There was something almost pagan about it. Not as explicitly so as some of the longer-established ceremonies around these strange isles, admittedly, and some of the God-fearing church types involved in tonight’s event would be horrified at the mere suggestion. Even so, as Alec McKay stared at the masked figures and the bonfire topped with grotesque effigies, it felt as if they might be invoking something far from Christian.
‘I hope you’re not having regrets already?’
McKay turned to smile at Chrissie. ‘I was just wondering why we didn’t do it years ago.’
‘Because we had good reasons for staying in town. Or we thought we did.’
‘Remind me again what they were.’
‘You liked to walk out to the pub of an evening.’
‘I can still do that if I want to. But when did I last go to the pub? I’m getting too old for that kind of thing. I can barely drag myself out for something like this.’
They were standing in the darkness away from the fire itself, just yards from the sea. McKay peered out across the firth, seeing the string of lights from Ardersier doubled in the still waters. Behind him, the crowd was growing rowdier as the fire took hold. It was a cold clear midwinter night, the sky heavy with stars.
‘I’m just worried it’s going to be too quiet for you.’
‘Doesn’t seem quiet tonight, does it?’
McKay wasn’t even sure why they’d come. This kind of community event wasn’t really his scene. There was too much danger of running into someone you might feel obliged to talk to. But Chrissie was more sociable than he was, and she’d been keen to attend.
It had drawn an impressive crowd, especially in the circumstances. He could understand that. It had been like this for a few months now, despite the recurrent lockdowns. People were desperate to engage in some form of social life, taking any opportunity to meet other people. The tourists hadn’t fully returned later in the summer, and the bars and restaurants had remained socially-distanced and unseasonably quiet. The locals had done their best to compensate, and that had continued into the autumn and winter.
This was the latest in a series of community events organised to boost the local economy and raise funds for good causes. McKay had attended one or two, usually when goaded by Chrissie, and – though he was reluctant to admit it – had generally enjoyed them. Even when socially-distanced, Chrissie could happily chat to some of their neighbours, while he was content to knock back a few glasses of cheap plonk or a plate of stovies.
Tonight’s event was on a larger scale than most, and was the brainchild of a local writer. McKay had been concerned that, given the size of the event, he’d find it more difficult to be his usual unsociable self, but so far the darkness and the crowd had let him remain unobtrusively in the background, while Chrissie did enough blethering with neighbours and acquaintances for both of them. Chrissie had even volunteered to drive so he could enjoy a couple of local ales.
The bonfire was getting going now, and the crowd’s excitement was rising. McKay hadn’t bothered to check the schedule for the evening, but he knew it included music, fireworks and some other ‘surprise events’. None of that appealed to McKay – especially the ‘surprise events’ – but he was happy to drink his beer and listen to the steady wash of the waters against the beach.
As if its owner had been reading those last thoughts, a voice said, ‘Alec? I wouldn’t have thought this was your sort of thing?’
He turned to find his boss, DCI Helena Grant, accompanied by a man he vaguely recognised behind his face-mask. ‘Helena? Wasn’t expecting to see you over here, either. Bit of a drive.’
‘I couldn’t really turn down an invitation from the organiser.’ She gestured towards the man beside her.
McKay realised now where he’d seen the man before. His had been the face beaming amiably down from every noticeboard and shop window on the Black Isle for the past month. William Emsworth, best-selling author of crime fiction, and the driving force behind the evening’s events. McKay allowed Emsworth a nod. ‘Mr Emsworth. You’ve put on a good show.’
‘Bill, please.’ Emsworth held out his hand for shaking, then awkwardly withdrew it. ‘Sorry. Keep forgetting we’re not supposed to shake hands any more.’ His accent was Scottish, but he sounded as if he’d spent a long time living elsewhere.
‘Alec was never sociable enough to shake hands much in the first place,’ Grant said.
‘That’s true enough,’ McKay said. ‘But I’m a real charmer below the surface. How do you come to know Helena, Bill?’ McKay was mainly making his version of small talk, but he was also curious to know the answer. Helena had been a widow for a number of years. She’d made an ill-fated foray into online dating a year or so before, but recently, as far as McKay knew, had made no further attempts to reinvigorate her romantic life. Not, he conceded, that he’d necessarily be the first she’d rush to tell if she were back in a relationship.
Of course there was no reason for McKay to assume anything more than friendship between Helena and Emsworth. Except that something in Emsworth’s expression suggested he might see things differently.
