by Ann Cleeves
He thought at first that the place was empty and he'd have to come back. The blanket of cloud seemed to hold in the smell of salt and rotting seaweed from the beach. The rain was heavier than ever and standing at the front of the house, banging on the door, he got soaked. Water spilled from the gutter and splashed out of the drain. Then there was another sound. The slap of slippers against the flag floor. The turn of a key in a lock. Duncan stood there.
Hangover personified. Unshaven, sour-smelling, blinking against the light. 'For Christ's sake man. What do you want?'
At least, Perez thought, he was spared the usual male hug and reference to the old days.
It’s business: he said quietly. 'Police business. Can I come in?'
Duncan didn't answer. He turned and shuffled back towards the kitchen. By the range there was an Orkney chair, with the high, hooded wicker back to keep out draughts. Perez remembered it had always been there. Duncan sank back into it. Perez thought he'd probably spent all night there, once the bottle of Highland Park by his feet was empty. The policeman filled a kettle and moved it on to the hotplate. 'Tea or coffee?'
Duncan slowly opened his eyes. He gave the smile that made Perez want to hit him. 'Good old James,' he said.
'Always there to save the day!
'This is murder. Nothing I can do to make that go away!
It was as if Duncan hadn't heard him. 'Tea,' he said.
'A good strong cup of tea!
The kitchen looked as if half a dozen students had been camping out in it for a term. Duncan saw Perez looking at the mess. 'You can't get the staff these days, he said.
'No Celia?'
'She left.' The smile and the flippancy disappeared. 'I thought she was besotted!
'So did I!
The kettle boiled. The tea bags were where they'd always been. Perez rinsed two mugs. There was just enough milk in the fridge.
'Catherine Ross,' he said. 'How well did you know her?'
'I didn't!
'But she was here, at your party, the night before she was killed!
'You've been speaking to Fran!
'Mrs Hunter found the body!
Duncan finished the tea, then got out of his and poured himself a pint of water. He stood, against the draining board for support.
'I should have made it work with Fran: he said. I really loved her, you know. There was no reason why it shouldn't have!
'Only Celia!
'Well, Celia. That was different. No question of me marrying her. She would never have left Michael.
Appearances count here. You know that. Really there was no competition. I'd married Fran, hadn't I? We had a child. Anyway, now I've lost Celia too!
Perez allowed himself to be distracted. 'What happened there? I thought you had that worked out. A relationship of convenience on both sides!
'So did I. But recently she's been a bit possessive. Insecure. Her age, maybe. She suddenly started getting heavy about other women. A pain in the arse, actually!
He took a mouthful of water, stared gloomily outside. The rain splashed against the window.
'But you didn't ask her to leave. She left you. Why?'
'Honestly? I'm not sure. It was all very sudden. It happened the night the girl was here for the party. I wasn't doing anything I hadn't done dozens of times before. Chatting. Flirting, maybe. Harmless stuff. We were in the middle of a conversation. Nothing heavy. Her saying You know you're too old for this. Why don't you get rid of them? Let's have the house to ourselves. Stuff she'd said a hundred times before. And I promised like I always did.
This is the last time. The last Haa party. You're right. I should be thinking of settling down.
Then she said she was leaving and wouldn't be coming back. She didn't make a big scene. That's not her style.
Dignified. Celia's always been dignified. She packed a bag and then I heard her car. I knew she meant it. I knew I'd really blown it!
'Did anything happen while you were talking to make her leave suddenly?' Was this relevant? Why was he so interested after all? Because he was taking a delicious pleasure in Duncan's misery. It served the man right.
Duncan shook his head. He'd closed his eyes again for a moment as if a wave of pain from the hangover was hitting him. Then he opened them.
'She had a text message. She read it while I was still talking, then announced that she was leaving! He looked across at Perez, suddenly horrified. 'Do you think it could have been from another man? That she had a lover all the time she was with me?'
'Did she often get text messages?'
'Only from her son. Robert can't wipe his bum without clearing it with her first'
'Wasn't Robert there that night?'
'I think he was earlier. Not when Celia ran off. He hates my guts but he still comes to my parties!
'Did he arrive with the girl who died?'
'Hey man, you know what it's like at my parties.
The door's open and people wander in!
'You told Fran you let Catherine stay because Celia knew her!
'Did I? I'd have let her stay whatever. She was bloody gorgeous!
'You did talk to her then?'
'Yes, I talked to her!
'Before Celia left or after?'
'Both probably. Yes, both!
'Was she with anyone? I mean a boyfriend!
'No!
'Did you ask her?'
'Maybe. But you notice, don't you? There's an attractive young woman, you look to see if she's with anyone!
'She wasn't with Robert?'
'Not in that way. I mean, I think I saw them talking when she first got here. Anyway, please! Robert Isbister! This was a beautiful girl with a brain. What would she be doing talking to Robbie? I mean all he wants in the world is to be as famous as his father!
What would she be doing talking to you?
'You did speak to her though. What about?'
'Film. I told Fran that. She was a film freak. She even had a camcorder with her. She showed me how it worked!
