Page 55 of Whispers at Dusk
“Except it’s going to be a fierce tangle for her,” Della reminded him. “Because these people seem to be experts at aliases and fake passports. But she won’t just go through records. She’ll go through records and video, and she’ll get something for us, I know.”
“The sooner the better!” Edmund said.
“Of course.”
Their pilot came on to announce their landing.
Della leaned close to Mason and asked, “What do you think made this killer choose the Orkney Islands? Curious. I mean, visitors usually head to Edinburgh or Glasgow, or they want to head to Inverness and search for the Loch Ness Monster. It’s just curious.”
He nodded. “Maybe Kirkwall happened to be where our fellow found one of his followers. From what we’ve seen, he can spin a lie that appeals to anyone questioning their life. Let’s face it, no matter what side of the table people are on at the moment, across the globe we’ve become divided. So our main monster finds those ready to believe they could be untouchable—no matter what happens. Immortality—that’s what he promises.”
“Still. Kirkwall. I think there’s something behind this,” Della said.
They were soon on the ground. As Edmund Taylor had told them, they were greeted by Detective Ian Robertson, a man of about forty, fit and grave. And like Della, he was determined to understand why the strange killings plaguing the globe would come to Kirkwall. His voice was rich with the burr of a Scotsman, and it was good to see he appreciated the appearance of an international group and didn’t resent them being in his territory.
“I’ve gotten us a van,” he told them wryly. “We needed to fit. Hope that will work well with you. So, I know you’ve received the information on the victim, poor lass, and the crime scene photos have been sent to you. We may be far to the north here, but we are quite civilized. Well, with crime like most places, and our teams have worked the scene, searched for clues... But we’ll go over it all again. And again, if needed.”
“Thank you,” Mason said.
“I was gratified to hear you caught killers in Norway, but was disheartened to realize taking down those two didn’t end this thing. However, if you can clear Scotland of monsters, you’ll be heartily appreciated.”
Mason glanced at Della and smiled.
“Thank you. We don’t ever mean to step on any toes, and God knows, this is your terrain,” he told Robertson. “Oddly enough, we’ve both been here, separately, but in our younger lives.”
“A magical place,” Robertson said. “We’ll be going through Kirkwall, and then on to the site where she was found.”
Driving from the airport, Mason remembered his time here earlier, though he had taken a ferry over from John O’Groats at the tip of the Scottish mainland. The city was populated by about 8,500 people and sat on the harbor. The very air seemed to be a mixture of Norse and Scottish history and custom. The old Neolithic and Mesolithic stones that seemed scattered about, almost casually, here had been awesome to the boy he’d been when he first came.
“I could live here,” he said softly, glancing over at Della with a grin.
“Part-time. It gets very cold!” she reminded him.
“Not from a northern realm, eh?” Robertson asked Della from the driver’s seat.
“Not even north Florida,” she said, grimacing.
Robertson laughed softly, and Edmund Taylor said, “I could do it. Depending on the neighbors. History is harsh. Some Scots never let you forget you’re English.”
“Really?” Della asked.
Edmund grinned at her. “Don’t look at me like that! I have an American friend who moved from Pennsylvania to South Carolina. They never let him forget he was a transplant!”
“I guess we can be harsh anywhere,” Della said. “That’s something we forget. No matter where we’re from, we all live the human experience!”
“And here we are,” Robertson said.
Mason saw he had stopped on Main Street in the city of Kirkwall. Their hotel was fairly large, a popular tourist destination. It was perfectly situated on the harbor, allowing them easy access to shops, restaurants, and the sights of the city.
He was impressed as well to discover he and Della had been booked into a two-bedroom suite with a living/office area that allocated plenty of room for two people to work on computers.
The building was crafted from stone and wood. Robertson must have seen the way Mason was studying it as they left the van.
“The hotel is relatively new—1800s,” Robertson said. “I think the builders back then wanted it to stand out nicely next to the building there—from the 1400s. Our buildings reflect many centuries.”
“And that makes for a charming city!” Della said enthusiastically.
Robertson smiled at her. Della had something, Mason thought. She hadn’t just stolenhisheart and senses; she had a true warmth to her that was simply compelling. A real asset in what they did, he thought dryly. People who might be suspicious of him might readily believe in Della.
