Shadows of Death (7 page)

I whistled for Watson. I was ready to turn back. He looked up and barked, but he was busy digging up something and refused to leave it.

I sighed. Watson is a good dog and usually quite obedient, but when he’s found a treasure he insists on showing it to me. It can be anything from a long-dead bird or small mammal, to a bone, to some object whose interest for a dog defies human discernment. I whistled again, without much hope. He barked again, more urgently.

I eyed the single strand of barbed wire, no doubt electrified, that kept the cattle confined. Watson had run under it with ease. I looked for a gate.

Before I reached it, the rain began, gently at first, then with more force. I was soaked through and chilled to the bone by the time I reached my dog, and furious with him.

‘Watson, you are a bad dog! You must come when I call you!’

He whined apologetically, but stood his ground, pawing at his find and barking sharply. Plainly he was going to stay there until I acknowledged his discovery, if we both drowned. I leaned down, trying without success to keep the rain from pouring down my neck.

He barked again and once more pawed at the ground, and through the grass and the mud (I hoped it was just mud), I saw the glint of gold.

For just one moment I was transfixed. Carter had been right after all! Gold! Viking gold! This could be the find of the century, and my dog would get the credit. And wasn’t there a law about treasure trove? It belonged to the Crown, but the finder was paid its value. Untold wealth! Better than winning the lottery!

I forgot about being cold and wet and about what might be mixed with the mud, and reached eagerly into the mess.

And came up with – a Rolex watch.

The disappointment was so sharp I failed for a second to consider the implication. Then I dropped the watch as if it were on fire, and clipped Watson’s lead back on. ‘You’re a fine dog, Watson.’ I patted his head. ‘I’m sorry I scolded you. But we have to get back to Daddy as soon as we can. And we have to leave this right here where we found it. No, Watson, leave it!’

That was a command he knew. Sadly, slowly, he followed me, dragging his heels and looking back longingly at his treasure, but accepting the inevitable. Humans had a very strange set of values, but one had been taught to obey.

M
y teeth were chattering before I got back to the dig, and then I couldn’t find Alan. Or much of anybody else. The rain had apparently driven away most of the press and virtually all of the merely curious, for there were only a few people near the piers. Policemen, I thought, poor miserable functionaries who had to remain there keeping at bay hordes that were no longer there.

I found the one who had reluctantly allowed us ashore. ‘Constable, I’m trying to find my husband and Mr Fairweather. Do you know where they will have gone?’

‘I believe they took shelter in the big tent, madam. It serves as headquarters for the dig. The excavation crew stayed on Mainland today, what with the weather and a dead body and all.’ He tried to keep the resentment out of his voice, but failed. A policeman’s lot is not a happy one, I thought, but aloud I only thanked him. Watson and I plodded on.

The dog was at least as wet as I, so it shouldn’t have come as a big surprise when his first act upon entering the tent was to shake himself vigorously. The resulting shower of rain and mud and manure didn’t add to the level of cheer.

The level wasn’t high to begin with, or so I thought from a glance at the faces. Along with Alan and Fairweather were Norquist, another man who looked vaguely familiar but whom I couldn’t place, and one very official looking man wearing a dark suit and a formidable frown. ‘The incident must be investigated,’ he said now, in the tone of one who had been saying the same thing for some time. Obviously the policeman in charge of said investigation, I realized.

‘But the man died in an
accident
!’ Norquist was almost weeping. ‘There’s no point in making such heavy weather of it. He missed his footing, slipped, and fell into an unstable wall. It collapsed on him. There’s no mystery about it!’

‘I agree completely,’ said the man I didn’t know. ‘The only question is the man’s reason for being at the dig in the middle of the night, but we have to accept the fact that he was eccentric, and very much a law unto himself. Doubtless he wanted to check something for himself.’

‘Or steal something!’ That, of course, was Norquist again. ‘He admired Schliemann, don’t forget. He’s probably been looting the dig all this time, and—’

‘Now, Charles.’ Fairweather spoke in soothing tones. ‘There’s no reason to believe—’

‘There’s every reason—’

‘This is no time for unsubstantiated—’

‘Quiet!’ The policeman spoke just loudly enough to make himself heard over the uproar. ‘This is an unexpected death and must be investigated. Without question. There are certain anomalies—’

‘What do you mean, anomalies?’ Norquist would not be silenced. ‘It’s perfectly plain—’

‘I would be obliged, sir, if you would let me speak. I cannot reveal at this point what we have so far discovered, but rest assured that there are questions I need to have answered. And I will find the answers. Now, before we disperse, I need to take statements from each of you individually. Mr Nesbitt, I’d be obliged if you would stay, sir. If your lady wife wishes to return home, it would be perfectly in order. I’m sure,’ he said, ‘you must be quite uncomfortable.’ He said it with a smile, which sat oddly on his lined and dour face.