'She was filming the party?'
'I don't know. Maybe.
She was talking about the film club. Why was it that all they had were block busters? Why couldn't we get some European stuff occasionally? She said that was the one thing she missed about living in Shetland. A good art-house cinema. She was pretentious, you know, in the way bright kids are, but she didn't take herself too seriously!
'Did you try it on?'
'Not seriously!
'What does that mean?'
'She made it clear she wasn't interested. You know me. I don't need to work at it. There are lots of women out there!
But Perez remembered other conversations with Duncan, the effort he'd put into charming Fran. If he'd been really taken with Catherine, he'd have worked at it.
'How did she seem? I mean what sort of mood was she in?'
'She was buzzing, really elated. I told her, whatever you're on, I want some of it!
'Do you think she had been using?'
'No. She was young, that was all. Young and pleased with herself. The way I used to be!
'Did she stay the night?'
'Apparently. According to Fran she was seen on the bus from town at lunchtime the next day. But she wasn't with me. I was feeling sorry for myself, got maudlin drunk and passed out. It's been happening a lot recently. I only held it together yesterday because Cassie was here! He paused. 'Did you see her at Fran's?
My beautiful Cassie?'
'Yes!
'I wasn't sure I wanted a child when Fran told me she was expecting. I didn't think I was ready for it., Now I can't imagine life without her. I couldn't bear it if Fran took her away again!
'Is there any danger of that?'
'I'm not sure. She seems settled enough here, but you can never tell, can you? She'll meet someone else eventually. Now you have to go. I need to shower and change. I'm taking the afternoon flight south.
Work!
Perez stood up. 'When will you be back?' 'Tomo
rrow evening. You don't need to worry. I'm not planning on running away!
Before going back to his car and despite the rain, Perez walked round to the back of the house, which faced towards the shore. He stood for a moment, trying to find some shelter under the wind-stunted sycamores, and looked down at the beach where he'd sat with Alice. He'd been convinced that he loved her and couldn't understand why she didn't reply to his letters once she got home.
Chapter Twenty-Four
It was Saturday. No school, but no rest. Usually on Saturday Sally went into Lerwick for youth orchestra practice. Her father often gave her a lift and stayed in town to do some work in his office. At least that's what he said. Sally wasn't sure. Saturday was Margaret's day for cleaning and laundry and nobody wanted to be around when she was in the middle of that. This morning Sally woke up feeling light-headed and strange.She'd had a disturbed night. Too much dreaming.
Sometimes she worried that was all her life consisted of. Dreams. Nothing in it was real. The family life her mother had created - kirk on Sunday, sitting down to tea together every night, everything placid and ordered and calm - all that was a sham. Sally went along with it for a quiet life. She pretended to be a dutiful daughter, yet there were times when she wished her mother was dead.
Even her friendship with Catherine hadn't been what it seemed and it had been a real effort to keep the resentment and jealousy from floating to the surface. Sometimes the effort of all that acting made her feel weird, cut off. Like she was looking down at herself. She'd tried to explain it once to Catherine, who hadn't understood it at all.
At breakfast she still didn't feel like eating. She could tell her parents were anxious and she quite enjoyed the idea that they were worried about her. It made a change. All that time when the kids at school had been picking on her, she'd tried to explain to them what was going on, but they hadn't really taken it in. 'Take no notice,' her mother had said. 'Sticks and stones!
'Why don't you give orchestra a miss today?' Margaret was putting the pans to soak in soapy water. Even at the weekends she didn't believe in a leisurely breakfast and the plates were snatched away as soon as you'd finished. 'It's delayed shock, I expect. Maybe we should ask the doctor to take a look at you. Have a day at home!
But that was the last thing Sally wanted. 'I'll probably feel better if I'm out!
Her father poured himself a last mug of tea from the pot. 'Why don't you come with me? It's my day for the beached bird survey. Fresh air and a bit of exercise. That might do the trick.'
She couldn't come up with any reason to refuse him. She could tell he really wanted her to go, and like her mother she found it hard to stand up to him. She went into the bedroom and changed into jeans and an old sweater, then stood in the porch to pull on her wellingtons. He was already waiting for her. Margaret came out with a flask and a packet of sandwiches and stood to wave them off. Sally could tell she was eager to have the house to herself.
They only made it untidy.
The rain had cleared overnight and it was a little warmer. A false promise of spring. Sitting high up in the front seat of the Land Rover there was a view across the fields to where Catherine had been lying.
One of the pieces of police tape had come loose. The ravens were sky-dancing in the thermals at the top of the cliff.
'What did she look like?' Sally asked.
He knew what she was talking about, but there was a moment's silence while he considered. She thought he was going to tell her not to think about Catherine, that she should put all thought of the murder from her mind. At last he said, 'She looked dead. I'd never seen a dead body before. You think it'll just look like someone sleeping, but it doesn't. You mustn't worry about what happened to her out there. The birds. All the rumours that are flying around. Whatever made her Catherine had gone by then. Long gone! He paused. 'Do you understand what I mean?'
