Thin Air: (Shetland book 6)

by Ann Cleeves

  He found that he’d become obsessed by the child on the beach, the little girl seen by both Eleanor and Polly. He didn’t believe in ghosts, so she must either be real or a figment of the women’s imaginations. And he couldn’t see that both women would have conjured up the same vision from nowhere. Yet the girl wasn’t on the guest list and nobody else had noticed her. Willow said that people often wandered into island events – friends of friends, who hadn’t been formally invited, but who would be made welcome just the same. That was probably true, but Sandy was stubborn and needed to pin this down. And though he would never have admitted it to himself, he wanted something concrete to hand to Jimmy Perez when he returned. He wanted Jimmy to tell him that he’d done well.

  Outside he looked anxiously up at the sky. It was grey and there was drizzle, but it was surely clear enough for the planes to get in. Sandy drove carefully out of the courtyard and towards Meoness. The school was tiny, one of those scheduled for closure, and only saved after the community made a fuss. Perhaps because there’d been doubt about its survival it was still in the original stone building that looked more like a kirk than a school. There was a view of the voe and the open sea. When he arrived it was playtime and the children were yelling and chasing in the yard. Less than a dozen of them, and most of them boys. Sandy hesitated outside. It wasn’t just that schools – even peerie schools like this – made him uncomfortable. He knew the teacher. They’d been friends once. She’d been his first teenage crush. She’d gone away south to university and had worked in Edinburgh for a while and he’d heard that she was back. There’d been a piece in The Shetland Times about it, about her giving up her post as deputy head in a big school in the city to take on Meoness primary. Head teacher. Sole teacher.

  A woman came out into the playground and rang an old-fashioned hand bell. He recognized her immediately as Louisa Laurence. He hadn’t seen her for ten years, but she hadn’t changed so much. A bit skinnier maybe, her hair shorter and smarter. The children filed inside, giggling and pushing. Sandy thought he’d timed this badly. She’d be busy now. Perhaps he should come back at lunchtime when she might be free to talk. But then he thought he’d look foolish if he just drove away. Someone might have seen him from inside the school and, besides, Jimmy Perez wouldn’t have done that.

  He knocked at the classroom door and went in. There was a smell of poster paint, clay and floor polish. They were sitting around tables in rough age groups. The older ones were working from maths sheets. Louisa was squatting with the little ones, helping them build a model from cardboard tubes.

  ‘Yes.’ She got to her feet. Then she saw him. ‘Sandy Wilson, what are you doing here?’ Her voice was cool. He might have been one of her seven-year-olds misbehaving.

  ‘I’m working on an investigation into a serious crime,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you’ve heard about it.’ He was aware that the older children were listening in.

  ‘I’m not sure how I can help.’ She had smooth, dark hair and he thought she had more in common now with the English people in Sletts than she did with him. He was pleased that she’d known him at once, though. He’d wondered if she would have forgotten him.

  ‘Perhaps I should come back later,’ he said, ‘when you’re not so busy.’

  ‘No need for that.’ She watched a car pull up outside. ‘That’s Mr Rickard. He’s here to take music – that’s one subject I can’t teach, even to the little ones. You remember me, Sandy, always tone-deaf, always told to stand at the back and mime.’ She turned her attention back to him and smiled. ‘If you’re lucky I’ll make you a cup of tea and you can tell me what this is all about.’

  She asked the children to finish what they were doing and he looked around the room. As Davy Stout, the ferryman, had said, there was a preponderance of boys. He couldn’t see any girls with long, dark hair. This would be a waste of time and he’d have nothing to tell Perez to make him proud.

  They drank tea in a little room that acted as her office.

  ‘What brought you back?’ he asked.

  She shrugged. ‘My father died last year and my mother’s on her own. Guilt, I suppose.’

  ‘You had nothing to keep you south?’

  ‘I don’t have a husband or a family, if that’s what you’re asking.’

  He thought she’d always had a sharp tongue. It’d be a brave man who took her on.

