by Ann Cleeves
It was Magnus who was left to deal with it. He rolled Catriona up in the rug and took her into his room. There was blood but not so much of it. He put the doll and the rabbit back in the box under his bed. When people came looking for Catriona he was out in the garden, slicing up the weeds with his long handled hoe. No, she's not been here. And when they came back later and asked his mother she told them the same thing. No one noticed the missing rug. Why would they? They seldom came into the house.
When it was dark, he unwrapped the rug so Catriona was lying on her back in the middle of it, he untied her ribbons and spread out her hair. Then he carried her up the hill. It was a cloudy night. No moon. Raven black. The men still searching for her were on the headland and along the cliff tops. He could see the flashes of their torches but nobody saw him. They were at the coast and he went inland. Then he left the girl there on the heather, her face turned to the rain and went back to the house for a spade, a good sharp spade. He went up the hill again and he buried her in the peat bank and covered the spot with loose rocks.
It was dawn when he'd finished and 'was on his way home. It was summer then and the nights were still short.
But still nobody saw him. In the house, he cut up the rug with his mother's scissors and threw it on the fire a piece at a time. His mother stayed in her room until it was all done, and then she came out and made the porridge for his breakfast as she always did. They never spoke of it. Only when the policemen came for him and she said, 'Tell them nothing.
'That was how it was,' he said, when at last the words had stopped and the scene had faded in front of his eyes.
'That was what happened.'
He could see that the detective was disappointed. It wasn't what he'd been hoping to hear.
.'That was how it was,' he said again. 'I'm sorry.' Then because he'd got into the habit somehow of speaking - after having such a long time of having no one to speak with, he was starting to get used to it - he opened his mouth again and he started telling the detective from Fair Isle about the last time he'd seen Catherine Ross.
Somehow he didn't care any more about his mother's instruction to tell them nothing.
Chapter Forty-Five
All that evening Fran was aware of the time passing. With each minute it became less plausible that Cassie had wandered away and was safely caught up with a family who was looking after her. Now it was nearly midnight and in Lerwick the community halls' Up Helly Aa celebrations were in full swing. In every part of the town, people were dancing and laughing and listening to music. The men were rowdy with drink. This wasn't a time for children. All the children would be long in bed. She'd concentrated on making the minutes move slowly. She'd never wanted to reach this point. She watched the clock, the two hands coming together, couldn't bear to see them meet and turned away.
Outside it was freezing. The sort of cold which penetrates clothing and goes straight to the bones. Sitting in the house at Ravenswick, Fran was aware of the cold, even though her fire kept the room hot. She had the curtains open to watch for headlights coming down the road. Every now and then she cleared the condensation from the glass and saw the frost, thick and white on each blade of grass. She thought of Cassie, hoped that she was still wearing her scarf and her gloves, preferred to think of her outside in the open than shut up somewhere.
Cassie hated the dark and always had a lamp on when she was in bed. Fran thought of the nightmares which had troubled her daughter, remembered Cassie, still half asleep, blindly reaching out to her. for reassurance. Fran blinked, an involuntary response to the image, felt the tears on her cheeks. but couldn't find the energy to wipe them away.
Euan Ross was sitting with her. The fat policewoman was at the table, awkward, silent. Euan had poured Fran whisky, just as she had poured some for him after his daughter had died. She sipped it to be polite. Even now, when she was going crazy, panic frozen so she couldn't think straight, she still didn't want to offend him. He knew his daughter was dead.
There was still hope that hers was alive. She wondered that she could have considered herself upset when she found the bodies of the other girls.
She'd shut the dog in the bedroom. It reminded her too fiercely of Cassie. She didn't want to see her, the smell of her at her feet made her want to retch.
The telephone rang. She sprang to her feet, reached it before the second ring, felt the adrenaline hit her brain, making her suddenly clear headed. It was Duncan.
'Any news?'
'I would have phoned you: she said. After Perez had visited the Haa looking for Cassie, Duncan had called her, demanding an explanation. She couldn't tell how he was feeling. She'd expected him to blame her for losing their daughter. In a similar situation she would have torn his eyes out. Instead he seemed distant, icy. At first she'd thought he was very drunk and trying not to show it. That intense effort to seem sober. Now she thought there was more to it. He had called every hour since. She couldn't be angry with him. It was her fault, not his. If she'd allowed Cassie to go with him to the Haa, the girl would be safe.
'I'm sorry,' she said. She said that every time he phoned too.
There was a moment of silence. 'No,' he said. 'There was nothing you could do. You can't blame yourself.
Should I come over?'
'No. Stay there. There should be someone in both houses. Just in case. . : He was about to speak again but she interrupted him. 'Please, I'm going to hang up now. The police might be trying to get through. As soon as I hear anything I'll call you. I promise: As she hung up, she saw herself reflected in the window. A dark shadowy figure, unrecognizable, middle-aged.
A wave of self-pity took her by surprise. She'd moved here to keep Cassie safe. It had been all she'd wanted. A better life for them both. It was as if she was the object of some twisted prank. To find the bodies had been hard enough. She couldn't be expected to deal with this too. She realized she was sobbing. Not for Cassie this time, but for herself.
