Sacrifice

'Her family. They know?'

Kenn nodded. 'Her husband's with her now.'

'And the other one? Alison?'

'Alison was a tourist. Came up here with some friends but split up from them to explore the islands on her own. She can't remember what happened, she's pretty traumatized, but she was apparently seen getting on the ferry from Fair Isle three weeks ago. No one saw her arrive back on the mainland. She was presumed drowned.'

'They couldn't afford bodies to be found this summer,' I said. Kenn frowned at me. 'Stephen Renney isn't one of them,' I explained. 'He's only been at the hospital a few months; he isn't even from Shetland. They couldn't risk faking a death at the hospital this year. They would all have been accidents, with the bodies never recovered.'

Kenn fell silent. We listened to the sounds in the corridor outside, to Duncan's breathing. 'I guess,' he said eventually. 'Look, that's enough now.' He stood up. 'You need to rest.' As he made to leave the room I felt panic rising again.

'No drugs, no sedatives, not even painkillers. Promise me,' I said.

Kenn held up both hands. 'I promise,' he said.

'You're not one of them, are you? They said you're not one of them.'

'Take it easy. No, I'm not one of them.'

'Richard, he's… I'm so sorry.'

He walked back and took hold of both my hands. 'Don't be.'

'Between four and five hundred, he said. They're everywhere. They could be in this hospital.'

'Calm down. You're both perfectly safe. I won't leave you.'

'I'm so tired,' I said.

He nodded and wheeled the bed back down again. Then he bent over and kissed me on the forehead. I managed to smile at him as he sat down in the chair beside me, but it was Duncan's face I was looking at as my eyes slowly closed.

Epilogue

A skylark had woken us, just as the silvery light of early dawn was beginning to soften and turn gold. Before breakfast we walked along the cliff tops, watching the waves break on the rocks below and hordes of seabirds bustle about building nests, preparing for the imminent arrival of parenthood. The day was unseasonably warm for late May. Sea pinks and the tiny, blue, bell-shaped flowers of the spring squill were scattered over the cliffs like confetti. Walking home along the roadside, we could hardly see the grass beneath the thick rug of primroses. Shetland was at its best and most beautiful. And a small army of English police officers were searching our land for the remains of Kirsten Hawick.

Duncan and I sat on the flagged area at the back of the house. Even from a distance we could see they meant business this time. The soil samples they'd taken previously had all tested negative for phosphate. Further analysis, on Helen's orders, had indicated the samples hadn't come from our land at all. Big surprise! So the process had begun again. More samples taken, tested at a different lab; and this time, several positive results.

Now, our entire field had been divided up into a grid. Metres of tape criss-crossed the length and breadth of it, held in place by tiny metal pegs. The officers, working in teams of three, were systematically checking square after square after square: measuring, probing, digging, paying particular attention to the areas where phosphate had been found. They'd been at it for four hours and had covered a good quarter of the field. They'd found nothing so far. But the world's media, who'd been camped on our doorstep for the past week, seemed to have swollen in ranks this morning. A sense of grim expectation hung in the air.

Two weeks had passed since our adventures on Tronal. My leg was healing well, Duncan had made a near complete recovery. We'd been incredibly lucky. My detour to Dana's house that night had saved our lives. Helen had instructed one of her constables to collect something she'd left behind there. He found the envelope I'd addressed to Helen and, on her instructions, opened it. Hearing what I was up to (and, I'm told, cursing non-stop for the following two hours), Helen had sent a dozen officers back to Tronal. They rescued Duncan from the basement and my stolen dinghy from the beach. Helen herself directed the operation from on board a police helicopter, the same one that picked us out of the water after the boat went down.

And then the fun really began.

Twelve island men, including the staff of the Tronal clinic, several hospital personnel, Dentist McDouglas, DI Andy Dunn and two members of the local police force, are being held in custody on various charges, including murder, conspiracy to murder, kidnapping and actual bodily harm, to name just a few. Superintendent Harris of the Northern Constabulary has been suspended from duties pending an internal inquiry. Duncan tells me that these men are the tip of the iceberg and I don't doubt him for a second. Of course, believing is one thing; actual hard evidence is proving as elusive as the Trowie folk of legend. These thirteen may be all we ever get.

Stephen Gair is still missing. Whether he's alive or dead we have no idea. We can only hope.

Richard's funeral is to be held on Unst tomorrow. We sank, that night, in relatively shallow water and the launch, with his body on board, was easily recovered. Half of Shetland are expected to turn up to honour Richard's memory, but Duncan and I will not be among them. We've talked about it at length but neither of us can face it. There are still faint bruises around my neck; I can't pretend to grieve for the man who put them there. Neither can I look into the faces of the congregation and wonder…

Duncan's motivation is more complex. He is struggling to deal with how close he came to becoming one of them.

So Kenn will be our proxy tomorrow. We've seen quite a lot of him the last couple of weeks. He's formed a habit of turning up unannounced, usually at mealtimes. He still flirts disgracefully, but only when Duncan is in the room. Other times, he avoids being alone with me so that problem, at least, has been shelved for the time being. I still haven't got to the bottom of who stole whose girlfriend and I suspect I never will; I'm not sure either of them really cares any more. It was Kenn, we discovered, who performed the surgery that removed a clot from Duncan's brain. At the end of the day, I guess, it's difficult to continue hating someone who has saved your life. Besides, they both enjoy bitching about the seemingly endless police investigation.

So far, no charges have been brought against either Duncan or Kenn, but we don't feel we can breathe easily just yet. The strongest point in Duncan's favour is that when Helen's team raided the island that night he was found locked in the basement, bleeding profusely from a head wound and not too far from death. The fact that he didn't set foot on Shetland for nearly twenty years will help too. As far as Kenn is concerned, he was conveniently out of the country during just about every summer when the female death rate peaked. I think Richard went to great lengths over the years to protect his favourite son.

The Tronal maternity clinic has closed for good. The two infants I saw that night have been transferred to a neonatal unit in Edinburgh and are both doing well. Their birth mothers will be traced; as will all the women who attended Tronal for a late termination in recent years. What their legal relationship will be to the babies they thought they'd aborted, who can say. Just another of the many unholy messes to come out of Tronal.

The land around the clinic is being extensively searched. Some human remains have already been found but, from what I can learn, it's going to be a long job. In one area, close to the beach where I landed that night, several tiny skeletons have been unearthed. Of all the babies born at Tronal over the years, these are the ones for whom my heart cries the most. The ones who didn't make it.

Collette McNeil and Alison Rogers are both pregnant as a result of their stay on Tronal. No intercourse had taken place; the pregnancies were achieved by doctors opening the women's cervixes and inserting sperm directly into their uterine cavities. Lawyers are currently arguing over whether, technically, that constitutes rape. Collette is planning a termination. She and her family are leaving Shetland. Alison, a twenty-year-old single girl, is thinking of keeping the baby.