by Ann Cleeves
Jimmy Perez sat quietly on a desk at the back of the room, listening to Taylor explaining about the delay and how frustrated he was by it. You had to listen carefully because of the unfamiliar Scouse accent, the strange, mangled vowels. The inspector had grabbed their attention from the beginning. He had the stage presence of a fine actor or a stand-up comedian. He was compulsive viewing. Perez wished he had that sort of presence, the same ability to motivate his team.
Outside the weather was milder and there was the beginning of a thaw. In the lulls in conversation Perez thought he could hear the dripping of melted snow. The clouds which had been lurking out to sea all night had rolled inshore and the room was almost as dark as during the last team meeting at daybreak.
Taylor was going through the evidence of the crime scene investigator. 'Besides the constable who was first called to the scene there are three sets of footprints: he said. Constable. He was being more polite than most. Perez thought on his home patch Taylor would have a different name for the uniformed men who did the routine work.
Here, he was careful not to offend. 'The snow was deep enough to get good impressions and it didn't melt during the day so the crime scene investigator was lucky. She's a bit of an expert on boots and shoes. Apparently.
'One set belonged to Mrs Hunter. Size six wellington boots. Of course really there are two tracks in each case -
one going into the scene and one coming away. Another, more recent, in places crossing the prints of Mrs Hunter came from Mr Alex Henry, the teacher's husband from Ravenswick. Size nine walking boots. Again, only to be expected. We know that Mrs Hunter waved at him, he crossed the field to join her and he used his mobile to call us.
The third set belongs to Magnus Tait. His prints aren't very clear. It's hard to tell how long he was there and what he was up to. That's because the other sets are laid on top of his. He was there before either of the others. Our examiner is quite clear on that.'
Sandy Wilson gave a cheer, punched his fist in the air, then fell silent when everyone else just sat and watched him.
'You think this is a cause for celebration, Sandy?' Taylor asked. The voice deceptively mild, but with an edge of sarcasm which Perez and the Inverness team recognized. He could be polite only for so long.
'Well it means we've got him,' Sandy said. 'Doesn't it?'
'He's already admitted to being at the scene,' Perez said. 'He didn't attempt to hide it. He told me on my first visit. It's in the day log, Sandy. But maybe you've not had a chance to look at it:
'Well, he would, wouldn't he? He'd know that we'd find his prints and he'd come up with a reason. . !
'I'm not sure he's capable of that sort of thinking: Perez said. He wished Sandy would admit defeat, not show himself up in front of the others.
'Besides,' Taylor said, 'if he killed Catherine, how did she get there, Sandy? There are none of her prints. Tell me, did she fly? Did those bastard birds pick her up in their talons and carry her?'
'Maybe Tait did!
'Catherine was a tall young woman. He's an old man. Strong once, perhaps, and still used to some physical work, but I don't reckon he'd have been able to hoist her over two fields without putting her down for a breather.
Even if she was already dead!
'Then how did she get there?'
The question was directed to Taylor, but the inspector from Inverness only looked at Sandy for a long time in silence. 'Tell him, Jimmy: he said at last. 'You've worked it out, haven't you?' Perhaps he didn't feel he could explain to Sandy without really losing it, saying something he'd regret later.
'She walked: Perez said. 'She walked in with whoever killed her. Then it snowed and her footprints were covered up. There was a heavy squall at about midnight. I phoned Dave Wheeler the meteorologist on Fair Isle.
There was snow on part of the body, though according to the crime scene investigator it had been stroked carefully away from her face and upper torso. That's why Fran Hunter could see her from the road!
'So Tait could still be the murderer? No reason why not. He could have gone back later, early the next morning.
He could have swept the snow from her face.'
'He could be the murderer,' Taylor said, interrupting, finding it impossible now to restrain himself. 'Of course he could. Still most likely prime suspect. But let's picture the scene. It's dark. He took the girl into his house for tea early in the afternoon. We know that. He's admitted it and they were seen getting off the bus together. Let's suppose, just for a minute, that he managed to entertain her all afternoon. How did he persuade her to go out on to the hill with him in the pitch black? She was an intelligent young woman. Brought up in the big city.
