Page 74 of The High Island

‘Do you know who they are?’ Jo asked.

‘My guess would be Max’s son, Ragnar, and his mate Gary, who’s Cameron Mowat’s grandson.’ She met Jo’s gaze directly before adding, ‘And you can be sure if Max Mowat’s up to no good, then they’ll be right behind him.’

There were five vehicles outside the fire station when they got back. When Ivan suggested they work separately again, Jo agreed. Later, when the shift was over, she would tell him what the last woman of the morning had implied about Kris’s parentage.

Back then, she’d thought it more malicious speculation than truth, but as the day had passed and more about the Mowat family had been revealed, in particular during their conversation with Maggie, she was beginning to consider the possibility of it being true.

Willie met them at the door and, with a quizzical look, asked how the day had gone. Ivan gave him a quick résumé, mentioning that their chats with Tom Maine and Maggie had been the most informative.

‘Tom told you his theory regarding the fire-raising?’ Willie said. ‘I haven’t got the forensic evidence to prove it, but I think Tom may be right. Trouble is, the two of them have alibis the night the fire started that puts them on Flotta.’

‘Who vouched for them?’ Jo checked.

‘Another Mowat. Their uncle Albert, no less.’ Willie pulled a face. ‘Are you ready for tonight’s turnout?’

‘Anyone we should know about?’ Ivan said.

Willie shook his head. ‘All upstanding citizens who want this sorted.’

Entering the room, Jo noted that one of the men waiting was the ferry guy from Moaness. The one who’d freaked her out by maintaining that both Rachael and Kris were already dead.

What had brought him here?

35

A double-page spread fromTheOrcadianlay on the top of the bundle of papers, surrounded by what looked like old black-and-white snapshots, such as his own grandfather had stored in his deed box. The article itself was dated almost a year earlier and its headline read:

Famous Eco Architect Discovers his Hoy Heritage

Maitland had told Erling that he’d written a piece about his own family’s connection to Orkney for the newspaper. That Ivor had read this, then, after researching Maitland’s background, had offered to sell him the old Mowat croft house and land.

Reminding the team of this, Erling added that Ivor had supposedly implied to Maitland that he was doing this to spite his offspring. They’d agreed a price, which seemed very reasonable to the architect, and the sale had gone ahead.

‘However, Hugh Mowat is currently contesting the sale on the grounds that his father was not of sound mind when he did this,’ he also reminded them, for the benefit ofDSGowan.

Directly below the newspaper was a four-by-six-inch photograph of Ivor’s granddaughter Betty, her name and age written on the back. The image of the pretty girl with long dark hair now appearing on the overhead screen brought a murmur of unease to the assembled group.

‘According to the note on the back, Betty Mowat was sixteen when this was taken,’ Erling told them. ‘This would be a year beforeshe left Hoy and moved to London. After which Kris, her son, was born.’

At this point he extracted the next two documents in the box, explaining the first was a photocopy of Kris Mowat’s birth certificate. ‘Which matches the one already located by our own team. The second document is a copy of Betty’s death certificate, which we also have.’

Reaching into the box once again, he now retrieved the next item, which proved to be a well-thumbed black notebook, similar to aPNB, the police notebook his officers used to record details of incidents they encountered when on patrol.

Opening it, he found pages of tightly written cursive script, or ‘real writing’ as his father called it. Sending a sample image to the overhead screen, he asked if anyone might be able to read it. By the non-show of hands, it was confirmed that those present were too young to have learned to write in that fashion, himself included.

‘What about a computer program?’ he checked.

‘There is software available,’ came the response from one of theITteam. ‘But theOCRtechnology used is trained on standard fonts and styles. Real handwriting like that is distinct and personal. How about one of our elderly residents who learned to write like this in school here in Orkney?’

‘Just what I was thinking,’ Erling said, wondering first about his father, then Auld Mackie, who’d been to school with Ivor and might therefore recognize the people and places mentioned.

Setting the notebook to one side for the moment, the next item in the box was a thick bundle of printed material that at first glance appeared to relate to the stationing of troops and personnel on Hoy during the both the First and Second World Wars. Just as Cathy had predicted.

Was Ivor’s research on the war years in general or around thetime of Stella, Erling wondered, as he set the bundle to one side for later examination.

Now all that was left were the small faded black-and-white snapshots of various people from the past. A mixture of men, women and children of varying ages. The Mowat family of yore, he thought, some of whom Auld Mackie might recognize.

And that was it. No correspondence between Ivor and Kris. No images either, of Kris or Rachael. Which suggested these would be found on Ivor’s laptop or phone. Asking this question of his team, he was given the news that the laptop had been wiped and the mobile phone was water-damaged.