There were four of them now, two women and two men, standing around her as she sat on the stool, all of them buttoned up against the cold in arctic jackets and thick work boots.
In contrast to Jack, the other man, Callum, was dark, with pale skin and white teeth that seemed to be slightly too big for his face. His waterproof jacket and trousers looked expensive. He was staring at Fiona in brooding silence.
The girl, Becky, short, freckled, with fizzy brown curls and big square glasses on her small square face, stood slightly apart from them, at the back of the tent.
Fiona smiled weakly at her. She did not smile back.
‘What are you saying?’ Iris demanded. ‘Madison’s run away?’
Fiona, her stammered explanations over, felt a hot blush rise up her cheeks.
‘I’m sure she’s not run away,’ she said, though an internal voice murmured, Are you completely sure about that?
What if something had frightened her enough?
‘Madison left?’ Becky asked.
Callum twitched out a shrug. ‘She told us she was sick, not her mother,’ he said, while Iris shot a look at Jack.
Fiona had the sudden sense that something about this development pleased Callum.
Becky raised a suspicious eyebrow at Fiona. ‘Are you sure about this?’
‘She’s been texting me since I set off on Thursday. In the texts she claimed to be at the dig here … to have found “something big” and that’s why she was so hard to reach.’ She sighed. ‘Certainly nothing about leaving.’
‘Found something big?’ asked Becky. ‘That’s weird.’
The others exchanged looks, and Callum gave Becky a theatrical glare, before seeming to realise that Fiona could see this.
How very interesting.
‘Well, I can tell you that we’ve not seen her since we finished up here on Wednesday afternoon.’ Iris’s lips compressed as she rubbed the back of her neck. ‘Then she was in touch first thing Thursday, saying she had a sore throat and a fever. She was going to take a couple of days off and hopefully be back today. I tried to phone yesterday, and this morning, and got no answer. And as Becky says, she seemed fine Wednesday night.’ She tightened her folded arms.
Something struck Fiona then. ‘Did she call you, or did she send a text? When she told you she was sick?’
‘She …’ Iris opened her mouth, then closed it. ‘You know, I can’t remember. But thinking about it, I think she texted.’ She sighed, gestured helplessly. ‘I’m embarrassed to admit it, but I remember being annoyed. We were all very annoyed with her. She can’t help being ill, I know, but with the terrible weather and the dig running late, her timing was abominable.’
There was an eloquent pause, as though Iris was reviewing her next words carefully.
‘And, well … it wasn’t the first time we’d noticed that Madison had something on her mind.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Fiona, struck by her tone.
Callum let out an embarrassed little cough. ‘There’d been some problems with the finds. And bagging up the samples.’ He threw Fiona an apologetic look, in a I’m just the messenger way. ‘Mads was the Finds Manager here on the dig – it was her responsibility to prepare them …’
‘Oh, don’t labour the point, Callum,’ said Iris. ‘There were, admittedly, a couple of mistakes …’
‘Expensive mistakes,’ Callum replied with gloomy emphasis, though it seemed once more to Fiona that saying this gave him a measure of inexplicable satisfaction, as though watching Madison fail had pleased him. ‘Hundreds of pounds a throw.’
‘Callum, this is not the time …’
‘Blew up her own laptop, too – expensive little MacBook. We had to lend her one of ours …’
Fiona glanced at him. Madison had loved that laptop.
‘I think the point Iris is trying to make,’ Jack interrupted quietly, but both Iris and Callum nevertheless fell silent, ‘is that it was very out of character for Madison. She’d always been one hundred per cent reliable.’
Fiona wasn’t sure why, but knowing Madison as she did, this assessment struck her as unlikely. And yet it wasn’t, really. However chaotic her personal life was, Madison worked hard and was very smart – people told her this, time and time again.
She had a tiny flash of self-insight then – you don’t believe in her, do you? Then a pang of guilt. Does Madison know that you don’t believe in her?
She shook her head, dismissing the thought. It didn’t help any of them now.
‘So none of you have actually physically spoken to her since Wednesday night?’ she persisted.
They looked around at one another, shook their heads.
‘No,’ said Jack. ‘I don’t think so.’
Fiona bit her lip, her hands clasped around her cooling coffee.
‘Um, I don’t want to … well, I don’t want to alarm anybody …’ she began.
Iris’s head came up again, and that intense gaze was on her once more. Fiona could feel how nervous it made her.
‘What?’ Iris asked. ‘What is it?’
Fiona swallowed. ‘I’m not convinced that Mads would do this – any of this.’ She took a deep breath, rallied her wandering thoughts. ‘I don’t believe that she’d bail on an important dig. That she’d leave without telling me after I travelled two days to get here. There were – I dunno – I got a strange feeling from some of her texts, and from what you’ve said, and the Fletts, it seems that nobody has seen her since Wednesday night.
‘And I don’t know if you know this, but Madison had a stalker.’
‘A stalker?’ squeaked Becky. ‘What kind of stalker?’
The others merely stared at her, shocked into silence.
The only exception to this was Iris. From her still, thoughtful expression, Fiona realised that this was no surprise to her.
Fiona looked out through the tent flap. Beyond, she could see the trenches, three big rectangular storage boxes, the causeway leading back to the mainland. Across the strait, she could see a couple, little more than stick figures from here. Around their feet played a couple of large yellow dogs.
If someone had been watching Madison while she worked, she realised, they would have to do it either from very far away or very close up.
And if Dom Tate had come to Helly Holm, Madison would have recognised him.
‘Did you … I don’t know, happen to see anyone hanging around here?’ she asked. ‘Someone unusually interested in Madison, or did she mention anything to you?’
