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Now that we had a glimpse at Clara's personal life, how about we take a look at John's?

Chapter 5

John had never understood some people's fascination with sports, at least not the kind people merely watched. It was one thing to love a good run or to go sailing or to enjoy a nice game of tennis with a friend, but he had never really seen the point of watching other people play sports. Sadly, his father had disagreed. But his father was no longer here, so John was free to remove every last bit of Celtic FC memorabilia he could find inside the house. When he had been a child, his father had taken him to a match or two, but he had soon realised how pointless it was and how little interest John had in his father's passion. Maybe that was when they had started to drift apart. Maybe a shared love for the Celts, as his dad always called them, would have been able to keep them together.

John snorted at his own silly thought while he took the signed football shirt off the wall and as he put it down, he considered selling it before something caught his eye. Raising his head, he soon spotted the culprit: his late father's chocolate Labrador. He narrowed his eyes at the animal.

"Don't give me that look," John growled in the dog's direction. "Face it, I'm your new master and I don't share my father's taste in décor."

The dog, somewhat theatrically named Odin, tilted his head to one side and continued to watch John as if he was trying to figure out what had been said. John's first instinct had been to give the dog away, to find a rescue centre or someone else to take him in. He wasn't a pet person, never had been, but there was something in the dog's eyes that had changed his mind soon enough. It wasn't Odin's fault that his previous owner had died, and he shouldn't be punished for Malcolm Smith's stupid decision to buy a dog at his old age.

When the dog continued to stare at him, John Smith got down on the floor next to Odin and scratched his ears. He nuzzled his furry head into John's palm.

"Don't look so happy," John reminded him, "because if you misbehave, I'll still give you to the rescue place."

John knew that he wouldn't, but it was good to have a suitable threat to hand just in case. Out of all the things his father had left behind, Odin seemed the only thing that was worth keeping. At least he would have some company in the big old house. As he looked around, his hands still petting the dog, John realised that he would have a lot of work to do around here. It seemed that his father hadn't done much with the place after John had left except for the most urgent repairs. The walls were in dire need of some new paint and the roof could do with some attention as well because he was sure that it wouldn't survive a major storm and those were common around here.

As soon as he had finished school, John had left the islands. He had gone to London, far away from his father's judgement, but now that he was back, Malcolm's words still resounded in his head.

"I don't want to waste my life in this place," John had argued. "I'm tired of seeing the same faces every day, tired of seeing the same goddamn island every day."

His father had snorted. "What? Do you think the world has been waiting for you? Do you think it'll be better in the big city?"

"At least there's more to do than solving a recent spate of chicken thefts!" he had shouted back. "When I become a detective, I want more than that. I can achieve so much more than that!"

His father's hand had landed on his shoulder, physically and symbolically weighing him down. "You'll never make a great detective, John."

His father's words had stung terribly and even after decades, John found himself remembering them. He had proven his father wrong multiple times. Back in London, he had helped solve thefts and murders and rapes and arsons. He knew that he was a good detective, but even after his father's death, it felt to John as if he still had to prove to the old man that he could be a great one. And where better to do that than on the island that his father had protected until the day he had died? The Jane Doe that had washed up today could be his chance. After that, he was free to leave, free to leave the memory of his father behind – or stay here forever if he chose to.

There was a loud knock on the front door and it reminded John that the doorbell was another thing on the list that he needed to fix. He rose to his feet, Odin following at his heels, and made his way towards the door. However, when he opened it, he found a surprise standing on the other side.

"Kate," John blurted out, "I wasn't expecting you."

In response, his boss and former friend held up two bottles of beer. "Housewarming gift," she explained with a hint of a smile. "I'd have cooked, but that would have been a rather poor gift. I wanted to stop by sooner, but I figured you were busy with the funeral and settling in."

John held the door open a little wider, allowing her in. Odin greeted her like an old friend and she patted his head in return before she walked into the living room and sat down as if she knew the place so well that she didn't need any further invitation. And she did know it, of course.

John sank down in the other seat and for a moment, all that could be heard was the crackling of the fire in the nearby fireplace. The heating was only partially working, so he had had to resort to the old-fashioned method of staying warm. Yet another thing to fix. Odin yawned next to them before he plopped down on his dog blanket near the fire.

"So, um, I suppose I should thank you," John said after a while.

Kate didn't reply. Instead, she opened the bottles of beer and handed one of them to John. He thanked her with a curt nod.

"It's nice to know that my father didn't have to spend his last days alone."

His boss shot him a dark look. "He would have liked you to be there, not me."

In response, John inhaled sharply. "I tried, okay? As soon as you called me, I quit my job and cancelled the tenancy of my flat. It's not my fault I couldn't leave immediately."

"You don't have to justify yourself to me," Kate said. "I liked your father. He was my police partner and a good man."

"And a lousy father," John muttered under his breath, too quietly for Kate to hear. But it was true what she said. Kate had phoned him after his father's health had taken a sudden turn for the worse and knowing that it was his last chance, John had packed up his life in London, determined to move back here and into his childhood home, determined to take over his father's job, determined to be here for his old man's final days. He had arrived a day too late.

"I didn't mind taking care of him, John. We're still family," she argued. "After my father died and after my divorce, he was one of the few people I had left."

We're still family. The words tugged at his heart because John knew he was guilty of more than just abandoning his father.

"I'm sorry about, well," John hesitated, not sure how to say it. It had been so long and the apology was more than overdue. "The business with Missy."

"Water under the bridge," Kate replied with a dismissive gesture. "We were kids. Though I'm glad that Missy left when you did. What's she up to these days?"

He scoffed in response. God only knew where Missy was now. "Probably in prison in some corner of the world," he guessed.

"Or a lunatic asylum."

John raised his head and decided to have a proper look at his old friend for what felt like the first time since he had come back. They used to be close as children, almost like brother and sister. It wasn't unusual, given that their fathers had been friends, hunting buddies and colleagues. The Orkney Islands were a small place and it felt as if everyone was either related or close friends – or sworn enemies. Kate had been a friend and he realised that his earlier assumption might have been wrong. Maybe she did want to revive their old friendship after all.

People talked in this part of the world and that was how he had quickly learned about Kate's life during his absence. In her late 20s, she had married a man from Kirkwall and she had given him two children before she had caught him cheating. What had followed was a nasty battle for divorce and custody of the bairns. Kate had won and looking at her now, John could see why. She was a strong woman. He could tell by the fierceness in her eyes, by her posture, by every careful word that came out of her mouth. He still admired her.

"Will you stay?" Kate asked after a while. "I mean, I know you came back to take care of your father. I wouldn't blame you for packing your bags again now that he's gone. After London, this place must seem boring to you."

John took a moment to look around him. The dog would hate the noise of the city, repairing the house was a new challenge and then there was the case, the body of the young Jane Doe that looked like the local teacher. Could he pack his bags and leave it all behind?

"No," he said with a sigh. Then he turned his head towards Kate and granted her a smile. "I think I'll stay, at least for a while. I mean, now that my father is gone, you'll need someone to protect the island, right?"

Kate smiled in response. "Are you forgetting that I'm still here? I can assure you that I'm more than capable of protecting my home."

"I don't doubt it," John replied. "But isn't it more fun with a partner?"

"Just to make one thing very clear," his old friend said, the amusement audible in her voice as she leaned forward and looked straight at him. "I'm your boss. And I'm expecting you to be on time tomorrow morning."

John chuckled. "Yes, boss."