Not naive. Streetwise. Even if she hadn't heard the rumours about him and Catriona Bruce, do you think she’d just wander off into the night with him? That's what the defence lawyers will say. And it worries me too!
Taylor turned quickly, so he had his back to Sandy, as if he wasn't worth further attention. 'Jimmy, what do you think?'
'I don't think she was the sort to be easily scared. And here, in Shetland, there's a sense of security isn't there?
Bad things don't happen here. Not the sort of things that happen elsewhere. We let our kids wander round on their own. We might worry about them getting a bit close to the cliffs, but we don't worry about them getting abducted by perverts! Except now. Now we're just like everywhere else. All over the islands children are being kept indoors and being told to beware of strange old men.
'So I think she might have gone with him. If she thought he had something interesting to show her. Or for a challenge or a dare. A story to entertain her friends with the next day! He paused. 'But she wouldn't just have stood there and let him strangle her. She'd have fought him back. And there's no sign of that. No scratch marks on his hands or his face. They'll take a sample from under her fingernails. Perhaps we'll know more then!
'So how do you see it, Jimmy?' Taylor asked. 'Set the scene for me. 'Tell me what you think happened?'
'I think she walked out there with someone she knew and was comfortable with. Someone she'd stand close to, arm in arm maybe, to keep out the cold. When the attack came it was without warning. The scarf she was wearing pulled hard around her neck. She'd still try to fight, but perhaps it was so sudden that she didn't stand a chance.
Either that or someone with sufficient strength to catch her off guard!
'You're thinking a boyfriend then?'
'Aye perhaps. Probably. But not necessarily!
'Fill us in on the wannabe boyfriend you've tracked down, the lad who gave them the lift back New Year's Eve!
'Jonathan Gale. Family's English, moved to Quendale not very long ago. He's a year older than Catherine. At the high school too. He came to see me while I was there. Father's a travel writer.
Anyway, they were both outsiders so you'd expect them to get on. And he'd certainly fallen for her. Big style. I could tell, though he wasn't saying a lot. Apparently she didn't reciprocate. According to Sally Henry, Catherine hardly spoke to him in the car back from Lerwick. And Euan said she didn't seem interested. But Gale couldn't have killed her. Not according to his parents. He was with them all evening on the 4th. They watched a video!
'Until midnight?'
'No, but they claim he couldn't have driven away from the house without them hearing! He wanted to say he'd talked to the lad and liked him, but didn't think Taylor would be impressed by that. Instead he went on, 'It wouldn't have had to be a boyfriend. It could have been anyone she'd not be scared of:
'Her father?'
'I suppose he'd fit the bill. But wasn't he in Lerwick all evening? And what would be the motive?'
'God knows. But we've checked with his colleagues and he was a bit out with his timings. It wasn't as late as he said in his statement when he left town. It isn't necessarily suspicious, but he could have killed the daughter before the snow set in! Taylor began his habitual pacing. Perez wondered irritably if they couldn't give him s
omething to slow him down. Valium? Or those little cannabis cookies Sarah used to make when she was at college? What did she call them? Hash brownies.
'I know where Catherine was the night before she fetched up on the bus with Magnus Tait. That might help!
Taylor stopped abruptly.
'For God's sake man, why didn't you say so before? Where?'
Perez was tempted to say that he hadn't been able to get a word in, but let it go. 'At the Haa. One of Duncan Hunter's parties:
There was a mutter of recognition, almost of amusement, from the Shetlanders. Taylor, though, was not amused. 'Is this supposed to mean something to me?'
'Duncan's a sort of local playboy. Businessman. Entrepreneur. He throws famous parties. We've all been to them at one time or another. Though few of us can remember much of what went on:
'Isn't the woman who found the body called Hunter?'
'Duncan's her ex-husband:
'Any significance there?'
'Only in the fact that it was she who told me the girl was at the Haa that night. Duncan wasn't going to bother letting us know.'
