13 Cyrus

13

The local police headquarters in St Claire is so new that I can smell the paint drying and see scaffolding marks on the carpet. The interview room is sparsely furnished and decorated in pastel colours because some organisational psychologist will have told them that light blue reduces anxiety.

Ogilvy has taken off his jacket and loosened his tie. His crumpled shirt is one size too small, putting pressure on the buttons across his belly. He turns on the recording equipment and announces the date and time and the names of those present.

Finally, he leans forward, elbows on the table. ‘OK, for the record, tell me again why you visited Finn Radford.'

‘First, can I ask you a general question?'

He nods.

‘When offences are committed off the coast of Scotland, who has the jurisdiction to investigate?'

‘The police. The National Crime Agency. The Home Office.'

‘And who deals with the fishing industry?'

‘Marine Scotland manages fishing vessels, licenses boats and monitors catches.'

‘Theoretically, if a fishing boat was involved in human trafficking, how hard would it be to detect?'

One eyebrow is raised. ‘Theoretically?'

‘Yes.'

‘Theoretically, I'd say you've been pissing on my leg and blaming the dog. What evidence do you have?'

‘An eyewitness.'

‘Ah, your friend, Miss Cormac. What boat?'

‘The Arianna II.'

‘Which belonged to Willie Radford.'

‘You know him?'

‘He employs a lot of people in St Claire.'

‘Including undocumented workers.'

Ogilvy lets that comment pass.

‘Mr Radford is a pillar of this community, whose roots go back centuries. He's a big employer, and he's generous. This year he bought an inshore boat for the local lifeboat station that must have cost six figures.'

‘Sounds like the perfect candidate for higher office.'

My sarcasm fires something in the detective, who swallows and takes a moment to compose himself. ‘Let me get this straight, Dr Haven. You went to see Finn Radford and you accused him of people trafficking?'

‘I wanted to see if he remembered Evie.'

‘And did he?'

‘He said they were all ghosts.'

‘Who?'

‘The people on board – the ones who died.'

‘Allegedly,' says Ogilvy. ‘You have no proof.'

‘Finn admitted to being involved in smuggling.'

‘Was that before or after he blew his head off?'

I don't respond.

‘Had you met Finn Radford before today?' asks Ogilvy.

‘Yes.'

‘We have two witnesses from the Fisherman's Hostel who recall Finn shouting at you, telling you to stay away from him.'

‘He was drunk.'

‘He's always drunk. And Willie Radford asked you to leave his family alone, but you ignored him. He wants you charged with harassment, stalking, trespass and assault.'

‘That's ridiculous.'

‘Did Finn Radford ask you to stay away from him?'

‘Yes, but I didn't harass him and there was no assault.'

‘Yet the question I find myself asking is whether Finn would still be alive if you hadn't gone out there today. That young man had mental health issues. He was an alcoholic. He suffered from depression and paranoid delusions. You're supposedly a psychologist. You should have realised that.'

‘Instead of accusing me, you should be looking into that illegal camp next to Finn Radford's shack.'

‘What camp?'

‘The caravans, tents and tarpaulins strung under trees. Pit toilets. Cooking fires. A bus is delivering undocumented workers to Polaris Pelagic.'

‘How do you know they're undocumented?'

‘They scattered when they saw us, running off in every direction. They're frightened of being caught up in an immigration sweep.'

Ogilvy wants to dismiss this new information, but he stops himself, and ends the recording. He gets to his feet and hitches up his trousers. One button on his shirt has surrendered and his white vest is visible where his shirt gapes open.

‘I'm holding you both in custody until I decide what crime I can charge you with.'

‘I want a lawyer.'

‘That might be the most intelligent thing you've said today.'

I'm allowed a five-minute phone call. I weigh up whom to contact. Carlson will say I told you so and wash his hands of me. Lenny Parvel is my oldest friend and my long-time employer at Nottinghamshire Police, but she has no jurisdiction in Scotland, and this isn't her fight. Finally, I settle on Florence. She answers before the phone even rings.

‘Where are you?'

‘I'm still in Scotland. There has been a complication.'

I quickly tell her about Finn Radford's suicide and how the family has accused us of harassment and trespassing.

‘Where are you right now?' she asks, as though sensing trouble.

‘At the police station in St Claire.'

‘Have you been arrested?'

‘We're in custody.'

‘Charged?'

‘Not yet.'

‘Please tell me you haven't been interviewed without a lawyer being present.'

‘OK. I won't tell you that.'

‘And I thought I'd met a smart man. Where's Evie?'

‘She's with me.'

Another silence. I can hear my breathing in the phone. Florence makes a note of the police station and the arresting officer.

‘No more interviews – not without me,' she says. ‘If I leave now, I can be there by early tomorrow.'

‘From London? That's six hundred miles. Find me a local lawyer.'

‘Not happening.'

Before my time runs out, I ask her to check on a company called Polaris Pelagic. ‘It's a fish processing plant in St Claire.'

‘Why is that important?' she asks.

‘Polaris means North Star.'

‘You think it could be linked to the Buchan Family Trust?'

‘What are the chances?'