She smelled of shampoo and a familiar crisp perfume. He wanted to touch her but he didn’t

Ingrid turned to Finn. “When did you get to sleep last night?” He looked at her. “I don’t know. Late.” “And you didn’t hear anything?” “No.” “My car was outside your window. Whoever it was must’ve started the engine. Are you sure you didn’t hear it?” “I’m sure.”

“How did they get it started?”

“People hotwire cars all the time,” Finn said, immediately regretting his tone. “Not in Orkney, they don’t.” Ingrid headed for the door. “I’m phoning the police.”

Finn called after her. “Do you think that’s wise?” Ingrid turned. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Just with everything that’s gone on,” Finn said. “Haven’t we had enough of the police?”

“My bloody car has been stolen from right outside my house, so I’m going to do something about it. Please get out of bed and help.”

She left the room and Finn rubbed his face. He grabbed his jeans from the floor and went through the pockets.

Ingrid hadn’t asked about his spare key but she would soon, or the police would. He went through the pockets again, already knowing the truth. His car key was gone.

Sad eyes

He threw his clothes on and lifted his jacket from the peg at the front door. He could hear Ingrid on the phone.

“Finn?” He turned to see Amy in the kitchen, mug of tea in one hand, slice of toast in the other.

“Did Ingrid speak to you?”

“About the car, yeah.”

“Where are you going?” She walked towards him. “Just outside to take a look around, in case the car’s been moved or Ingrid’s forgotten where she parked it.”

“She seems convinced it’s been stolen.”

“I’m sure she’s right. I just want to see for myself.” She was at him now, sad eyes and furrowed brow. She smelled of shampoo and a familiar crisp perfume. He wanted to touch her but he didn’t. He caught the smell of tea from her mug.

“Wrap up,” she said. “Radio says it’s cold out.” “Sure,” Finn said. “Back in a minute.”

He lifted the torch from the shelf by the door then silently picked up the spare key to the Tomb of the Eagles van, using his body to shield the action from Amy’s gaze. He didn’t look back as he left the house.

He stood for a moment where he knew the car had been and looked at the ground. There were patches of gravel, a few potholes and a muddy stretch leading up from the driveway.

He examined the mud carefully. No broken glass. He spotted several footprints and put his foot alongside.

The prints were a woman’s. He scuffed over them, making a mess, then looked around. It was calm, the wind from last night had died.

The lighthouses were still blinking across the firth, dawn creeping towards them. He did a slow 360 but nothing caught his eye.

Over to the west some lights were on in the farmhouse a few miles down the road, people no doubt huddling over a warm breakfast, getting ready for the day’s exertions.

He looked east, behind Ingrid’s cottage, and could make out the roof of the visitor centre. All dark.

Untouched

He gazed at the building over the rise in the road. He looked back at the cottage, Ingrid and Amy inside.

He turned and strode down the road towards the Lewis place, breaking into a run once he was over the bump in the road and out of sight.

Five minutes and he was there. He fumbled for the key and opened the door.

Everything seemed untouched. The visitor centre was as it should be.

He ran through to the kitchenette, just a mug on the drying rack. He looked in the bin and saw a handful of teabags.

He tried the connecting door to the Lewis house. Unlocked. He went through into the living room. The spread of Maddie’s stuff had all been cleared up, everything back the way it was before.

He opened the drinks cabinet. Missing the bottles of gin and brandy they’d drunk together.

The glasses were washed and back in place. In the kitchen, the same, just the empty bottles in the bin.

He went through to the bedroom. The bed was made, her clothes all gone.

There was a letter on the bed, a single folded sheet with his name on it: Sorry about Ingrid’s car. It’ll be where we talked about.

I don’t know if you ever believed me, but I didn’t kill Kev. If I make it, I’ll be in touch. I’m sorry you have to face everything alone, about the crash. I know how you feel. We’re the same, Finn, we have a connection, I know you feel it. But sometimes that’s not enough. Good luck.

Maddie xxx

He crumpled the note into his pocket, then went out the front door and strode over to the car park. It was first light now in the east and the wind was picking up again as he unlocked the Tomb of the Eagles van.

The blink of its lights and the beep it gave off made him cringe, as if the eyes of the world were on him. He glanced round then got into the van, started the engine and drove north.

The weather closed in fast. Squalls of rain splattered the windscreen and the van rocked as gusts of wind swept in from the west.

Down past Sandwick to St Margaret’s Hope he could see the chop of the water at high tide out in Scapa Flow.

Panic

He had a sudden panic that the Churchill barriers would be closed, but as he sped through Cara he couldn’t see a police vehicle.

He drove on to the first barrier and was hit by a wave arching over the concrete, the wipers unable to cope as water plumed over the van, the wheels skiting on the surface.

He braked and steered into the skid, flicking the wipers to full and nudging the van forward. He peered out but nothing was coming the other way.

It was stupid driving over the barriers in these conditions, even if the police hadn’t closed them yet.

He drove over Burray, then the next barrier, no waves this time, but on the exposed road the wind made the van veer to the right.

The next barrier past Glimps Holm was the same, the blockship barely visible in the swells to his right.

He came over the hump of Lamb Holm and passed the Italian Chapel, just the final barrier to negotiate.

More on Monday.