan was too close and he can move like lightning when he wants to. Kenn was staring at me, his eyes so narrow I could barely see beyond the lashes. Duncan moved towards me, the picture of a distraught husband, overwhelmed with relief at seeing his wife again.

'Tor, thank God…'

I took a sharp step back and held up both hands in front of me. Duncan looked confused, but he stopped.

'Are you OK?'

'No, I am not OK.' I started to move, edging further round the kitchen, away from the door, but closer to what I'd spotted on the worktop. 'I am a very long way from being OK.' I grabbed out and reached the knife that had been lying on the kitchen counter. It was an all-purpose knife, one I used for just about everything: chopping, slicing, peeling. It was small but sharp. It would serve the purpose. Duncan was looking horrified, Kenn vaguely amused.

'I want you both out of here. Right now. If either of you tries to touch me, I will slice you up. Got that?'

'Tor…' Duncan moved forward again.

'Have you got that?' I yelled, shoving the knife in his direction. He was still two feet away but I'd made my point. He stepped back.

'I've got it,' said Gifford, who hadn't moved. He picked up his drink and raised it to his lips. 'How about you, Dunc?'

Dunc? Since when were these two on pet-name terms?

'Why don't you get Tora a glass?' said Gifford.

'There are two police officers outside,' I said.

'Well, they can't drink on duty,' said Gifford. I swear, if the knife had been a gun, I'd have shot him.

'I think you should both sit down,' said Gifford. 'Tora, if it makes you feel better, invite your two friends outside to come in.'

I looked from one to the other: my tall, handsome husband, almost shaking with anxiety; my ugly, compelling boss, the picture of calm. 'I was told you two were in custody.'

'We were,' said Gifford. 'Interesting experience. Got released about an hour ago.'

An hour ago, Helen and I were taking off from Dundee. A lot can happen in an hour. 'Don't tell me, because you and DI Dunn go way back.'

Duncan and Kenn glanced at each other. 'Not exactly,' said Gifford, almost to himself. Then he looked at me. 'Our friends at the station found no charges for us to answer. Can't help but feel you have a few, though.'

For a second, I thought about walking out. Just for a second.

'You helped Stephen Gair substitute a terminally sick woman for his wife,' I said to Gifford. For some reason it was easier to talk to him, accuse him, than speak to Duncan. 'You helped him keep Melissa Gair prisoner – here, in our bloody cellar – for eight months. You kept her alive and delivered her baby and then you killed her.' I stopped and took a deep breath. 'I cannot begin to imagine what she went through, you inhuman bastard!'

Gifford flinched. Then his eyes narrowed even more. 'When Cathy Morton died at our hospital I was in New Zealand,' he said. 'I told you that already and I told the police that today. They checked my flight details and people I stayed with in Auckland. So, unlike you, they happen to believe me. I never saw Caroline Salter in my life until I took part in an identity parade this afternoon. Had she picked me out, I wouldn't be here now.'

I wasn't having it. 'Somebody helped Gair. He couldn't have done it alone.'

'No, I don't think he could. But he wasn't helped by us. Neither of us had anything to do with what's being going on up on Tronal. We had no reason to want Melissa Gair dead.' Gifford had lowered his voice almost to a whisper. I found myself staring into his eyes, wanting to believe him. I made myself look away.

'You wanted me dead, though,' I said to Duncan.

'The idiot at the boatyard got it wrong, Tor.' Duncan was still hovering, wanting to come towards me, not quite daring to. 'I know what you think, but it's bollocks. The mast collapsed while we were out but it didn't break clean off. After I was picked up the boat got caught around some salmon cages. The salvage team had to saw through the rest of the mast to get it clean away. McGill's boy didn't know that. He just jumped to conclusions.'

I thought about it. It wasn't impossible. A mast doesn't always break clean away, sometimes it just buckles under the force of the wind. Still attached to the boat, it flies around in every direction. It's a messy and highly dangerous situation and most sailors carry bolt-croppers in case it happens to them.

'No one's trying to kill you,' said Duncan, in what was almost a whisper.

'Although House Officer Donaldson is pretty pissed off that you yelled at him the other day,' said Gifford. 'He's considering an official complaint.'

'Will you fucking well pack it in? Half the islands were out looking for me last night. You had a chopper searching the moors, for God's sake. You don't do that unless you want someone pretty badly.'

'We were worried about you. You bailed out of hospital with a whole load of Diazepam in your system. For all we knew you'd convinced yourself you could fly and were heading for the nearest cliff-top to boogie with the puffins.'

'Someone killed Dana. She found out too much. About Stephen Gair. About all of you.'

'Dana's post-mortem was carried out today. Do you want to know what they found?'

Suddenly, I wanted to sit down after all. I even caught myself looking at the Talisker. Gifford pushed his glass over towards me. Duncan glared at him. I saw that, behind them, the door to the cellar was sealed off with red and white police tape. I made myself look away; I didn't want to start thinking about what might have happened down there. I nodded to Gifford to start talking.

'Death occurred due to extensive blood loss when the radial and ulnar arteries were severed on both wrists. The angle of the wounds and the weakness of the cut on the right wrist suggest the wounds were self-administered. There was no trace of drugs in her bloodstream and no bruises to indicate she was held down. The conclusion is death by suicide.'