North Star (36 page)

But there was nothing I could say, and I went on eating, feeling helpless, propped up in the bunk and thinking of Fiona risking her liberty, perhaps her life, because of something that was finished, dead, buried in the past. What the hell could I say?

She sat there waiting until I had finished my food, then she took the tray and stood there, holding it in her hand and looking down at me. ‘Do you want me to send a message? I know where she is staying.’

‘Tell her I’m safe,’ I said.

‘I already send a telegram to say that. But she will expect something more – a message from you.’ She reached down to the locker beside the bunk and handed me a writing pad and ballpoint. ‘You think it out. We will be in Aith in about an hour. Then you can send it yourself.’

She left me then, apparently thinking my reluctance due to her presence. I stared at the pad, knowing there was nothing I could say that wouldn’t encourage Fiona to think there was still something left of our marriage.
She loves you
,
I think
,
very much
. It was Gertrude I wanted to think of, not Fiona – Gertrude who had brought her trawler north, to stand by the rig in the hope of finding me. And she had done that after three months without a word from me, knowing that I was somehow involved.

One hour, she had said. Then we would be in Aith, tied up
at the pier. I thought of all the telex messages being sent out by
North Star
– to Fuller, to the Aberdeen office, to Villiers in London. And the news broadcasts. It would have been on the radio this morning. TV would have it by midday, newspaper presses rolling the story out, a rig broken adrift and suspected sabotage. Aith might only be a small place, but it was on Mainland, and once we were in, press, reporters, police, they would all be there.

A wave crashed aft as we were pooped, but I barely noticed it. I hardly heard the strange noises the hull made as the plates worked under the pressure of the seas. I had one hour, just one hour to myself to get a clear statement down on paper. I was still tired, my head throbbing, but I knew it had to be done. And, once I had started, I found myself writing fast and with concentration, so that I barely noticed the decrease of movement, the growing quiet as we came in under the lee.

I hadn’t quite completed it when I felt a bump on the starboard side, the sound of feet on deck and voices. We were alongside, and a moment later Gertrude came in followed by a tall, stooped figure in a tweed jacket. ‘Inspector Garrard,’ she said. ‘He wants to see you alone.’

The Inspector came forward, ducking his head to avoid the steel angle irons of the roofing. ‘Before the reporters get at you,’ he said. He waited for Gertrude to leave, then pulled up a chair and sat down, opening his briefcase. ‘Since I’m not sure whether you’re one of the villains or not I suppose I ought to caution you.’

‘You want a statement, is that it?’

He nodded. ‘Yes, I’ll need a statement.’

‘I’ve just been writing it for you,’ I said and handed him the pad.

‘Good. That saves a lot of time.’ He took it and there was a long silence as he read it through. When he had finished, he said, ‘With what Mrs Petersen has told me and the messages we’ve had from
North Star
, this is about what I had expected.’ He hesitated, smiling slightly. ‘We kept tabs on you, of course.
From the moment I had them release you from the Hull Central Station we’ve been following your movements, but at a distance. The trouble was we weren’t sure exactly who was involved and how it would be done. We hoped you’d lead us to that. But then it all happened too quickly.’

It was a shock to realize that this quiet academic-looking man had been making use of me so deliberately. But my reaction was only one of relief. ‘What about Dillon?’ I asked.

‘His real name is McKeown. Until now he’s always worked in the background. We’ve been trying to –’

‘Yes, but what’s happened to him? Where is he now?’

He shrugged. ‘You’re probably right in saying they’ve destroyed the fishing boat after transferring to another vessel.’

‘But you don’t know. You don’t know what’s happened to them.’

He shook his head. ‘A navy ship is out there now, searching. But I’m afraid we moved too late.’ And he added, ‘We’ve pulled in Sandford, of course. He doesn’t seem able to tell us much, but what he has told us tends to corroborate your statement.’

He stayed there for about half an hour, asking questions and checking my answers against information in a file from his briefcase. Finally he rose. ‘I have to be getting back to Lerwick now. Like you, I wish we knew what happened after the rig’s cables were cut. But it’s been a bad night out there.
North Star
has dragged about three miles and one of the remaining anchor cables snapped under the strain. But the forecast is for less wind, so the rig should hold. And Villiers arrived by plane this morning. He’s in Scalloway now. He’ll want to see you. Also, the media. They’ll want the story, too.’ He put the file back in his briefcase and snapped it shut. Then he stood looking down at me and I sensed a sudden awkwardness. ‘One other thing. Mrs Petersen said she told you your wife was in Aberdeen.’

