The Purple Contract (32 page)

Ken felt absolutely terrible. His stomach muscles ached and his head was pounding. Even with the ship tied up alongside the pier his legs felt wobbly and unsafe, as if the deck were still heaving under him. To complete his feeling of misery, he got little sympathy from his son and daughter––both of whom thought the entire day had been wonderful. Alison, being in somewhat better shape, drove them back to the hotel.

After a couple of hours on dry land, and with two cups of hot coffee to settle his stomach, Ken felt a little more human. 'Christ, I don't want any more of that!' he commented to his wife after they had put the children to bed.

'Well, it looked so nice this morning!' Alison said. The rain pattered on the window as she spoke. 'I'm beginning to understand what they mean here when they say the weather here is "changeable".

'You could call it that.' Ken muttered. 'Bright sunshine this morning and a howling gale in the afternoon.'

'I don't think that was a gale!' said Alison.
'Just a wee blow
, I heard someone say. I don't ever want to see a big one.'

'Was that an older man in a fancy jacket?'

'That's right. You heard him too, did you?'

'I met him outside on the deck before we left Westray. He seemed to be enjoying himself hugely.' Ken recalled the grinning, ruddy face.

'Madman!' observed Alison. She stood up and started to unbutton her blouse. 'I've had enough for one day. I'm going to bed.'

'Yes, I think you're right. Let's hope it's not like that going back on Saturday!'

'Don't even
think
about that!' she said, walking through into the en-suite bathroom.

Ken looked round the room. 'Where's that green bag you had in the car?'

'Beside the wardrobe.'

Ken raked through the medium-sized message bag that Alison used to carry around everything but the kitchen sink. 'Where did you put the video camera?'

'What?' The sound of running water stopped.

'I thought you put the camera into this bag on the boat?'

Alison put her head round the door. 'I didn't have that bag on the boat. I left it in the car,' she said sweetly. '
You
had the camera, what did you do with it?'

Ken frowned. 'Can't remember, it must be in the car.' He watched his wife walk naked across the room and drop her underwear on a chair, breasts jiggling provocatively, and deliberately. He felt a stirring in his trousers. Alison pulled back the bedcovers and smiled at his expression. 'Well hurry up or I'll have to start without you!'

The mind works in odd ways. Especially the subconscious mind, which never sleeps, cannot sleep. It was ten past two in the morning when Ken awoke with the realisation crystal clear in his mind. As if a door had suddenly opened. He sat up involuntarily, wide awake. 'Shit!' he said out loud.

Alison rolled over and blinked drowsily at him in the not-quite-darkness. 'What is it?'

Ken looked round at her. 'Fuckin' hell, I left the camera on the
boat
!'

'What are you talking about?' Alison was only half awake.

'The video camera! I put it under the seat on the ferry! I was feeling so awful––I forgot to take it out!'

His wife sighed. 'Well, someone will likely have handed it in, go round and check tomorrow,' she looked at the digits on the bedside alarm clock. 'It
is
tomorrow. There's nothing you can do right now.
' How could he possibly have been so stupid
, she didn't say.

'Jesus!' Ken groaned. 'No-one is going to hand in something like that, are they?' He lay back down and stared at the dimness of the ceiling. 'It'll be long gone.
shit!
'

'Go along after breakfast and check. There
are
some honest people in the world, what harm can it do?'

'I suppose so,' Ken shook his head in the darkness. He wasn't ever going to see it again, he was sure of
that
.

 
 
 
 
19

 
Friday 23 August, 2013

At eight thirty in the morning Ken Basker walked through the door into the Orkney Ferries booking office on Kirkwall pier. He explained the problem to one of the girls and she went off to fetch the manager. 'I'm sorry,' he said in his lilting Orkney accent, 'nothing was handed in to us last night or this morning.'

'Damn.' Ken muttered.

'You can try again later,’ the manager suggested. ‘If someone found it they might bring it round here later today.' The man was sympathetic, but passenger's belongings were their own responsibility.

'I don't think there's much hope, but thanks anyway.'

Waste of time
, Ken thought to himself as he walked back to the hotel.
I knew it was just a waste of time.

