Northern Lights (7/8)

[silver_sun]

Virkie was like a lot of other villages that we had driven through in our time in Shetland. There was a few dozen single story houses, a community centre-pub-sports club combo building and the ubiquitous village shop. There was also apparent a primary school and a chapel if the road signs were to be believed. I suspected that Virkie was thought of a quite a big place by local standards. There weren't that many people out and about, and with the weather getting progressively worse I didn't blame them.

We drove down to where the power cuts had been, but unsurprisingly a month after the fact there wasn't anything there to say what had happened. The two people who who'd braved the weather to walk their dogs in formed us they'd been in the north of the island over Christmas and the New Year at their daughter's house. So after a bit of discussion we decided to have a look further south incase it had been the airport that Trolhoulland had been targeting. The road down to the airport, like most in Shetland as far as I could tell, followed the coastline meaning it took ages to get anywhere, but at least you had a nice view while you were getting nowhere fast.

It was Nightingale who saw the plane first, and while he didn't say anything I could see the unspoken 'oh crap' in his eyes. I was pretty sure mine were the same. The plane, a tiny thing not much more than a ten seater or so was coming in incredibly low over the sea to our right. Barely ten metres above the choppy waves its path would take it directly across the road in front of us. That was assuming it didn't drop further and plough into the road and us.

Sandy must have seen it too as he slowed the car down and then stopped at what appeared to be a set of railway level crossing lights at the side of the road. The plane when it finally passed in front of us was only above six metres of the ground and the landing wheels were down, it cleared the airport fence by a couple of metres and landed on the narrow and frighteningly short runway on the other side.

The weather had made the ferry trip out to Shetland something that I never wanted to repeat, but seeing the tiny plane lurching in the wind I didn't think I wanted to try flying out either. Leaving wasn't something that I'd thought too closely on, but I knew that sooner rather than later we would have to regardless of whether we'd closed the case or not. We'd already had five days here, which for an investigation was nothing as investigations often dragged on for months, but I doubted we'd be able to swing our stay here for more than a few more days.

Any half formed idea that Trolhoulland might have been trying to disrupt something with the airport or a plane didn't seem all that likely any more, not now we'd seen the place. It wasn't like the City of London airport or even Aberdeen where there were houses directly in the flight path, the route here was entirely over the sea until it got to within a few metres of the runway. Even including the tide being out giving you a wider beach, plus the road and grass verge there wasn't more than a hundred metres between the sea and the start of the tarmac. No wonder they didn't land anything here if the weather was bad, it looked like it would be pretty terrifying even on a good day.

"They put the in lights in quite a few years ago," Sandy said, sounding unconcerned as he got the car moving again. "There were a couple of incidents where the wheels clipped the top of a tractor or van. There's never been an accident from it, but I think people were worried, so we got the crossing lights."

"Is there anything further down the coast from here?" Nightingale asked, eyes still on the airport. "Anything that someone may want to target for any reason?"

Sandy shook his head. "There's only another mile or so and then you reach Sumburgh Head, there's nothing after that until you reach Fair Isle about twenty-five miles across the North Sea if you go south, if you go east there's Norway or west to Iceland."

"Is there anything at Sumburgh?" I asked. I knew we'd passed it on the St Clair as we'd slowly made our way to Lerwick, but between the weather and how awful we'd felt, I was surprised I even remember the announcement.

"There's a few houses, a hotel and the lighthouse." He thought for a moment before adding, "There's a couple of archaeological sites. I suppose he might try stealing something from them."

Trolhoulland had managed to nick the rocks from the museum in Greenwich without resorting to magic and that had to have been harder than getting them out of the ground where there was nobody around to see you, so I didn't get why he would have turned to it here. Apart from that just looking for something shouldn't end up giving off the kind of magic that knocked out the power for a load of houses. No, there had to be something else that he'd been up to.

"I don't suppose there are any more Trowies around here who might be able to tell us what he was up to?" I said.

Sandy looked thoughtful for a moment and then said, "I don't know. This part of Shetland wasn't really my patch, not until a few months ago and I've not worked a case down here before. I only knew about the Trowies near Quendale because I'd been told about them."

"By whom?" Nightingale asked.

"Mima. Her Gran had lived down this end of the island, back in the Thirties and she'd stayed with her sometimes." Sandy looked out at the steadily increasing downpour. With a sigh and resigned look, he said, "I can go out and have a look for them if you really want me to."

The downside to Sandy going to look meant we'd end up in the wet and cold looking as well as Nightingale wouldn't be hands off for this, as I don't think he'd started trusting Sandy yet, so letting him go off alone to do anything connected with the case was a non-starter. I was about to suggest that maybe we should go back to Sholto's house and see if we could find anything that linked him to Sea Trows or Trowies, when Sandy's phone rang.