Euan came up behind her and offered her a handkerchief. It was clean, white, ironed. She took it from him. The feel of the smooth cloth against her face was a small comfort.
'How can you think of ironing? At a time like this?'
It was the first thought that came into her head.
It took him a moment to realize what she meant.
He gave a little smile. 'Not me,' he said. 'I have help in the house. Someone to keep things going. Left to myself I'd have fallen apart. You saw that:
Now, it seemed to her that he was entirely composed.
'Did you find anything in that writing of Catherine's?' she demanded suddenly. 'Anything which might help them find out who's doing this?'
Before he could answer there was a noise outside. Her image in the window broke up, as headlights caught it from behind. She held her breath as the car coming down the road slowed and then pulled to a stop. It was Jimmy Perez and she could tell at once that he was alone. She waited, still hoping despite herself, that he would move round the car to help a child from the back seat, but he walked straight to the house. He's come to tell me that Cassie's dead. If it had been good news he'd have phoned. He wouldn't have wasted time driving here. Maggie heard him approaching and started barking and jumping up at the bedroom door.
The first thing he said, as soon as the door was open, was, 'I haven't got anything to tell you. We haven't found her. Not yet: Because she'd convinced herself that Cassie was dead in the moment of his walking from the car to the house, she felt relieved. She could have kissed him.
'I have some questions: he said.
'Of course. Anything:
He looked over her shoulder at Euan Ross. 'I'm sorry. We'd like to talk to Mrs Hunter alone. You understand?'
'I'll go home: Euan said. 'Give me a ring if you'd like me to come back. Or stay with me, Fran, if you'd prefer. Don't worry about the time. I'll be up!
Fran wasn't aware of his leaving. She knew she should thank him, see him out, offer coffee and food to the detective, but she sat impatiently wai
ting for the questions. She thought Perez had an idea, ideas. There was hope.
As she waited she saw the lights of another car coming from the direction of Lerwick, but it didn't stop.
He pulled out a hard dining chair and sat on that, facing her, his long legs twisted under the seat. The policewoman eased her chair back into a corner. Fran sensed an urgency. He was desperate for her to answer quickly. When she paused for a moment he didn't tell her to hurry, but she knew that was what he wanted. The questions made no sense to her. They seemed entirely random.
He asked about Cassie and how she was doing at school, about Fran's social life and the friends she'd made away from Ravenswick. She didn't demand to know what the questions were about. She could do nothing more to find her daughter. She was in his hands. And if he wasted time explaining his ideas to her, it might be too late.
It didn't take long. After a quarter of an hour he stood up again. 'You shouldn't be on your own here,' he said.
'Euan said he'd come back!
'No. Not Mr Ross. He's too close to all this. There must be someone else!
Fran thought of Jan Ellis who'd been so kind about the dog, whose husband didn't mind making a fool of himself by dressing up as a baby. She heard Perez phone her, standing outside, using his mobile. As soon as Jan's car pulled up outside, he disappeared. He didn't say anything to her before he left and she didn't watch him go. She understood he didn't want to tell her that everything would be OK, to make promises he wouldn't be able to keep.
Chapter Forty-Six,
Jimmy Perez pulled away from Fran Hunter's house and turned down 'the bank towards Hillhead. He stopped outside the old man's place and wiped the condensation from the windscreen. At the bottom of the hill there were still lights on in the schoolhouse and at Euan's, but no sign of the activity going on inside. Roy Taylor understood the need for discretion. The cars had been parked out of sight from the road.
It was tempting to drive down and join them. There would be something reassuring in the detail of a search.
It would help him forget the panic. He could concentrate on sifting through objects and belongings, proving a theory which had already convinced him.
But it wouldn't bring Cassie back. He was certain she. wasn't in Ravenswick.
Perez forced himself to breathe slowly, to think rationally about what he should do next. His thoughts chased one after the other and he struggled to bring an order to them. They were strange thoughts which had little to do with the matter in hand, distractions.
The ravens. Every time he'd been here in daylight they'd been flying over these fields. Where would they go in the dark? Looking out over the frozen headland, he found it hard to imagine them sheltering on ledges of the cliff, but where else was there for them to go? Did they roost close together to keep out the cold? He didn't know how they could survive a winter like this.
Magnus's raven was already dead. Perez had taken it to the woman who cared for injured birds and animals and she'd fed it as Magnus had instructed, but something about the change of home had disturbed it. It had died the first night for no apparent reason. Sometimes it happened like that, the woman said.
Then he thought about Duncan. Who had once been a friend and had become an enemy. How would Perez talk to him if his daughter was dead? And that brought him to the murderer. He knew what he should do. He started the engine and backed into the gateway opposite Magnus's house to turn round. He drove north again.
In Lerwick he made a phone call to Taylor.
'Anything?'
'You were right. We found them. Well hidden though. Easy to miss!
But you didn't miss them, Perez thought. He could hear the triumph in Taylor's voice, subdued because he'd feel guilty for feeling that way, but there just the same. Magnus Tait hadn't killed Catherine. An Englishman had proved them all wrong. An Englishman and a Fair Islander.