'Hard to keep it quiet, I'd have thought' Taylor was scowling, trying to make sense of it Perez thought he was like an anthropologist, coming to terms with some remote tribe's rituals and mores. 'I mean I take it she wasn't the only person there. We'd have got to hear of it as soon as we put out a request for information at the news conference.'
'I don't think we need assume Duncan was trying to keep it quiet,' Perez said. 'He's the sort who thinks rules are for other people. Like I said, he just couldn't be arsed to pick up the phone:
'An arrogant bastard?'
'Aye, something like that:
'Should one of us go to speak to him?' One of us. One of the outsiders. The team spirit hadn't survived long.
'Let me speak to him first,' Perez said. 'If I think he's messing me about one of you can have a shot: They sat for a moment in silence. Even Taylor's thinking was showy, energetic. Looking at him, frowning, you could imagine the synapses jumping and fizzing. A phone rang. Sandy answered it.
'Boss?' Diffident now, though he still wasn't entirely sure what he'd done wrong. 'Professor Morton from Aberdeen:
The inspector took the call in his office and while they were waiting there was an edgy silence. Perez wandered over to the window and looked out at the town. The straight lines of the grey houses were blurred by the rain which was coming down now in hard straight lines. When Taylor returned he was carrying an A4 writing pad. He'd made notes, very detailed, Perez saw, the writing small and cramped.
'Caroline Ross was strangled,' he said. 'Not manually, but with the scarf we found with her. Just as we thought.
No sign of struggle. Time of death? Not very helpful. Between six pm and midnight the night of the 4th. She'd had quite a bit to drink soon before she died. Very little to eat. Almost certainly she was killed where she was found: He looked towards Sandy. 'And if a scientist says almost certain that means 110 per cent definite. Otherwise she was a healthy and fit young woman: He paused. 'Any questions?'
'Any trace of recent sexual activity?' Perez asked the question before Sandy could find another, less delicate way of phrasing it 'No,' Taylor said. 'Nothing like that.' He paused again. 'She was a virgin.'
The two of them met up together after the rest of the team had dispersed. Taylor’s idea. Anywhere we can get a decent coffee in this place?' Perez had taken him to the Peerie Cafe in the narrow lane up from the harbour.
Downstairs was full with middle-aged women in anoraks taking a break from shopping and the weather. A couple of young mums were deep in conversation in a corner. One of them was discreetly breastfeeding. The child's head almost hidden by a baggy sweater and Perez wondered how it could breathe. Upstairs they found a table. There was so much background noise that no way could they be overheard.
'So,' Taylor said. 'What do you think? I mean, I'd always assumed that if Tait was involved the motive would be sexual. But there was nothing.'
'Doesn't mean he didn't kill her.'
'Perhaps he liked them innocent,' Taylor said. 'We thought Catriona and Catherine had nothing in common, but there was that. Both untouched.'
'You wouldn't know, though, to look at Catherine.'
'First names both starting with C,' Taylor was getting into his stride. 'Both living in the same house. That's some coincidence.'
'Maybe,' Perez said. 'Still doesn't mean it was Tait.' 'What's he like, this Duncan Hunter?'
Perez shrugged. 'I can't stand the man. Doesn't mean he gets his kicks killing lasses.'
'Would he have been around when Catriona Bruce disappeared?'
'He's always been around. Big fish in a little pond.
His ego'd not survive in the big world outside.'
Taylor's smile was mocking. 'So, what's he done to you?'
'We were at school together. Big mates at one time.'
'And then?'
Perez shrugged again. 'I'd best go to see him. See what he's got to say about Catherine.'
'Do you want me to do it?' 'No. He'll say nothing to you.'
Taylor looked slightly wistful. It was like a recent non-smoker taking in the fumes. He liked being senior investigating officer, but he missed being out there talking to people, getting a feel for the case. 'Come and see me when you get back,' he said. 'Let me know how you got on.'
Perez nodded, eased himself from the chair and out into the street
Chapter Twenty-Three
At the time Perez thought Duncan had saved his life. That was what it felt like. He was thirteen. It was September, the start of a new school year, and it was like having to get used to Anderson High all over again.