It was Tosh. She'd found Sholto's notebook and it was bloody weird. Her words not mine. Weird was good, well hopefully, and we turned car round and headed back into Lerwick. It turned out Sholto had kept it shoved under the mattress. It didn't look like it had been a last minute attempted to hide it, given how creased it was it was more likely it was just where he kept it normally.

Although it was hand written it was easy to read, although to the casual reader, with all its mentions of trolls and sea people, it looked like a man's descent into madness. He'd been an old guy and he'd lost his wife in the last couple of years, he'd no close family and since Maura, as the late Mrs Sholto had been called, had died he'd lost contact with most of his old friends. People would rationalise it, shake their heads and say dementia was a terrible thing and wasn't it a shame he'd not got any family to look after him.

To those of us who knew that Trows and magic were real it made us ask different questions, like what had Trolhoulland promised him in exchange for his research? Sholto didn't seem irrational enough to believe something like he'd get his wife back using magic and there was nothing to suggest that he had any sort of faith an afterlife of any kind, so it probably wasn't that. He didn't seem to have any money problems. He'd owned his house, saved carefully according bank records and had got a couple of job related pensions that had made for a comfortable old age, so it didn't seem like it was that either.

The answer or at least something like it soon became clear in how he talked about Trolhoulland and the magic he'd shown him. The discovery of a lifetime. His place in history. He would be the man who helped to unite the natural and supernatural worlds. And that was it, Sholto must have looked at his life and thought who would remember him when he was gone. Trolhoulland had played off that and made him feel like he was getting his place in the history books. As a retired history teacher that must have felt pretty special. And what had he received in return? Being burnt alive.

"Poor old guy," Tosh said shaking her head and then pushing her hair back out of her eyes. "Winding him up like that and then killing him. There are some sick people in the world."

"Trolhoulland may believe what he said was true," Sandy said, eyes still on the book. "It's still horrible, but it's not the same as him tricking him on purpose."

"So you think we've got a nutter out there who really believes he's the long lost king of the fish-people?" Tosh said, sounding less than reassured. "Don't you think that's worse? Having a complete nutcase on the loose."

Sandy glanced towards me, looking worried that if he said anymore he'd have Nightingale on his case, before answering, "I didn't mean it was better. But I'd rather think a person had mental issue rather than them being evil."

"I suppose," Tosh said sounding unconvinced. "Doesn't help us find him though, does it? Maybe we could try calling round a few GPs surgeries and ask whether they've had a patient who was delusional and who's stopped taking their medication or missed their appointments. They might not know him as Trolhoulland, I mean what sort of name is Gavra anyway?"

It was a good theory and if it wasn't for the fact that I knew he really was a sea trow I'd have been asking to help out with the calls.
Tosh wrote it up on the whiteboard as a possibly avenue of investigation and then we got back to reading the rest of it.

Sholto's notebook, which was more of a diary in places meant we got a handle on how he and Trolhoulland had met. Which had been on a beach near Sholto's house about six months ago, after which they'd gone to the pub a few times, before Trolhoulland had started to get him to look into where the stones were. The last entry was two days before Sholto had been murdered, and it simply said 'Meeting Gavra for lunch. Twelve at the Noost. Bring books.' None of the other entries really gave that much away about Trolhoulland, well not apart from the fact that Trolhoulland could breathe underwater had given Sholto a demonstration of it in the wonderfully name Pool of Virkie.

The Noost was a cafe-bar in Lerwick, so we made plans to go round ask whether anybody had seen two old guys having lunch and whether it looked like they'd fallen out by the end of it. Most of the other places that they seem to have arranged to meet were pubs or cafes, interestingly they never seemed to have gone to the same place twice, which was quite a feat in Shetland. Maybe they just liked variety or maybe Trolhoulland didn't want to be recognised as a regular anywhere.

We took turns reading sections of it and made a list of people he mentioned, although none of them seem to have any real significance to them. They generally considered of things like 'Call Jonnie Ross about coal delivery' or 'Dentist appointment. Wednesday 1pm with Mrs Carroll.' Handy for working out a timeline of where'd been, but no use at all in finding out where Trolhoulland was hanging out when he wasn't indulging a bit of breaking and entering or murder.

We kept at it until just before six, when Perez called us and what appeared to most of the uniforms as well into the main office. Briefing time. It didn't matter which nick you were in or who the DI was you could always tell when it was going to be one of those briefings where by the end of it you felt like you'd spent the last few days doing sod all despite working all day and half the night too.

"Most of you know there is a major investigation going on in connection with the murder of Andrew Sholto and that our suspect, Gavra Trolhoulland has so far avoided arrest." He waited a moment for that to sink in and then continued. "To that end I've spent most of the afternoon talking to the Procurator Fiscal and then the head of the Lerwick Times, and we've come to an agreement. An appeal for information about Trolhoulland will run in tomorrow's edition of the paper. Not all the facts will be released. We've decided to keep the fact that Sholto's death was murder out for now. I've given Tosh has got a draft copy of what is being sent out so you'll know if your caller knows more than they should about his death."