‘Thank you, but I’ll stay. The fact is, I have … there is something I need to tell you.’ Alan looked at me with a query on his face, but I ignored it. ‘If I might speak to you alone?’ I went on.

Now it was the policeman who was taken aback, but I was due certain courtesies as the wife of an important police officer, albeit English and retired. He nodded to the other men in the tent. ‘Gentlemen, if you will retire to another tent, I’ll send for you shortly.’

‘Who’s the other one?’ I whispered to Alan as they filed out in varying degrees of disgruntlement.

‘Larsen. President of FAO.’

Oh, yes. That was why he’d looked familiar.

‘Now, Mrs Martin. What was it you needed to tell me?’ The police officer sounded indulgent. ‘That is, I beg your pardon. I haven’t introduced myself. My name’s Baikie, and I’m looking into this wee matter.’

I proffered my hand. ‘You know who I am, of course, and I’m sure I’m very sorry to interrupt, but I thought you needed to know about this right away. I’ve found – that is, my dog has found – a watch, half buried in a cow pasture out there. I believe it to be Mr Carter’s.’

‘I see …’ Mr Baikie paused. ‘And what are your reasons,’ he went on slowly, ‘for thinking that?’

‘Actually, I’m almost certain. I saw him wearing the watch, or a very similar one, last night at the FAO meeting. And I can’t imagine that there are a lot of men in this part of Orkney who sport extravagant gold Rolexes.’

‘Probably not.’ He paused again. ‘Well, we’ll have to go take a look, won’t we? Mr Nesbitt, would you mind accompanying your wife to the – er – location? I need to stay here and speak further with these men. Mrs Martin, I hate to ask you to go out again in the rain, but perhaps you’d like to borrow my waterproof. I don’t know how warm it is, but at least you’ll be dry.’

I was quite certain I’d never be warm or dry again, but I accepted his offer. It meant getting out of that charged atmosphere, and besides, I wanted to talk to Alan.

‘My dear,’ he said when we’d got out of earshot of the tents, ‘you’ve put the cat among the pigeons with a vengeance.’

‘Wh-what do you mean?’ I said through chattering teeth. The wind had strengthened still more, and Mr Baikie’s coat was, as feared, not very warm. ‘Surely this is the evidence they need.’

‘That depends which “they” you’re talking about. The authorities, Chief Inspector Baikie
et al.,
yes. Sort of. The others, Fairweather and Norquist and Larsen, have made up their mind that Carter’s death was an accident. You must have noticed.’

‘I wasn’t up to n-noticing very much.’

Alan put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me close. ‘We’ll talk about it when we get you warm and dry. Meanwhile, how much farther do we have to go in this ungodly weather?’

Pointing was easier than talking. Watson was straining at the leash, so I freed him, and he dashed straight under the barbed wire to his discovery. Alan followed more slowly, using the gate, as I had. I sought the shelter of a standing stone near the road. It was too narrow and slender to deflect the wind much, and no matter which side I stood on, the wind seemed to shift around to direct itself at my face.

Alan was taking forever. I huddled miserably, my face buried in my coat collar, not knowing what he and Watson were doing, and not much caring. I was startled, therefore, when the wind dropped for a moment or two and I heard a man’s voice raised in anger, close by.

‘And what the bluidy hell d’ye think ye’re doin’ on my land?’

I looked up in alarm, but the anger was being directed not at me, but at Alan. The speaker was Andersen, the farmer who’d been so upset at last night’s meeting. He was approaching Alan at a rapid clip, and he had a lethal-looking pitchfork in his hand.

I screamed. Pure reflex, because there was no help in sight. But the scream was apparently all Watson needed. If he’d been uncertain about the situation for a moment, now he knew what he needed to do. With a full-throated growl, that mildest of dogs sprang for the farmer.

I screamed again, for my dog, this time. That pitchfork … But Watson’s aim was sure. He caught the farmer’s arm just below the elbow. The pitchfork went flying as Andersen, howling with rage and pain, fell to the ground. Alan managed somehow to catch hold of Watson’s collar and haul him off the farmer in time to prevent serious injury.