At just before ten o'clock duty Sergeant John Stewart heard the public door open and looked up. Two rather scruffy-looking teenagers mooched in. Both were wearing hiking boots and outdoor gear and might as well have had
campers
stamped on their foreheads. Both also looked somewhat ill at ease inside a police station.

'What can I do for you, boys?'

The taller of the pair put a silver-gray video camera on the desktop. 'Somebody left this on the
Varagen
last night, coming back from Westray,' he said in a Northumberland accent.

'Ah. Did you see who it was?' Stewart picked up the camera and turned it around, looking for any identifying marks.

'I suppose it must have belonged to the two folk sitting beside us, but I don't know who they were. We were last out and the camera was under the seat behind my rucksack, they must have forgotten about it.' He grinned suddenly. 'They were pretty seasick!'

'Right, boys, thanks for bringing it in. Did you see if they had a car with them?'

'Don't know, the boat was pretty full,' the lad shrugged.

'Okay then, thanks a lot.' Stewart watched them leave. A passing constable, busy with filing, commented, 'Someone will be round looking for it before lunch I bet.'

'You're probably right.' Stewart moved the camera over to a shelf, out of harms way.

In the middle of the afternoon Mike Hollis sat in the Range Rover in the long-stay car park near to Stromness ferry terminal. He was double-checking the contents of his old Karrimor Outward Bound rucksack. If he left anything behind now then he would have to get by without it. He wouldn't see the car again until the job was over.

The Outward Bound was a longish sack, designed to be carried high on the shoulders for optimum weight distribution. It was also a good size to conceal Hollis' replica filter unit. He wore well-used boots, veterans of hundreds of miles of walking through the west highlands and elsewhere, and an expensive, Swiss-made Goretex parka. On a whim, in Kirkwall the day before, he had also purchased a dark blue thick-knit woollen hat.

An experienced backpacker, Hollis was fully prepared to spend many days living rough if he had to. The car would be here awaiting his return, by whatever means he could beg, borrow or steal. Although he expected to be on foot. Given the choice, he intended to abandon the dory somewhere on the coast within walking distance of Stromness and his transport. Then he would simply disappear back to the cottage to finish the rest of his "holiday" while the forces of law and order ran round like headless chickens, checking all the ferries and aircraft departures.

He was even prepared to move into an hotel after his rental period was up if he thought it necessary to wait a little longer.

There was no hurry.
Wait them out
. Damned right, if all went well there would be nothing, nothing at all to link one more holidaymaker with the tragic death of the heir to the throne. The last thing he was going to do was be panicked into a hasty, and therefore suspicious, departure.

Hollis’ final action before leaving the Range Rover was to check the NUJ papers zipped into an inside pocket. Just another journalist covering the big show.

The bus was crowded. Local people going into Kirkwall were balanced just about evenly with tourists in various guises. Four other rucksacks had gone into the storage bays along with the blue Karrimor belonging to Mike Hollis. The owners sat three rows in front of him, two girls and two boys, conversing quietly in a mixture of Swedish and English. No-one took any notice of the older hiker sitting by himself, staring out the none-too-clean window and lost in thought.

When sergeant Anthony Davis returned to duty on the Friday afternoon the first thing he spotted was an expensive-looking video camera sitting forlornly on a shelf. 'What's this thing for?' he wanted to know.

'Some careless begger left it on one of the north isles ferries last night,' said the outgoing sergeant John Stewart. 'We've been hoping the owner will come looking for it, but so far nothing.'

Davis hung his coat in the cloakroom and met his colleague again in the office doorway.

'Nothing outstanding, other than that thing.' Stewart jerked a thumb at the camera. 'Remember to send a van to meet the Edinburgh plane this afternoon and pick up the ten extra lads we've been sent for tomorrow. I understand Special Branch have sent up a bod as well, so look for him too.'

Davis nodded.

'They're probably grumpy enough about being sent up here, without having walk into town as well!' They grinned at each other.

'You're over there tomorrow too, that right?'

'Houton at six am, God help us,’ answered Stewart. ‘You're well out of it in here my lad!  See you later.'