Classes, and living in the hostel, and only being able to talk to his family on the phone. After a summer of being on the Isle, helping his dad with the sheep and the boat, it was like being in prison.
Worst of all was being back with the two Foula lads who'd made his life a misery during the first year and who hadn't forgotten what fun that was over the holidays. During the week it wasn't so bad. There were other kids who boarded weekly, there was a bit of a buzz about the place. More staff on duty. Weekends were a nightmare.
Other kids looked forward to the weekends. Jimmy Perez hated them. He anticipated them with dread. He imagined himself at the wheel of a small boat and a huge wave rising up on the horizon and bearing down towards him. Inevitable. Unavoidable. And when Friday night did arrive he counted off the minutes until it was Monday morning, doing the schoolboy sums in his head, working out the percentage of misery time passed and the nightmare still to come.
Then Duncan Hunter took a liking to him. How had that happened? Was there one moment of recognition, the realization that they might be friends? Perez couldn't remember. He had one image in his head. A breezy, sunny day. The water in the harbour whipped against the tide into tight little waves. He and Duncan would have been nearly fourteen and there'd been a joke. Perez couldn't remember which of them had told it, but he remembered the pair of them laughing. Duncan had been laughing so hard he'd had to put his arm around Perez's shoulder to stop himself falling over. Perez had tipped back his head and it seemed the sky was wheeling around him, because the clouds were blown so fast. And when he'd straightened up, spent and dizzy, there were the two Foula boys, sullen and resentful, because he had a friend, an ally and they'd have to find someone else to torment.
Then Perez started looking forward to weekends too. On Friday nights he'd go with Duncan in the bus to North Mainland and they'd walk together down the long drive to the Haa. When he'd first seen the house he couldn't take it all in. It was bigger than anything he'd ever seen. 'Which part do you live in?' he asked. Duncan didn't quite understand. 'The rooms near to the shore are so damp. We don't use those much. And there's no staff. Not really. So no one sleeps right at the top: And in those days, at the peak of the oil rush, Duncan's father was too busy or too dazed by the possibilities or too cautious to spend much on the house, an
d it was still very dark and primitive. Often the generator didn't work and there was no power. Then they ate supper by candlelight at the long table in the dining room. Perez first got drunk in the Haa and touched a girl's breasts for the first time.
That was when Duncan's parents were away in Aberdeen. To celebrate having the place to themselves, they held a party, Duncan's first party. It was mid-summer and light nearly till dawn. Perez took the girl on to the beach.
She was called Alice, an English girl on holiday. They sat watching the sun not quite set, leaning against the whitewashed wall around the house and Perez slipped his hand under her shirt. She let him stroke her for a few minutes, then pushed him away with a laugh.
Once he asked Duncan, 'Don't your parents mind me being here every weekend?'
Duncan had seemed surprised by the idea. 'No, why should they? They know I like it'
Perhaps that was the first time Perez had been aware of the gulf between them. Whatever Duncan liked, he got He considered it his right. The gap was more noticeable when Duncan spent a few days with him on Fair Isle. There was nothing you could put your finger on. Duncan was charming, polite to his parents. There was a dance at the hall and he joined in, swirling the middle-aged women off their feet, so they giggled and said he was a rascal and should come back another time. But occasionally Perez saw that he was bored. Some of the comments were patronizing. He knew the whole of the family, himself included, were relieved when they waved Duncan off on Loganair.
And now? Now, as he'd told Roy Taylor, he couldn't stand Duncan Hunter. He hated the fake shows of friendship when they met, the remembered incidents from their childhood which were always discussed, because in the present they had nothing in common to talk about. That wasn't the only reason for the dislike.
There was something more concrete too. Blackmail. But that was never discussed.
He knocked at the front door of the Haa, not expecting to find Duncan in. These days Duncan spent as much time in Edinburgh as he did in Shetland. Perhaps Celia would be back. Duncan had a way with women. Most of them returned in the end. Perez hoped it would be Celia who opened the door. He'd always liked her and she could fill him in on Catherine Ross and what the girl had been doing there. He wouldn't have to go through that business of pretending to be old mates before he found out anything useful.