The Wild Coast, page 1
The
Wild
Coast
LIN ANDERSON
Contents
1: Arisaig, North-West Highlands of Scotland
2
3
4: Sleat, Isle of Skye
5: Arisaig
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14: Glasgow
15: Arisaig
16: Glasgow
17
18
19
20
21: Achmelvich
22
23
24
25
26: Glasgow
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38: Glasgow
39
40
41
42
43: Loch Lomond
44: Glasgow
45
46
47: Loch Lomond
48: Glasgow
49
50: Loch Lomond
51: Glasgow
52
53
54: Achmelvich
55: Loch Lomond
56: Glasgow
57
58: Achmelvich
59: Loch Lomond
60: Glasgow
61
62: Glasgow
63: Achmelvich
64: Glasgow
65: Achmelvich
66
67: Glasgow
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
The High Court, Glasgow
Arisaig
Acknowledgements
The Party House
Ailsa
Greg
Greg
Greg
Joanne
DRIFTNET
TORCH
DEADLY CODE
DARK FLIGHT
1
Arisaig, North-West Highlands of Scotland
Day one
The single-track road wound on, snaking between high flowering hedges. Her fear was that she might miss the turn-off, or worse, meet a car or van, with no way of passing it.
Negotiating the next tight bend, she was relieved to find herself with an open field on her right and a view of the sea beyond.
She slowed, wondering if a distant bungalow might be the croft she was looking for. There was no sign beside the open gate, but there was a campervan making its way past the house and into what she hoped was the campsite she sought.
Deciding to take a chance that it was, she turned in. A few minutes of bumping along the rutted track deposited her next to a tractor parked outside the bungalow. Checking in the rear-view mirror, she noted that the make-up she’d put on earlier to cover the bruise needed refreshing.
Having done that, she pulled her baseball cap down over her eyes before getting out of the van. From where she now stood, she could make out a cluster of vehicles in the field ahead, which bordered a bay fringed by white sand.
She felt her heart lift a little at the sight, and some of the fear at what she’d left behind began to dissipate.
A knock at the blue front door brought a small stocky man in overalls to answer it.
‘Can I park up for the night?’ she asked tentatively.
‘Let me check with the wife,’ he told her cheerily. ‘I canna read her hieroglyphics in the book for love nor money.’
He disappeared, to be swiftly replaced by a little woman with an equally pleasant smile. She repeated her request.
‘I don’t have a plug-in spot free, I’m afraid,’ she said.
‘I don’t need electricity.’
‘Then you’re welcome to the far corner facing the west bay. You know it’s cash only?’
She nodded. ‘Shall I pay you now?’
The woman waved the offer away. ‘No need, we can sort that out in the morning if you decide to stay on.’
And that was that.
The campsite wasn’t busy. She’d counted on that, of course. Without much in the way of facilities, and only a few electricity points, it wasn’t aimed at the luxury motorhome market, but more the wild camping fraternity, of which she was definitely one.
With no website or email address, you had to phone ahead to make a booking, or else just turn up, as she had.
‘Now you can relax,’ she told herself as she reverse parked in her allotted spot with her door facing the seaward side.
Her nearest neighbours she registered as a couple with two young children: a little blonde girl who watched her set up camp and take down her kayak from the roof rack, and a boy a bit older who pretended not to be interested, yet undoubtedly was.
Eventually their parents appeared to say hello, and introduced themselves as Francine and Derek Henderson.
‘This is Lucy, who looks angelic but isn’t.’ Francine placed her hand on her daughter’s blonde curls. ‘And Orlando, who suffers from having a bossy younger sister, but mostly in silence.’
Orlando’s solemn expression didn’t change at his mother’s little joke.
Callie smiled and nodded, but didn’t offer up her own name.
‘Are you here for long?’ the husband asked.
‘Depends on the weather and how good the water is,’ she said. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’m heading out there now.’
The introductions over, she took herself into the van to don her wetsuit. Stripped to her underwear, she tried to ignore the bruises now on view.
Hitting her face had been a mistake. Much better to keep evidence hidden under her clothes. He’d always been careful about doing that, until the last time.
The final time, she told herself.
Emerging from the van, she found Lucy and her brother waiting outside.
‘She wants to see you launch your boat,’ Orlando explained.
‘Well, I’m planning to take off from the beach just across the fence. If you stand there, you can watch me.’
Orlando gave her a little nod.
Locking the van, she slipped the keys into her waterproof bag, then manoeuvred the kayak and her paddle over the fence before setting off towards the only gap, which faced the neighbouring bay.
Passing three medium-sized vans, plugged into the only electric points, she noted that the rest of the field was empty, bar a couple of small tents, although other campers would no doubt appear before sundown.