‘It’s a long story,’ Emsworth said, in a tone that suggested he was only too keen to recount it.
‘Bill contacted the comms team to see if there was anyone who could give him some advice on a book he was writing.’ Grant smiled. ‘For some reason, comms fobbed him off to me.’
‘I’m very glad they did,’ Emsworth said. ‘You’ve really been most helpful, Helena. You’ve given me a lot of invaluable information.’
‘If you’re going to represent our work in your books,’ she said, ‘we might as well make it as accurate as we can.’
McKay wondered when all this had actually happened. ‘Are we providing research services for crime writers now, then? Surprised we have the time.’ He smiled to demonstrate he was joking, though his smile was hidden beneath his face-mask and, in truth, he wasn’t entirely sure he was.
Emsworth nodded back. ‘I hope it’s all valuable PR for the force. I try not to depict you in a negative light, and I’m sure it must be helpful for the public to have a better idea of the valuable work you do. In any case, I was very careful not to waste any more of Helena’s work time than I could help.’
‘Is that right?’
‘Bill was good enough to buy me a couple of excellent dinners in return for picking my brains,’ Grant explained.
McKay bit back the first comment to enter his head. ‘And now he’s invited you here.’
‘To be honest, I needed all the moral support I could get,’ Emsworth said. ‘It’s been a fraught process getting this all together. Still, it looks like we’ll all be locked down again after Christmas so I’m glad we made the effort.’
‘Must have been a challenge.’ McKay gestured to the crowd. ‘But you seem to have attracted the numbers.’
‘I’m very relieved. The biggest worry was the weather, along with all the usual social distancing concerns. People can wrap up against the cold, and it just helps sell the mulled wine. But if it pours with rain, it’s a washout. We had a couple of marquees arranged as backup, but it would have cut the numbers dramatically. And people are still uncomfortable if they’re crammed too close together.’
‘I always was,’ McKay said with feeling.
‘Alec’s generally keen to maintain the maximum possible distance from his fellow human beings,’ Grant said.
‘I suppose you see the worst of humankind in a job like yours,’ Emsworth said. ‘I have the luxury of only having to write about it.’
Chrissie had finished talking to the neighbour and rejoined them. She nodded a greeting to Helena Grant and looked with undisguised curiosity at Emsworth. Unlike McKay, she’d recognised him instantly.
McKay effected the introductions. ‘Bill’s apparently been taking lessons on policing from Helena.’
‘I’m sure she’s a much more appropriate tutor than Alec would be,’ Chrissie said. ‘He’d just tell you about the way he does things. Which isn’t always in the police manual.’
‘That sounds most intriguing,’ Emsworth said. ‘I’ll have to pick your brains too at some point. You could give me some tips on the concept of the maverick cop.’
‘Don’t encourage him,’ Grant said. ‘He already makes my life hell.’
‘Putting the hell into Helena, eh? Actually, Alec, I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but she’s very complimentary about you behind your back. She told me about some of your recent cases. Fascinating stuff.’
‘Oh, God, don’t tell him that.’ Grant shook her head in mock despair. ‘I’ll never hear the last of it.’
‘As long as you don’t feature me in any of your books,’ McKay said.
‘I may be tempted to slip in a cameo.’ Emsworth looked past them towards the rising flames of the bonfire. ‘I’d better check that everything’s on track. We’re supposed to have a string quartet playing shortly and then we’ve got various local performers. Nothing too rowdy. Do you want to come along, Helena? I can introduce you to a few people.’
As soon as Emsworth and Grant had departed, Chrissie turned enthusiastically to McKay. ‘Was that what I thought it was?’
‘What?’ McKay’s face was a picture of innocence.
‘Helena and Bill Emsworth. I had the sense they were an item.’
‘I wouldn’t know. Not really my territory.’
‘Come off it, Alec. They were all over each other. Or they wanted to be.’
‘You’re the expert in that kind of thing.’
She shook her head. ‘Well, I hope so. She deserves a bit of happiness after all she’s been through.’
‘You’re not wrong about that. What did you make of him?’
‘Emsworth? He seemed pleasant enough.’
‘Bit smooth for my taste,’ McKay said.
‘Everyone’s a bit smooth for your taste. Unless they’re too rough.’
‘Ach, well, you know my views on people.’
‘You disapprove of them.’
‘Present company excepted, obviously.’
