Terror's Cradle

I smiled. 'It's okay. I understand. But everybody's looking for him. Mr Elliot and Mr Willingham, too. It may be you'll know something that will interest them, too.' Àye,' he said. 'It may be.'

`Somebody told me about a climb he did.'

Òch aye. He climbs fine. He was over to Foula in the summer on the high cliffs. Ringing birds, so they say.' He shook his head a little, unimpressed by that kind of unnecessary risk-taking.

Ì don't know him,' I said. 'He's a friend of a friend. I gather he's a nice bloke.'

Òch aye. He's all right, Jim Anderson. Wee bit mad, you know. Climbing and all. He's a good sailor; too.' The policeman gave a tight little smile of recollection. 'I've been out with him. Fishing, you know. He doesnae get worried in the rough water.'

I asked, Sas he a boat?' and when he looked guarded again, added, 'If he has, they'll need to know.'

Àye, maybe you're right.'

`What kind?'

`Shetland model. They mostly are, up here. Good sea boats for men that can handle them.'

`Where's he keep it?'

`Down in the small boat harbour when he's to this side of the island. Walls, maybe, most of the time.'

Ìs it here now? They'll need to know.'

Àye. It was this morning.'

`Show me where?'

He gave me a look of amiable warning. 'You'll not be trying something foolish, sir?'

`With you?' I said.

Ì'd be a handful for you.' He walked to the window and pointed. 'You can just see her, sir. See the edge of yon roof?' The harbour was silver in the moonlight.

`No. Oh, yes I can. The pale one?'

Àye. She's twenty-six foot. Decked in. Good sea boat.' `Lucky man,' I said. Àye.'

`Harbour's busy, too.'

Àlways is,' he said. `For a wee place there's a lot of boats in and out. Fishin' boats mainly, but others, too. Even cruise ships sometimes. Och, we get all kinds. They come ashore, you know, the fishermen. Into the pubs, after the girls. I've seen six nationalities in one pub.'

`Gets rough? '

Òch aye. Now and then. Some are worse than others, you know. Depends how full their pockets are. All seamen are alike. A few drinks and maybe one gets nasty. English, Norwegians, Germans, Poles, Finns, all the same. All bar the Russians.'

`Russians?' I said, startled.

Òch aye. They come in here. There's a few here now. They're the best of the lot. Never any trouble.'

Òh? Why's that?'

Och, I don't believe they have the money. Not to come ashore on a wee kind of rampage. Or maybe they go to the salt mines if they get in trouble.'

Russians! I thought. Russians in Lerwick. Legitimately in Lerwick. Part of the scenery. I said. 'Which are the

Russian ships?'

He pointed towards the mass of fishing boats tied up in the harbour near the fish quay. '

There's three or four in there.'

Ànd they come ashore as they like?'

Òh aye. There's often a few Russians in Lerwick. You see 'em look in shop windows. Not buying, you understand. Not often. That's why I reckon they've no money.'

I looked at the lines of fishing boats with deep concern. Easy come, easy go. Free access. And the phony Sergeant Gustaffson has been sent to climb that hill with his radio, to find out what to do with me !

I said, 'It seems odd to be looking at Russian boats.' Àye. Visitors always think that. You see over there. That wee boat on a mooring.'

I followed the direction of his pointing finger.

`The little one? By itself.'

Ùsed to be Anderson's,' he said. 'Little Shetland model. Sold it and bought the bigger boat.'

His tough appearance was misleading. He was a pleasant man. Straight, confidence in himself, but not self-confident, strong, self-contained as a Brazil nut, happy where he was, happy to chat about this place he knew and liked. We talked until Elliot returned. When he entered the room I was careful to get in first.

`The constable here says there are Russian fishing beats in the harbour.'

Elliot's face showed surprise, then anxiety. He asked questions and got answers. Like me he was startled by their freedom to come and go. Then he said tightly, 'Thanks, constable. I think the sergeant will need you now.'

`Very good, sir.'

When he'd gone, Elliot turned to me. 'Police have only eight men available. They're mounting a search for Anderson, but . .

I nodded. 'You'll never find him here. Not if he doesn't want to be found. You're in a close community. They'll stick together.'

Elliot looked at me quickly. Why wouldn't he want to be found?'

`Like I said, it's a tight community. He'll know about the fire and he'll know about the postman. Perhaps he even knows more than that. There's a lot of space up here, a lot of tiny villages, remote crofts. He can keep his nose down forever, and —' I thought of the implacable Miss Petrie and her they-shall-not-pass performance at her cottage door — '

and they'll form an impenetrable ring round him. If he wants it.'

Willingham had returned while I was talking. He said tightly, 'We'll find him, don't you worry.' I took no notice, nor, I saw, did Elliot. Willingham flushed and his apparentlypermanent anger intensified a little. 'London will square the post office in Aberdeen.'

`Right.' Elliot looked at us both, for once showing a trace of uncertainty. I voiced his thought. 'What next?'

`We wait. What else?'

Willingham said, 'I'll join the search. The more bodies the better.'

I said, 'Watch the door close in your face. The police haven't much chance. You have none at all.'

`You, of course, have a better idea!'

Ì can think of one place to look.'

`You can, can you?'

Ànderson has a boat.'

`How do you know?' Elliot asked quickly.

Ì asked a policeman, like the song says.'

Elliot said, 'Get him!'

But the constable had already left to tramp the post-midnight streets. I said helpfully, 'I know which boat it is and where it's moored.'

`Tell me.'

Ì'll do better. I'll show you.'

They didn't want that, either of them. They wanted me safe and secure in the police station and tried to circumvent

me by asking the sole remaining bobby if he knew.

Fortunately he didn't. And a boat is such a convenient hiding place — for a man or anything else — that they daren't let it pass.

Elliot said wearily, 'Okay, Sellers. Show us.'

À pleasure.'

We went out into the empty night. The wind had dropped now and it was cold and still. Together we tramped down the steep hill towards the waterfront and turned right along the quay. Several of the fishing boats wore the hammer and sickle flag. We continued past them.

`That one,' I said, and pointed.

The Shetland model rode easily on her mooring, wide-bellied, bow both ends in the fashion of the Viking galleys. She didn't look as though anybody might be on her.

`Deserted,' Willingham said flatly.

`How would she look if he was aboard?' I asked.

Elliot looked round. 'We need a dinghy to get out there.'

There was a small rowing boat turned upside down on the sloping ramp and we righted it and launched it. 'Shall I wait here?'

`You will not!' Elliot said sharply. 'Get in. I'm not losing sight of you again.'

There wasn't far to go. Less than a hundred yards at a guess. We came away from the ramp, heading between two moored fishing boats on to the shining water. There were the small clatters and bumps of a harbour's background noises and somewhere not far away, a little engine was idling. Willingham did the rowing. Elliot sat in the bow, looking towards Anderson's boat. I sat in the stern.

It was as we came by the stern of the big fishing boat to our left that what I'd thought was a donkey engine turned out to be something else. The idling note was suddenly a sharp rising roar, very close, and a dark shape drove out at us from behind the bulk of the fishing boat. There wasn't a chance of avoiding it; not a thing any of us could do. We were hit fair and square amidships, rolled over instantly, plunged into the cold water of the harbour.