by Ann Cleeves
‘Have you lost one of your cats?’ He was already in the yard. Kevin stood in the doorway.
‘I don’t think so. The farm cat had kittens and we’ve given all those away. Why?’
‘There was a dead cat found in Tain when they cleared through the rubble. I thought it must be one of yours, wandered in just before the landslide.’
Kevin seemed about to say something, but he shut the door without speaking. Perez sat in the car for a moment before driving away.
It was still only just gone seven and Willow wouldn’t be at his house until nine. Perez couldn’t think what he’d do at home for the next two hours except fret and get anxious, so he headed out again towards the complex of holiday lodges owned by the Henderson family. Willow had said that Stuart Henderson was on the list of people who paid money into Rogerson’s secret account. Perhaps he’d be more forthcoming than Kevin Hay. The chalets were grouped around a landscaped area, which in the brochure was described as a traditional Shetland hay meadow. The grass was brown and scorched by wind and salt now, but perhaps in the summer there would be wildflowers. Perez was sceptical. The scene was lit by wrought-iron street lights that would have been more in keeping in an English village square. The whole effect was of a bizarre film set, but two of the chalets had lights at the windows, so tourists must be attracted even in winter.
Stuart’s giant 4×4 wasn’t parked at the big bungalow and when Perez rang the doorbell, it was Craig Henderson who answered.
‘I was hoping to speak to your parents.’
‘They’re out,’ Craig said. ‘Country-and-Western night in the Marlix in town. That’s their thing.’ He flashed a quick grin. ‘At least it gives me an evening a week to myself. No nagging.’
‘Could I have a word with you?’
‘Aye, why not?’ He’d been eating supper from a tray, which had been set on the floor beside his chair. Perez supposed Angie would clear it up for him when she got in. A huge television screen was showing a European football match. Craig turned the sound down. ‘How can I help you, Jimmy?’
‘We’re following up information about Tom Rogerson. He seems to have been receiving rather mysterious payments. I wondered if you could shed any light on them.’ After all, he couldn’t accuse the man’s father of bribery and corruption or of paying blackmail to the dead man.
He’d expected a flat denial and for the television to go back on, but Craig’s attention was on Perez now.
‘There have been rumours,’ he said.
‘What kind of rumours?’ Perez thought it was odd that a man who only spent part of every year in Shetland should know the gossip about the place. But he could see that Angie would be one for spreading any news.
‘I didn’t hear it from here.’
That was even more tantalizing, but Perez didn’t want Craig to think the information was important, so he said nothing.
‘But oilies talk, you know.’
There was a goal on the television that caught Craig’s attention for a moment. Perez started to lose patience. ‘And what do the oilies say?’
‘They’re here on their own. All the men locked up in the floatels, away from their wives and girlfriends for weeks at a time. Those that have wives and girlfriends . . .’ He paused and grinned. ‘You can see that might provide a business opportunity for some enterprising person.’
Perez was starting to see where this was going. Willow had noticed that all the names on Rogerson’s list were men, but she’d assumed that was because most councillors and business people were male. ‘Spell it out for me, Craig. What was going on here?’
‘Rumour has it that Rogerson could get you a girl, if you wanted one.’ He looked up and grinned again. ‘A selection of girls.’
Chapter Thirty-One
Willow sat in the car below Perez’s house in Ravenswick. There was a moon, and shreds of cirrus cloud floated in front of it, so the light was milky and opaque. She knew that he was back from talking to Kevin Hay because his car was there and there was a glow behind the curtained window, but she was a little early and didn’t want to disturb him before he was ready for her. Eventually she walked up the bank and tapped at the door.
The fire had been lit, but there were no candles this time. She wasn’t sure whether she was pleased or disappointed. Perez was sitting at the table writing notes under an angle-poise lamp. There were still shadows in the corners of the room.
‘What have you got for us, Jimmy?’ She wanted him to know that she had no expectations of this meeting, that she could be entirely professional.
