The Chessmen

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

They left Mairead sitting in the dappled shade provided by rush matting stretched across a frame above the table. She had been subdued, with clouded eyes, and said very little. Perhaps she had realized that this first crack in their seventeen-year silence could only mark the beginning of the end.

Roddy, by contrast, was larger than life, animated in the extreme. Fin followed the ghost of his one-time friend up steps to another level, and they crossed an east-facing terrace towards a large outbuilding at the back of the villa.

‘We have six bedrooms in the house,’ Roddy said. ‘Enough to accommodate the whole band when they come to rehearse and record. Of course, Strings is here more often than the others. We still write together.’ He pushed open a heavy soundproofed door and flicked a switch to flood the studio control room with light, rows of knobs and switches, faders and dials, peppering the shallow angle of an enormous mixing desk. Through a window that ran the length of one wall, shadows reached back into the studio itself, which was littered with sound baffles and hanging mikes. A drum kit was permanently mounted in its own soundproofed booth, the carpet-tiled floor around it a Sargasso Sea of twisted cables.

‘We’re on our twelfth CD now. Most of it’s already recorded. I’m just working on the mix.’ He leaned across the desk and pressed a switch. The room filled with the beautiful sound of Amran. Synthesizer, violin, the haunting swoop of a Celtic flute, all overlaying the repetitive beat of rock drums and bass, and the sad, pure voice of Mairead singing so painfully of Hebridean longing for a lost past. Roddy switched it off abruptly, and the room resounded with the resultant silence. His eyes were moist. ‘It’s the only way I can go home,’ he said. ‘In my music.’ And then the moment passed and he smiled his genuine affection. ‘It’s great to see you again, Fin, it really is.’

But Fin was ambivalent. From the moment he had seen the post-mortem report he had suspected that Roddy might still be alive. But to be confronted with him in this way, in the flesh, after mourning him twice, and believing him dead for seventeen years, was more than faintly surreal. He said, ‘I don’t know how I feel, Roddy, about seeing you again. Confused, that’s for sure. And right now pretty angry.’

Roddy laughed and took his arm to steer him back out into the sunshine. ‘Don’t be angry with me, Fin. None of this is my fault. Not really.’ They crossed the terrace and looked out over the view. Fin was aware of Mairead’s upturned face watching them from the terrace below. ‘The band will go off on a US tour next year to promote the new CD. But, of course, I won’t be with them. Even though I still write the songs with Strings, and it’s me you hear on the recordings, I’ve never once been able to play live with Amran since that awful night seventeen years ago. You have no idea how frustrating that is.’

He turned to look Fin in the eye, and waved a hand vaguely towards the villa.

‘Look around you, Fin. It’s paradise, this place. Sunshine all year round. A view to die for. Africa just across the water. They come every seven years to strip the cork off the trees. They’ve done it twice since I’ve been here. You might think I’d be happy. But it feels like a fucking prison.’

He turned and gazed sightlessly towards the Strait of Gibraltar, gripping the railing in front of him. Fin saw the white-knuckled tension in his hands. ‘You have no idea what I’d give to be standing right now on Traigh Uige, looking across the mountains to Harris. Feeling the wind in my face. Aye, and the rain. I’d trade all this for just five minutes of home any day.’

He released his tension, and the railing, and relaxed again into a smile.

‘But what am I thinking about? Terrible host, I am. Never even offered you a drink.’

Fin stared out over the tops of trees in the valley below. To his left, where the forest had been cut back, the shaved peaks of the Sierra Bermeja scraped the sky. Steps led down into a steeply sloped garden of gnarled trees and dusty shrubs, fig and olive, cactus and oleander. All the grasses and wild flowers, this late in the season, were parched and burned brown. He turned, leaning against the rail, to look back at the house with its roofs sloping at odd angles, a covered balcony high up behind a row of arches, bedrooms opening off it through French windows. A Buddha sat crosslegged below a covered fish-pond, and Mairead perched on the edge of a chair at the table, smoking. She had not addressed a word to Fin since their arrival.

Roddy emerged through an arched doorway from the kitchen carrying a tray of drinks, tall glasses of red, fizzing liquid and chattering ice cubes. ‘Come and get it.’

Fin pushed himself off the railing and crossed the terrace to climb the two steps to the eating area. He drew up a chair and sat opposite Mairead in the shade as Roddy distributed their drinks and a wooden dish of macadamia nuts.

‘I’ll make us something to eat in a while,’ he said. ‘Paella okay?’ He grinned. ‘Very Spanish, but they probably ship the prawns down from Stornoway.’ He raised his glass. ‘Slainte.’

It was odd to hear Gaelic spoken in this place, so many miles from home, in a climate and culture so alien to its origins.