  ‘So what are you doing in Unst, Sandy Wilson? And in my school?’

  ‘The woman who was killed, she had a thing about Peerie Lizzie.’

  ‘What sort of thing?’ She took a biscuit from the tin that stood between them and dipped it into her tea. Her teeth were very sharp too.

  ‘She was a TV producer and she was making a film about ghosts. But maybe she believed in them. She claimed to have seen a dark-haired girl, aged about ten, on the beach by Sletts, the holiday home on the shore. I’m trying to work out what really happened, but I didn’t see any bairns to match that description in your class.’

  ‘Perhaps she dreamed the whole thing up,’ Louisa said, ‘to make her television show more interesting.’

  ‘I don’t think so. Another woman saw the lass too. I’d like to find her.’ He thought again. ‘Do you know Vaila Arthur?’

  ‘She works here part-time as classroom assistant, but she’s on maternity leave.’

  ‘What do you make of her?’

  Louisa smiled. ‘She’s helpful enough. Chatty. Loves the kids.’

  ‘She claims to have seen Peerie Lizzie.’

  ‘I know that.’ Another smile. ‘I’ve heard the story many times. It gets a little bit more dramatic every time she tells it.’ Louisa paused. ‘I wouldn’t have her down as the most reliable witness.’ There was another hesitation before she continued, her voice confidential. ‘Grusche Malcolmson was the cook here until she retired. She was an old pal of my mother, so I’ve known her for years. Vaila’s a kind of niece of hers and she drives Grusche crazy with her silliness.’

  This was classic Shetland, Sandy thought. Everyone connected one way or another. ‘If you know Grusche and George, maybe you were at Lowrie Malcolmson’s hamefarin’?’

  Louisa shook her head. ‘Grusche asked me, and I’d heard all about the wedding. I think she only retired because it was taking up so much of her time. I’m hoping to lure her back as cook. We still haven’t got anyone permanent and she was brilliant. But I live in Yell with my mother and she hates being left alone all night. I’d have missed the last ferry home.’

  He saw then how constrained Louisa’s life was. She’d come back to the islands from her responsible job in Edinburgh, leaving behind her friends and her freedom, to care for a mother who made demands on her.

  ‘So you can’t help me in my ghost-hunting?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ Louisa smiled at him. ‘The girl you describe certainly isn’t one of my pupils, but I might have seen her.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Last Saturday. The day of the party.’ She paused. ‘I’d left behind a pile of marking, so I just popped back to Unst to collect it from the school. I had a bit of a wait for the ferry in Yell. It was a lovely day, so I didn’t want to stay in the car. There was a young girl with a woman and they were waiting in the sun too. She had long, dark, curly hair. I didn’t recognize her, but then she could have belonged to anywhere in the North Isles, or she could have been visiting.’

  ‘Did you speak to her?’

  ‘No. I’d been speaking to kids all week and I was angry with myself for leaving the paperwork behind. Making conversation with a ten-year-old was the last thing on my mind. My thoughts were running to a big glass of Pinot and a deep bath.’

  ‘Did you see what they were doing?’

  ‘I think they were taking photos of the seals that swim around the pier there.’ Louisa was frowning, trying to concentrate. ‘Maybe looking out for otters.’

  ‘And they came to Unst in the ferry with you?’

  ‘I think so. But I wasn’t really watching. I was just thinking of ge
tting back to the school and home again as soon as possible.’

  In the classroom the children were singing. Scottish folk songs that Sandy had been taught as a bairn. Their voices were sweet. ‘Perhaps I could come and visit you,’ he said. ‘When all this is over. Perhaps I could see you at home. Your mother might remember me. I used to make her laugh.’ He remembered Mavis, Louisa’s mother, as a shopkeeper in Lerwick. Stern on the outside, but given to giggles.

  ‘So you did, Sandy. But my mother doesn’t laugh much now and she doesn’t remember anyone. Not even me, on her bad days. Dementia. She was older when she got me, if you remember, and the illness came on suddenly soon after my father died. At first I just thought she was grieving for him.’ Louisa turned away.

