Raven Black

by Ann Cleeves

  The following morning she went to the kirk with her parents, because she didn't have the energy to make a fuss. While they were praying for peace in the world she was thinking about Robert Isbister. Of course. He

  / was always there, distracting her, worming his way into her head. Why hadn't she gone with him when he asked her?

  Why hadn't she fixed a definite date for later in the week? The familiar words washed over her and she joined in the responses but she didn't hear a thing. She wondered if her father, dressed in a suit, scrubbed and polished, was listening or if his mind was elsewhere too. Afterwards, while her parents stood chatting, the minister came up to her and patted her hand. He was an obese man, so fat that the effort of walking made him wheeze. 'If you need anyone to talk to, you know where I am. This must be a very difficult time.' She could hardly say he'd be the last man in the world she'd confide in, so she just thanked him and hurried off to wait outside.

  Sundays followed the same pattern. After the service came Sunday lunch. Margaret always put the joint in the oven and peeled the potatoes before they set out for the kirk, so when they got back there wasn't too much to do.

  They were driving back down towards the school after the service and Sally was lost in thought when Margaret said,

  'Should we ask Mr Ross to have the meal with us? It must be dreadful for him sitting on his own in that great house.

  There'd be plenty of food.'

  Sally was horrified. She tried to imagine Mr Ross, sitting at their kitchen table while her mother hacked at the overcooked meat and picked ,away at him with her questions.

  'I think it's too soon,' Alex said. 'He'd see it as an intrusion. Maybe later.'

  Her mother seemed to accept that and they ate, as usual, on their own.

  They were sitting by the fire when the phone went. Margaret was knitting but had her eyes glued to the omnibus edition of a soap, which she pretended to despise but always watched. Sally had just finished the washing-up. Her father had changed out of his suit and was reading. He got up to answer the phone but her mother set down her knitting and said, 'It's all right. I'll go. It'll probably be a parent.' Margaret liked speaking on the phone even better than she liked watching bad television. She felt in control with the receiver in her hand. Important. She had a special voice, calm and a touch patronizing for parents. But she came back almost immediately and seemed a little put out.

  'It's for you,' she said to Alex. 'That detective.'

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Perez met Roy Taylor for lunch in the bar of the hotel where the Inverness boys were staying. Taylor had suggested it. 'Just a chat; he'd said. 'You can fill me in on your meeting with Hunter. We can think where we want to go from here.' Perez didn't mind. Sunday was his mother's day for a long phone call and he still didn't have an answer for her. He stuck his head round the door of the Incident Room on his way through town.

  Taylor had done the news conference and the phones had been ringing ever since. There was nothing useful though. Not at this stage. Mostly it was people reporting cars they didn't recognize on the road south from Lerwick on the night of the 4th. Some people who'd seen Catherine at the party at the Haa.

  The bar was full of people eating Sunday lunch. Most of them recognized Perez, but they could see he was busy and didn't bother him. Taylor seemed depressed. He listened to Perez's story of the interview with Duncan Hunter in silence. He'd bought drinks as soon as they'd come in, but most of his pint was left untouched. They were sitting in a gloomy corner where no one could overhear them.

  'I've phoned Mr Ross and asked him to find the camera for us,' Perez said. 'If Catherine was filming the party we might be able to identify more of the people there.'

  Taylor looked up from his beer. 'I thought we'd have made more progress by today. I'd hoped it would all be cleared up by this weekend. It's turned out to be more complicated than I'd hoped.'

  Perez saw the Englishman had come to Shetland thinking it would be a simple case that he'd sort it quickly and return home in glory.

  Taylor took a quick gulp from his pint. 'Is there anything we've missed?'

  'Alex Henry; Perez said. 'The teacher's husband. We got a statement from him because he was second person on the scene, but nobody's really talked to him. If we are linking the murder of Catherine Ross with Catriona Bruce's disappearance, maybe we should. He stays right beside the house where both girls lived.'

  'He was living there when Catriona went missing?'

  'Margaret Henry has been teacher at Ravenswick for years. She taught the girl. There's a statement in the file.

