(PSV / EG79) Papa Stour, Shetland, GB

World Heritage Sites Air Adventure: No Time to Die – A Shetland Whodunit
By DI Jimmy Perez, Shetland Police—guest log writer.

Sky Podcast powered by our main sponsor, Starlink Aviation Solutions. Special thanks to Sassermaet—purveyors of fine Shetland Kye Beef sausages (“Absolutely no Spam”) as series sponsor. This episode is brought to you by Coffee is for Kings, Tea is for Queens—royal brews for everyone.

Episode 6: Papa Stour (PSV/EG79) – 25th May 2025

After leaving Scatsta, we swung north again for another look at RRH Saxa Vord—once RAF, now a remote radar head still on duty. Cold War shadows linger, and the Lockheed Martin AN/TPS-77 keeps quiet watch. It’s a wild patch—north of St. Petersburg, level with Anchorage. The ground’s familiar. Unst doesn’t change much, but it never gets old.

From there, we tracked west past the Eshaness cliffs and the old Muckle Roe Lighthouse, then over the First World War relics of a coastal defense site—a reminder of Shetland’s days guarding the shipping lanes from German U-boats.

Circling Papa Stour, we landed on the gravel airstrip near Biggings. At the community hall, locals served seafood stew—mussels, brown crab, and ling, with beremeal bread and Shetland Pale Ale. Highland Park whisky made the rounds.

Lani and Kai were treated too—Mr Timothy “The Daltonator” Leggett, with the vet’s nod, set out bowls of fresh fish, mussels, and dulse. The dogs finished in record time.

Fisherman and amateur sleuth Georgy Lazenby, drying his hands, leant in:
“Du’s efter dat stranger? Quiet een, helped wi’ my boat engine. Left a postcard—Scatsta, ‘Full circle. 25th May.’ Asked about Foula next, heard tales of folk vanishing there. Left a cigar butt on the pier—wind near took it.”

By the fire, Vesper Lynd, knitting a tammy norrie, glanced at the empty doorway a moment too long. Her voice was tense:
“If du hears da gulls at dusk, change is coming. The sea’s always telling stories, if du’ll listen.”

Vesper’s drawn to the stranger—a mix of suspicion and something deeper. She’s lived with danger since nearly drowning in a lift, and secrets come as second nature.

As dusk settled and the last stew was mopped up, stories lingered in the hush between waves and gulls’ cries. Cropduster and I stepped outside to share a Cohiba Robusto. Near Haku, our Tiger Shark Squadron Beechcraft, I spotted a slip of paper on the wing:

“You know my name. But you’ll never know my real one.”

The same elegant handwriting—a taunt, or perhaps an invitation.

The sea keeps its secrets. Tonight, we’re only scratching the surface. Next stop: Foula.

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