Crash Land Page 5

  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.’

  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.’

  ‘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.’

  ‘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.’

  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?’

  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, whether their lives had worked out like they hoped.

  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. It burned at the lining of his throat. 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. The smell was rancid.

  ‘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.’

  ‘I just want to get things clear.’

  ‘The pilot announced we were heading back to Kirkwall, because of the disturbance.’

  ‘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.’

  ‘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.’

  11

  He slept like shit 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, his hard-on when he woke.

  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. 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.’

  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?’

  Janet folded her arms. ‘People often get post-traumatic stress, which doesn’t necessarily manifest in the first hours, days or even weeks. It can strike at any time.’

  ‘I’m OK.’

  ‘But you’ve experienced a highly extreme situation. And you are showing some signs of anger and aggression.’

  ‘Can I leave hospital or not?’

  Janet touched her cheek as if contemplating the options. ‘I think so. But I want to make an appointment to meet you again, as a follow-up. Shall we say tomorrow at twelve? I’ll get Ingrid to remind you. My office address is on the card, as is my phone number if you want to talk before then.’

  Finn picked up the card and flicked it between his fingers.

  Janet continued. ‘The police will be in touch, of course.’

  ‘I spoke to Linklater already.’

  Janet nodded. ‘She’s very sharp. A dog with a bone, that one.’

  She pulled a pen and a couple of forms out of her handbag and Finn struggled to sign them with his splinted hand.

  ‘After the doctor gives you the once-over on her morning rounds you’re free to go. But remember, if things get on top of you at any point, please call me.’

  12

  They slipped out of the ward through the staff entrance then doubled back and cut through Orthopaedics to get to Ingrid’s car, parked outside ENT. Janet had told them that a young woman from the Orcadian was outside the front of the building so Finn ducked down as they left.

  He sat up as they hit the road south out of Kirkwall.

  ‘Was she there?’

  Ingrid nodded.

  ‘Just her?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Only one local journalist, he was lucky so far. Radio O
rkney would be on the case. The big guns from the BBC and STV hadn’t made it up yet because of the airport closure, same with the tabloids. But they’d be here soon, so he didn’t have long.

  Ingrid’s old Skoda chugged up the hill on the outskirts of town. They passed the Highland Park distillery, its warehouses and pagoda roofs black with the fungus that lives on alcohol fumes. Finn opened his window to fill his nostrils with the reek of it.

  ‘Can we take the Deerness road?’ he said.

  Ingrid glanced at him. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’

  ‘Please.’

  The Deerness road was where the airport was. It was out of their way, but not by much. There were four roads out of Kirkwall, spread like a haphazard spider’s web on the map. The high road west went past the tourist sites of Maes Howe, Stenness and Brodgar, the low road skirted the coast through Orphir with views over to Hoy. They were on the south road, heading back to Ingrid’s cottage on South Ronaldsay. The Deerness road slunk southeast past the airport and Deer Sound, out to the remote beaches around the Gloup.

  ‘I don’t see what good it will do,’ Ingrid said.

  ‘I need to see,’ Finn said.

  Ingrid put her indicator on, turned left past a farm and bumped along a rough track until she hit the A road and went right. They headed downhill to the flat plain where the airfield sat. The road cut past landing lights, small yellow pylons standing in two lines, a robot army waiting for the order to attack.

  The sky was bright, broken clouds flitting east over Inganess Bay. Finn tried to remember this place from last night, the darkness, the fog, the cold, the scream of the engines.

  The Skoda was buffeted by a westerly and shuddered as Ingrid moved down through the gears for a bend. They came over a rise and saw the airfield. The low-slung concrete cube of the arrivals and departures building, the stumpy control tower, barely poking its head above the surrounding fields, the rusted grey hangar to the side.

  There were emergency vehicles all over the runway, people hanging around in hi-vis jackets. Finn pictured the propellers cutting through the cabin, tons of metal spinning hundreds of times a second, slicing through the air. The sheer dumb power of it, even in a tiny plane, made him feel weak.

  Their car slowed. A burly old cop with grey hair was waving them down at the entrance to the airport. Finn glanced at the car park, just a handful of hire cars and two police vehicles.