to talk about it, it’s better that you do so away from the islands. Actually, much better if you don’t do it at all.’
‘Better for whom?’ I said, understanding, at last,the real reason for our cosy little chat down the pub.
Gifford leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. For several seconds he didn’t move; I even started to wonder if he’d fallen asleep. As I watched, his mouth, not his nose, became the most prominent feature of his face. It almost became a beautiful mouth. I found myself thinking about stretching out a finger, gently tracing its outline.
He sat up, startling me, and glanced around. Our audience had all returned to their own conversations but he lowered his voice all the same.
‘Tora, think about what we saw in there. This is no ordinary murder. If you just want someone dead, you slit their throat or put a pillow over their face. Maybe you blow their brains out with a shotgun. You don’t do what was done to that poor lass. Now, I’m no policeman but the whole business smacks of some sort of weird ceremonial killing.’
‘Some sort of cult thing?’ I asked, remembering my taunts to Dana Tulloch about witchcraft.
‘Who knows? It’s not my place to speculate. Do you remember the child abuse scandal on the Orkneys some years ago?’
I nodded. ‘Vaguely. Satanism and some stuff.’
‘Satanism codswallop! No evidence of wrongdoing or abuse was ever discovered. Yet we had family homes broken into at dawn and young children dragged screaming out of their parents’ arms. Have you any idea what the impact of all that was on the islands and the island people? Of the impact it’s stillhaving? I’ve seen what happens on remote islands when rumour and hysteria get out of hand. I don’t want a repeat of that here.’
I stiffened. Put my drink down. ‘Is that really what’s important right now?’
Gifford leaned towards me until I could smell the alcohol on his breath. ‘Too right it’s important,’ he said. ‘The woman in Dr Renney’s tender care is none of our concern. Let the police do their job. Andy Dunn is no fool and DS Tulloch is the brightest button I’ve seen in the local police for a long time. My job, on the other hand, and yours, is to make sure the hospital continues to function calmly and that a ridiculous panic does not get a hold on these islands.’
I could see the first prickles of a beard jutting through his chin. The hairs were mostly fair but some were red, some grey. I made myself look back up into his eyes, but looking directly at him was making me uncomfortable; his stare was just a little too intense. Green, his eyes were, a deep, olive-green.
‘You’ve had a terrible experience, but I need you to put it behind you now. Can you do that?’
‘Of course,’ I said, because I didn’t have a choice. He was my boss, after all, and it was hardly a request. I knew, though, that it wasn’t going to be that easy.
He sat back in his chair and I felt a sense of relief, although he hadn’t been anywhere close to touching me. ‘Tora,’ he said. ‘Unusual name. Sounds like it should be an island name, but I can’t say I’ve heard it before.’
‘I was christened Thora,’ I said, telling the truth for the first time in years. ‘As in Thora Hird. When I got brave enough I dropped the H.’
‘Damnedest thing I ever saw,’ he said. ‘I wonder what happened to the heart.’
I sat back too. ‘Damnedest thing I ever saw,’ I muttered. ‘I wonder what happened to the baby.’
4
‘ TORA, WHAT THE hell were you thinking of?’
Our sitting room was gloomy. The sun appeared to have called it a day and Duncan hadn’t bothered with the light switch. He was sitting in a battered old leather chair, one of our ‘finds’ from our bargain-hunting days around Camden market when we were first married. I stood in the doorway, looking at his outline, not seeing his face properly in the shadows.
‘Trying to bury a horse by yourself,’ he went on. ‘Do
‘Better for whom?’ I said, understanding, at last,the real reason for our cosy little chat down the pub.
Gifford leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. For several seconds he didn’t move; I even started to wonder if he’d fallen asleep. As I watched, his mouth, not his nose, became the most prominent feature of his face. It almost became a beautiful mouth. I found myself thinking about stretching out a finger, gently tracing its outline.
He sat up, startling me, and glanced around. Our audience had all returned to their own conversations but he lowered his voice all the same.
‘Tora, think about what we saw in there. This is no ordinary murder. If you just want someone dead, you slit their throat or put a pillow over their face. Maybe you blow their brains out with a shotgun. You don’t do what was done to that poor lass. Now, I’m no policeman but the whole business smacks of some sort of weird ceremonial killing.’
‘Some sort of cult thing?’ I asked, remembering my taunts to Dana Tulloch about witchcraft.
‘Who knows? It’s not my place to speculate. Do you remember the child abuse scandal on the Orkneys some years ago?’
I nodded. ‘Vaguely. Satanism and some stuff.’
‘Satanism codswallop! No evidence of wrongdoing or abuse was ever discovered. Yet we had family homes broken into at dawn and young children dragged screaming out of their parents’ arms. Have you any idea what the impact of all that was on the islands and the island people? Of the impact it’s stillhaving? I’ve seen what happens on remote islands when rumour and hysteria get out of hand. I don’t want a repeat of that here.’
I stiffened. Put my drink down. ‘Is that really what’s important right now?’
Gifford leaned towards me until I could smell the alcohol on his breath. ‘Too right it’s important,’ he said. ‘The woman in Dr Renney’s tender care is none of our concern. Let the police do their job. Andy Dunn is no fool and DS Tulloch is the brightest button I’ve seen in the local police for a long time. My job, on the other hand, and yours, is to make sure the hospital continues to function calmly and that a ridiculous panic does not get a hold on these islands.’
I could see the first prickles of a beard jutting through his chin. The hairs were mostly fair but some were red, some grey. I made myself look back up into his eyes, but looking directly at him was making me uncomfortable; his stare was just a little too intense. Green, his eyes were, a deep, olive-green.
‘You’ve had a terrible experience, but I need you to put it behind you now. Can you do that?’
‘Of course,’ I said, because I didn’t have a choice. He was my boss, after all, and it was hardly a request. I knew, though, that it wasn’t going to be that easy.
He sat back in his chair and I felt a sense of relief, although he hadn’t been anywhere close to touching me. ‘Tora,’ he said. ‘Unusual name. Sounds like it should be an island name, but I can’t say I’ve heard it before.’
‘I was christened Thora,’ I said, telling the truth for the first time in years. ‘As in Thora Hird. When I got brave enough I dropped the H.’
‘Damnedest thing I ever saw,’ he said. ‘I wonder what happened to the heart.’
I sat back too. ‘Damnedest thing I ever saw,’ I muttered. ‘I wonder what happened to the baby.’
4
‘ TORA, WHAT THE hell were you thinking of?’
Our sitting room was gloomy. The sun appeared to have called it a day and Duncan hadn’t bothered with the light switch. He was sitting in a battered old leather chair, one of our ‘finds’ from our bargain-hunting days around Camden market when we were first married. I stood in the doorway, looking at his outline, not seeing his face properly in the shadows.
‘Trying to bury a horse by yourself,’ he went on. ‘Do
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