His breathing increased as he remembered the moment, and his face flushed behind his tan. It was as real to him now as it had been then.
‘At first I was confused. He shook my hand and greeted me like a long-lost friend and congratulated me on my
landing. Then he turned to Caitlin and said, “Well done, girl.” And I noticed that the men that were with him were carrying brown canvas holdalls. Jimbo said, “A little extra baggage you’ll be taking back with you, Roddy.”’ Roddy unfolded his arms, hands behind him, gripping the rail, and he refocused on Fin. ‘Call me slow, Fin, but it took me a moment or two to realize that this was a drugs pickup, and that I’d been set up. I can remember turning to look at Caitlin, and how she wouldn’t meet my eye. What a fucking fool I was!’
Now he pushed himself off the rail and slumped back into his chair, drawing on the tail end of his cigar.
‘Turned out Caitlin’s father had nothing to do with banking, and everything to do with heroin and cocaine and cannabis. A family business, it seemed, and doing very well, thank you. With plans to become the main supplier of illegal drugs into northern Europe. Ambitious. Wanted to take over from the drug barons in Liverpool and Manchester who were under pressure from the cops. And Caitlin was the honey trap they’d set for me. Me and my Comanche. They wanted someone “clean” to fly the pickups. Three thousand miles of coastline around Scotland. Impossible to monitor.’ He leaned forward to carefully stub out his cigar in the ashtray. ‘Of course I refused to have anything to do with it. But Jimbo made it clear to me the consequences of failing to cooperate. And having caught me in their web that first night, there was no way they were going to let me go. Not only did they threaten physical violence, but if I didn’t fly for them, they said, an anonymous call to the cops, and a
secret packet stashed away somewhere on my plane, would ensure half a lifetime in prison.’ He breathed hard through clenched teeth. ‘They had me, Fin. Hook, line and fucking sinker.’
Dusk had stolen up on them from nowhere, falling like fine coal dust across the valley, the mountains behind them sending long shadows towards the coast. A hidden sun still cast its light across a distant ocean. The warm evening air was filled with the sound of cicadas and frogs, and the last buzzards of the day circled above them, as if hoping there might be something left to scavenge after Roddy had finished picking over the past.
Roddy was a long way from being finished, but became aware suddenly that the day was slipping away from them. ‘Forgive me,’ he said. ‘You must be starving. I’ll get that paella cooking. Everything’s prepared, so it shouldn’t take long.’ Before he left them he lit large candles on the table and around the terrace, then disappeared into the darkness of the house. A light came on in the kitchen and a quartered slab of yellow fell through the window across a terrace flickering now with a candlelight that cast strange dancing shadows all around them, like some bizarre puppet theatre.
Mairead’s face was mostly in shadow. Only the line of her nose and the curve of her brow above her right eye caught the light. Her eyes themselves were lost. Darkness had followed dusk like a shutter descending on the day. They listened in silence to the sounds of Roddy preparing his paella in the kitchen. He had some music playing. Flamenco
guitar and a guttural, alien voice wailing the tuneless melody of an ancient culture that owed more to Arab Africa than to Europe. Fin closed his eyes for a moment and wondered how it had been possible to keep the secret for so long. Mairead lit a cigarette and her face flared briefly in the darkness. He said, ‘Did you know about all this?’
She drew on her cigarette and blew smoke into the night, shaking her head. ‘Not a thing. Not until he confided in me and told me how he planned to escape.’ She turned her head towards Fin, but he still couldn’t see her eyes. ‘All this was going on while you and I were having our . . . what would you call it? Affair? Fling?’ When Fin failed to respond she said, ‘Of course, I noticed the change in him. We weren’t lovers at the time, but when you play in a band with people it’s like living with them. Well, you know that.’
Fin nodded.
‘He became morose, withdrawn. Not like the Roddy we knew at all. And you know Roddy. He was like an open book. No matter whether he was happy or depressed he had to tell you why. But that all stopped. He was secretive, spending less and less time with the guys. I noticed he was losing weight and wondered if he was ill. There was something wrong, I knew that much. But I had no idea what it was until the night he told me.’
She flicked her ash into the ashtray, and as she took another pull on her cigarette, Fin saw by its glow the introspection in her eyes. Eyes that flickered reluctantly in his direction. And he wondered if it was really regret that he saw in them.
