Кит Мори - Deathly Wind

Torquil nodded. Although six foot tall himself, he had always felt small in comparison with Ewan, the Western Isles champion hammer-thrower, and the two Drummond twins, who towered over him.

They were like peas in a pod, both about six foot five inches in height, without their bobble hats, and with lithe, strong bodies that had seen much toil on the seas and fought many a battle with the elements. Although both were fond of Heather Ale, which was well known across the island, their liking for marijuana was known only to the cognoscenti. As a member of that order, as well as being their superior officer, Torquil turned a blind eye. As long as they were discrete and did not allow it to interfere with their duties he thought it not unreasonable to take a liberal view about it.

‘Well, we’d better be going,’ Torquil said, pulling on his waterproof jacket. ‘Wish us luck, Morag.’

Five minutes later the Seaspray catamaran coasted out of Kyleshiffin’s crescent-shaped harbour, which was replete with small fishing vessels, yachts and cruisers, as it usually was in the summer months. Then when they hit open water Wallace opened her up and they scudded across the waves as they headed north to do a circuit around the island.

It was a hazy day with patches of mist. As they cut a swathe through the water parallel to the stacks and skerries of the coast they attracted a following of gulls. Eventually, when they sensed that there would be no food forthcoming from the Seaspray they dispersed and rejoined the swarms of birds that seemed to eternally circle the great basalt columns. It took about twenty minutes to round the northern tip of the island, during which time Torquil had been scanning the shores with binoculars for any signs of a body. As they coasted down the west coast towards the curious star-shaped peninsula of the Wee Kingdom the songs of the fulmar and gannets rose above the winds as adult birds zigzagged back and forth to countless nests in the cracks and hollows of the steep sea cliffs.

Torquil scanned the rocks and sea caves on the shoreline. ‘It would be on these rocks that a body would most likely be swept up,’ he said aloud to the twins.

‘And thank God he hasn’t been,’ replied Wallace. ‘It would be awful to find his body churned and hacked up on those rocks.’

They skirted the three great basalt stacks, each a virtual islet, atop the last of which was the ruins of the old West Uist lighthouse and the derelict shell of the keeper’s cottage. Then they rounded the south-west shore with the machair stretching to the lush undulating hills and gullies, beyond which was the small central Loch Linne. On the hills above the McKinley croft they saw the black-coated Soay sheep that old Alistair McKinley was so proud of.

As the Seaspray headed south, passing the oyster beds and the little jetty alongside which the crofters’ boats were moored, Douglas pointed towards the Wind’s Eye croft where a large container lorry was parked beside the old thatched cottage. A tall metal tower had been newly erected and a couple of figures could be seen working on scaffolding around it.

‘Well bloody hell! There’s the first of those monstrosities on old Gordon MacDonald’s croft. They haven’t wasted much time.’

Wallace whistled. ‘Just two men, as well. I must say though that I thought those windmills would be taller than that. It only looks to be about thirty or forty feet high.’

‘It may just be an experimental one,’ said Torquil. ‘I guess they will have to put up all sorts of wind-measuring anemometers and things before they put up permanent structures.’

‘Well I don’t like it,’ Douglas said gloomily. ‘And nor would Ewan. When we last had a pint of Heather Ale he was having a real go about them.’

And at mention of the big PC they brought their minds back to the task in hand. Torquil shaded his eyes and peered seawards, towards the distant Cruadalach isles, an archipelago of about a dozen machair and gorse-covered islets.

‘We’ll go and check out the Cruadalachs now,’ he said. ‘It was beyond there that you found the Seaspray drifting wasn’t it?’

‘It was, Torquil,’ replied Douglas. ‘But we checked them out already.’

‘And the helicopters went over them, too,’ agreed Wallace.

‘I know, I read the reports. But I want to see for myself. And when we’ve done that we’ll come back and do a full sweep round the east of the island.’

Wallace swung the Seaspray round and they headed off towards the mist-swathed Cruadalach isles.

‘Why do you think he was out this far?’ Torquil asked, ten minutes later as they approached the first of the islets.

The twins exchanged troubled looks, then Wallace bit his lip. ‘We think it was because he was in love.’

‘In love?’ Torquil queried. ‘That happened fast, didn’t it? I haven’t been away from the island all that long.’

‘Aye, Piper,’ said Douglas. ‘Fair besotted was Ewan. With Katrina Tulloch, the vet.’ He made an apologetic clicking noise with his lips. ‘He was careful not to say anything to you about it, especially after you and Fiona, and everything.’

Torquil waved his hand dismissively. His own tragedy was something that he wanted to forget. ‘And was she in love with him, too?’

‘They were pretty close, Piper. But we think Ewan was keener than her. And he was beginning to think that he had a rival.’

‘Who?’

‘We only think it, Piper; we’ve nothing in the way of proof. But Kenneth McKinley was very keen on her.’

‘But she must have been six or seven years older than him?’

‘Aye, but what does age matter? Hormones and love, and all that,’ Douglas commented sagely.

Torquil shook his head and raised his binoculars as Wallace cut their speed and they coasted around the little islets. Then he picked up the microphone and clicked on the loudhailer. ‘This is the West Uist Police,’ his voice boomed out through the mist. ‘Is there anyone on the island?’

There was silence except for the motor of the Seaspray and the wind.

‘Are you expecting anyone to be here, Piper?’ Wallace asked.

Torquil shook his head. ‘No. But there’s something odd about the atmosphere of the place, don’t you think’? I think there’s something wrong.’

The twins looked at him blankly. ‘Like what?’

‘There is the smell of death in the air,’ Torquil replied softly.

Wallace sighed. ‘If you are after trying to freak us out, Piper McKinnon, you are succeeding.’

Torquil smiled at his friend. ‘I’m sorry, lads, but does it not just strike you as odd that there is no sign of life here?’ He raised his eyes to the sky. ‘No gulls. No seals.’

‘Bloody hell, Wallace!’ Douglas exclaimed. ‘He’s right. And there should be, there is rich fishing round here, as we well know.’

‘Come on then,’ said Torquil pointing towards the nearest isle. ‘Let’s take a look at them one by one.’

It took them the better part of an hour to land and have a look at all of the Cruadalach isles. And it was not until they landed on the last one, a long undulating beach and machair islet with tall, coarse marram grass and yellow-blossomed gorse bushes, that they heaved a sigh of relief.

‘Ewan’s body isn’t here, thank God,’ said Wallace.

‘But someone has been here,’ Torquil announced, after a few moments study of the beach. He pointed to a piece of driftwood that lay some feet away. ‘Look at the pattern of sand on it. It looks as if it was used as a kind of rake, maybe to eradicate footsteps.’ And, as the twins watched him, he crouched down and started examining the machair.

‘Bird watchers, do you think?’ Wallace suggested.