Sacrifice

'I'll get it checked,' she said. 'Anything else?'

I shook my head. She reached into her bag and pulled out the clear plastic wallet I'd left at the station earlier. The ring gleamed inside it. My note had been removed.

'When did you find it?' she asked, looking at the ring, not at me.

'This morning,' I said. 'Late morning.'

She nodded. 'How sure can you be that it came out of the same patch of ground?'

'I can't,' I said. 'But I'm pretty certain I haven't worn those Wellingtons since Sunday.'

'They should have been given to the SSU.'

I couldn't remember what the SSU was, but I knew I was in trouble.

'Slipped my mind,' I said truthfully. 'I was traumatized.'

'You washed it,' she said, in an I-really-do-give-up sort of voice.

'Didn't wash the Wellington,' I offered.

She shook her head. 'It's all far from ideal.'

Behind her, Marion was making herself conspicuous. She wanted to close for lunch. I lowered my voice. 'I'm sure the woman missing her heart would agree with you.'

Dana sighed and leaned back in her chair. 'You really shouldn't be here.'

I looked her straight in the eye. 'What can I say? I dug her up. I have an interest.'

'I know. But you should let us do our job.' She broke eye contact, looked down at her nails. Of course, they were perfect. Then she stood up. 'I spoke to your father-in-law,' she went on. 'He said the book I had was as good an authority as I was going to get. He was sorry he couldn't be more help.'

I stood too. 'There are eight more registration districts on the southern part of the mainland,' I said.

She looked at me. 'And?'

'I have no plans for the rest of the day'

She shook her head. 'It's not a good idea.'

Something not quite resolved in her voice told me the argument wasn't over yet. I showed her the page I'd torn out of the phone book.

'From here, I'm going to Walls, then to Tingwall. I expect to be done by about five and I'll probably be in the mood for a drink in the Douglas Arms. Tomorrow I'm back at work and no longer available to act as your unpaid personal assistant. If I were you, I'd make the most of it.'

I walked out of the offices, wondering if she'd try to stop me, not sure if she even could and feeling rather spitefully pleased at doing something of which I knew the police and my boss – especially my boss – would disapprove.

By five fifteen I was back in Lerwick. I walked into the dim interior of the Douglas Arms and spotted Dana sitting alone at a table in one of the darker corners, gazing at the screen of her notebook computer. I bought myself a drink and sat down beside her.

'Come here often?' I asked.

She looked up and frowned. 'Anything?' she said, looking seriously pissed off. Just when I'd thought the ice queen was melting.

I opened my notebook. 'Two more possibilities,' I said. 'A Kirsten Georgeson, aged twenty-six, married a Joss Hawick at St Magnus's Church in Lerwick. Also, a Karl Gewons married Julie Howard, aged twenty-five. Registry-office wedding. Both women are the right age.'

Without asking, she ripped out the page.

'How about you?' I asked.

'Three districts, no matches,' she said. 'And I checked out the one you found earlier. Janet Hammond is divorced, living in Aberdeen and very much alive.'

'Well, good for her.'

'Quite. I think this may have been a waste of time.'

'Why?'

She wiggled the mouse around on the table and a new screen appeared: the list of births on the islands I'd given her three days earlier. 'The team have almost finished checking this,' she said.

I leaned closer; the screen was absurdly tiny and, if not at the right angle, pretty much unreadable. 'Yeah,' I prompted.

'The ones in the right age and ethnic groups are almost all accounted for. It looks as though she wasn't a local woman, after all.'

I thought about that for a moment. 'That throws it wide open.'

'Oh yes.'

I now understood why she looked annoyed. Her boss was about to be proved right and she wrong.

There was a rush of cold air as the door opened and a group of men from one of the rigs came in. Noise levels in the pub leaped up. One or two of them glanced towards us and I looked away quickly; Dana hadn't even noticed them.

'What do you know about Tronal?' she asked.

I had to think for a second. According to my list, several babies had been born on Tronal during 2005. I'd made a mental note to ask Gifford about it.

'An island,' I said. 'Four women on the list gave birth there.'

Dana nodded. 'Two of whom we haven't been able to trace yet. So yesterday, DI Dunn and I took a trip. It's about half a mile off the coast of Unst. Privately owned. They sent a boat to meet us.'

'Is there a medical centre there?' I asked.

'There's a state-of-the-art private maternity hospital, run by a charitable trust, with links to the local adoption agency,' said Dana, appearing to enjoy the look of amazement on my face. 'They offer, and I'm quoting now, a "sensitive solution to unfortunate and ill- timed pregnancies".'

'Hang on… but… where do these women come from?'

She shook her head. All over the UK, even overseas. Typically, they're young career women, not ready to be tied down.'

'Don't such women just have terminations?'

'Tronal does those as well. But they say some women have ethical difficulties with abortion, even in this day and age. They didn't say as much, but I guess they get some of their custom from the nearby Catholic countries.'

I was still struggling with the idea of a maternity facility I knew nothing about. 'Who provides obstetric support?'

'They have a resident obstetrician. A Mr Mortensen. Fellow of your – what do you call it – Royal College?'

I nodded, but was far from happy. A Fellow of the Royal College of Obstetrics and Gynaecology? For fewer than a dozen births a year?

'Nice man, I thought,' continued Dana. 'He has two fully qualified midwives working with him.'

'What happens to the babies?' I asked, thinking that perhaps I already knew, that Duncan had been thinking about Tronal when we'd talked about adoption the other night.

'Most of them are adopted here on the islands,' said Dana, con- firming my guess.

'And you think the woman in my field could have been a Tronal woman? Maybe a mother who changed her mind about giving up her baby?'

'It's possible. The only women outstanding from your list gave birth there.'

I fell silent then, wondering about Tronal, why I'd been told nothing about it. It was a few seconds before I realized Dana was talking to me and I had to ask her to repeat herself.

'What does KT mean?'

'Sorry?'

'KT. I assume it's an abbreviation. It appeared on your list seven times. What does it mean?'

I'd forgotten about that too. I was beginning to realize that, for all my enthusiasm, I'd make a pretty poor detective. 'I don't know,' I had to confess. 'I'll check it out tomorrow.'

She fell silent again. I realized I needed the loo.

When I returned, she was miles away, so lost in thought I don't think she noticed my sitting down beside her. She was staring at the computer again, at what appeared to be an online telephone directory.

'What's up?' I said.

She looked up, startled, then back down at her screen. 'I've been trying to track down the two women you found today, the ones who got married on 4 May 2002. Julie Howard would be Julie Gewons now. If she's still alive, that is.' She flicked down a few screens, then stopped for a second. 'There's a Gewons family living in town. It's on my way back to the station. Want to stop by and check out how healthy Mrs Gewons is looking?'

'Absolutely'

We drove for ten minutes then pulled up outside a semi-detached house in a pleasant, modern cul-de-sac; the sort you see all over the UK, built with first-time buyers and young families in mind. I always think of them as happy, hopeful sorts of places, filled with boxed-up wedding presents and plans for the future. They make me feel both cosy and sad at the same time. A small tricycle lay on its side on the grass in front of the house.