‘Kevin Hay would tell me nothing.’ Perez hesitated and then stood up. ‘I was thinking it was time for some supper and I might open a bottle of wine. Will you join me in a glass?’
‘Why not?’ One glass over a whole evening wouldn’t cloud her judgement.
He didn’t ask what she would prefer, but pulled the cork from a bottle of red. He had cheese arranged already on a plate on the counter, bread on a board, ready to cut. He set the food with plates and two glasses on a low table in front of the fire.
‘So how did Kevin explain the payments to Rogerson?’
Perez poured wine. ‘Rogerson was his solicitor and they undertook business for him from time to time.’
‘But what sort of business?’ The wine was light and sharp.
‘I rather think that I’ve got to the bottom of that too.’ He reached out and offered her the cheese. She thought how easy it would be to reach to take his hand. Confide in me, Jimmy. Let me rescue you from your dreams and your ghosts.
‘And?’
He smiled. ‘First of all, let me tell you a story. Several years ago, just when it was decided to bring natural gas ashore in Shetland because the oil supplies were dwindling, there was an advert in The Shetland Times. A woman from Aberdeen, who ran an escort agency in the city, was thinking of setting up a branch in Lerwick. I can’t remember the name now. Something flowery and fancy, but it was a name that made it quite clear what the business was about. There was a mobile number, and interested parties should contact her. She intimated that contractors and men working in the oil and gas industries would be especially welcome. There was an outcry and the Times was berated for running the ad. The council made it clear that such a venture would definitely not be allowed in Shetland.’
Willow sipped her wine. ‘You think Tom Rogerson stole the idea?’
‘I think it would explain the random payments from islanders and from incomers. I checked into the background of some of the islanders on the list. Many of them are lonely single men.’
‘Do you have any evidence for the theory?’ She was thinking this would be hard to prove. Tom Rogerson’s clients would be too embarrassed to talk, especially the men like Kevin Hay who were married, and the working girls would have their own reasons for keeping quiet. She imagined many of them would be Eastern European. Perhaps they’d come to Shetland to work as chambermaids or in the fish-processing factory and Rogerson had recruited them with the promise of easy cash.
‘None at all. And it wasn’t even my theory. I went to see Craig Henderson and he told me there were rumours among the contractors that Rogerson could put them in touch with the women.’
‘But Rogerson can’t have paid the women,’ she said, ‘because there’s no trace of regular sums leaving his account. He must have charged an introduction or arrangement fee, and the women would have been paid direct. So there was no evidential link between him and the girls. He was very careful.’ She was thinking through the details. ‘That was a lot of cash to pay just for an introduction.’
‘The islanders would have had no idea of the going rate,’ Perez said, ‘and the incomers wouldn’t have been short of cash. Besides, perhaps Rogerson didn’t just make the introduction and sort out the logistics. Perhaps he provided somewhere discreet for the parties to meet.’
‘The house at Tain?’
Perez nodded. ‘Over the winter at least. Before that, who knows?’
‘How did Alis
on Teal fit into the scheme?’ Willow thought Alison must have been a part of the business. It would make sense of the unexplained affluence and the expensive clothes. Her presence in Tain. ‘There was no record that Rogerson shared his profit with her. Was she just another of his working girls? A high-class whore imported from the south to serve Rogerson’s more discerning customers.’
Perez didn’t answer directly. ‘I’ve been sitting here going over and over the possibilities.’ He looked up and smiled. ‘It’s been driving me a little bit mad.’
‘Well, we’re all a bit mad.’
‘Maybe I’ve been madder than most, brooding about the past. I’ve not been great to be with, over the past couple of years.’
‘I can understand that,’ Willow said. She expected some response, but none came. Perhaps it was too soon for him after all, too raw. Perhaps he just didn’t fancy her. ‘Look, would you rather be on your own? Would you like me to go?’ She was already on her feet.
