Simon did not go back to the cottage. Instead, he drove to the north of the island, the wild side where few people came, the sheep did not graze, there was nothing but a scrape of soil and starved grass on the hard rocky ground, treacherous scrambles down to the shore, and the wind. But, from here, there was an incomparable view of endless sea meeting sky, changing and shifting from greys to blues, dark to light, the surface ruffled and ribbed by the movement of the air. He sat on an outcrop and looked out. He never came here with his sketchbook because there was nothing to draw. Pencil and ink could never convey the constant movement and there was not enough detail, though he had often picked up stones, strangely bent twigs and grasses, and sometimes bones, to take back and work with.
After sitting for a few minutes watching the sea, he began to think, calmly and methodically, going over what had happened from the time Sandy had gone missing, to the moment he had driven away from the pub just now. All his old skill at taking a case apart piece by piece, in consecutive detail, came into play. Kirsty had said five words. ‘Iain was in the army.’ From there, it had been straightforward, but Iain’s confession had been vital. His having been a soldier twenty-odd years earlier did not mean he had either kept a gun or killed Sandy and the business of finding out the truth would have been left to Police Scotland.
But Iain had admitted to murder.
The next thing Simon had to do was notify the DI, and then either arrest Iain himself or wait until they arrived on the next ferry to do it themselves. It made little odds. Iain would be taken to the mainland. Simon would be asked for a full report, after which he would have nothing more to do with the case. Again. And after that, Iain would never return to Taransay but most likely be sentenced to life. The waves were coming in across the bay, from the west. Simon watched their rhythm, as they rolled back upon themselves, over and under, over and under. It helped him work out what he was going to do.
Which was nothing. Nothing at all. The law demanded that he make one call. Justice demanded that. Or did it? Yes, Iain was guilty, and yes, he himself was duty-bound as a police officer to pass on the information he had been given. But nothing would bring Sandy Murdoch back. Why had he come to the island and stayed here? Had his family rejected him? His friends? Society? Simon realised that in working out what had happened for the last half-hour, he, or his subconscious at least, had also worked out the solution to a puzzle, while he had slept or walked or listened to Iain.
He watched the waves and the scudding sky and the changing shifting light on the horizon and on the surface of the sea. He made up his mind.
He had always believed that the day he forgot that he was a human being first and a cop second – or at the very least, a cop at the same time – was the day he should quit. He hoped that he had never forgotten it, either in mind or in action. The human being was pretty sure what he should do now and the DCS did not disagree – he remained neutral. His conscience was untroubled.
He walked back across the tracks to his car, enjoying the stretch and the space, thinking of everything else, now that he had made up his mind – thinking of Cat and Sam, his father, the hospital appointments to come, his future as a policeman and what difference his injury would make to it – though Kieron had assured him that there would be none. He thought about Kirsty and Douglas and Robbie. About when exactly he would leave Taransay.
The cottage was cold when he got back but he would not make up a fire and stoke the range until he had made the one call.
‘Iain?’
Pause.
‘Are you all right?’
‘What do you think?’
‘Have you people there?’
‘A couple but I’m out the back. You coming over? Or will it be the others?’
‘I think this is down to you, Iain. Not to me. I’ve only your word for all of it – I’ve nothing else, no evidence, no proof. So this is what should happen. You should be the one to tell them. Ring them. Speak on the phone or get them to come over. And tell them what you told me. It’s not my case now, it’s theirs. You talked to me as a friend, not as a policeman, and I’ll be gone in a couple of days. But my conscience is clear on this. It’s for you to spare everyone a long investigation, and the island being in the spotlight for months, it’s for you to make it clear and simple. Which it is. You owe it to yourself, and even more, you owe it to Sandy. You owe me nothing. Think about it but not for too long. It’s your call, Iain.’
He had made his decision. Now he had to live with it, something every cop started learning from his first day.
There was just one other thing. Nobody, so far as he was aware, knew about Sandy, and although it was not Simon’s job to broadcast the news to the entire island, he thought he ought to tell her.
‘Kirsty?’
‘Hi, Simon. Everything OK?’
‘There’s something you should know but it’s for you to keep to yourself, at least for now. You’ll know if the time comes when you have to tell someone else.’
‘For God’s sake, you’re worrying me now.’
‘It’s about Sandy.’
‘What’s happened? What have you found out?’
‘That Sandy was Alexander … she was a man.’
‘What? What are you saying? I don’t believe you.’
‘I saw the body, Kirsty. Who knows if Sandy would ever have chosen to tell anybody on the island … maybe, maybe not. She was taking hormones but no other form of treatment so far as the pathologist could tell, though there’ll be more info from the full report. I just wanted you to know … you can help if it all comes out.’
‘Help? Sandy’s beyond help now.’
‘Yes, but it’s about softening the blow of it. You don’t know how people will react.’
‘Same way as they react anywhere. Some will accept it, some won’t, but it will surely come as a shock to them – though maybe it’s easier now.’
‘How?’
‘They don’t have to react to her face, think what to say, all of that. Because whatever they thought it would have been difficult, strange. Aren’t you surprised yourself?’
‘Very. It had never crossed my mind.’
‘Well then. I have to go, the soup pan is going to boil dry. I won’t say anything.’
He was sure of that.
Now, there was only the house to pack up, which would not take him long. He would send the owner a message, leave the key and money for cleaning, and catch the late-afternoon ferry.
He spoke to no one, saw no one, and when he arrived at the quay, there were only half a dozen field-centre students waiting, huge rucksacks and canvas holdalls bending their backs. They wore bright padded jackets and looked cheerful – and, Simon thought, not more than fifteen years old, though they were all postgraduates. He had glanced at the pub and seen the lights on and Iain’s tall frame behind the bar.
Douglas and Kirsty’s house was not in view from here. He sent them a mental farewell. They would not be surprised at his leaving abruptly. They knew him well enough by now. Robbie might ask a question, but if he did, it would probably be about the bionic arm. The ferry gangplank went down. Simon nodded to Alec, holding the rope, but he was focused on the job, and barely returned the greeting. No one else saw him leave Taransay.