  She might even have been the last person to see her before she vanished. She claimed to see Catriona run up the track towards Hillhead that afternoon. It was a Saturday. No school.'

  'Was he interviewed at the time too?'

  'Only briefly. Everyone was convinced Magnus Tait was the killer.'

  'Tell me about him.'

  'There's not a lot to tell. He's a scientist. Conservation Officer for Shetland Islands Council. It's his job to monitor the natural history, consider planning applications. The post was created with oil money originally. He seems conscientious. He's made a few enemies - you know the sort of thing. Objecting to house building on the grounds that a marsh with rare plants in it would be drained. The fishermen hate him because he's threatened to prosecute them for shooting seals. He's quiet. A family man. A bit of a loner maybe!

  'We'll go and see him then, shall we?' 'You want to come?'

  'Go on Jimmy. Let me! And Taylor smiled, pretending to be a kid, begging to be let into the big boys' gang.

  Perez didn't say that as he was the SIO he could do what he liked.

  'I’ll phone him. This afternoon OK?'

  'Don't you have a life, Jimmy? Someone you want to spend your Sunday afternoon with?'

  'Nothing that won't wait'

  Alex Henry had an office in the museum, a solid grey building close to the library, up the hill from the harbour. He said he'd meet them there. When they arrived the light was on and the door was open. He was standing by a tray in the corner with a kettle in his hand. 'I was making tea,' he said. 'Is that all right? There's only powdered milk!

  He was a squat, thickset man. Perez could see him on a boat. He'd have a low centre of gravity and he'd keep his balance in a storm. He was wearing a handknitted sweater and baggy jeans bought through a catalogue without trying them first.

  'You didn't mind not coming up to the house, Jimmy,' he said. 'It's been a difficult time, especially for Sally.

  Everywhere we go there are reminders!

  'Not at all!

  His office was very small and they sat in the museum itself, surrounded by exhibits, models of brochs and Viking boats, chairs and spinning wheels. There was a special display about Up Helly Aa. That wouldn't be long, Perez thought. It was always a nightmare to police. The islands full of visitors. The fire. The booze.

  'How can I help you?'

  'It's possible that Catherine's death is linked to the Bruce girl,' Perez said. 'We're talking to every man who lives in the Ravenswick area. You know we have to cover all the angles!

  , 'Of course!

  'Can you tell us what you remember of Catriona?'

  'Now, after all this time, very little. Then it was such a terrible thing. So shocking. We had Sally by then, though she was only little, and I couldn't imagine what the Bruces could be going through. When it happened you thought it was impossible you'd ever forget It was all people talked about!

  Perez was surprised that the man was so forthcoming. He didn't know him well, but Alex had never been one for volunteering information. When the Henrys went out as a couple it was Margaret who did the talking. The only time you couldn't shut him up was when he got started on the islands' wildlife.

  'What did people say?'

  'That Magnus had killed her. His father had died. It was just him and his mother. It was Mary, the old lady that kept the croft together. She was gone eighty when she died,
tiny, but strong as an ox. Formidable. He did most of the work around the place, but just what she told him. She wouldn't hear a word spoken against him. I remember one day there were people gathered outside the house, calling for Magnus to give himself up and tell where the girl's body lay. The old lady came out. She screamed at them. My Magnus is a good boy. He hasn't hurt anyone, They admired her for sticking up for him, but it did no good. They still thought him guilty.'

  'And you? What did you think?'

  'I find it hard to have firm views on anything, unless I'm given proof. Too much the scientist, I suppose. I didn't think there was the evidence to convict him. I thought if he had killed her, in a moment of rage maybe, or more likely by accident, then he'd have admitted it. I couldn't see him lying. But I have no other explanation about what happened to the girl.'

  'Did Catriona ever come into your house?'

  'Aye, occasionally. We were friendly with her parents. Not in and out of each other's houses every day.

  Margaret and I don't live like that. But special times. They used to come in for Boxing Day tea. We'd go to them New Year's Eve, take Sally with us, put her to bed upstairs, then carry her out still asleep when we went home. You know how it is.'