‘It was the night he intended to disappear for good. The same night I broke it off with you.’ She paused. ‘And why.’
All these years later, finally, Fin understood.
‘Roddy was in trouble, Fin. He needed me. And there was too much history between us for me to give him anything less than a hundred per cent.’ But the explanation was unnecessary.
They had no time to dwell on it, or discuss it further. Roddy emerged from the kitchen clutching a bottle and three glasses. He placed them on the table and removed the cork with a flourish. His good mood, it appeared, had returned.
‘Rioja,’ he said. ‘Gran Reserva. Best you can get. Smooth as butter on the tongue, and slips over like vanilla silk.’ He filled their glasses. ‘Try it, Fin.’
Fin sipped at it and nodded. ‘It’s good.’ But wine wasn’t his thing, and Roddy seemed disappointed.
‘Paella’ll be ready soon.’ He disappeared and returned with three plates and cutlery, then came back to the table ten minutes later with a large steaming paella pan full of rice and prawns and chicken and mussels. He placed it in the centre of the table and sat down. ‘Tuck in, guys.’
They helped themselves and ate for a while in silence until Fin could contain his curiosity no longer. ‘So what happened, Roddy?’
Roddy glanced at him, his enthusiasm for the food quickly waning. He sighed, pushing his half-empty plate away from him on the table and lifting his glass to his lips. He let the wine flow back across his tongue and savoured it for a
moment. ‘I must have flown ten, eleven pickups for them by mid-July, and Jimbo always came with me. There was just no end to it in sight, Fin. I was in way too deep by that time to go to the police, and probably wouldn’t have lived long if I had. That’s when I came up with my plan.’ His chuckle was bitter and almost choked him. He took another mouthful of wine. ‘It was foolproof, I figured. I was going to disappear. Me and the plane together. Somewhere out over the sea. If they thought I was dead they couldn’t touch me.’
He refilled his glass, leaning forward on the table and cradling it in his palms. Fin could see the glassy quality of his eyes in the reflected candlelight.
‘I never filed a flight plan on those flights up to Solas, so there would be no questions. And obviously I fuelled up enough to get me there and back. But on the night I planned to disappear I filed a flight plan out to Mull, the landing strip at Glenforsa. A short flight, there and back, so when I went missing they would be looking in the wrong place. I took on enough fuel to get me up to the Outer Hebrides, but not back. It was going to be a one-way trip.’ He smiled sadly. ‘To eternity.’
He took several mouthfuls of wine, staring reflectively off into the darkness, revisiting painful memories in his mind.
‘I hugged the mountains on the flight up the west coast, to disrupt primary radar systems. Didn’t want anyone watching me. I ignored repeated queries from air traffic control, then dropped off secondary radar by switching off
my transponder and telling ATC it had failed. Radio silence then. Of course, as far as Jimbo knew it was just another pickup and we landed at Solas as usual.
‘There was never anyone there to meet us. Just a set place to pick up the packages. There are no houses overlooking the beach, and the village of Solas is way the other side of the dunes. My plan was to wait at the plane while Jimbo went to pick up the goods and then just fly away without him.’
He breathed through his teeth in remembered frustration and shook his head.
‘But I guess I must have been giving off vibes. I was nervous as hell, and that must have transmitted itself to him. He insisted that I come with him. What could I do? I couldn’t refuse, so we left the engine running and hurried across the sand to where the stuff was hidden among the long grass. I was in turmoil, Fin. It was all set up. If I didn’t do it now I figured I never would. I was carrying one of the bags. And there was a fair bit of weight in it. A few kilos anyway. I don’t know what it was. Probably dope. Anyway, I hit him with it, from behind, swinging the bag at his head as hard as I could. He went down like a sack of potatoes, and I ran like hell for the plane.
‘I thought I was home free. But just as I’m reaching the plane I hear him breathing like a bloody steam train right behind me. I tried to get up on the wing, but he pulled me back down. Must have had the constitution of a fucking ox. He had blood running down his neck, and a look on his face like he wanted to kill me.’
Roddy stared off into an abyss that spanned seventeen years, breathing hard, just as if he were still there.