'Go out to Quendale. Talk to the boy there.
There was something I missed! He shouldn't be the one to be giving orders, but he didn't care.
Perez hung up and contacted the rest of the team who were already searching the halls.
By this time the dances were breaking up, people were drifting home. Those with more stamina had moved on to private parties.
'Any sign of him?'
'No one's seen him for a while.'
'You've checked the house?'
'All quiet. The door was open and we had a look round. No one's there.'
He drove slowly around the streets, stopping occasionally to talk to groups of revellers on their way home. No one had seen Robert. Not for hours. On the phone again, he said, 'Talk to taxis. And rouse the folks working on the Whalsay ferry. He could have gone to the boat.' He thought that would be an efficient way to dispose of a small child. Tip her overboard. This temperature she'd only survive for seconds, even if she could swim.
For some reason the image of the raven flashed into his head for a moment. It wouldn't take any depth, he thought. Depending on the state of the tide, there was a chance her body would never be found, even if she was thrown over where the boat was moored.
Perez was thinking of friends who had boats and lived close to Vidlin. Someone he could persuade to take him across to Whalsay. Then he had another idea. Celia was at the Haa, had been at least when he'd tried there earlier. It was worth looking there first. For the second time that night, Perez drove north, across the bare wastes of heather moorland.
At the Brae junction he saw skid marks on the road and he changed gear to go down the bank to the house.
There were two figures on the beach, silhouetted in the embers of the fire, but he couldn't make out who they were.
He hadn't known what to expect in the house. He couldn't tell how Duncan would react to his daughter's disappearance. He wouldn't have been surprised by a riotous party in full swing, Duncan the exhibitionist pissed, trying to pretend that nothing was wrong. But it was very quiet there. Even when he switched off his engine, he couldn't hear music. The faint breeze that had come with the change of the tide had dropped again. The smoke rose in a straight line from the tall chimney. He could see it in the moonlight and he could smell the wood in it.
He opened the door without knocking. In the kitchen someone he didn't know was asleep in the Orkney chair. It was a young woman, with her legs curled under her. 'Two men sat at the table eating toast. They were dressed in suits and ties, could have been having a breakfast meeting in the city. They looked up when they heard him, took him for one of Duncan's friends.
'Hi: one said, not surprised that a guest should be turning up at two in the morning. 'He's upstairs. Not really in a party mood.' He had an English accent and Perez put them down as business acquaintances.
He didn't answer and went on to the drawing room. The young couple he'd found in bed were there, on one of the sofas, arms entwined, not asleep quite, but in a glazed, self-absorbed stupor. Celia was sitting on the floor, staring at the fire, prodding it with a wrought-iron poker, making the sparks fly. He thought she'd been crying.
'Is Robert here?'.
She looked up at him. 'He was,' she said. 'I don't know now. Is his van still here?' She didn't ask why he wanted to know or if there was news of Cassie. He felt the urge to scream very loudly. Anything to rouse them. What right did they all have to laze about half conscious while the girl was missing?
He said nothing and walked quickly outside. He should have thought of the van when he'd first arrived. He saw it immediately. Before approaching it, he moved his own car so the van was blocked in. He didn't want the embarrassment of Robert driving away.
He tried the driver's door. It was locked. He peered through the window, shone his torch inside. There was salt on the glass and the light was reflected so it was hard to make out anything inside. He stooped so he was closer.
There was a pink glove on the passenger's seat, but it was too big to be Cassie's. He couldn't see to the back. The business end was separated from the seats by a sheet-metal casing.
He tried the handle on the back doors. The handle moved, released a rod and bolt and when he pulled the door opened.
There was a soft bundle lying inside. He wouldn't let himself think what it might be. He shone his torch and caught a pair of eyes, wide and panicky. They blinked, hurt by the light. Alive. Cassie couldn't move. Her hands had been tied by twine, expertly knotted. A gag made of a strip of oily rag was in her mouth. Perez took his penknife from his pocket. He cut the ropes and pulled the gag from her mouth, then he carried her out and held her in his arms as if she was a baby. She began to shiver. He ran with her into the house, shouting for Duncan as soon as he was inside. The man loped down the stairs towards them.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Sally found herself on the beach. She couldn't remember getting there. It was cold, but now the cold seemed a long way away. Robert had taken off his jacket and put it around her shoulders. The fire was still giving off some heat. She thought suddenly that she'd had enough and it would be quite good to be at home. Her parents would be asleep and she could let herself in very quietly, make herself tea. She was tired and she could lie in the single bed she'd slept in since she'd grown out of her cot. The duvet would be warm and she'd sleep. More than anything now, she wanted to sleep. But sleep, it seemed, was impossible. Robert wanted to talk.
'Did Catherine tell you what happened the last time we were here?'
'I don't want to hear,' she said.
'What was it with her?'
'Look: she said. 'I don't care. Not now.'
She leant back against him and felt her eyes begin to close. The knife on his belt was in the small of her back. Not uncomfortable and she was too tired to move. Was it just the drink? Was that what drink did to you, made you want to sleep and forget?