I ran as fast as I could, Watson’s lead in my trembling hand. Alan took it from me and clipped it to the dog’s collar, and helped Andersen to his feet.

The farmer wasn’t badly hurt, as far I could see. He was, fortunately, wearing a heavy work jacket, and no blood was visible on the sleeve. He was jibbering with rage, though, and that, too, was fortunate, because before he could get out any articulate statement Alan took over.

‘You asked, sir, what I am doing on your land. I am Chief Constable Alan Nesbitt, and I am collecting important evidence in a murder case. Had you been successful in attacking me, I would have charged you with assaulting a police officer. Luckily, my dog is trained to protect me. Now, what have you to say for yourself?’

At least one word of that speech got through to Duncan Andersen. ‘Murder? Are ye accusin’ me of murder? By God, I’ll—’

‘I have made no accusation as yet. I will have some questions for you later, however. Meanwhile I must caution you not to leave this island. And I suggest, sir, that you endeavour to keep your temper in better check, or you’ll find yourself in serious trouble. Good day.’

The three of us left him standing in the field, wet, muddy, furious, and with what was doubtless a very sore arm.

‘That was,’ I said, after I’d recovered a little, ‘the stuffiest speech I’ve ever heard from you.’

‘Also probably the biggest string of lies,’ said Alan. ‘Your teeth aren’t chattering anymore.’

‘No, I’m not cold anymore. Adrenaline, I suppose. Lies?’

‘I’m no longer a chief constable. This is not yet officially a murder case. I was, in fact, trespassing on Mr Andersen’s land, and I have no power to charge anyone. In fact, he would have every reason to charge me with both trespass and assault, not to mention impersonating a police officer.’

‘He won’t, will he? Try to have you arrested?’

‘I doubt it. I think he’ll go back and think about a murder charge and keep mum.’

‘What I think he’ll do is go back and get roaring drunk. Anyway, did you get the watch?’

‘I did. I also took a good many pictures of it,
in situ
. Of course, you and Watson had disturbed it somewhat, but I couldn’t help that. I wish I’d known before I started that it was Andersen’s farm. I’d have sent you for backup. But it worked out well enough, thanks to our friend, here.’ He bent down to pat Watson, who was trotting along with a satisfied smirk on his face. ‘You’re a good dog, and you’re going to have a nice chunk of steak as soon as I can find you one.’

‘He’s a silly dog. I can’t figure out why he was interested in a watch, of all things.’

‘Oh, that’s an easy one.’ Alan plodded on.

I stopped dead. ‘Well, are you going to tell me?’

‘I thought I’d wait until we got back to the good Baikie. But if you insist …’ He reached into his pocket and pulled out a plastic bag. Inside, covered in mud and looking rather humiliated, was the watch. ‘If you’ll look closely, my dear …’

I peered at it, trying not to tip rain from my hair onto the bag. ‘I don’t see anything unusual. For a Rolex, I mean. Gold all over the place.’

‘Perhaps the conditions aren’t the best.’ He put the repellent object back in his pocket. ‘But when I dug it up, I was reasonably sure that there was, mixed in with the mud, a fair amount of blood.’

I
looked at him sharply. ‘Should you have dug it up, then?’

‘No. I should have left it to be examined properly by a forensics expert. In an ideal world. But I’m not a miracle worker, woman, just a plodding ex-policeman trying to do the best I can in less than ideal circumstances. The rain is pelting down and has already washed away who knows what evidence. Then there’s Watson, here, and doubtless other animals around who might take an interest. Sheep are odd animals and can be very curious.’

‘And there’s Duncan Andersen, panting to dig up the whole area in search of Viking gold. He caught a glimpse of that watch, I’m sure, at least enough to see the colour. All right, I take your point. If we had all of Scotland Yard here we – that is, you – could conduct a proper investigation. As it is, shall we get back to the tents? I’m freezing again.’

The rain had settled down to the sort of steady drizzle that can go on for days. Even Watson had lost his enthusiasm for a walk and splashed along as disconsolate as the rest of us. When we got to the tents, I ducked into one that was unoccupied, so Watson could shake himself without getting yet more rain and mud on the group in the big tent. I should have been interested in what was being said, in the reaction to Watson’s find. At the moment I was interested in nothing but getting warm and dry. I sat on a miserably uncomfortable camp stool and shivered, trying to wipe my streaming nose with a sodden tissue from my pocket. Watson sat on my feet and shivered, whining now and then in sympathetic distress. Once or twice I sneezed.