  ‘Then I could come to see you?’

  The song stopped and there was a moment of silence.

  ‘Why don’t you do that, Sandy? You could make me laugh. I often need cheering up.’

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Shetland seemed grey and gloomy when they got out of the plane. And cold, as if the summer was already over. Perez dropped Cassie at school and watched for a moment from the corridor as she took her place in the classroom. She caught sight of him waiting and waved impatiently to send him on his way.

  Driving through Shetland mainland to get the ferry to the North Isles, he wondered what the young people from Eleanor’s company Bright Star would make of the space and the distances. The chill weather. Willow had said that she’d wait for him to arrive before talking to Charles and David, before asking the men why they hadn’t mentioned that Eleanor had been in touch with them. She was looking out for him at Springfield House and then led him to the yellow lounge that they’d used as an interview room.

  ‘It sounds as if you had a useful trip south.’ She smiled, looking up from her laptop for a moment.

  ‘I’m glad to be back.’

  ‘What was Eleanor’s mother like?’

  He thought about that for such a long time that he saw she was wondering if he’d ever answer. ‘Very elegant,’ he said at last. ‘Sophisticated. But not a happy woman even before Eleanor died, I think. They didn’t have an easy relationship. And she couldn’t throw much light on the investigation. Eleanor had lunch with her just before the trip north, and Cilla thought she was different. Unsettled. But there’s nothing concrete. Nothing helpful.’ He hesitated again. ‘Anything to report here?’

  ‘The techies have blown up the images that were on the two scraps of paper Vicki found at the scene.’ Willow clicked on her laptop and turned it so that he could see the screen. ‘They were definitely photographs, but it’s difficult to make out anything helpful from such small pieces.’

  Perez stared at them. One of them was of a corner of a building. Wood and glass. Contemporary. It must be in the background of the shot to contain even that much detail in such a small fragment of photograph. He wondered if it was familiar, but the perspective was strange and he couldn’t quite make it fit anywhere he knew. The other was a slice of a face. An eyebrow and a strand of dark hair. ‘Is that Eleanor?’

  Willow looked up from the computer. ‘I wondered that. So the killer ripped up a photo of his victim just before or after the murder? What does that tell us?’

  Perez shook his head. ‘Not much, except that the murderer knew Eleanor well enough to have a picture of her, but I think we’d already worked that out.’

  Willow nodded. She seemed distracted and he saw that her attention had already moved elsewhere. ‘What do we do about David and Charles?’

  He paused again and wondered if he’d been this indecisive before Fran had died. ‘If Eleanor had been in touch with them, why wouldn’t they tell us?’

  ‘Just keeping their heads down, do you think? People have all sorts of reasons for not wanting to get involved in a police investigation. Even these days a gay couple might not want to draw attention to themselves.’ She stood up. ‘Sandy’s done a check and neither of them has a record. Not even a traffic offence. Let’s just talk to them, shall we?’ He thought everything seemed very simple and straightforward to her.

  They found David in the kitchen garden at the back of the house. It was surrounded by a high dry-stone wall and entry was through an arched wooden gate. Inside only part of the ground had been cultivated, the vegetables there planted in straight rows. The rest was overgrown, almost a meadow, and at the far end a lean-to greenhouse had its glass missing and the metal frame was rusting away. David was digging potatoes. He wore wellingtons and a checked shirt. They watched as he sifted the potatoes with his fork, shaking the sandy soil from them before sliding them into a bucket. He must have sensed Perez and Willow behind him, because he stuck the fork into the ground and turned.

  ‘Tatties for tonight’s supper,’ he said. ‘We should have our own broad beans soon too.’

  ‘It’s well sheltered here.’ Perez couldn’t think what else to say.

