Sacrifice

'They could be lying.'

She was quiet for a moment.

'Well, possibly. But their stories all match perfectly. We've been over it with them time after time and nothing budges.'

I thought for a moment. 'Did she have a twin?'

'No. An older brother, lives in the States.'

'So were Stephen Renney and I wrong? Was I wrong about the dental records?' I couldn't believe it, but it seemed the only possible explanation.

'No, you weren't wrong. We've had another dentist look at the records. The body in the morgue is definitely Melissa. And another post-mortem has been carried out. She most certainly had a baby. They also found a small lump in her left breast. It's being tested but they think it probably wasn't malignant.'

I was quiet for a moment. My brain simply could not compute the facts I was feeding into it.

'We're going round in circles,' I said eventually.

'Tell me about it.'

'So what happens next?'

'No one seems to know. The hospital staff and the GP have all gone home. So has Stephen Gair.'

'You let them go?'

Even over the phone line I could feel Dana's frustration. 'Tora, who is our suspect? What do we charge them with? We have six – no, seven – respectable members of the medical profession all saying the same thing: a woman called Melissa Gair was admitted with acute breast cancer in September 2004. Given the advanced stage of the disease, she wasn't expected to live beyond a few weeks and she died in hospital. Everything was done by the book. There's no reason to doubt their stories.'

'Other than the obvious,' I snapped. The puffin whipped its head in my direction and took off. Within seconds it had disappeared over the cliffs.

'We'd have to prove that seven of them colluded, together with Stephen Gair himself, to fake a death. We haven't a clue how that could have happened, or what their motive was. We can't even begin to start constructing a case against them.'

I couldn't think of anything to say. Then I could. 'Life insurance. How much was she insured for?'

'I'm checking Gair's finances but probably not enough to pay off seven other people as well. The other thing is that Stephen Gair has identified the body in the morgue. He says it's definitely his wife.'

'The one he watched die three years ago.' My voice was rising.

'Hold your fire, Doc, I'm just the messenger. My point is, would he make a positive identification if he was involved in foul play three years ago?'

'Tor, are you OK?' Duncan was standing at the bottom of the stairs, shouting up at me.

'I have to go,' I said to Dana. 'I'll call you.'

Duncan had his back to the peat fire. His parents sat close by. Even in May the air on Unst had a distinct chill to it. Duncan, I noticed, had finished the wine and moved on to Lagavulin, a single Highland malt that makes me think of rancid bacon.

'Who were you calling?' he asked.

'Dana,' I said, wondering if now was a good time to start acquiring a taste for single malt. One Melissa Gair: two very different deaths. How could one person die twice?

Duncan closed his eyes briefly. He looked sad, rather than angry, which made me feel guilty – which made me feel angry again. Given everything that was going on up here, why should I, of all people, be made to feel guilty?

'I do wish you'd leave it,' he said softly, in a tone that suggested he knew I wouldn't. From the corner of my eye, I saw Elspeth glance at Richard, but neither asked what it was, exactly, I was supposed to leave. I guessed they already knew.

Over Duncan's shoulder I spotted something that I suppose I must have seen several times, but had never really thought about before. I walked over and with one index finger began to trace the outline.

The fireplace in the sitting room of Richard and Elspeth's house is huge. It must measure six feet in length and be about four feet deep. The central grate is about two feet square and the base of the chimney a similar dimension. It has a terrific draught and the fires it creates on high days and holidays are small bonfires. I wasn't looking at the fire, though – a relatively modest one for a spring evening – but at the stone lintel that ran across the top of the hearth. About eight feet long, seven inches high, supported on either side by strong stone pillars. Carved into the granite of the lintel were shapes I recognized: an upright arrow, a crooked letter F, a zigzag like a flash of lightning. They were repeated several times, sometimes appearing upside-down, sometimes inverted, like a mirror image, and an angular pattern had been carved around the edge of the lintel. The whole effect was more elaborate but still bore a striking resemblance to the carvings in our cellar at home. And the five Viking runes from our own fireplace that Dana and I had puzzled over were all here.

'You've spoken to Sergeant Tulloch yourself, Richard,' I said, tracing the shape of the rune I was pretty certain meant Initiation. 'She needed your advice on some runes carved on the body I found.'

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Elspeth wince.

'Yes, I remember,' said Richard, speaking slowly as he usually did. 'She'd already found a book on the subject. I told her I had nothing to add to the interpretation offered by the author. I referred her to the British Library.'

And a whole heap of good that would have done poor Dana, stuck up here on Shetland. I simply couldn't believe my father-in- law had nothing useful to say on a subject so integral to the islands' history. Was he joining the general conspiracy to keep Tora's little nastiness under wraps? I realized that if Melissa's murder was connected to the hospital, as seemed highly likely, then as a former medical director Richard Guthrie might have a strong interest in muffling the facts. I started to wonder if the instinct that had sent me to Unst for my personal safety had been entirely sound.

'These are the same as the carvings in our cellar,' I said, wondering how Richard would deal with a straight question. 'What do they mean?'

'I'll gladly lend you a book in the morning.'

'Initiation,' I said, my finger still tracing the outline of the rune.

Richard joined me at the hearth. 'Maybe you don't need a book.'

'Why would someone carve the rune for Initiation into the hearth of a house?' I asked. 'It makes no sense.'

He looked down at me and I had to steel myself not to step backwards. He was a tall man, built on a very large frame. His physical presence, along with a formidable intellect and quick wit, had always made him immensely intimidating. I'd never crossed swords with him before and I could feel my heart rate starting to speed up.

'Nobody really knows what these runes mean,' he said. 'They date back thousands of years and the original meanings and usage have almost certainly been lost. The book Sergeant Tulloch had offered one set of interpretations. Others exist too. You simply take your pick.' As though bored with the subject he sighed and moved towards the door. 'Now, if you'll all excuse me, I'm going to bed.'

'Good idea,' said Elspeth, getting to her feet. 'Do you two need anything before you go up?'

'You don't look much like your dad,' I said, as Duncan started to undress.

'You've said that before,' he replied, his voice muffled by the sweater he was pulling over his head.

'He's much bigger, for a start,' I said. 'And wasn't he blond when he was young?'

'Maybe I take after my mother,' said Duncan, unbuttoning his jeans. He was still annoyed with me.

I thought about it. Elspeth was short and, not to put too fine a point on it, dumpy. There was no immediate resemblance to Duncan that I could think of, but the flow of genes is notoriously unpredictable and you never know quite what human cocktail each act of reproduction is going to kick up.

'Are you going to shower before you come to bed?' asked Duncan, and at last I'd found someone honest enough to admit I smelled like a skunk in mating season. I showered for a long time and when I got back to the bedroom Duncan was asleep. Five minutes later, mere seconds before I too drifted off, it occurred to me that whilst Richard Guthrie might bear little resemblance to his son, he bore quite a lot to Kenn Gifford.