Nightingale looked less than happy at this development and I can't say as I was delighted either. Having a tonne of armchair detectives who's only experience of solving crime was watching Columbo a couple of times was never ideal. There were only really two reasons for giving the press access to the case. One was that the case was so high profile that if you didn't given them something they'd make up a load of stuff that would make your job ten times harder and spawn stack of conspiracy theories about police cover ups, corruption or both. The other reason was when the prospect of having hundreds of mostly junk calls from the well meaning but ultimately clueless public was actually your best chance at catching whoever had done it. I knew what category our case was being put in.

We worked for a bit longer, but with the notebook being our only useful piece of new evidence that gave us the sort of solid connection between Sholto and Trolhoulland that judges liked, there was a limit to how much we could achieve. That was doubly true for us covering the magic angle as we couldn't talk about it in the increasingly busy incident room.

By eight we'd been told to go home and with yet another takeaway eaten, we decamped back to my room at Sea View to try and work out all the stuff we couldn't talk about at the station. The we in question was Nightingale, Sandy and me. I was fairly sure that neither of them was all that keen on the other one being there, but knew that if we were to get anywhere with the case it was necessary. Nightingale had the magic knowhow and more experience of more weird cases than anybody else and Sandy had the local knowledge that we needed. As for me I was seemed to have got the role of mediator and provider of increasingly unlikely ideas.

The mediator part was irritating, but seemingly unavoidable as I was fairly sure that Nightingale still didn't particularly trust Sandy, and Sandy for his part didn't trust Nightingale wasn't doing to royally screw him over once the case was done. You could probably have frozen stuff in the atmosphere between them or at the very least chilled some beer in it by the time we'd been there an hour. I'd hoped that after finding out that Sandy couldn't do magic as we recognised it that the tension would have gone, but the whole time we'd been at the station they'd barely said a word to each other. It didn't help it felt like we were going round in circles. Everything came back to Trolhoulland, but we still had no idea where he was or what he wanted.

"What I don't understand is why he killed Sholto?" Sandy said, leaning back and closed his eyes. "Sholto had been the one who'd provided him with information, which he'd presumably needed and couldn't get himself. So why do it?"

"Sholto had outlived his usefulness," Nightingale suggested. "He would also have been one of the few people who could identify him and reveal what he'd done. He was tying up loose ends."

It sounded all too plausible and if that were the case we'd probably lost our chance at catching him. Yet if that were true why make such a big statement out of Sholto's death? Why not just dispose of him quietly? Trolhoulland was a magical sea creature, why not drown him and dump his body in the sea? Even a house fire would have drawn less suspicion. What he'd done was the opposite of hiding it, it was shouting about it from the roof tops.

It all came back to what I'd been taught at Hendon and what I'd thought on that cold damp morning out at Bigton. Sholto's death was meant to get attention. Burning somebody alive was statement, a huge fuck off shouty statement that said 'Look at me, look at my devotion to my cause' or 'Fear me, I'll do this to you if you cross me.'

The cause, whatever it was, had never really been Sholto's his diary made that clear, he was along for the ride out of a combination of loneliness and a wish to be remembered. Trolhoulland hadn't exactly been forthcoming with the information he'd shared with him if the notebook was anything to go by. No, this was all Trolhoulland. His cause. His demonstration of his power. You didn't do show off like that unless you meant business and you certainly didn't do it if you were trying to disappear quietly and without trace.

Although I'd never wanted to get stuck one of the units who dealt with gangs and drugs you didn't grow up in inner city South London and certainly not as a kid with a drug dependent dad on a housing estate without being aware of both things. I'd stayed well clear, personal experience of what it could do and all that, but there had been kids at school who'd gone down that route. Trolhoulland massive overkill of Sholto with magic on Trowie turf had the feel of one gang showing they were going to take the other's manor and there was nothing they could do about it. Inter species troll warfare, that was a new one.

"You have something to share with us?"

I looked up to see Nightingale standing next to me. He must have come over while I'd been lost in thought. He was near as bad at sneaking up on me as Molly. "Yes, I think so," I said. "I've been thinking about how Trolhoulland killed Sholto and where."

"You believe the location is significant?" he asked. "You were at the scene, is there something that you failed to mention before?"

"No." We were all tired but there was no need, I thought, for him to all but accuse me of not doing my job properly. "It's on Trowie land, isn't it?" I looked at Sandy who nodded his agreement. "And it was visible from the sea, probably for quite a few miles up and down the coast as well."