Roddy took a long pull at his drink. ‘Refreshing, eh? Tinto de verano, the Spanish call it. Literally, wine of summer. Red wine mixed with a sweet fizzy lemon drink. I love it.’ He took another sip. ‘They tell me there’s a distillery at Uig now. Abhainn Dearg. Red River whisky. Any good?’

Fin nodded. ‘It’s a fine whisky.’ He took a small sip of his tinto de verano and fixed Roddy in his gaze. ‘Who killed Whistler, Roddy?’

It was as if someone had thrown a switch, and a light went out somewhere behind Roddy’s eyes. His face darkened. ‘I don’t know, Fin. But I’d like to meet him, because he wouldn’t be breathing for long.’

Fin said, ‘Seems to me there was never any love lost between you and Whistler.’ He glanced at Mairead who sat staring sullenly into her drink. ‘Over the affections of a certain young woman.’ She threw him a dark glance.

But Roddy just shook his head. ‘Sure. We had our differences over the years, me and Whistler.’ He chuckled sadly. ‘Whistler fell out with everyone at one time or another.’ He raised his eyes to meet Fin’s. ‘But I always considered him to be one of my best and oldest friends. He was like a big fucking dog, Fin. He might bite you from time to time, but he never stopped loving you.’ And Fin thought he had never heard Whistler so well summed up in so few words. Roddy laid his glass on the table and turned it around with his fingertips, gazing thoughtfully into its fizzing redness. ‘I owed him more than most people will ever know.’

‘In relation to. . your “death”?’ Fin said.

Roddy nodded without looking up.

‘Tell me.’

Roddy glanced at Mairead, absorbing but ignoring her disapproval. He drew a long breath. ‘I suppose I should start at the beginning.’

‘Well, since we already know how it ends,’ Fin said, ‘maybe that would be a good idea.’

Roddy leaned back in his chair and reached into his shirt pocket for a pack of cigars. He drew one out and lit it, and puffed on it reflectively for some moments. Blue smoke rose around his head in gently curling strands in the still heat of the afternoon. ‘You probably remember a girlfriend I had during our second year in Glasgow. Caitlin. She was the one whose parents had the big fuck-off house with the swimming pool in Pollokshields.’

Fin nodded. He remembered her well. The blonde girl who had been skinny-dipping with Roddy in the swimming pool the night Fin and Mairead first got together.

‘And her big fucking brother, Jimbo.’ Roddy almost spat out his name. ‘Smug bastard with a face you’d never get tired of kicking.’

Fin was taken aback by Roddy’s ferocity. He remembered Jimbo, strutting about his parents’ house as if he owned it. A spoiled little rich kid.

It was almost as if Roddy had to force himself to relax to continue his story. He tipped his head back and blew smoke towards the rush matting above them, chinks of sunlight falling through it to sprinkle light like fairy dust across the table. ‘My own fault, really, I suppose. I was head over heels in love with Caitlin. Obsessed.’ He glanced at Mairead, embarrassed it seemed to confess it in her presence. ‘And I thought she felt the same way about me.’ He smiled and shook his head. ‘Though maybe I always knew there was an element of the star-fucker about her.’ He added, unnecessarily, ‘We were just starting to make it big, then.’

Mairead said, ‘Just stick to the facts, Roddy.’ Her distaste was clear.

Roddy took another draught from his glass. ‘You saw yourself from her parents’ house that they were pretty well off. Her father was in banking, she said. And she had expensive tastes. Clothes, shoes, good food, good wine. But the thing I could give her, Fin, that no one else could, was the thrill of flying. Learning to fly that old Piper Comanche was the best investment I ever made. She loved it. Couldn’t get enough of it. Wanted to go up in the air every spare moment we had. Even expressed an interest in learning to fly herself.’ He blew air through pursed lips. ‘And like an idiot I even offered to pay for lessons.’

He sat for a long time, then, lost in his own thoughts, puffing gently on his cigar. Fin looked across the table at Mairead, but she was assiduously avoiding his eye.

Finally, Roddy said, ‘It was Caitlin’s idea to fly up to North Uist and land at Solas Beach.’ His eyes flickered towards Fin. ‘Ironic, isn’t it? Solas. Minus the accent, of course. And the place name doesn’t derive from comfort. Anything but that.’ Fin saw him clench his jaw. ‘Anyway, she’d read about it somewhere, she said. In some magazine. That it was possible to land a small aircraft on the sands at low tide. It was almost midsummer, and she thought it would be romantic if we could fly up there and land on the beach at midnight, and picnic through the summer solstice. Maybe even stay overnight. Sleep under the stars.’ He shrugged and smiled his regret. ‘Sounded good to me.’

He drained his glass and stood up, overcome by a sudden restlessness, and turned to the edge of the terrace where he stood leaning with his hands on the rail.