‘No,’ Perez said. He didn’t move from his seat and his face was in shadow, so it was still hard to tell what he was thinking.
She’d already pulled on her coat and had her bag over her shoulder.
‘Please stay. Have another glass of wine, something else to eat. I’d like to talk to you. Just for the pleasure of your company. If you don’t mind.’
She let her bag drop down her arm. Now he got to his feet and he helped her out of her jacket. He stroked her hair away from her face and pulled her to him.
Chapter Thirty-Two
It hadn’t been the best fellowship meeting. Rachel had turned up drunk and Jane had sat with her while the others spoke, and afterwards Jane had checked that Rachel wasn’t driving and had seen her home. She knew better than to think of the woman’s lapse as her own failure, but she was sad for her. More selfishly, she knew there would be more late-night phone calls, more self-pity and floods of remorse. Jane’s sponsor had seen her through her own recovery, but there was so much stress at home now that she wasn’t sure she could stand more disruption within the family. When she got into the house she turned her phone to silent. Rachel would probably sleep tonight anyway.
Kevin was waiting for her. ‘You’re late. I was starting to get worried.’
‘I had to give someone a lift home.’ She switched on the kettle. ‘Would you like tea? Coffee?’ She hated these brittle conversations when nothing was really said.
‘Jimmy Perez was here earlier.’
‘What did he want?’ She hovered with her hand reaching for her mug. Frozen with a kind of fear. She knew Kevin was involved in some way with the dead woman. The certainty came almost as a relief. She wasn’t making things up or going mad. But even if Kevin was a killer, she didn’t want him caught. She wanted the whole affair to be over and for Jimmy Perez to leave them on their own to work out their marriage.
‘Just some questions about Tom Rogerson. They’d found a couple of payments I’d made to him. I’ve been through the files. They must have been when he bought that piece of land out towards the school for us.’
She felt a moment of relief. Kevin was always buying parcels of land. Andy sometimes joked that he wouldn’t stop until he’d bought up the whole of Shetland mainland. It was the woman from Tain, the actress from London, who most risked their stability, even now she was dead; not business deals with Tom Rogerson. It occurred to her suddenly that she would have killed the woman herself to save Kevin and the boys.
‘Jimmy told me it was nothing official,’ Kevin said. ‘He was just tying up loose ends.’ But he didn’t look at her and she wasn’t reassured by the words.
She put a camomile teabag into a mug and poured on the water. The last thing she needed tonight was caffeine. ‘How are the boys?’
‘Michael’s up in his room. He came down a while ago for something to eat. He’s doing school work, he says. More likely sitting in front of that computer of his and watching rubbish.’
‘He spends too long in front of the screen. I wonder what he’s looking at. You hear such dreadful stories. Maybe we should keep a closer eye.’ It was a conversation they’d had before. Kevin thought she was fussing about nothing. Michael was almost a man. Settled and almost married. What did it matter what he accessed on the computer? Occasionally Jane had wandered into the office and Kevin had quickly switched off the screen, so she wondered if her husband was watching the same sort of material. Now he didn’t bother answering.
‘What about Andy?’ She’d seen his car in the yard and had thought with relief that he must be home. One less thing to worry about. The last few days all I’ve done is worry.
‘He hasn’t been here all day. I thought he must still be at work.’
‘His shift finished at five and his car’s here.’ The worm of anxiety, so familiar, was already burrowing into her brain. ‘Did you see him come back?’
Kevin shrugged as if he had more important things to worry about. ‘Maybe he didn’t take the car this morning. If he was meeting up with friends for a couple of pints after work, perhaps he decided to go up on the bus.’
She thought Kevin was right. She couldn’t remember if the car had been in the yard all day or not. It wasn’t late yet and Andy was probably in town. She phoned him all the same, though she wasn’t surprised when there was no reply. When she went to bed he still wasn’t home, but it was as if she’d lost her capacity to continue worrying. There’d been so much anxiety that her brain couldn’t take any more. She fell immediately into a deep sleep.
