She turned to Finn. “You have no idea how much trouble you’re in”

Linklater, the officer looked at Finn. “I just want to get things clear,” she said. “The pilot announced we were heading back to Kirkwall, because of the disturbance,” Finn answered. “Then?” “Maddie didn’t want to. She went to see him.” “She went in the cockpit?” Finn nodded. “What did she do?”

“I don’t know, the door was closed. But she came out. The co-pilot and the stewardess were trying to get in when she opened the door and came out. Then the plane was all over the place, we must’ve hit more turbulence. I felt my stomach going.”

“She definitely left the cockpit?”

“Yeah. The cabin was lurching, everyone tried to get to a seat and strap in. It was obvious something was wrong.”

“Did you see the pilot at this point?” “No, I was getting my seatbelt on.” “Then the plane hit the ground?” Finn looked out the window and nodded. “It broke in two straight away. A propeller and a wing came through the cabin.”

“Could you see Mrs Pierce at this point?” “No. She was at the front of the plane, in the other half.” “So you didn’t see her at all during the crash.”

“No.”

Sceptical

“And you didn”t see her after the plane stopped?” Finn looked at Linklater. “I didn’t see her.”

“Are you sure?”

“Definite.”

Linklater thought about what he’d said for a while, a frown on her face. “She had a bag,” she said eventually. “What?” “A brown leather holdall.”

Finn got an image of Maddie reaching over and pulling the bag from under the seat. “I think so.”

Linklater looked sceptical. “You were with her for hours, you didn’t notice?”

“She did,” Finn said. “I remember now.” “What did she do with it on the plane?” “Put it under the seat in front.” “At the back of the plane?” “Yes.”

“It’s not there.”

“Sorry?”

“The bag.”

Linklater walked to the end of the bed. Finn glanced down at the phone blinking away, recording every word. “Maybe it got thrown out the cabin in the crash.” Linklater nodded. “Maybe.”

Finn was exhausted. The morphine, the sickness, the pain swarming his body. Adrenaline had kept him going through the shock, but now his body was giving up and his eyes drooped.

Linklater looked at him. “That’s probably enough for now.” She came round the side of the bed and picked up her phone. “I’ll need to speak to you again tomorrow.”

“I was hoping I could go back to Dundee.” Linklater laughed. “Wow.”

“What?”

She shook her head. “At the very least you’ll be charged with assault and endangering the lives of other passengers. Then there’s the possibility of terrorist charges. And manslaughter.”

Finn’s eyes widened. “But all I did was fight with a guy.” “Seven people are dead.” “I didn’t kill them.” “But your actions might well have brought about their deaths.”

“I just want to go home.”

“Don’t even think about leaving Orkney. I’m not arresting you, but until we get this sorted you’ll have to stay on the islands.”

Finn raised his hand to his face and it shook, the edge of the metal splint scratching at his cheek. Linklater nodded to the other officer, who opened the door. She turned to Finn. “You have no idea how much trouble you’re in.”

Aching

He couldn’t sleep despite the morphine. Every time he shifted his weight his body complained. His chest ached and his hand throbbed.

He pressed the buzzer some time in the night and an older nurse with grey streaks in her hair handed him some pills.

It was clear from her expression that she thought he should suck it up. He couldn’t blame her. He would’ve been the same in her position. He wished he could just get over it, walk out of here, fly south and never have to think about any of it again.

He dreamt about Maddie, having sex with her in the aeroplane toilet. He was disgusted with himself, the workings of his subconscious.

He swung one leg then the other off the bed and eased his feet on to the cold floor. He held his shoulder blades and cricked his neck with a crunch. Wound his arms in slow circles like an old man doing t’ai chi. He felt the grind of the bones in the joints, loose after the crash, muscles stretching and aching under his left nipple. A knock on the door.

Finn looked at the clock. Half eight. So it was starting already. “Come in.”

A large woman swept into the room, smart suit and neat hair. Her broad smile and kind eyes suggested that she’d seen plenty of life, not all of it straightforward.

“Hello there,” she said in a local accent. “My name is Janet Jott, and you must be Thorfinn Sullivan.” “Finn,” he said. “Finn, exactly so.”

“Who are you?”

“Of course.” She strode towards him, holding his gaze. “I work with the police and local authorities. I’m a counsellor. A trauma counsellor, not a politician.” “Is that so.”

“I mostly work as a marriage counsellor, but I’m trained in trauma as well.”

“Why are you here?”

“To assess you.” She lifted a hand and waved something at him. “Here’s my card.” Finn took it and laid it on the bed without looking at it. “I’m fine.” “I’m sure you are, I just need to have a wee chat.” “There’s no need.”

“There is if you want to get out of hospital today.”

Reaction

There was an edge to her, behind the round body and grin. “Fine,” Finn said. She asked him how he felt and he said fine. She asked how he’d slept and he said fine. She asked if he was having any flashbacks to the events of last night and he said no.

She asked a dozen more questions about him and his life, his mind and body, his reaction to the crash, whether he felt sad or happy or in pain or confused or weak or guilty. He said he was fine, fine, fine. Anything to get this over with and get out the door.

“I actually know your grandmother,” Janet said. “She asked me to come.”

“Really?”

“Someone would’ve come anyway but she wanted me to do it, as a friend.”

Finn thought about that. Ingrid didn’t suffer fools gladly and she didn”t make friends easily. “Is Ingrid here?” Finn said. Janet nodded. “She stayed last night. Slept down the hall in the nurses’ area. She’s worried sick, as you can imagine.” Finn rubbed at the stubble on his chin.

“Anyway,” Janet said, “you don’t seem to be suffering any major psychological trauma at the moment.”

“At the moment?”

More tomorrow.

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