I nodded, something in his expression warning me so that I think I knew what was coming.

‘You saw her in Hull, at your hotel. And she was in court that day. We kept track of her after that, so we knew where to pick her up for questioning.’ He hesitated. ‘I’m sorry about this, Randall, but I had a call from the Aberdeen police just before I left Lerwick. When they went to her lodgings last night, they found she’d been taken to hospital that morning suffering from an overdose of barbiturate.’

He didn’t have to tell me. I knew from the expression on his face. ‘Dead?’

‘Yes, I’m afraid so. She was dead on arrival at the hospital.’

I didn’t see him go. I just lay there staring at the rusting paint of the roofing, thinking of Fiona alone in some wretched boarding house. Was it my fault? Was I to blame? If I’d been there, if I hadn’t left her … If I’d gone back to her that night when she had come to my hotel room … But it wouldn’t have been any use. I knew that. It was something in her makeup, the restlessness, the nervous vitality, the constant shifting from one cause to another. And drugs her only solution. Poor Fiona! I should have wept for her, but my eyes were dry and I felt no loss, only a sense of relief that it was over.

The door opened and Gertrude came in. ‘He told you, did he?’ Her eyes were enormous and I saw they were full of tears. ‘I’m sorry, Michael.’

‘There’s nothing to be sorry about,’ I said, and I meant it, remembering the lost years and what her life had been.

‘How can you say that?’ And she went on, ‘You don’t see her as I saw her that day in Inverness.’ Her voice was trembling with emotion. ‘She was so lost, so alone – and frightened I think. But not for herself. For you.’

I got out of the bunk then, going to her, shocked that it was she, not me, that was crying for Fiona, and I wanted to comfort her, to tell her that Fiona was all right now, the long internal struggle over. But she pushed me away, swallowing her tears and saying in a quiet, matter-of-fact voice, ‘There are people, journalists, wanting to see you. They are in the bridge. I came to tell you.’

I got dressed and went through into the bridge and saw them there, rain beating at the windows and the hills on either side of the little port lost in cloud. It was still raining when the last of the reporters left, but the clouds had lifted slightly so that the long bank of Burgins was just visible and the island of Papa Little at the end of the voe. I was just going below for lunch when a taxi drew up and Villiers got out, standing bareheaded in the rain talking to the driver, a bright red anorak slung carelessly over his shoulders. Two other taxis followed, nosing between the houses. He glanced at them, his hair already wet, his square jaw jutting angrily. Then he turned, walking quickly on to the pier, climbing over the bulwarks and coming straight to the bridge.

‘Randall.’ He held out his hand. ‘Glad to see you safe. I saw Inspector Garrard on the road. He showed me your statement. You’re lucky to be alive.’ He glanced round the empty bridge. ‘Where’s Mrs Petersen?’ And when I told him she was below, he said, ‘I’d like to see her please – both of you. I’ve got to get out to the rig and in this weather yours is the only boat can get me there.’

He didn’t waste time. As soon as I had called Gertrude and we were both of us with him in my cabin, he said, ‘Now, can we come to some arrangement? We’ve got an ocean-going tug on the way, but it won’t be there for another twenty-four hours at least. George Fuller got me a Met. forecast just before I left Scalloway. There’s a break coming in the next six to eight hours, but there’s another Low moving in and worse to follow. Did Garrard tell you we’ve had one man killed and two injured? Apparently they had been winding a new cable on to No. 2 winch drum with the intention of trying to hold the rig on a spare anchor when the cable got out of control. ‘Unfortunately, it was Ken Stewart who was swept over the side. The other two men, they’re all right – one has a broken arm, the other cracked ribs. But with Stewart gone, there’s nobody I trust on board to handle navigation if the rig starts drifting again.’ He was looking straight at me. ‘How fit are you? I
want somebody out there with me who can take charge in an emergency.’

‘I’m all right,’ I said. ‘But how do you think you’re going to get on board? Even if there is a break, there’ll still be a hell of a sea running.’

