Ava decided to go back to her car and dictate what she had so far into her mobile. A food van had arrived in the car park and was serving coffee. She joined the queue, exchanging a few words with folk, then carried her coffee back to the car. Once inside, she called Dougie. His mobile rang out for a while and she expected it to go to voicemail, but before it did, he answered.

‘Did you get my note?’ Ava said.

‘Yeah.’

‘Not sure when I’ll be back.’

‘Okay.’

‘Will you see to the kye? We could maybe let them out into the fields when I get back.’

He muttered what Ava thought was an affirmative. Realizing she wasn’t going to get any more from him than that, she said her goodbyes.

Her heaviness of heart came back as she cut the call. What the hell was she going to do about Dougie and the farm? Sit around in Orkney waiting for the next ship to go aground for something interesting to report on? Or was it the Dounby Show next? She felt guilty at such a thought, which belittled her fellow reporters who chose not to traipse round the world looking for trouble spots.

‘Fuck it!’ she said, and not under her breath, as she began to record what had happened up to now.

Once she had the key points noted, she decided to try to find out what she could about the origins of the MV Orlova, which turned out to be more interesting than she’d first thought. So much so that she didn’t notice that the helicopter was landing on the clifftop.

Eventually the noise of its descent made her abandon her internet research, and she headed across to find Erling apparently about to be transferred to the ship.

‘What’s happened?’ Ava said, noting his serious expression. ‘Is it the hull?’

‘The hull looks sound, according to the divers.’

‘Are there folk aboard?’ Ava tried.

‘As far as we know there are no survivors.’ Erling looked decidedly grim.

As he headed for the helicopter, Ava caught sight of Geordie Findlater and went to see if he knew any more.

He did. ‘Word is there are bodies aboard, lass. How many, I don’t know.’

8

Rhona could hear the SOCOs moving about outside, but here in the tent all was still.

She continued to write up her notes, determined to miss nothing. Soon they would take the victim to the mortuary for further examination and this exact scene could never be reconstructed in its entirety again.

The smell was still there, of course. It would linger in her nostrils for who knew how long. But here and now, the body’s smell wasn’t important. She thought only of the victim hidden within it. The how and the why of her being here in such circumstances, and what evidence they might capture which would help them tell the victim’s story.