Airplane (3)

Harkaway was in no fit state to drive, as he was still recovering from air sickness, so Handsome took the wheel. He talked through his thoughts on the case as he drove. “We need to check out the landing site,” he said. “They may have left clues. Fingerprints on the lights, a dropped fag packet, maybe there’s even a cigarette kissed with DNA.” 

 

Handsome’s mind was racing, he’d watched enough TV crime dramas to know that virtually anything was possible. “Maybe they left their pet stoat behind, like the villains did in that episode of Midsummer Murders. Or was it a ferret? Maybe they’ve left a stoat AND a ferret. What would happen then, would they fight? Do stoats and ferrets get on? Who would win if there was a fight? There are just so many questions in this case.”

 

Harkaway groaned painfully from the back seat. Clearly the air sickness was still affecting him.

 

After what seemed a lifetime’s stoat/ferret speculation they arrived back at the crash site, which was now suddenly teaming with life. There were thirty or forty uniformed police rushing around, alongside medics, forensic experts, and numerous other plain clothes officers. Mainlanders. Anderson must have arrived. Ah, yes, there he was, striding around the scene like the lord of the manor, issuing instructions with gestures and short barked shouts. He dresses like a lord of the manor too, Handsome thought to himself, all tweed, ties and authority.

 

However, although there were teams of people, there was no sign of any police cars, planes, or helicopters. It suddenly struck Handsome that he had never actually witnessed Anderson arriving on the island, he just appeared as if by magic, like a force sent by God, an analogy Handsome found entirely appropriate as it perfectly captured Anderson’s attitude whenever he spoke to a Boonhillander (not, as you might think, Boonhiller).

 

“Ah, Kit, you’ve decided to join us,” he said. “Thought you must be having a lie in.”

 

Handsome didn’t bother answering the jibe. Beating a mainlander like Anderson in a game of ‘I got up before you’ was about as pointless as beating the sun in a game of ‘I’m cooler than you’.

 

“I’ve just been up at the airfield. One of the pilots took Harkaway here out for a buzz round, it looks like whoever was waiting for the plane took off in a panic when it crashed. They’ve left their landing lights.”

 

He passed his phone to Anderson, and showed him the photos of the landing site Penny had taken.

 

“These are good photos,” Anderson said, sounding surprised.

 

“I’ve got coordinates as well,” he said. “Don’t go too far back with the photos,” he added, hurriedly, as he could see that Anderson had been through the last of the photos Penny had sent him.

 

“Why not?”

 

“They, er, they’re from another case. There are confidentiality issues.”

 

“Well forward the photos to me so I can get my team on them.” He waved the paper with the coordinates on. “Have you been here yet?”

 

“Not yet. We didn’t have the manpower. I thought I’d stop here and see if your team had arrived.”

 

“Yes, we’ll do the dirty work, no need to worry. My team are already making inroads into this case. Have you met them?” Anderson gestured to a pair of suited officers who were hanging around in his shadow.

 

“No, I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure.”

 

“This is Henderson, he heads up my airplane crash investigation unit, and this (he nodded to the man on his left) is Benson, he heads up the rare animal smuggling unit.”

 

Handsome allowed his hand to be shaken by the enthusiastic young mainlanders. Christ, he thought, he’s got more units than the Boonhill Tavern.

 

“I’ll get a couple of planes to pop over there and take a look,” said Anderson. “With any luck we’ll find some prints on the lights. Funny they left them there.”

 

“Must have panicked when the plane crashed.”

 

“Yes, well we’re probably dealing with amateurs. Local islanders, never seen a plane before. I expect we’ll wrap this one up in no time.”

 

Handsome again refused to rise to the bait. He decided to change the topic.

 

“How’s the halibut?”

 

“Halibut? Anderson looked confused. “What halibut? Most people say ‘How’s the wife?’ or ‘How’s work’. You’ve been on this little island too long.”

 

“I mean the halibut case. The one you took off me.”

 

“Oh, the missing fish. Still missing. To be honest I don’t have much time for it, what with the murders, the robberies, cyber crime.”

 

“I could take the case back. I’ve got the capacity.”

 

Anderson shook his head sadly. “I don’t think so Kit. I’ve got an entire Fish Crimes Division at my disposal, the halibut case just is out of your league I’m afraid.

 

“Oh.” Kit didn’t even try to hide his disappointment.

 

“I’ll keep you posted on the halibut, obviously. And on the plane crash.”

 

Kit had the distinct feeling he was being dismissed.

 

“Well, it looks like you’ve got this covered. I’ll head back to Town if it’s all the same to you. Give me a call if you need me.”

 

Anderson turned and walked away without even bothering with a goodbye.

 

“You gonna interview SuperDuck?” Harkaway asked from the back of the car.

 

“Shush, don’t let Anderson hear. No, SuperDuck can wait. There are more important things. I’ve not had breakfast yet. And it’s lunchtime.”

 

Town was essentially the capital of Boonhill. It was called Town because, although it was just a little bit bigger than Village, it didn’t seem worth the bother of actually giving a name. The Town town centre consisted of a shop, two hairdressers, a tanning salon, three pubs and a café, the Other Boonhill Café (the original Boonhill Café having long since shut down). It was to the café that Handsome was heading, for the famous Boonhill breakfast.

“What I like about the Boonhill breakfast is the sausage,” Kit explained to a green-looking Harwkaway. “Three different type of sausage; pork, beef and wild boar. And the bacon, that’s special too. And the black pudding, just look at that, the blackest black pudding there is. Even the blood’s black. How do they do that? Must be some kind of food dye. Or maybe they just overcook it.”

 

“Do you mind if I sit in the car?” Harkaway. “I’m still feeling a bit queezy.”

 

Handsome finished his breakfast in silence and was about to pay the bill when he got a call from Rosti, the island’s forensic expert, who he’d left at the crash site with Anderson’s considerably larger team.

 

“Dirk,” he said, “What’s cooking?”

 

“Some sort of lemur, various tropical birds, several spiders and a baby white rhino.”

 

“Blimey, sounds like quite a barby.”

 

“Yes, you have to hand it to Anderson’s Exotic Animal smuggling division, they know their rare corpses. But that’s not why I’m calling. There’s been a development.”

 

“A development?”

 

“It’s Anderson’s plane crash unit. They’ve found traces of explosive. The crash wasn’t an accident, somebody planted a bomb. We’re now officially investigating a murder.”