Ingrid was Orcadian through and through. This would haunt her until she died

The phone rang. Ingrid lifted her knitting off her lap and placed it on the table next to her, then got out of her seat and picked up the receiver. “Ingrid speaking.” Finn watched her face as she listened down the line. After a couple of moments she held the receiver out to him. “It’s the police. They want to talk to you.” Finn took it from her. She went into the kitchen and Finn heard the kettle going.

“Mr Sullivan?” “Yes.” “DI Linklater here. We’d like you to come to the station tomorrow morning for a chat.” “Am I under arrest?” “No, we just want to talk about a few things.” “Like what?”

“Some new information has come to light.” “You’re not going to tell me?”

“It’s better if we discuss it tomorrow.”

“What if I say no?”

“We’ll arrest you and interview you formally. Shall we say nine o’clock? No point putting it off.”

Finn looked at Sky News. They were back with the first woman at the airfield, talking to some expert, the two of them gesticulating, something technical about flight trajectories. The expert had his hand pointing towards earth like an arrow.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Finn said.

Protestations

The police station was a brick of a thing with tiny windows, squatting next to the Peedie Sea, a bleak stretch of pond flanked by scrubby grass in the middle of Kirkwall. The pond was separated from the harbour and marina by a thin causeway, which also served as the main northwest road out of town. The surface of the Peedie Sea was ruffled by constant wind, the sun throwing strands out from behind broken clouds fizzing across the sky.

“Are you ready?” Ingrid said.

She’d driven him despite his protestations that he could manage fine. He hadn’t seen Maddie this morning, couldn’t think of an excuse to get away, Ingrid watching him over breakfast. He didn’t have much appetite, the morphine for his rib taking the edge off and fuzzing his head.

He edged out of the car, his body aching all over despite the painkillers.

Ingrid got out too. “You can stay here,” Finn said. “I’m coming in.” Finn breathed out and stretched but didn’t speak.

They went to reception and were told to wait by a busty middle-aged woman who threw Ingrid a look of sympathy. Finn wondered what Maddie was doing right now. He’d texted her when he woke up saying he would pop over, then again an hour later when it was clear he wouldn’t be able to. She was flirty, saying she was thinking about him, needed to see him.

The receptionist got a call. “You can go through now,” she said, buzzing the security door. They both got up.

“Just the boy, Ingrid,” the woman said, apology in her voice. “Come on, Anita.” The woman held up the phone receiver and shrugged. “Orders from above.”

Ingrid put a hand on Finn’s arm. “Are you sure you don’t need a solicitor?”

“It’s just a chat, no need to worry.”

“I’ll wait in the car.”

Shame

He pushed at the door, keen to get away from the look on her face, disappointment that she couldn’t hide. He’d let her down. He was the only family she had left and he was dragging her into the dirt, bringing shame on them both. It was worse for her, of course. He could eventually leave the islands, but Ingrid was Orcadian through and through. This would haunt her until she died.

Linklater met him through the door. She looked fresh-faced and bright-eyed, like she’d had a better night’s sleep than Finn. “Through here,” she said.

It was like another waiting room, three plastic chairs and a low, round coffee table. Blank grey walls, cheap ceiling tiles, square window looking over the Peedie Sea. “So what’s this about?” Finn said.

Linklater held up her phone with the recording app. “You mind?”

“I’ve seen the TV shows. Don’t you have an old cassette thing that beeps? And doesn’t there have to be two of you?”

Linklater smiled. “That’s for admissible evidence, formal interviews. I told you, this is just to keep me straight.” Finn nodded.

She switched the app on, placed the phone on the table between them, then smoothed down her trousers, her hands resting on her knees. “We’ve had some developments, as I mentioned last night.” “Have you found Maddie?”

Linklater gave him a look. “We haven’t, but we will.”

“Do you think she’s still alive?”

“Oh, yes.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“If she died in the crash we would’ve found her body by now.”

“Maybe she was injured or confused. Maybe she walked off and died further away.”

“You know the conditions that night,” Linklater said. “She couldn’t have gone far, not without help.”

This was directed at Finn. “I wouldn’t know about that,” he said. “I was in hospital.”

“Of course.” Linklater shifted her weight in the chair. “So we spoke to Claire Buchan yesterday.” “Who?”

“You don’t know her?”

“No.”

“Madeleine’s best friend. We asked if she’d heard from Madeleine since the crash, and she said no. We also told her about Kevin Pierce’s death. Naturally she was shocked.”

“What’s this got to do with me?”

Argument

Linklater stared at him. “I’m getting to that. She was shocked, said she couldn’t imagine Madeleine doing such a thing. But she did hint that things had been difficult between Kevin and Madeleine for a while. Apparently, he was a bully.”

“So you think Maddie did it?”

“We’re just gathering information, collecting evidence. That’s what we do.”

“I still don’t know why you dragged me in for this.” Linklater smiled. “The thing is, we also had a wee chat with some of Claire’s neighbours. She lives in Stromness, in Hellihole Road. Do you know it?”

Finn shook his head. “One of her neighbours had something interesting to say. Can you think what it might be?”

“Surprise me.”

“Someone fitting your description was round there yesterday, chatting to Mrs Buchan at her front door. They seemed to be having an argument. The person only left when Claire’s husband turned up and warned him off.”

Finn breathed out through his nose and laid his hands out in front of him.

“OK, I was there. I know how it looks, but I went to see her for the same reason you did, to find out if she’d heard from Maddie.”

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