wellington boots hopped out, holding one end of a thick rope. His eyes were sunken and pink, underlined with heavy purple bags, a threadbare woollen hat perched on top of his head. Long arms, short legs, big ears and a wild mess of ginger hair.
Royce held up a hand. Benny.
Constable Clark! A lopsided grin and an almost impenetrable Shetland accent. Whatever it was, me darlin, I didn t do it. Was home all night with ma sister.
Yeah, I bet. You busy?
Never aff o da go, you know?
Arnold about?
On da barge. He tilted his head to one side, contorted his eyebrows. He do it again?
Yeah.
Sigh. Less an dule Give us a minute to load some feed, and I ll give du a hurl. He clomped over to one of the containers and unlocked the padlock, then creaked the door open. It was stacked full of paper sacks like the ones tatties came in. A smell, like cat biscuits, wafted out of the container.
Benny hefted a bag onto his shoulder and shuffled back to the boat, hauling up the droopy backside of his overalls. Du can lend a hand if du want.
The boat clunked against the floating platform. It was about the size of a boxing ring with a big wooden shed taking up almost all of the available surface area, barely enough room around the edge for a walkway and handrail.
Benny switched off the engine, then threw a line around a cleat in front of the shed doors, wrapping it tight. I lichtit til him: leave the poor auld fart alone, but dis he listen til me? Course he doesn t. Benny dragged a sack of feed from the bottom of the boat and thumped it down on the walkway. Arnie? ARNIE, DU GOT VISITORS! Benny hefted another sack.
ARNIE?
Nothing.
It was still and silent out here in the middle of the sea loch; sunlight glinted off the water all around us.
I clambered up onto the walkway. The shed door was lying wide open. A metal hopper took up nearly half of the building, attached to some sort of engine and a length of pipe that disappeared out through the wall. A small table and a couple of folding chairs. A wee diesel generator, portable TV, kettle, mugs, microwave, and other assorted bits and bobs. Not exactly luxurious. Half the shed was empty, the area fenced off with chicken wire and wooden slats, a couple of bags of fish feed stacked against the wall. The smell of cat biscuits was nearly overpowering. No sign of Burges. Thought you said he was out here.
He is. Benny dumped another sack on the walkway.
What, he s invisible?
A shrug.
I squinted out at the shining water. Maybe he saw the patrol car and ran for it?
Swum for it, du means. Another sack. We ve only got the one boat.
The diesel generator spluttered into silence. Royce appeared at my shoulder carrying two mugs. He held one out. No biscuits. But if you re hungry there s plenty of fish food?
Arnold Burges going to be long?
Depends. I took a sip: it was coffee, but only just.
Something broke the surface of the water over by the furthest of the three cages. It was a bald head, the shiny pink crown surrounded by a fringe of soggy black hair. Big diving goggles, breathing apparatus for an aqualung. And then it was gone again.
I leaned against the handrail, following the trail of bubbles.
When Burges gets here, make yourself scarce. You and the little orang-utan.
How? Royce pursed his lips and looked around.
Not exactly a lot of places to
Get in the boat, go fishing, I don t care.
Hmmm A sip of coffee. You re kinda pushy for a detective constable.
Cheeky bastard. I m only asking for ten minutes. Fifteen tops.
Yeah, well, you remember I m the one who s got to keep the peace here after you ve buggered off back to the real world Here we go.
The bald head resurfaced a good twenty feet closer, making for the barge. Something bobbed along behind it: looked like a fluorescent orange buoy. Two minutes later, a huge man hauled himself out of the water and up onto the platform.
He d been squeezed into a tatty old drysuit. The arms, legs and neck looked as if they d been black once, the chest and stomach ancient yellow. Water dribbled from a bushy brown beard.
Arnold Burges.
He pulled off the diving goggles and narrowed his eyes at Royce.
The old bastard s lying. I was here all night with Benny. After that frigging seal. He turned his back, squatted at the edge of the walkway, and reached into the water.
Royce sighed. Benny s already told us he was round his sister s all night. How many times do we have to go over this? You ve got to stay away from Dr Forrester.
The big man flexed his shoulders and hauled on a length of blue plastic rope the buoy cut through the water until it was close enough for him to grab. Another seven hundred fish last night. Seven hundred. He looped the rope around a metal contraption, then cranked the handle.
I mean it, Arnold: leave him alone.
A foot of black net rose from the loch, the rest of it still submerged. Silver shapes glistened inside. Burges pulled one of them out. It was a salmon, nearly as long as his arm, scales glistening pink, silver and grey, its distinctive jutting jaw hanging open. A single, ragged-edged chunk was missing from its belly. See that?
Arnold
One bite. Sticks his nose through the net, tears out the liver and leaves them to die. Seven hundred frigging fish in one night. Burges curled his top lip, then tossed the salmon into a plastic barrel, sending water splashing up the side of the shed.
Been picking dead fish out the cages all week.
Arnold, this is Detective Constable Henderson, he wants a word.
Burges went back to the winch, lifting more net out of the water.
Benny? You get that feed?
Benny nodded towards the pile in the barge. Twenty bags.
That s no bloody good, how s twenty bags going to last us
Don t draa doon der broos at me, Arnie Burges. A m hed me some passengers, didn t I?
Draa doon der? What the hell was that supposed to mean? It was as if he was making up words.
Benny hopped back in the boat. Wis just aff to get the balance.
I stared at Royce, jerked my head towards the shore.
A pause, then the constable nodded. Not as daft as he looked.
Yes, right, well, why don t I give you a hand, Benny? Less of a job for two. This pair can stay here and have that word.
The boat s engine faded to a grumble, then a whisper, then nothing.
I leaned back against the rusty metal handrail. Stay the hell away from Henry Forrester.
Burges hurled another dead fish into the barrel. Fertilizer. That s all these are good for now.
It s not his fault.
Waste of good fish.
Look, Mr Burges, I know you ve been through a lot, but
You know what I ve been through? THUMP. The next salmon didn t go in the barrel, it battered into the wooden platform at my feet. You fucking know?
Yes, I fucking did.
It isn t
My Lauren s dead, Constable Henderson. Oh yeah, I know who you are. I remember you from the frigging
