She didn’t mention it? Seems there’s quite a lot our mysterious Madeleine didn’t tell you

The uniformed officer stood at the door and stared into space as Linklater walked to the bed. Ingrid tried to give Finn a reassuring look. “I’ll be outside if you need me,” she said, closing the door. Linklater looked at Finn’s bandaged hand. “What’s the news from the doctor?” “Six weeks to heal, same with the rib. They’re keeping me in overnight.” Surely she had already spoken to the doctor. “You’re lucky,” Linklater said.

“So everyone tells me,” Finn said, then regretted how it sounded. The look on Linklater’s face hardened. “Seven people are dead.”

“I’m sorry.”

Linklater pulled her phone out and fiddled with it, then placed it on the bed. “Do you mind if I record this conversation?”

“Is it an official interview?” “Nothing formal, just a chat. I like to record everything, keeps everyone straight.” “What if I refuse?”

“Then I won’t record it. We’ll speak at the station either way. This is just a chance to tell me what happened.”

Finn looked at the phone. A small red light blinked on the screen, along with a throbbing microphone icon. He remembered the light at the end of the wing, winking into the blackness, sending a signal into space. “Well?” Linklater said. “Sure.”

Unaccounted for

Linklater smiled. She looked like someone he might’ve got along with in different circumstances. She took a piece of paper out of her pocket and unfolded it. He could see the Loganair logo. “We have a person unaccounted for. Madeleine Pierce. Someone you seem to know quite well.”

Finn shook his head. “Not really.”

“You spent several hours talking to her at Kirkwall Airport. Had seven gin and tonics together, according to the woman who served you.”

“I never met her before that.” “Really?” “Yes.” “So how did you get talking?”

“She came over to the bar to get away from those other guys on the plane. They were hassling her.”

Linklater looked at him. “She was getting grief from strangers, so she started chatting and drinking with another stranger?”

“I suppose so.”

“You didn’t think that was odd?”

“She said I didn’t look threatening, something like that.” Linklater raised her eyebrows. “Did she say why she was travelling?” Finn thought about that. “No,” he replied. “Nothing at all?” Finn shook his head. “Not that I can remember.” “And you didn’t ask?” “No.”

“A two-hour delay, drinking at the airport and talking to someone and you never asked why she was flying to Edinburgh?”

“I presume she would’ve told me if she’d wanted to.” Linklater looked at him. “What about you. What were you doing on Orkney?”

Finn nodded at the door. “Visiting my gran. I came to catch up before Christmas. I was heading home.” “Which is where?” “Dundee. A flat on Perth Road.” “So you were flying to Edinburgh then, what, bus or train?” “Train.” “Did you tell Mrs Pierce your plans?” “She’s married?”

Linklater smiled. “She didn’t mention it? Seems there’s quite a lot our mysterious Madeleine didn’t tell you.”

Stroppy kid

Linklater looked at the paper in her hand, peered at a handwritten scrawl in the margin. “According to the electoral register she lives in Coplands Road in Stromness with her husband, Kevin.”

“Have you spoken to him?”

“An officer is heading there just now to talk to him. Tell me what you can remember about the flight.”

The room was too warm. Finn reached for a plastic cup of water next to his bed and took a sip. It tasted of chlorine and medicine. He coughed and put the cup down. “I’m not sure,” he said.

Linklater gave him a look like he was a stroppy kid refusing to eat his broccoli. She pulled something out of her pocket. The severed plastic of his wrist and ankle restraints. She held them up. “This needs explaining.”

“I went to the toilet. When I came back one of those other guys was in my seat, talking to Maddie.” “One of the men who were hassling her at the airport?” “Yes.” “What sort of hassle are we talking about?” “Trying to chat her up, but aggressive too. You know the kind of thing, they were drunk.”

“And you weren’t?” “That’s different.” “In what way?” “It just is.” “OK, so he was in your seat.” “He was hurting Maddie, had a hold of her. She was scared.”

“So you assaulted him,” Linklater said, putting the restraints back in her pocket. “It wasn’t like that, I was trying to help her.”

“We have a statement from the stewardess saying that you hit him.” “Is she OK?” Finn said. “Who?” Finn pictured her nametag. “Charlotte.”

Linklater thought for a moment. “She’s physically fine but understandably traumatised.” “What about the oil worker, the guy I fought with?”

“What makes you think he’s an oil worker, did he say that?”

“The logo on his jacket,” Finn said. “We weren’t exactly on speaking terms.”

“Let your fists do the talking,” Linklater said. “You’ve got it all wrong. I’ve never done anything like that before.”

“If you say so.”

“Is he OK?”

Linklater looked at the other officer then back. “He’s critical but stable. Lots of internal injuries. They’ve put him in an induced coma. We’ll have to wait and see.”

“And his mates are all dead?” Finn said. “Everyone else is dead?”

Fighting

Linklater nodded. “Except for Mrs Pierce, who’s still missing.” Finn rubbed his jaw, then his hand. “What’s his name?” Finn said. “Who?”

“The guy I was fighting with.” Linklater looked at the paper in her hand. “Sean Bayliss.”

Finn rolled the name around under his breath like a prayer. “Tell me about the fight,” Linklater said.

“One minute we were arguing, the next we were on the floor and people were pulling us off each other.”

Finn wanted to grab the paper out of Linklater’s hand. He wanted to see the names of the dead, read their obituaries, find out about their lives, who they loved, who loved them in return.

He felt something in his guts and his tongue began to sweat. “Pass me that,” he said through his teeth, pointing at a basin on the floor by the bed. Linklater handed it to him and stepped back as he vomited into it, just bile, nothing in his stomach. He spat, took a sip of water and spat again.

“Do you need a nurse?” Linklater said. He waved that away and put the bowl next to the bed.

“So the stewardess put the restraints on you,” Linklater said. “Yeah.”

“And the co-pilot did the same to Mr Bayliss.” “Yes.”

“Then what?”

“If you’ve spoken to Charlotte, you know what happened.”

More tomorrow.

Crash Land is published by Faber, paperback priced £7.99. dougjohnstone.co.uk