A dilapidated static caravan stood in the corner of a neighbouring field near the beach exit with a small fishing boat and a pile of creels on the nearby shore. As she passed it, she thought she caught the twitching of a torn net curtain, but didn’t turn her head to check.
Instead, she took three deep breaths and repeated the mantra that she was safe here.
Turning at the corner where her van was parked, she found Orlando standing where she’d left him, behind the wire fence, holding his little sister’s hand.
He looked so envious as she lifted her kayak to take it to the water that she found herself saying, ‘I’ll let you two have a go in it tomorrow if your mum allows.’
The boy’s serious look was swiftly replaced by a smile and Lucy gave a little whoop of delight.
‘What are you doing?’ she muttered to herself as she slipped the kayak into the water. ‘You’re supposed to be lying low. Not becoming everyone’s pal.’
Despite her own entreaty, she found herself turning to wave to the two children, before guiding the kayak across the mirrored water and out of the bay.
2
Day two
Francine carried the two bowls of cereal to the open door of the campervan where she had a clear view of Orlando poking a stick through the fence, but no obvious sign of Lucy’s blonde head.
‘Where’s Lucy?’ she called.
Orlando turned and looked at her with a vacant expression.
‘I told you to watch your sister while I made breakfast,’ she said, perhaps a little too sharply.
His face immediately crumpled under her angry gaze. She tried to calm herself. The field was fenced in apart from the main entrance and the gate to the beach. There was nowhere for Lucy to go.
‘Is she hiding from you?’ She tried to make her voice light.
They’d played hide and seek before, but with nowhere really to hide in the open field, except inside the campervan, it hadn’t gone on for long.
Orlando had picked up on her fear and was standing rigid, his expression blank. It was what he did when worried or disorientated.
Where was Derek? He’d said something about emptying the chemical toilet, but the disposal unit was only yards away. Perhaps Lucy had followed him?
The field had filled up a little overnight, mostly small vans and tents, and there were a few other children about.
Francine gently took her son’s hand and looked into his eyes.
‘It’s not your fault. I was just surprised that Lucy wasn’t here with you. Did she find someone to play with?’
She glanced at the neighbouring blue van. Lucy had been entranced by the kayak yesterday. Maybe she was with the girl, whatever her name was.
‘Have you seen t he kayak girl this morning?’ she asked Orlando, striving to keep her tone unworried.
He shook his head in a ‘no’.
‘Let’s see if she’s about,’ Francine said. ‘Maybe Lucy’s in visiting her.’
Taking his hand, she led him round the blue van to the seaward side and knocked on the door.
‘Hello? Anyone in there?’ she called.
Greeted by silence, she decided to try the door. If it wasn’t locked, Lucy may well have gone inside to hide.
As the door slid open she was suddenly engulfed by a sickly smell. Francine found herself gagging and turned away. When she turned back, Orlando was staring in, his small face white with shock.
She pulled him away and told him to go to their van, ‘while I check what’s wrong’.
She watched to make sure he’d done as ordered before taking a proper look. Someone had vomited, that much was evident by the smell and the puddle just by the door, but there was blood too. Splashes of it across the little table and kitchen surface and more of it on the bedcover and the floor.
Had the girl had an accident? If so, where was she now? She gave a cursory glance at the nearby bay and couldn’t see the girl’s kayak anywhere on the shore.
Making a decision, she closed the door. Whatever had happened in there hadn’t prevented the girl from going out in her kayak. Her job was to find Lucy and she had to do that now.
She began calling Lucy’s name, moving out into the field, shouting that her daughter was missing.
3
Day two
The searchers, mostly from their own campsite, had fanned out, walking the machair as directed by the police. The tide had retreated and the rocky promontories that split the fertile sandy shoreline were also being checked.
The tide wouldn’t be full in until evening, so that was a blessing, someone had told her.
Francine couldn’t remember who had spoken those words, but they’d sounded strange to her terrified ears. How could anything be a blessing in such circumstances?
Her terrified shouts that Lucy was missing had reached the woman from the croft house as she’d driven her car into the field to check who was staying on. Her kind face as she’d listened to Francine’s broken words had brought a semblance of brief calm.
‘We’ll find her,’ she’d assured Francine. ‘She can’t have gone far.’
Producing a megaphone from her car, she’d handed it to Francine. ‘Describe your daughter and say you’re looking for her.’
Francine did as requested and a few folk came up to speak to her. At that point Derek had reappeared.
‘Where the hell were you?’ Francine had shouted at him.
‘I was emptying the toilet and got talking to someone,’ he’d said, looking furious. ‘What the hell’s happened?’
Knowing she was about to be blamed, Francine had calmed herself before telling him that Lucy had been there one minute and gone the next, and Orlando hadn’t seen where she’d disappeared to.