'Yes, I think so!
Every month Alex walked a stretch of the coast looking for birds which had been washed up dead. He wasn’t the only one. All around the islands there were people walking their own patch, Pete from the RSPB, Paul, Roger, all the volunteers. It was a census, a snapshot of the health of the islands' bird population. He explained this to Sally as he manoeuvred the Land Rover down a narrow track towards a small farm. She listened, glad of the distraction. There was something comforting about her father's obsessions. They were always the same. The house at the end of the track was freshly whitewashed and a line of nappies blew behind it. As they approached a young woman came out and scattered grain to the chickens which pecked around the garden. She waved at Alex before disappearing inside.
'A young couple's just taken it over,' he said.
"'Incomers. At least they're living there. It was a holiday let for a few years! She was surprised that he knew about the new family. She'd thought he didn't notice much about people.
He led her past the house on to a pebble beach. It shelved steeply into the water and there was a line of seaweed, piled up, which marked the high tide. She could smell it from where they were standing. 'We might find a few oiled birds,' he said. 'There was some pollution further north! He was talking to himself. She scrambled down the beach after him, almost tripping when the shingle shifted underneath her boot. He turned and caught her elbow just in time to stop her falling. His grip was strong and the physical contact shocked her. Even when she was young she couldn't remember him touching her. He'd never been one for giving a cuddle. Once he realized she was firm on her feet he pulled his hand away and walked ahead of her, his head bent to look at the shore. Almost immediately he found a long-tailed duck, freshly dead, and held it out, stretching the wing carefully, so she could see the individual feathers.
'It's been oiled,' he said. 'Not badly, but enough to kill it!
She didn't know what to say. She couldn't pretend to be sad about a dead sea duck. She wandered down to the water; let it wash over her wellingtons, until he'd moved on. She stood looking out over the grey sea, letting her mind go blank.
When she caught up with him he had another corpse in his hand. 'Guillemot,' he said. He turned it over, felt along the bone between its wings. 'There's no fat at all. Precious little muscle! She expected him to drop it into the black bin bag and continue walking, but he couldn't help explaining about it. About climate change; the melting polar ice, the effect it seemed to be having on plankton and sand-eels. 'The food for seabirds is disappearing,' he said. 'Last summer puffins, red-throated divers, arctic skuas, raised no young at all!
Sally understood why her mother resented his passion. He cared too much about it. And it was all too big. How could they compete with his concern for the whole planet? Even the brutal murder of a schoolgirl seemed insignificant in comparison. Sally remembered then that Catherine had wanted to interview her father. She'd heard him speak on Radio Shetland and been impressed by him, And she hadn't been impressed by many people. They'd been sitting in the little living room at the back of the Ross house, doing some homework, the radio on in the background, when his voice had suddenly filled the room. Sally had been excited despite herself. That's my dad.
She couldn't remember now what he'd been talking about. Overgrazing maybe. That was his party piece. And Catherine had said, 'He's so committed. He really cares about that stuff, doesn't he? Do you think he'd let me interview him?' And she'd sounded as passionate as him. Very alive. It was difficult now to think that had gone.
It seemed as if Alex had read her thoughts. 'You must miss her. The Ross girl!
Sally remembered how lonely she'd felt, waiting for the school bus. 'Yes,' she said. 'I miss her a lot!
'I didn't know her. Not really. But she seemed a strange kind of girl!
'I liked her!
'You mustn't be scared: he said. 'I wouldn't let any thing bad happen to you!
It was the first time she'd thought there might be anything to be scared about.
'Did she ever interview you for her project?' Sally asked. She'd have expected Catherine to
tell her if she had, but with Catherine you never knew. She had her own secrets.
He frowned. 'What project would that be?' 'Something we were doing for school. About Shetland. Her impression of it as an outsider, I think. She wanted to talk to you about your work!
'No: he said. 'She never did that! Something about his voice made Sally think that he would have liked that and he was sorry it had never happened.
Robert phoned her when they got back to the Land Rover. She was sitting in the passenger seat on her own, fiddling with the radio, trying to get some decent music. Alex had gone to chat to the woman in the farm. The new people were interested in natural history, he said. He'd get them to look out for more oiled birds on the beach. She watched him walk up to the front door. He opened it without knocking and took his boots off, leaving them on the step. And that was when Robert phoned. It couldn't have been better timing. Almost as if he'd been watching, waiting until she was on her own.
'Do you want to come out tonight?'
'I can't! She didn't have the energy to make up an excuse to get away from her parents. It would be a nightmare without Catherine to cover for her.
'When then?'
'I don't know,' she said. 'Give me a ring next week. During the day. If I'm in class I'll call you back later.' She wanted to ask what he'd been doing, to chat, to make ordinary conversation.
But he said, 'I don't know when it'll be. I'm taking the boat out.' Then he hung up.
It was a quarter of an hour later when her father got back and by then she was very cold. She wondered what he could have been up to in the house with the young woman. She was proud of herself for not falling in straight away with Robert's plans, but she wished she had something more definite to look forward to.