‘You were too slow there, Alec. But I’ll take that as read.’ She was staring past him into the orange glare of the bonfire. ‘What’s going on over there?’
Alec followed her gaze. He was expecting that some trouble might have broken out. That was always the risk of events like this. Most people were just out for a pleasant evening, but there were always one or two who downed too many pints and made a nuisance of themselves.
It didn’t seem to be quite that, though. Some of the crowd were pointing into the fire, others were drawing back towards the water’s edge. At first the mood was playful, but then there was a scream and the mood seemed to change almost immediately.
‘Wait here.’ McKay made his way through the crowd, incurring irritated responses from those he moved aside, some of them muttering darkly about his proximity. As he reached the far side of the bonfire, he saw that most of the crowd had retreated towards the water. A couple of young men were standing close to the flames, clearly troubled by the intense heat, pointing into the heart of the fire.
McKay was still some distance from the fire, but the heat was almost unbearable. ‘What is it?’
One of the young men looked back at him, his face crimson from the heat. ‘There’s something in there. We’re trying to see what it is exactly, but it’s too bloody hot to get close enough.’
‘What sort of something?’
The young man hesitated. ‘This is going to sound stupid. But it looks like a body. A human body, I mean.’
McKay looked up at the summit of the large bonfire. Although it wasn’t Bonfire Night, the organisers had positioned several effigies on top of the pyre. During the pandemic lockdown earlier in the year, residents had entertained themselves and others by positioning scarecrows around the Black Isle. Several of these had been donated to top the bonfire. It was almost as if people felt that, symbolically at least, burning the scarecrows would help finally to consign that period to history.
McKay gestured towards the scarecrows. ‘Maybe one of those?’
‘Could be. I don’t know…’
McKay took another step forward, drawing as close as he could to the fire. It took him a moment to work out what the men had been looking at. Then he saw it, a dark shape in the centre of the flames.
He could see what the man meant. The object resembled the silhouette of a human body, stretched out in the stacked mass of wood. Whatever it was had become visible only as the wood had partially caved in to reveal the interior.
‘You’re probably right,’ the young man said. ‘Someone must have stuck one of the scarecrows in there for some reason.’
The more McKay stared into the flames, though, the less certain he became. There was something about the shape that didn’t look like the scarecrows’ crude approximations of the human shape. It was no doubt an illusion created by the layout of the wood and the movement of the flames, but McKay found himself growing uneasy.
There was little he could do in any case. The event had been well organised and there were no doubt fire extinguishers available, but those wouldn’t be capable of extinguishing the whole bonfire. Any attempts to do so would soon be overtaken by the fire simply burning itself out. In any case, if that really was some poor bastard in the heart of the flames, it was far too late to do anything to help them.
The young men had accepted his explanation, and the rest of the crowd had lost interest in what was going on. A couple of stewards in high-visibility tabards were ushering the few lingering observers away from the fire.
McKay took the hint and made his way back to where Chrissie was waiting.
‘What was it?’ she said.
‘Almost certainly nothing. Someone claiming they’d spotted a body in the bonfire. Maybe had a pint or two too many.’
‘You mean a human body?’
‘I could see what he meant actually. Just some trick of the light. How easy is a bush supposed a bear, and all that.’
‘Creepy idea, though. I find those scarecrows disconcerting enough,’ Chrissie said. ‘I’m never keen on burning human effigies.’
They both fell silent as the first of the evening’s fireworks whooshed into the air. The display was positioned so that the glitter of the fireworks would be reflected in the water. With the firth relatively still, the effect was spectacular.
On the temporary stage along the beach, a small classical ensemble had struck up what McKay, with his very limited musical knowledge, assumed must be Handel’s ‘Music for the Royal Fireworks’. ‘Classy,’ he said.
‘I get the impression Emsworth’s not one for half-measures,’ Chrissie said. ‘Even with the community funding this must have set him back a few bob.’
Leaving Chrissie watching the fireworks, McKay made his way to the pop-up bar on the edge of the crowd, buying a pint of Cromarty Happy Chappy for himself and a bottle of sparkling water for Chrissie.
‘It’s Inspector McKay, isn’t it?’
He turned to see a young woman dressed in one of the steward’s high-visibility jackets peering curiously at him. It took him a moment to place her behind her mask. ‘It’s Kelly, isn’t it?’ He was still struggling to recall her surname.
‘Well remembered,’ she said. ‘But I suppose you have to have a good memory in your job.’