She woke suddenly when it was still quite dark. There was no moonlight and she knew immediately that the weather had changed again. It was as if a switch had been flicked and they were back in winter. Wind rattled through the house, battering at the windows and howling down the chimneys. No rain yet, but she could tell by the sound that the gale was north-westerly, and she knew that it would soon come. Kevin was lying beside her, still fast asleep. She looked at the radio by her bed. Nearly six o’clock. Not too early to get up and make tea.
This was a solid and well-built house, but the wind must have found its way through small cracks because she could feel the draught eddying around her ankles as she made her way downstairs. She refused to wonder if Andy was home. Much better to believe that he was still in Lerwick, having crashed at a friend’s flat. That way she wouldn’t be disappointed. Much better to make a cup of tea, sit in the warmth of the Aga and plan the small routines of the day. That way she could keep the panic at bay.
When she reached the ground floor there was a chill and the breeze was even fiercer. Sometimes a north-westerly wind blew out the Aga and she thought that must have happened again. It would be a nuisance to relight it and she thought she could do without the bother. Then she realized that the door to the yard was open. They never locked it, but the catch was strong and it had never blown open before. She shut it firmly and went into the kitchen. Andy was sitting at the table. His arms were crossed in front of him and his head was resting on them. She couldn’t tell if he was dead or just sleeping and for a moment she couldn’t move. Then he lifted his head and with unfocused eyes stared towards her.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m so sorry.’
Chapter Thirty-Three
When Sandy got to the police station Willow and Perez were already there. He checked his watch when he saw them, just to make sure he wasn’t late. Most days Jimmy tried to drop Cassie at school, so usually Sandy was at work first. They all sat in the ops room for what Willow called morning prayers, but what he knew as a briefing. She and Jimmy seemed kind of dazed. Perhaps it was because they’d been bombarded the evening before with new revelations and revised theories; Sandy soon had a sense that the direction of the case had changed completely.
‘Had you heard any of these rumours, Sandy? About Tom Rogerson arranging girls for the men in the floatels. And for anyone else who’ll pay him.’
Sandy shook his head. ‘But folk are careful what they say in front of me. You know what it’s like, Jimmy.’ Then he though
t Perez might not know what it was like to have conversations in bars suddenly stop as he was approaching. Forced laughter. Over-elaborate descriptions of the stories that were being told before he’d walked in. Perez had never been very social, even before Fran’s death. Recently he scarcely left the house in the evening unless it was for work.
‘What do you think about the Shetlanders on the list? Are they likely candidates, do you think, for Rogerson’s services?’
‘Maybe.’ Sandy thought if he hadn’t met Louisa, he might have been one of the lonely men on the list in ten years’ time. ‘I’m surprised by Kevin Hay, though. I always thought he was very happy with his wife.’
‘Perhaps the happy-family thing just wasn’t enough for him,’ Willow said. ‘Perhaps that was what Agnew was trying to tell me.’
Jimmy Perez shot her a look, but he didn’t reply directly. ‘We need to get one of these men to talk. Any idea who’d be willing to speak to us, Sandy?’
‘I can’t see even the single guys who come from the islands wanting to admit that they’ve been using a prostitute.’ He felt himself blushing just at the thought of it. He wouldn’t want to interview any of them. ‘Maybe you’re best targeting the oilies.’
‘I’ve checked,’ Willow said. ‘They don’t all stay in the floatels in Scalloway or Lerwick. A good number give their local address as the new hotel near Sullom.’
‘That might explain what Alison Teal was doing in Brae just before she died.’ Perez seemed to have woken up a bit. He leaned forward across the table. ‘She was there for work.’ He paused and it was if Sandy could see his brain working. ‘Either on her own account, to interview potential clients, or to recruit more girls for the business.’