'Cheers.'

'Well I think it's got to be worth a try!'

'Alison,' said Ken Basker patiently. 'Can you really see someone finding a piece of expensive equipment like that and actually bringing it back'

'You have a very jaundiced view of your fellow human beings.' Alison was leaning into the back seat, tucking Eric's loose jersey inside his windproof jacket. It was a size to big but he would grow into it soon enough. The children were more subdued than normal at this time of the day. Daddy was not in a good mood.

'Damned right!' Ken snorted. 'Most of them would steal the shirt off your back if they thought you might not notice!'

Alison pulled a face at him. 'That's ridiculous. Just because it hasn't been handed in to the ferry place! If I found something like that I would take it to the police. What can it hurt to ask?'

'I don't even know where the police station is here.'

'It's in Burgh Road, not far from that nightclub we saw the other night.'

'How do you know that?' Ken was astonished.

'Because I looked at the street map!' answered his wife in exasperation.

'Oh.'

'Are you going or not?'

'Oh, all right then, it's worth a try I suppose.' Ken turned the key and started the car.

It was good fifteen minute walk from where the bus had dropped him, but Hollis enjoyed the exercise. The small jetty was somewhat overshadowed by Scapa Pier, where a surprisingly large ocean-going tug was berthed. The dory was there as promised, an envelope stuck to the inside of a window with a piece of tape. Hollis dumped the rucksack in the tiny cabin and opened the envelope. It contained rudimentary instructions for starting and operating the outboard motor. Three spare gallon cans of fuel were secured along the port-side gunwale.

The motor started with surprising ease, and a few minutes later Hollis was heading out under the gray overcast into the vast expanse of Scapa Flow, with steep cliffs rising out of the sea close by the port side. As before, there was little shipping traffic to be seen, and what there was would be no hazard in broad daylight. Hollis checked again that the throttle was wide open and settled himself on the hard plastic seat behind the wheel. He estimated the speed at around fifteen knots, so he expected the journey across to Hoy to take something less than an hour. Maybe a little more if he took the time to check out the coastline either side of Lyness. At the very least he would need to find somewhere secluded to leave the boat overnight.

But he had plenty of time. There wasn't a lot he could do until close of business, presumably between five and six. Well and good. Hollis tried to relax and enjoy the trip.

Might be the last trip we ever make.

Shut up.

The constable turned the video camera over in his hands. 'What are you going to do if nobody claims this thing?'

Sergeant Davis looked round over his shoulder. 'It'll just have to go into Lost Property with all the other stuff.'

'I'm surprised no-one’s been in here already.'

'So am I,' Davis admitted.

'You ever shot home movies. sergeant?' the constable asked.

'It’s never been my thing. Why?'

'I've got one of these too. Smaller than this one, fit in your hand almost. The first thing you do when you get one is video the whole family. You know: kid's birthdays and suchlike, great fun.'

'So.' Davis was not a photography nor a video freak.

'Well, if you take one of these on holiday with you, you're bound to end up with a lot of footage of the family as well as the scenery. Stands to reason.'

'Is there a point to this discussion?'

'Well, Sarge, if he was videoing the family holiday, like––and they had a car with them...'

Davis turned his head around and looked at the constable. 'He might have filmed the car in the background. Maybe even the licence plate!'

The constable nodded. It was a lot easier to trace a car than one anonymous family. And the licence number would of course give them the owner’s home address.

'Full marks, my son!' Davis came over and lifted the camera in one hand. 'How can we look at what's in here?'

'We could use the viewfinder screen to play back the recording but it's pretty small.' He pointed with a finger. 'We should be able to hook it up to the PC monitor, if I can find a suitable cable.'

Davis glanced at the camera body. There was a variety of connecters and sockets on the thing. 'Well go find one, lad. Fetch!'

'Yessir.'

Hollis turned the dory through 180 degrees, the water slapping rhythmically at the hull.

No point in going too far. The sooner he was off this island tomorrow the better. As long as the dory was out of sight of Lyness and, most importantly of all, secure for the night, that was all that really mattered.