She’d thought Derek would explode there and then, despite the small group of campers that had gathered, eager to help them search, but he’d managed to control himself . . . just.
The field and its current tents and vans had been checked. At least, the ones whose owners were on site and not out on the water somewhere.
Francine didn’t want anyone looking inside the blue van, because that might turn the attention away from finding Lucy, so she said she’d checked it and it was empty.
With the main gate shut, and the campsite searched, they’d begun to comb the surrounding beaches. It was then that the police, called by the crofter’s wife, had arrived from Mallaig to direct operations.
Francine had been advised to stay behind with Orlando, while Derek went out on the wider search. She’d been left in the care of a female constable, called Anne, who’d quietly reassured her that most children were found swiftly, and that it would be better if she stayed on site in case Lucy turned up again of her own accord.
Orlando had withdrawn into himself, just as he always did when he found life scary or confusing, like when Derek and she had an argument, of which there’d been many of late.
One had been happening when the kayak girl had returned late last night. Derek, already drunk, had suddenly invited her to join them. She’d briskly refused, saying she was tired after driving here and after her trip out on the water, and was planning some food and an early night.
In the light from the fire pit, Francine had noticed bruising on her face, and had wondered if it had been there when she’d arrived. Thinking back to that now, she wondered if the girl was in some sort of trouble, and that was why she’d come to the remote campsite in the first place.
And then that mess in the van.
Thankfully, Orlando hadn’t said anything about it, after she’d made him promise not to.
She’d taken him aside after the search party had set out and explained that they would speak to the police about the blue van once they had Lucy back. The fact that the kayak wasn’t there probably meant the girl was fine and already out on the water somewhere.
Orlando had seemed to accept her explanation although, in truth, she’d only half believed it herself.
As the day wore on, she found herself growing more and more agitated. Standing outside, she could see the figures dotted about the various headlands, and up on the single-track road that led to their campsite.
Her mind was plagued by images of Lucy’s body lying in a roadside ditch, or floating in the sea, or washed up battered and torn in one of the many coves.
Then a thought occurred. Might there be a chance that Lucy had gone out for a trip in the kayak with the girl, as she’d apparently been promised the previous evening?
Even as she contemplated this, another much worse idea occurred.
What if Lucy had been snatched by someone and removed from the campsite using the girl’s kayak? How easy that would be. She could see it in her mind’s eye. Lucy at the fence, being offered a ride in the kayak by some man. She would say yes. Of course she would. Lucy was everyone’s friend. And she had been promised a trip today in the kayak.
Shaking almost uncontrollably now, she shouted for the female police officer.
When the young woman came to stand beside her, Francine finally voiced her fear.
‘There’s something I have to tell you about the blue van.’
4
Sleat, Isle of Skye
Day two
Rhona stood at the open door, mug of coffee in hand, savouring the view.
The water was flat calm, the air crystal clear, giving her a perfect view over the Sound of Sleat to Knoydart on the mainland.
The settled and sunny weather had been ideal for her stay at her family cottage, but the week’s holiday was over and it was time to head back to Glasgow. Her plan was to take the ferry from Armadale to Mallaig on the mainland, then drive back to Glasgow via Fort William, making stops on the way to enjoy the sunshine and the west coast scenery.
In truth, she would be sorry to leave, but a week away from work was long enough for her. It was also long enough for her forensic assistant, Chrissy McInsh, who’d made a point of telling her how much she was missed. ‘And a ship without its captain . . .’ she’d said, in her best serious voice.
Rhona had laughed at that description of herself, well aware that Chrissy was more than capable of being in charge on land or sea.
Walking down to the shore, she settled on a rock to check her mobile messages and found a missed call from Chrissy, which she promptly answered.
‘Hey, I’m almost ready to leave,’ she promised.
‘So you’re still on Skye?’
To Rhona’s surprise, Chrissy sounded relieved rather than annoyed by that.
‘I’m planning on catching the Mallaig ferry back,’ Rhona began, before Chrissy cut her off.
‘Good, because we’ve had a call-out to Arisaig.’
Rhona waited while Chrissy explained. ‘A police dog located what they believe may be human remains buried on the machair north of the town.’
‘Were they searching for someone?’ Rhona said, aware that if a police dog had been sent into action . . .
‘That’s just it,’ Chrissy said, her voice breaking a little. ‘A wee girl has been reported missing from a nearby campsite.’
‘They think it might be the child?’ Rhona said, horrified.
‘Unconfirmed.’ Chrissy, no doubt thinking about wee Michael, her own child, took a moment to regain her composure. ‘Once you’re on the ferry, you’re to give Mallaig station a call and tell them you’re on your way. See you soon.’ And with that she rang off.