They all looked at one another, shook their heads. They seemed genuinely at a loss.
‘People – locals and tourists – know that we’re digging here. Sometimes they watch from the mainland, sometimes they come over the causeway and have a nose around,’ Callum said slowly.
‘Callum handles our IT and does our social media out here,’ said Iris. ‘It’s his job to show people the dig, answer questions.’
‘Really?’ asked Fiona, seized with an idea. ‘So … sorry, hang on a sec,’ she was digging for her phone, swiping through her pictures. ‘So, Callum, have you ever seen this guy around here?’
She held up the phone. It was the picture Madison had sent her prior to that disastrous Christmas party at Saxon Street the year before last.
Dominic Tate stood there, with his unsmiling narrow eyes and grin too wide for his face and his neat brown hair, one arm possessively tightened around Madison’s waist. She too wore a loose smile, her head cocked, her cat-like eyes vacant in drink. One hand rested gently on his shoulder.
With a little start, Fiona realised that Madison was wearing the forest-green mohair cardigan, loosely gathered under her breasts, fastened with little copper toggles. It was one of those expensive, arty pieces that Madison had an infallible nose for. Fiona had loved that cardigan and told Madison so. A week later, it had arrived in the post, wrapped in a gold ribbon with a card tucked in. ‘This is for you. I know you liked it. The colour will be better with your hair anyway. All my love, Mads XXX’
She felt sick with dread.
But now was not the time to cry. Now was the time to get on with it.
They all circled her, peered into the screen.
‘No … no. Not ringing a bell,’ said Callum, nibbling at his thumbnail with those big teeth. He looked around at the others. ‘Anyone else recognise him?’
They shook their heads regretfully.
‘Um, you’re sure no one’s seen him?’ she asked, hearing the desperate note in her voice.
‘What’s he supposed to have done?’ asked Becky, and again, she sounded scornful, as though Fiona was trying to pull the wool over their collective eyes.
‘He slashed her tyres. He threatened to throw acid over her. He was convicted of criminal damage and sending malicious messages eight months ago. They put a restraining order on him,’ said Fiona, and the widening of Becky’s eyes gave her a tiny measure of selfish satisfaction.
‘Oh,’ she said.
‘Shit,’ Iris simply hissed after a long moment. ‘What do we do now?’
‘We contact HES, I guess,’ murmured Callum, sticking his hands into his pockets. ‘Get them to send someone out to replace her …’
Becky made a contemptuous tutting noise. ‘For fuck’s sake. Way to miss the point …’
‘No, Callum,’ said Iris, sounding like a woman struggling to stay patient. ‘I meant what do we do about Madison?’ She rubbed her temples. ‘Something’s happened to her.’
The next move was obvious to Fiona.
‘I think I need to go to the police,’ she said. She felt weepy suddenly. This was all turning into a nightmare.
‘I’ve got Mads’ next of kin details on the laptop,’ said Callum. ‘Whoa, no, I don’t mean it like that.’ He must have seen Fiona’s face grow pale. ‘I mean, her contact in an emergency. Do you want me to go find it?’
‘Yeah, thanks, that would be great.’
He bustled out, while the others exchanged looks.
‘Where are you staying, Fiona?’ asked Jack, peering into her face, his thumbs hooked into his pockets.
‘I’m – I’m in Langmire, for now. The Fletts offered to let me stay on at the cottage,’ she said. ‘Just for a couple of days.’
‘That’s nice,’ said Iris. ‘They’re nice people.’ She was distracted, thoughtful.
‘I mean,’ said Fiona, suddenly flooded with embarrassment, ‘I think you guys are paying for that house, so if that doesn’t suit, I’ll get a hotel room in Kirkwall. I’m heading out to the police station there anyway …’
‘No,’ said Iris, raising a quelling hand. ‘Don’t give it another thought. It’s fine.’
‘Be good to have someone at Langmire, anyway,’ said Jack, rubbing his chin. ‘Just in case she comes back there. Yeah. You’d be doing us a favour.’
Iris nodded in agreement, still lost in thought. ‘Fiona’s right. I think the police are the logical first step,’ she murmured. ‘I mean, how do we know Madison didn’t phone in sick under duress? Didn’t text you under duress? No, I don’t like it.’ She raised her dark eyes to Fiona. ‘And you’ll keep us informed if you find out anything?’
‘Of course.’
‘Do you need one of us to go with you?’ Iris asked.
‘No,’ said Fiona. ‘Thank you. But I don’t think so.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘I think you’re probably needed here more.’
Iris shook her head in impatience. ‘This is just a dig.’ She flapped a hand in the direction of the excavation. ‘The person buried here is going nowhere.’
‘Well, they might be going somewhere,’ said Callum, returning with a bulky laptop open in his hands, and once more his voice was both gloomy and yet self-satisfied. ‘There’s a big storm coming on Monday night and if it hits the site while it’s exposed …’
‘Callum, that is enough,’ snapped Jack, suddenly ferocious, his blue eyes cold and furious.
Everybody froze.
‘It’s fine,’ said Fiona into the silence, taken aback by this explosion.
Jack nodded, but his face was red, closed, his mouth tight. He stalked out of the tent.
Callum blushed, bent back to the laptop.
‘So this isn’t very helpful,’ he said. He seemed almost breathless, trembling. ‘Her emergency contact is Dr Fiona Grey on Saxon Street in Cambridge, who I’m guessing is …’
‘Me.’ Fiona was stunned, and oddly touched.
Of course she was Madison’s emergency contact.