None but the Dead by Lin Anderson Read Free Book Online Page A

that he wasn’t
invincible and that death courted everyone, including his teenage self.
    When they’d finally docked, the captain had drawn him to one side and told him, ‘It wasn’t your turn today, son, and it wasn’t mine, but that doesn’t mean it
won’t be your turn tomorrow.’ He’d laughed then.
Probably because of the look on my face
, Erling thought.
    The police station loomed into view. Once he set things in motion for tomorrow, he would pick up his car and head for home, hoping Rory was already there. He could call and check, of course, but
that felt like tempting fate.
    The Orphir road was quiet. No one followed him out of town and he met only the headlights of a couple of cars heading into Kirkwall. On his left Scapa Flow was barely visible
on the odd occasion that the moon escaped from behind the scuttling clouds. The darkest part of the year was approaching when an endless night would swallow most of the day. Nevertheless, the sky
was rarely covered by a grey blanket the way it was in the southern cities. An Orkney sky was vast and varied, with sharp shafts of sunlight competing with fast-moving dark clouds. Locals said if
you couldn’t see Hoy then it was raining. If you could see Hoy then it was about to rain.
    Passing Houton Bay on his left, Erling noted that the ferry was sitting at the jetty, which either meant it had made it back from Flotta or alternatively it hadn’t gone across earlier.
Erling noted too that the lights weren’t on in Magnus’s house, which didn’t surprise him. Usually if Magnus planned to be back on the island, he would contact Erling and let him
know.
    Turning right onto the Scorradale road, he passed the old primary school and the building opposite which had once been home to the local shop, selling everything from wellie boots to bere
bannocks.
    Had he been heading into town, topping the hill he climbed now would have afforded what Erling regarded as the best view on mainland Orkney. When his grandmother had left him the croft house in
her will, Erling had rejoiced in the fact that he would take in this view across Scapa Flow to Hoy from the highpoint of the island every morning on his way to work.
    As he neared the white-painted croft house nestled below the road on the left-hand side, Erling noted with a rush of pleasure the light on in the single tiny window that faced the road.
    Then again, maybe I left it on this morning?
    He drew into the narrow parking space. As he headed down the flagstone steps, the wind trying to prevent his descent, he could see now that there was more than one light on in the cottage,
signifying that Rory had indeed made it back.
    Opening the door that led from the porch into the flag-stoned kitchen, Erling was greeted by a delicious smell of cooking. Rory stood facing the range, stirring a pot. The radio was on, giving
out the Orkney news, which Rory was listening to intently.
    Erling stood for a moment taking in this domestic scene and deciding he liked it.
    As he was about to announce his arrival, Rory’s mobile rang. Checking the screen, he immediately answered.
    ‘Hey there.’
    The soft tenor of Rory’s voice halted Erling’s greeting in his throat and made him step back into the porch. He found himself both suspicious and guilty at the same time, which
seemed ridiculous.
    He’d only known Rory for two months, and most of that time they’d spent apart. They weren’t a couple, just an occasional item. Both free to go their own way. Even as Erling
told himself that, he knew it wasn’t true. It may have remained unspoken, but that hadn’t been the arrangement. At least not for him.
    Retreating outside, Erling took refuge in the homebrew shed, selecting a couple of bottles of beer to take back in with him. This time when he opened the door, the radio was off.
    ‘I thought I heard the car a while back,’ Rory said with a smile.
    Erling brandished the bottles. ‘I was in the shed. Good smells,’ he indicated the