  Oh yes, Perez thought. I know how it is. Is that how it'll be for me on fair Isle? Everything planned and the same for years to come.

  'What were they like, the parents?'

  'Quiet people. Kind. Kenneth's father had farmed that land and that was all he'd wanted to do since he was a lad.

  But after Catriona went, he couldn't face it. They sold off the house and the land separately and then they moved south.'

  'There were no problems? You never suspected that the parents might be involved?'

  'Never once. It always crosses your mind, doesn't it, when you see fathers on the television and there's a child gone missing. I wonder if it could be you, if this is all an act. That's what we've come to. We can't trust anyone. But with Kenneth and Sandra, no, we never thought like that. Not once.'

  'Were there any other children?'

  Perez knew, of course. He'd read the file over and over. But he was getting more of a feel for the family by listening to Alex than he had from pages of witness statements.

  'There was a peerie boy. Brian. two years younger than Catriona. Margaret taught them both.'

  'Where were you that day, Alex? The day Catriona went missing?'

  'I was working here, preparing papers for a planning committee. I didn't go home. I had a meeting the next day in Kirkwall and went straight down to Sumburgh to get the plane out. I didn't hear that Catriona was gone until I phoned Margaret that night. She said everyone was out searching. I was sure they'd find the girl, either dead at the bottom of Raven's Head, or alive on the hill, lost and scared. I never thought she'd just vanish.'

  'Couldn't the tide have taken her? If she'd fallen from the diff?' Taylor spoke for the first time.

  'Only on a high spring tide with a strong wind behind it. There's a shelf of rock and a shingle beach which only gets covered twice a year. The weather was bad but it was a neap tide and the wind was offshore. If she'd have fallen she'd still have been there when the cliff rescue team looked the next day.'

  'What sort of child was Catriona?' Perez asked.

  'Margaret must have talked about her. Was she the sort who might wander off?'

  'Perhaps that's why I wasn't too worried when I heard she was missing. She was a minx by all accounts. A bit precocious anyway. Always showing off in class, Margaret said. She thought Sandra spoiled her. But they were an older couple, her and Kenneth. They'd had to wait a while for kids to come along:

  'Catriona wasn't easy then?'

  'Lively: Alex conceded. 'She was certainly that: 'Bad she run away before?'

  'Not run away. But she caused a bit of a stir the week before she vanished. Nobody could find her. Kenneth was down at the schoolhouse looking for her. They discovered her in Hillhead. Mary Tait was baking and Catriona wanted to wait until the scones came out of the oven. Mary said she insisted. Just refused to leave. That's why everyone assumed she was there when it happened again:

  'Where do the family live now?'

  'I don't know. Margaret might remember. We had a Christmas card the first year, but nothing after:

  'And what did you make of Catherine Ross?' There was a long pause. 'She was a young woman,'

  Alex said. 'Not a child:

  'Only the same age as your daughter:

  'Well maybe she's a young woman too, only we don't want to see it. Margaret doesn't at least. Sally's never had much confidence. She's a pretty lass, just not skinny like some of those stars they all read about. She's always been worried about putting on weight. Catherine was different though. More sure of herself. More sophisticated. Margaret didn't like it. She thought Sal was overpowered by her, that she was leading Sal astray: And what did you think?'

  'I was pleased that Sally had a friend of her own age living so close. At first we both were. It can't have been easy for Sally being the teacher's daughter. It sets you apart right from the beginning. She found it hard to make friends with other children. I was worried about her, thought at one time she was being bullied. Margaret didn't think there was too much to - worry about and we let it go. We hoped it would be better when she moved to the Anderson, but she never seemed happy there either. It was worse if anything. Sally didn't seem to have any friends at all. Not until Catherine arrived. Perhaps she just tried too hard to belong and that put the other kids off:

  'And Catherine made a difference?'

  'Sally wasn't on her own so much. I'm not sure how close they were: Be paused again. 'Perhaps Margaret was right and Catherine was only using her. But I didn't see it that way. I thought she was unhappy. She wasn't good at making friends either. And she was a teacher's kid:

  'Is there anything else you can tell us about her?'