‘It helps.’ Kelly, a young student whose parents lived in the area, had become involved in a couple of his previous investigations. She’d seemed to have something of a nose for trouble, in a positive sense. ‘Back from uni, are you?’
‘Back for the Christmas vacation, yes. I wasn’t sure they were going to allow it.’
‘Must be your last year, isn’t it? Not the best time to be graduating, I’m guessing?’
‘Not really,’ she said. ‘The job market isn’t exactly buoyant. I’ve applied to do an MLitt at Aberdeen for next year, so I’m just hoping that by the time I’ve finished things will have picked up a bit.’
‘Good luck with it, anyway,’ McKay said. ‘It seems to be getting tougher for young people. I’m almost glad I’m getting old.’
‘I didn’t know you lived over here,’ Kelly said.
‘We moved here over the summer. Up near Culbokie. Looking for a quiet life, you know?’
‘I’m usually looking for the opposite when I’m here. But I know what you mean.’ She looked over her shoulder. ‘I’d best go back. I’m supposed to be helping keep people away from each other as well as from the bonfire. People keep ignoring the barriers and warning signs.’
‘They usually do,’ McKay said. ‘Try being a police officer.’
He made his way back to Chrissie, who in his absence had found yet another acquaintance. McKay nodded a greeting, handed over the bottle of water, and stood silently drinking his pint, watching as more fireworks scattered colours across the sky. He could take or leave fireworks, but he was always struck by their spellbinding effect on crowds. Everyone was staring in the air, transfixed at each new burst of exploding light.
McKay’s attention was already wandering, and he looked back down at the bonfire. The scarecrows had been largely claimed by the flames by now, and the pyramid of stacked timber was collapsing in on itself. In the pale light from the flames, he could see a figure standing on the far side of the fire. Like McKay, the figure seemed uninterested by the fireworks and was staring into the heart of the fire. There was something about the silhouette – the stance, the shape of the body – that seemed oddly familiar even though it was too dark for him to make out the face. As McKay watched, the figure turned and disappeared into the crowd.
McKay took another sip of beer. He was almost beginning to enjoy himself, in a characteristically muted and unsocial manner. It occurred to him he was feeling at home here already.
It had been Chrissie’s idea to move. She’d felt it would help them make a new start, put the past behind them. He accepted that Chrissie might well be right. But he’d felt uncomfortable at being uprooted from the house they’d occupied for the past fifteen years. More importantly, he’d wondered whether it was appropriate for them to leave the house where they’d brought up Lizzie. He’d worried they were cutting the final ties with her, already consigning her sadly brief life to the past.
For Chrissie, that had been precisely the point. Not that she wanted to forget Lizzie. But she wanted a way of coming to terms with their daughter’s death. The memories would always be there, but they’d no longer be surrounding her.
McKay had eventually been persuaded by the house they’d found on the Black Isle. It was a new build, only a couple of years old, with spectacular views out over the Cromarty Firth, the summit of Ben Wyvis opposite. It was a pleasant place in a glorious location. More importantly it was a place without its own memories. It was a place where they could create their own, and that was what McKay was determined to do.
‘You’re very thoughtful tonight,’ Chrissie said. ‘Turning contemplative in your old age?’
‘I was actually thinking that just at the moment I’m reasonably happy.’
‘Well, there’s a first. I won’t ask in case I spoil the moment.’
‘Probably wise. Do you want to get something to eat?’ A couple of the local cafes had set up stalls selling barbecued meats and wood-fired pizzas.
‘Why not? We might as well make an evening of it.’
They made their way to the barbecue stall and joined the short, well-dispersed queue.
‘Seems to be going well,’ Chrissie said.
‘Your man Emsworth must be pleased,’ McKay commented. ‘He seemed nervous about it all.’
‘Good for him for organising it. Doesn’t take much for something like this to go wrong–’ She stopped and stared at McKay. ‘What the hell was that?’
At first, McKay had thought that the scream was just teenagers messing about, trying to scare one another. But there was an edge to the scream that indicated real emotion. It was momentarily choked off, then resumed louder, more terrified than ever.
‘I’d better go and check.’
‘I’d expect nothing else,’ Chrissie said in a mock resigned tone. ‘Ach, away with you. You’re a bloody police officer before you’re anything else. No one knows that better than I do.’
McKay smiled at her then hurried round to the far side of the bonfire. It was the same spot where he’d encountered the young men earlier, and he had a horrible feeling he knew already what he was going to find.