Free None but the Dead by Lin Anderson Page B

student Sam Haruna, wasn’t going so well.
    ‘And make sure Officer Tulloch’s not fallen asleep on the job?’ Rhona suggested.
    ‘Well, we wouldn’t want to lose any more bones, would we?’
    Bundled up against the cold, Rhona took her torch and headed out the back way.
    The sky was clear of cloud, a crisp moon in evidence with an accompaniment of stars. To the north-east she could see the rotating beam of the lighthouse, like a bright eye in the velvety
darkness. She headed along a path towards the sound of the sea.
    Between the moon and the lighthouse, she found her eyes growing accustomed to the dark, so she switched off her torch. As she crested the final dune, moonlight found a long strip of white sand.
At the water’s edge the sea was an inky black.
    Rhona sat down, knees drawn up, and surveyed the scene. Her home island of Skye had some of the best views ever, but she decided what made Orkney special was the feeling of being on the edge of
the world.
    The sound of a series of messages pinging in as her mobile found a signal put an end to that train of thought. Rhona checked through them, opening a brief text from Sean saying all was well in
Paris and one from Erling saying he’d be back tomorrow.
    As Rhona slipped the mobile into her pocket, it rang, the drill sharp in the silence. She glanced at the screen to find McNab’s name.
    ‘How goes it, Dr MacLeod?’
    ‘Okay. We’ll reach the body by tomorrow if the weather holds.’
    ‘And if it doesn’t?’
    ‘We stick around until the job’s finished. How was the PM?’
    She listened as McNab gave her the details, Dr Sissons’s theory of dehydration ringing true; the story of an intruder who didn’t steal anything, less so.
    ‘I checked through Jock’s effects again before they went to the lab,’ McNab said. ‘There was something tucked in the back of the wallet. An old newspaper cutting about a
World War Two radar station, Whale Head at Lopness—’ He stopped as Rhona interrupted him.
    ‘That’s here,’ she said in surprise, ‘on Sanday.’
    ‘I know. I googled it. His neighbour said Jock talked about gathering seaweed as a boy and that he came from up north somewhere. I wondered if he came from Orkney.’
    Rhona asked if he wanted her to run the name past DI Flett. ‘Or maybe the Ranger here, who seems to know everything and everyone about the place. If Jock had a connection with the radar
station that might be a starting point.’
    McNab muttered his thanks.
    ‘You okay?’ Rhona said, sensing something wasn’t quite right.
    ‘I’m fine, Dr MacLeod, and no, I’m not back on the booze.’
    Rhona recalled McNab’s bright blue eyes, the trimmed auburn stubble and his general demeanour at their meeting the day before, and decided he was likely telling the truth. He wasn’t
back on the booze, yet something was bothering him. She knew McNab well enough to know that. She briefly contemplated asking after Freya, but something warned her not to.
    They said their goodbyes and Rhona rang off, keen to be back in the warmth of the cottage. Walking back she now noted a scattering of lights signifying the other inhabitants of the far
north-eastern corner of this far northern isle. Looking seawards, there had been nothing but an empty horizon. Looking landwards, Rhona didn’t feel quite so alone.

12
    Rhona slept well, waking only on the alarm call. She’d banked up the stove before bed, as instructed by Derek, and woke to a warm house. Chrissy appeared as Rhona filled
the kettle and informed her that they would have a cooked breakfast before work. Rhona didn’t argue.
    ‘I’ll make sandwiches for later. Or we could come back here for lunch?’ Chrissy suggested.
    ‘We’ll work through today. Erling says the weather will worsen later,’ Rhona said. ‘I want the bones bagged by then.’
    ‘So we’re staying another night?’
    ‘That depends on the weather, and the availability of the police chopper.’
    As Chrissy served up, she