‘I’d flown up to the Hebrides before. That was no big deal. But I didn’t know if it would be possible to park up on the beach, so I might have to fly back. And I’d need night and IMC ratings for that. Even though it never really got dark at that time of year. But there was time enough to get my licence amended so I could fly at night, or in limited visibility, and I did that. We kept our eye on the weather forecasts, and it looked to be just about perfect for June 21st. So we made it a date.’

He turned around then, half-sitting on the rail, arms folded across his chest. Mairead had her back to him, lighting another cigarette, and it appeared to Fin that Roddy was looking straight through him, lost in a world of distant memory.

‘Official sunset around the summer solstice on North Uist is 10.30 p.m., and I knew I couldn’t land there in the dark. So we set off in plenty of time to arrive before sunset. It was a beautiful night, Fin. Perfect for flying. I’d never seen the sky such a deep, dark blue, and the red fire of sunset lighting up the ocean, streaking orange and yellow along the horizon. The last light of the day was catching the mountains of Harris against the sky to the north as we circled low over the beach. An almost flawless crescent of sand exposed at low tide. I made two passes over it to make sure conditions were okay for landing, then on the third turn prepared to set her down.’

Fin could see that he was back there in his mind, in the cockpit of that tiny single-engined aircraft, preparing to land her on a strange beach on a midsummer’s night, breathless, excited, scared. And with a woman beside him to impress.

‘I was nervous, that was for sure. And I kept the power on very slightly to make the landing as soft as possible, coming in faster than usual because there was no length restriction. And keeping the nose up as long as possible to make sure she didn’t dig in to soft sand.’ His face lit up in relived recollection, pride in his voice. ‘And then she was down, and I brought her to a halt, and Caitlin was all over me as if I’d just turned water into wine.’ He shook his head. ‘It was a great feeling, Fin, landing on the beach like that. And jumping down on to hard, compacted sand with the wind in my face, and the last of the day sending shadows across the water from the dunes. I turned to help Caitlin down off the wing and held her in my arms, and kissed her. . and never noticed how cold she was. And I don’t mean to the touch.’ His expression hardened. ‘That was when I turned around and saw three men crossing the sand towards us. I didn’t really think anything of it at first. I had no reason to be alarmed. I mean, I hadn’t done anything wrong.’ He drew a long, slow breath. ‘Which is when I realized that the man leading them was Caitlin’s brother, Jimbo.’

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.’

‘I told her everything,’ Roddy said. ‘About Jimbo, I mean. And we flew together down here to Spain, to look for a place. Somewhere I could still be a part of the band, at least as far as writing and recording were concerned, but dead to the rest of the world. Lost with my plane somewhere in the sea among the Inner Hebrides.’

Fin said, ‘So obviously the rest of the band knew the full story.’

‘Oh, not about Jimbo,’ Roddy said. ‘We never told anyone about that.’

Fin looked at Mairead. ‘Must have made it awkward for you with the others when Jimbo’s body turned up in the plane.’

She lowered her eyes. ‘We’re still dealing with that.’

Roddy fixed Fin with a very direct look, an appeal in his gaze. ‘If it were ever to come out, Fin — you know, that I was alive. There are still people out there who would come looking for me.’

Fin sat staring into his wine for a long time before taking a small mouthful. ‘If I say nothing, knowing what I know now, that would make me an accessory after the fact to murder and fraud.’

‘I told you we shouldn’t have told him,’ Mairead said. Her voice was hard and edged by tension.

But Roddy’s eyes never left Fin’s. ‘He’s not going to tell anyone, are you Fin? I mean, who would benefit from it? None of us, that’s for sure. There’s nothing to be served by it. All it would do is put lives at risk.’

Fin returned his stare. ‘Yours.’

‘Yes, mine.’

Fin thought about it. There was, after all, no apparent connection between Whistler’s killing and the body in the plane. And yet the coincidence was troubling. Whistler had been shocked to find that body. And he must have realized that Roddy hadn’t told him the whole truth, maybe even suspected that he had duped him deliberately. And that Mairead was a part of it. Fin recalled the way Whistler had looked at her at the cemetery. His voice raised in anger outside the Cabarfeidh.

At the same time, Roddy’s plea for Fin’s silence was not without merit. He must have known the risks of telling him the truth, but was banking on an old friend not betraying him. Mairead, clearly, did not share his faith.

Fin sighed and pushed his plate away. He still had a sense of something missing. Something obvious that was eluding him, a connection he wasn’t making. ‘Who else knew?’ he said. ‘Not about Jimbo, but about you faking your death.’

‘Apart from the band?’

Fin nodded.

Roddy shook his head. ‘No one.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes.’ But then he hesitated. ‘Well. . there was one other person. But someone we all trusted implicitly. And still do. I mean, he hasn’t said a word in all these years.’

Fin frowned. ‘Who?’