  'I don't think so. She wasn't an easy girl to know.

  She was always polite. You could tell she'd been well brought up. But she was never relaxed. She wanted to make an impression. Perhaps her father could tell what she was thinking. I'm not sure anyone else could: Perez thought the girl had fascinated him. Those weren't the sort of things you'd normally say about your daughter's friend. Alex had wanted to understand her. 'Did you ever meet her on your own?'

  Alex looked shocked. 'No, of course not. Why would I?'

  'What were you doing the evening before Mrs Hunter found her body?'

  'It was another late night. A meeting of the natural history society. Their visiting speaker had let them down so I gave a talk! He looked up. 'There were thirty people there. It wasn't a brilliant speech, but they'll remember it!

  'What time did you get home?'

  'I went for a drink with them after. One drink. So it was probably about ten-thirty when I got in. Perhaps a bit later!

  'Was it snowing then?'

  'No. There was even a gap in the clouds, a bit of moonlight. The snow came later!

  'Did you see anything unusual when you drove down the hill?'

  'A body in the field, do you mean? I'm sorry, I've thought about it. I didn't notice anything but that doesn't mean it wasn't there. The road was very icy. I was concentrating on getting down the bank in one piece!

  'Was there a light on in Hillhead?'

  He thought. 'I'm sorry, I don't remember! He paused. 'There was light in Euan's house. There's that big glass extension. The blinds weren't drawn!

  'Did you see anyone inside?'

  'No. No one!

  'Is that all, Mr Henry? Or is there anything you think we should know?'

  Alex paused again, so Perez thought this time the open question might come up with something. Occasionally it worked. But the man just shook his head slowly. 'No,' he said. 'I'm sorry I can't help! Which, Perez thought, didn't quite answer the question.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Fran had acquired a dog. One of the mothers at school had turned up with it the evening before. She
'd been tentative. 'We don't want to intrude but we thought she might be a comfort. There's no harm to her, but she makes an awful lot of noise when she's disturbed.

  We thought, being on your own, and so close to where the body was. . !

  Fran had invited the woman in, offered her wine which she refused and tea which she accepted. Fran had intended this as a polite introduction to refusing the gift. In London she'd always hated dogs. They crapped on the pavements and whined. The woman talked about their respective children, about the school. 'Oh, she's a great teacher, Margaret Henry. She stands no nonsense!

  Fran didn't offer her own opinion. Neither did she discuss the murder. But when the woman stood up to go, the dog stayed. Fran had the sudden superstitious feeling that if she rejected the offer she would be setting herself up for something dreadful to happen. An attack on the house, on her and Cassie. She imagined the parents talking about it afterwards in the playground. It was her pride, you see.

  We offered her the dog to look after her and she turned it down.

  So Fran had a dog called Maggie. A mongrel with a lot of collie in her. Black and white. Cassie was delighted - she had pestered often for a pet - and spent the evening tormenting the animal, who accepted the treatment with such equanimity that Fran thought it unlikely she would be much good as a guard dog.

  Now it was Sunday afternoon and Cassie was at a school friend's birthday party. She'd dressed in her favourite dress, all pink frills and glitter, working herself almost into tears when her hair wouldn't stay up as she'd wanted it. What will the others think of me, looking like this? Other people's mothers have straighteners and curling tongs. By implication Fran was a terrible parent.

  Fran tried to understand the tantrums. It would be Cassie's first proper sleepover. A rite of passage. She'd been given a lift to the party and Fran had stood at the door waving her off, but Cassie didn't notice. She was already giggling and gossiping with the other girls in the car. Maggie was lying asleep in front of the range.

  Fran began work again on a pen and ink drawing she'd started earlier in the week. It was inspired by Raven Head, the patterns on the rock face, the shingle beach below. She'd begun with a clear vision of how she hoped the design would work, but now she found it impossible to concentrate. There was a prickly restlessness which felt like caffeine overload. She'd caught Cassie's frenetic mood. In a moment of frustration she screwed the paper into a ball and threw it on to the fire.