mr verge said: Those memory ledgers tend to have haunted hinges, mr mongoose, forever springing open of their own accord.
Forgive me if I've told you this before but a couple decades back, this time of year, I found myself at a select sherry gathering at the Courthouse in Kirkwall. It was a clear, cold, December night. Stars crackling in their reflections on the wet streets. Black tree skeletons. The ruins of the Earl's Palace stark against a city sky line utterly unlike Birmingham.
Well, it's difficult. Baby bones are soft, the builders disturbed the site before they realised what they were looking at, it's all churned up ...
It's looking like at least five babies, possibly more......
My colleague had told me that Orkney is a thin place, where the boundaries between the worlds are not fixed, and realities bleed through. That Orkney calls certain people to live here ...
After the Christmas sherry party, I drove home across the West Mainland, crossing the Harray/Dounby plain, on a crisp, cold, clear December night, with a yellow moon heavy and low in the sky, my car's moon shadow preceding me, absofuckinglutely terrified.
Inspector Paul Eddington of the Kirkwall force says: "We are not carrying out a murder enquiry. We are currently involved in information gathering to pull all the pieces of this puzzle together. These bones cannot be proved to have come from any particular member of a family, as they are too small and fragmented, and to suggest ownership would be insensitive."