I paused for a moment as I'd learn that it was generally a good idea to let some of my idea sink in before ploughing on with the rest of it. "So it was where both Trowies and Sea Trows would see it, although not a great spot for us humans to get a good look. It wasn't just about killing Sholto, he could have done that a dozen different ways where he'd never have been suspected. This was a warning not to cross him." I was on a roll now so I kept going. "But I think it might be more than that. I think it was a challenge to the Trowies, a declaration of war." I stopped the reason for the theft of the stones hitting me upside the head. "He wants the power in the stones to make sure he wins."

"A magical war?" Sandy said surprised. "Surely nobody would be that crazy, he can't think nobody would notice something like that."

I swore I saw a shiver run through Nightingale, and he said, "There has been, most were unaware of due scale of the rest of the war. So I hope you both realise the severity of the situation is this is true."

Not fully, but I knew enough that if it had Nightingale spooked then it was a very, very bad thing indeed. "We need to warn the Trowies incase he tries something," I said. How did the world's tiniest, dirtiest trolls defend themselves? They had a good line swearing, but that kind of thing was going to be pretty useless against the sort of magic Trolhoulland had used on Sholto.

"I believe they are already quite aware of the situation," Nightingale said sourly. "The council meeting, that had been called in hast, Hjalda charming demeanour. She knew what was happening and she was worried, worried enough that she was reluctantly agreeing to ally with us. I very much doubt that any of them would have spoken to us if they'd not grasped the potential for disaster."

"Do Trowies have magic?" I asked, knowing that it would be a very short and one sided war if they didn't.

"I think so," Sandy said, not sounding sure at all. "People would bring them the gifts in exchange for favours, like finding someone or something that was lost or helping a crop to grow."

"So things that could quite easily be done without magic," Nightingale said. "Do you actually have anything useful to add?"

It was far harsher than it needed to be and Sandy looked away, before shaking his head. I knew Nightingale was stressing out about stuff, but sometimes he could be too hard on people.

"In light of this development we need to talk to Hjalda again, tomorrow morning if possible. I will clear things with Perez for us to be out of the..." Nightingale stopped and then said, "Are we boring you Constable Wilson?"

"No. Sorry, sir," Sandy said trying and failing not to yawn again. "I was duty on until two with Up Helly Aa and back in at eight, I think it's starting to catch up with me." He looked over at the clock. "Is that the time? I really should go home. Perez will want everybody in by eight, because of the newspaper. Is that alright with you, sir?"

Nightingale frowned. He plainly didn't want Sandy there, but he obviously didn't want Sandy to think that he was okay with him going home while there was work to be done.

"I think we all might be better off for some sleep, sir," I said, when no decision had been made. It was already pushing midnight. He was right, none of us would be any use in the morning if we didn't attempt to get at least a few hours rest. "Who knows how long we'll be working tomorrow."

I thought he was going to tell me that it wasn't my decision to make, but he spent a good half minute looking annoyed before replying, "You may be right. Looking at this with fresh eyes in the morning might get better results."

I took that as a yes and walked Sandy back down to the door, partly because I wanted to make sure he didn't trip head first down them as he looked asleep on his feet but also because I wanted a moment alone with him to make sure he was okay. He'd not been himself today, and while I wanted to put it all down to the fact he was tired, having us question him about magic and all the memories of his Gran that must have dragged up couldn't have been easy for him. I didn't get a chance to ask thought as Sandy spoke first.

"Your DCI doesn't like me much, does he?" Sandy said, glancing back at the stairs, like he was scared we were being watched. Satisfied Nightingale wasn't listening to us he added, "I've tried to be nice to him, but he acts like I'm someone he wants to arrest. What will he do once this is over? I mean, I know you'll go back to London. But, me and my job here, what will he do?"

He looked worried and absolutely knackered, and I felt so sorry for him, especially as I didn't have anything reassuring to say. So I told him the truth. "I don't know. I don't think you've done anything wrong, but it's not up to me."

Sandy nodded. "This job is all I have. No, that's awful thing to say, I've still got my Dad, but I..." He took a shaky breath. "Sorry. I'm too tired for this, I'm going to end up saying something we'll all regret if I stay. I'll see you in the morning."

"I'll try to convince him," I said, before he hurried out. I hoped that I could, not only for Sandy's sake but for mine and Nightingale's. Things had been tough between us lately and we'd only just started to straighten things out, falling out over his handling of Sandy could open up that rift between us again.


Part 8 http://the-silver-sun.livejournal.com/244490.html


A/N
When I worked in Shetland it was right next to the airport and the planes coming in low over the road and the level crossing lights really are there. Even had to wait a few times at them to get into work.

Nearly at then end now, just one more part to go, I'm aiming for the weekend as its nearly time for NaNoWriMo and I need to get this finished before I can sit down and write my own urban fantasy (although no Shetland, London or trolls there. Just werewolves, psychics and West Yorkshire.)