Page 11 of The High Island

‘Sure thing, sir. I’ll head your way now.’

‘Maybe she thought I’d taken to drink after yesterday,’ he mused out loud as he ended the call.

Taking himself outside and up to the road, he stood for a moment to survey his surroundings, actively counting those dwellings close enough for someone to deliver the note on foot. The trouble was it could just as easily have been delivered by car, from anywhere on Mainland. After all, he’d been away all day yesterday on Hoy.

He ran through the list of his near neighbours, remembering that at least two of the dwellings were now Airbnbs. Which left three permanently occupied, one of which was Mackie’s place.

At this point he decided he and Jo would check in with Auld Mackie first and he would give the other two toPCTulloch if, in fact, Mackie turned out not to be the culprit.

He was studying the distant Hoy and wondering whether theSOCOteam were already over there when he spotted the police car cresting the hill, with Jo at the wheel.

Climbing in, he explained about last night’s missive and indicated the evidence bag.

‘Tommy thinks that Auld Mackie along the road might shed some light on its delivery,’ he told Jo. ‘Apparently he likes to talk so . . .’

She gave him the look he was beginning to know well.

‘So that’s why I’m here,’ she said. ‘And here’s me thinking you had a hangover.’

‘Two whiskies with Tommy, where he told me a bit more about the Mowat family. Then I walked home and went straight to bed. After I’d read that.’ Erling gestured to the evidence bag.

His father was right, he thought, as he asked Jo to draw in just short of the drive entrance. Taking a vehicle up the almost-vertical slope would be a nightmare. As would turning it to come back down.

Approaching the cottage on foot, they found a further three steep steps to the front door. As Tommy had suggested, Erling advanced up the steps and, opening the door, shouted a loud hello and gave his name.

‘What happened to the detective inspector bit?’ Jo said.

‘He’ll know that already,’ Erling told her.

A moment’s silence followed his announcement, before a deep voice called out in return. ‘Come away in, Inspector. Just follow the scent of the fire.’

The warm peaty smell met them on entry, guiding them down a narrow hall and into a small sitting room, where a man sat in a high-backed chair in front of a glowing fire.

He turned a little in order to greet them, then waved them to a nearby settee.

‘Take a seat, Inspector Flett and . . .’ He paused, waiting to be introduced to Jo.

Jo obliged him with, ‘DSJo Green, Mr Mackie. Pleased to meet you.’

‘Auld Mackie will do weel enough,’ he said. ‘I’ve earned it. Ninety-three, soon to be ninety-four. Almost as old as Ivor Mowat.’

At the mention of Ivor, Erling realized he had likely come to the right place, which soon proved to be true.

‘You got my note, then?’ Auld Mackie said. ‘I asked Yvanna, my home help, to put it through your letterbox.’

‘You didn’t sign it?’ Erling tried.

‘I knew a detective like yourself would work it out, and you did.’ He laughed a deep belly laugh.

‘My father suggested it might be you,’ Erling told him honestly.

‘Tommy was my back-up plan,’ Mackie admitted.

All that cleared up, Erling began. ‘You said in the note that the lass’s name was Stella?’

‘Aye. I wrote that,’ Mackie confirmed with a nod.

‘Which lass did you mean exactly?’ Erling said.