He nodded. ‘I appreciate that, but it’s something I’ve got to try.’ He hesitated. ‘We already owe you quite a lot – you and Mrs Petersen. But there’s no stand-by boat with the rig now and this is the only trawler in the area big enough to stay by
North Star
till the tug gets there. You can state your own terms, but don’t let’s waste any time. Okay?’

The terms we agreed covered any damage, gave us a hefty bonus if the
Duchess
stayed by the rig until it was re-anchored, and provided for a long-term charter thereafter at favourable rates. I called to Johan to get the crew up and we cast off with the TV cameras set up on the pier taking pictures and the producer shouting for Villiers to come out on to the deck. Gertrude was already writing out the charter agreement and it was signed before we were in to Swarbacks Minn and meeting the full force of the north-westerly wind. The tide had only just turned against us and I took her through the Sound of Papa, a big sea running as we came out from under the lee of Papa Stour.

It was no more than 25 miles to
North Star
’s new position, but it took us almost six hours. Twice Villiers talked to the rig and on each occasion Ed Wiseberg was not available. The anchors were still holding apparently, but they had done nothing further about the spare anchor and I got the impression they were simply waiting for the tug to arrive. I don’t know who he was speaking to, Sparks probably, but on the second occasion I heard him say, ‘Well, for Christ’s sake tell Ed I want to talk to him. He’s to get that bloody anchor rigged and over the side, then he’s got to think of some way of getting us on to the deck.’ I didn’t hear any more for our bows fell off the top of a breaking wave and a great burst of spray crashed against the bridge. Then he was beside my chair, leaning over
me, peering down at the chart folded on my knees. ‘How far off now?’ His voice was tense, anger only just controlled.

‘A little over five miles.’

He glanced at his watch. ‘Another hour?’

‘More,’ I said.

‘Then you must increase the revs.’ And when I shook my head, he said, ‘It’s past five already. At this rate –’ Our bows slammed again and he was sent flying across the bridge. But he was back at my side almost immediately. ‘It’s useless to ask Ed how he’s going to get us on deck. You got any ideas?’

‘We’ll see what the sea conditions are like when we get there.’

I put down my pencil and looked at him then. He wasn’t scared, only very determined, almost desperate to get on the rig. ‘You any good at jumping and clambering up heights?’ I asked.

‘I’ve done a bit of rock climbing. Why?’

‘They’ve got scrambling nets. I remember seeing them being unrolled as I was drifting past the rig. With a bit of luck Johan could get the ship in close enough for us to jump. That is if you’re prepared to risk it.’

I was looking at him, but all he said was, ‘Good God! As simple as that. Why the hell couldn’t they think of it?’

‘Because they’re not seamen,’ I told him. And then, sensing that he was a man who needed to have action in mind, I said, ‘Half an hour from now, get on the blower to them and have them unroll the nets. And we’ll want oil. Tell them to have some containers full of oil ready to pour into the sea on the windward side.’

There wasn’t much light left when we finally raised the rig. Visibility was less than a mile in steady rain, so that we saw it as a blur of light, the factory blaze just as I had seen it so many times, except that the tier of red warning lights on the derrick were no longer vertical, but tilted at a slight angle. I had Johan take us in close. The nets were down, hanging like a wide mesh curtain below the catwalk that ran the length of the crew’s
quarters. Unfortunately, the nets faced north, almost into the wind. I was looking at the seas cascading through the columns, a welter of foam and broken water, trying to estimate the height of the waves against the meshes of the net. ‘There’s a hell of a rise and fall,’ I said.

‘What about the oil?’ he asked.

‘It won’t make any difference to the height of the waves, but there could be a little north-going tide left, so it may help. Tell them to start pouring it – but slowly, so that it spreads, and not on to the nets.’

I had already briefed Johan and he was on direct engine control. ‘You think you can do it without the ship slamming against the columns?’ I asked him.

‘Ja. But can you make the jump?’ He was laughing.

I looked at Villiers. ‘You realize, if you miss, there’s not much chance of being picked up?’

He nodded. ‘It’s the same for you.’

I looked at Gertrude. ‘If either of us misses the net and falls into the sea, you’ll only search clear of the rig. You’re not to take any chances with the ship. Is that understood?’