‘I knew I had to put him down, or I was fucked. But he was a strong bastard. He tried to hit me, and I hit him back, and then pushed him hard. He staggered backwards.’ Roddy closed his eyes. ‘Right into the fucking revolving propeller. Smashed in half his head and dropped him with a single blow.’
Fin knew now how the body in the plane had received its dreadful cranial injuries. He could only imagine what a bloody mess it must have been at the time.
‘He was dead, Fin. Fucking dead. His brains all over the fucking beach. At first I had no idea what to do. My immediate instinct was to get on the plane and just go. But then I knew I couldn’t leave him there. His family would think I’d killed him, and there’s no way they’d believe I just went missing after it. No one would believe that.’ He breathed out deeply, and Fin heard the tremble in his breath. ‘So then I started to think more clearly. I got him into my jacket with my wallet and stuff inside, in case anyone ever found it. Then I got him into the cockpit.’ He ran a hand over his face in recollection of the horror of it. ‘You have no idea how hard that was, Fin. He was a dead weight. Literally. Blood everywhere. It was about twenty minutes before I got him into the passenger seat and was able to shut the cockpit door and take off again.’
He seemed suddenly to become aware of the two faces watching him in absorbed fascination as he recounted the events of that night. Mairead must have heard it all before.
Perhaps many times. But she was as transfixed as Fin by the retelling of it under the stars on this hot Spanish evening. Roddy picked up the bottle and refilled all their glasses. He took out another cigar and lit it.
‘I took the drugs with me and dropped them out of the plane once we were over the ocean. The incoming tide, I knew, would erase any evidence of Jimbo’s death. Then I set a course, as I’d always planned, for the mountains of southwest Lewis.
‘It was the end of July. Official sunset was about 10 p.m. It was much later than that, but still light, and I knew exactly where I was going. Mealaisbhal was my marker as I flew low into the mountains. I’d already picked out a loch just to the north of it. Hidden away in a valley, miles from any habitation. So I knew nobody would see or hear me at that time of night. I just cruised right in, low and flat, wheels retracted, and landed her on her belly on the water. A scary moment. But to be honest, Fin, I was beyond scared at that point, and there was no turning back. I’d burned off virtually all my fuel, which was always the plan. Didn’t want tell-tale oil slicks on the surface of the loch.’
He sucked on his cigar, and through his smoke told them how he had climbed out of the cockpit and hauled Jimbo’s body across into the pilot’s seat and strapped him in.
‘The plane was floating, and would probably have taken a long time to go down. Too long for my purposes. But the good thing about the Comanche is that it takes on fuel from inlets on both wings, either side of the cockpit, and the wings were already just under water. So I climbed down
on to the wings and opened them up. The tanks filled with water and down she went.’
Fin said, ‘That water must have been freezing, even in July.’
‘It was bloody cold, Fin. I can tell you that. But it was a good thing I was in it long enough to wash off Jimbo’s blood. Because there was someone waiting for me on the shore with dry clothes, and I didn’t want him to see blood, or know anything about the body in the plane.’
‘Whistler,’ Fin said.
Roddy nodded self-consciously. ‘I couldn’t have done it on my own. I needed clothes, transport out of the mountains. Whistler was the only one I trusted. I’d told him everything.’
‘Not everything, Roddy. You didn’t tell him about Jimbo. And that made him an accessory to murder, even if he didn’t know it.’
‘I didn’t murder Jimbo!’ Roddy raised his voice in protest. ‘It was an accident.’
‘I think you might have had difficulty convincing a jury of that.’
Roddy glared at him for a moment, then resigned himself to the interpretation that no doubt everyone would have made. His voice dropped again. ‘It was an accident.’
‘So Whistler met you on the shore,’ Fin prompted.
‘Yes. He was waiting for me as promised. I stripped off my wet clothes and we buried them in the peat. I got dressed, and we made our way down the valley in the moonlight to the track where Whistler had a four-by-four waiting for us.
We drove to Harris then, and I got on the ferry from Tarbert to Skye first thing next morning. All togged up like a hiker. A woolly hat and my hood up so no one would recognize me.’
Mairead spoke for the first time, unexpectedly, and her voice almost startled them in the dark. ‘I met him off the ferry in Skye. I’d driven up there the night before, right after I left you at the Cul de Sac.’