Sacrifice

'Nothing, nothing, just tired,' I managed, telling myself to calm down, to take it easy. Big, deep breaths. 'How was it?'

'Quiet sort of place. Only a few women, most of them asleep. Couple of babies in the nursery. We're going back in the morning. I'll be staying on Unst for a few days.'

'Will I see you soon?'

She was quiet for a second. I could hear the boat's engine in the background and the whistling of the wind. 'Are you sure you're OK?' she said at last.

'I'm fine,' I said, then because it didn't seem enough, 'I'm on my way home. Dunc and I are going out to dinner.'

'Great, cos look, I wanted to ask you something. Something personal and I didn't really get chance this morning. Is now a good time?'

'Of course,' I said. Now was a great time. I was ready for just about anything; anything that didn't require thinking, moving, speaking.

She lowered her voice. 'Thing is, I have to start thinking about Dana's funeral. I'm her next of kin, you know.'

I knew that; my friendly local pathologist had told me so. Dana's funeral. I closed my eyes and found myself in the midst of a sad, solemn gathering. We were in an ancient church, cathedral-like in its dimensions, softly lit by tall white candles. I could smell the candle smoke and the incense that drifted down from the high altar.

'I know you hadn't known her very long,' came Helen's voice from a distance, 'but… I think… well, I think you made quite an impression. On me too, come to that. It would mean a lot if you could be there.'

Dana's flowers would be white: roses, orchids and lilies; stylish and beautiful, like the woman herself. Six young constables, uniforms gleaming, would carry her to the altar. The back of my throat started to hurt. Tears were rolling down my cheeks and I could no longer see the room around me. 'Of course,' I said. 'Of course I will. Thank you.'

'No, thank you.' Helen's voice had deepened.

'Will it be in Dundee? Do you have a date in mind?'

'No. I'm still waiting to hear from your place about when they can let her go. They need to keep her for a while. I can understand that, of course, I'd just like to get things moving.'

And the vision froze, the uniformed pall-bearers stopped moving, the candles flickered and went out. 'She's still here? In the hospital?'

I didn't expect her to hear me, I could barely hear myself, but the wind must have died at just the right moment because she did.

'Just for a little while. I have to go. I'll see you.'

She was gone. I blinked hard. My face was wet but my eyes were clear. The room that had been swimming just a second ago was thrown into sharp focus. I could see again. I stood up. I could move again. And, praise the Lord, I could think again.

I grasped, in that moment, the true and complete meaning of the word epiphany. Because I'd just had one. There was much I still didn't get, but I understood one thing with perfect and absolute clarity. Sorry, Helen, couldn't oblige after all. I was not going to be one of Dana's mourners, biting lips and dabbing eyes as we watched her elegant, weightless coffin carried to the grave. I would have no part in the age-old ritual of committing her body to the earth or the flames. This was one funeral I was going nowhere near.

Because Dana wasn't dead.

35

AN HOUR AND A HALF LATER, I DROVE ON TO THE YELL ferry. It wasn't quite eight o'clock but it was going to be the last crossing of the evening: there were dark clouds overhead and a storm was threatening. I sat in my car, shivering in spite of my jacket, and tried not to think about the waves that were beating against the ferry as it pushed its way across the Yell Sound. When the ferryman came to collect my fare I asked him what he thought the wind speed was. It was a force five gusting six, he said, and forecast to increase before the night was out.

And I didn't want to dwell on what other storms might break before the sun came up. I was filled with a sense of my every action being for the last time. Just before leaving the hospital I'd phoned home. Duncan hadn't answered and I couldn't face trying his mobile. I left a message that there'd been an emergency at the hospital and I would be working late. I added that I loved him; partly because it was true and partly because I wasn't sure I was ever going to be able to say it to him again.

Small creatures were dancing a samba in my stomach as the ferry docked and I was off again. I had further to drive but that was all to the good. I needed darkness for what I was planning and a bit more time to drum up enough courage. On the other hand, if I thought about it too much I'd definitely chicken out.

I'd taken out one small insurance policy. I'd put the ledger from the basement, several computer print-outs and a hastily scribbled note in a brown envelope. On my way out of Lerwick, I'd dropped by Dana's house and left it conspicuously on the fridge in her kitchen. Some time in the next few days, Helen would find it. If I didn't come back, she'd know where I'd gone and why. Whatever happened, I was not going to disappear without trace.

Helen and her team had spent most of the day on Tronal and were staying on nearby Unst that night. The Tronal people would be wary. Anything they had to hide would be well hidden. They'd be watching the north and north-eastern approaches to the island; any boats setting off from Unst would be spotted in good time and plenty of warning given. I could not hope to approach the island stealthily from that direction.

So I wasn't going to try.

At Gutcher on Yell there is a small sailing club close to the pier. It has about twenty Yell-based members and is affiliated to its neighbouring club on Unst. I had a key that I knew would get me into the shed that passed as a clubhouse. Once in there, I'd break into the cupboard that held spare boat keys. That was the easy bit.

After that, I'd have to rig up an unfamiliar boat in the dark, sail it single-handed in winds that were verging on storm conditions, in waters I barely knew, towards an area of notoriously treacherous navigation. Even that wasn't the hard bit.

Jesus, what the hell was I thinking?

I parked. To my relief and disappointment (in equal parts) the car park was empty and the clubhouse in darkness. Anything getting in my way at this stage I'd have taken as a sign not to go on. It took just a few seconds to break into the cupboard and find the keys I was looking for. I took some waterproofs and a life jacket and made my way down to the jetty.

Duncan and Richard had a friend on Yell who was a keen sailor. He'd recently bought one of the new sport boats and he'd taken Duncan and me out in it several times. It was a sailing boat, built for speed, but with a deep keel giving it greater stability than the average dinghy. It had an engine, for when the wind wasn't on your side; a small covered cabin, for when the weather wasn't; and an anchor, so you could park at sea.

I was about to add grand larceny to the list of complaints the police and other island authorities had against me, but, hell, maybe I wouldn't live to face the music.

The jetty, fifty years old if it was a day, rocked beneath me. The wind whipped my hair up and I guessed it had risen to a force six. Any greater and I would be taking a stupid risk with my own life. I was probably doing that anyway.

Marinas are never silent places and when strong winds whistle through them the noise can really jar on the nerves. Several boats were moored against the jetty and their riggings were twanging and humming like so many high-pitched discordant guitars. Several of them clanged together and even in the relative shelter of the marina small waves were banging aggressively against hulls. It did not augur well for conditions out at sea.

I found the boat, climbed aboard and unlocked the cabin. Only to have a debilitating attack of nerves. I made myself focus on getting the boat ready, one step at a time. If there was anything I couldn't do, that would be the sign to give up. I fixed the jib in place and threaded the sheets. I attached the main sail and released the kicker. I checked fuel and the instruments. Expecting every second to hear a yell of outrage, I finished faster than expected. And I'd calmed down. A little.