  ‘We have to grow all we can. The transport costs are outrageous, and folk don’t realize why everything imported is so pricey. The house seemed very reasonable when we bought it, but we hadn’t factored in that all the repairs would be more expensive than they’d be in the south. And there’s almost full employment here, with everything that’s happening with the oil and gas. It’s hard to get good men to do the work.’ It was the longest speech he’d ever made. Perez saw that worry about the business was always with him.

  ‘It’s hard coming into the islands from outside,’ he said. ‘You have to start from the beginning making contacts.’

  ‘I feel responsible.’ It sounded like a confession. ‘This was always my dream, not Charles’s. If things don’t work financially either, I’m not sure how we’ll manage, whether we’ll survive.’ He was talking about his relationship with the other man and not just about the hotel.

  ‘We need to talk to you.’ Willow was brisk, businesslike. It was as if he hadn’t spoken. ‘Charles too. When’s a good time?’

  ‘I’ll be in for tea in ten minutes.’ The man seemed puzzled by the request, but quite relaxed. ‘I haven’t seen Charles since lunchtime, but he’ll be there too.’ He bent again to return to his task.

  When they went to the kitchen later he was washing his hands under the tap, scrubbing his nails. The potatoes were in a colander on the bench and Charles was pouring boiling water into a teapot. For the first time Perez noticed how big Charles’s hands were, very long and flexible. When he set down the kettle he waved them about, fingers together, so that they reminded Perez of a seal’s flippers cutting through the water.

  ‘To what do we owe the pleasure?’ He was one of those men who hide their anxiety with joviality and bad jokes. ‘You’ll have a cup of tea?’ Again waving the hands first towards the chairs at the table, then to the mugs.

  Perez remained standing. But Willow nodded and sat down at the table. ‘Eleanor Longstaff phoned you,’ he said. ‘A couple of weeks ago. About Peerie Lizzie. The Geldards owned this house.’

  David looked blank. ‘I didn’t talk to anyone.’ He was drying his hands on a paper towel and threw it into the bin.

  Perez was watching Charles.

  ‘What about you, Mr Hillier? Did you talk to her?’

  There was a moment’s silence. Charlie poured tea and went to the fridge for milk, which he tipped from the carton into a jug. This seemed to take a long time. At last he was back, facing them again. ‘I spoke to someone,’ he said. ‘I can’t remember her name. I suppose it could have been the poor woman who died.’ He sat down and his big hands settled flat on the table in front of him.

  Perez caught Willow’s eye. ‘When was this?’ His voice was very quiet.

  ‘About a month ago.’ He looked up. ‘You must realize, Jimmy, that we get a lot of enquiries.’

  ‘But this was a television production company. A chance for some publicity. For you and for your business. That would have been a bit exciting, I’d have thought. You’d have remembered that, maybe researched the company on the Internet t
o see what they’d done before.’ Talked to your partner?

  ‘I told you, Jimmy, my days in show business are long over.’ Charles gave a rueful smile.

  ‘But you’d be glad of some media exposure for the hotel. David was telling me how difficult it is to make a decent living up here. And I understood that Eleanor was offering a performance fee.’

  Charles lifted the hands, a gesture of incomprehension, and looked at David. ‘Really, I don’t remember anything of that sort.’ The explanation more for his partner than for the detectives.

  ‘So what exactly did Eleanor want from you?’ Perez asked.

  ‘Information, Jimmy. Nothing more than that. She wanted me to tell her the story of poor Peerie Lizzie. David had done the research. We’d put it all into a little brochure for any of the guests who might be interested. There was a child called Elizabeth, only child of Gilbert and Roberta Geldard. She was born in 1920 and died just ten years later. She was playing out in the garden under the care of a local woman, one of the Malcolmsons. Elizabeth slipped away from her minder to go to the voe and she must have wandered out onto the sand. Then the fog came down and the tide came in and she was drowned. They found her body the following day, washed up onto the shore. She was lying on her back with her hands by her side and she seemed quite perfect, although the story is that she’d been in the water all night.’

  ‘There was no possibility that it was foul play?’ Perez directed the question to David, who seemed a more reliable source of information.