Raven Black (17 page)

'Good day?' she asked, speaking to Alex, not to Sally. Sally had already had the questions about her day at school.

'All right,' he said. 'There's been some oil found on a beach near Haraldswick. Some skipper washing out his hold. You'd think by now they'd know. . :

'This time of year, there's not much harm it can do. By the spring when the birds come back to nest, it'll all have gone: Margaret couldn't help herself. She thought he overreacted where his work was concerned. All those seabirds.

Did it really matter if one or two were lost?

'That's hardly the point: He scowled, shook himself out of his jacket, hung it on the hook in the porch. Sally wondered sometimes why he'd married at all. Without Margaret he'd be able to work all the time, glued to the computer in winter, out on the islands when the light days came.

She supposed they loved each other, or had done once. She didn't think they'd have sex now of course. At their age you wouldn't expect it. They probably hadn't done it since she was born. But she thought her father probably missed it. She saw the way he looked at women. Younger women. And sometimes he touched Margaret, slid his hand over her body, and Sally thought there was something desperate in the gesture. Desperate and a bit pathetic.

Her mother had cooked a chicken for tea, a treat midweek. 'Something to cheer us up a bit,' she'd said when Sally came in. Sally had smelled it cooking when she was in her bedroom, had been looking forward to it, but now she was sitting at the table she couldn't face it. Usually her mother would have made a fuss, spoken about good food going to waste, but today she just seemed concerned. Sally excused herself from the table and left her parents there, eating in silence.

Jimmy Perez knew he should go back to the narrow house by the sea wall and speak to his mother on the phone. When Sarah had left, all that he'd wanted was to scuttle back to Fair Isle where he'd always been safe. The promotion in Shetland had been the next best thing, but he'd told himself he was just waiting until a croft became vacant at home. It was typical that now he was being offered what he'd dreamed of he couldn't make a decision. The drama of the investigation was confusing him. He couldn't see straight any more.

As he approached Fran Hunter's house on the way to Ravenswick, Robert Isbister's van was coming up the hill.

The van had to stop at the junction and Perez saw the personalized number plate, caught a glimpse of Robert's mane of hair in his headlights. Everyone knew Robert. What had he been doing there? Where had he been visiting?

Hillhead? Euan Ross's place? The school? Could he be the friend Scott had talked about? But Catherine, surely, would have better taste than to knock about with him. He was good-looking enough if you liked the macho, Viking type, but he thought Catherine would want more than that.

There was a light on in Fran's house. Perez didn't stop, though he had a fantasy about what it would be like inside. Very warm. The mother and the little girl curled up together in the big chair which sat by the fire, reading a picture book together. The child would be sweet-smelling after her bath, her hair still damp, the mother relaxed at last, almost asleep. He thought, That's what I want. Then almost immediately after, But would it be enough?

He was still considering this as he drove down the Ravenswick road, and he passed Hillhead without noticing if Magnus was around. Euan's car was parked outside the big house, but there was no sign of life, the enormous windows were blank and uncovered. When he rang the bell at first there was no response. He thought some acquaintances must have come to collect the teacher, to take him away from all the memories of his daughter. He must, after all, have some friends at the school.

Then a light appeared at the back of the house Perez saw it through the glass as a wedge through an open door -

and there were footsteps, slow, old footsteps. Then the front door opened.

'I'm sorry to disturb you,' Perez said. 'Could I have a word?'

Euan stood for a moment, blinking as if he didn't recognize the inspector, or as if he'd just woken and wasn't quite sure where he was. Then he made an effort to pull himself together and when he spoke he was as courteous as always.

'Come in: he said. 'I'm sorry to have kept you waiting!

'Did I wake you?'

'Not exactly. I find it difficult to sleep. A sort of day dream, perhaps, reliving old times, trying to capture something of her, while there's still a flavour of her in the house. It's real, you know. A perfume. The shampoo she used, I think. Something else I can't pin down. I know it won't last for long.' He turned and led the way into the house. Perez followed.

They ended up in the kitchen, though this wasn't where Euan had been sitting. He switched on lights, filled the kettle, made an effort to pull himself back to the present. 'Are you all right in here?'

The kitchen was a workplace, modern, lots of stainless steel and marble. There wouldn't be many memories of Catherine here, little for Perez to contaminate with his questions.

'Of course.' Without waiting to be asked, Perez sat on one of the tall chrome stools by a workbench.

'Coffee?'

'Please.'

'Have you come with information,' Euan asked. 'Or questions?'

'Questions, mostly. We won't have any details from the post mortem until tomorrow.'

'I'm glad she's going south on the ferry,' Euan said. 'She loved the boat and never really enjoyed flying.' He looked up. 'What a foolish thing to say.'

'I don't think so. I prefer the ferry too, going to sleep in one place, waking up somewhere different. It makes you realize how far away from anything we are.'

'I thought she'd be safe here. I did think it was different.' He turned away sharply to make coffee. 'Now, what questions do you have?'

'The officer who searched her room found a handbag, but we've still not found Catherine's house keys. Was it usual for her to go out without them?'

'I'm not sure. I always lock the house. Habit, I suppose. Perhaps she was more careless about it.'

'I've been at school all day, talking to the staff and the students. I spoke to a boy called Jonathan Gale. He gave Catherine a lift home on Hogmanay. Do you know him?'

'I don't teach him, but I know of him. A bright English lad. He's been to the house once or twice. I always thought he had a soft spot for Catherine. You don't think he killed her?'

'Not at all. Just checking out his story.' He paused. 'Does the name Robert Isbister mean anything to you?'

Euan frowned. 'No, should it? There are Isbisters in school, but no Robert, I think.'

'It's probably nothing: Perez said. 'He's older than Catherine, but someone she might have bumped into at parties. I saw him drive up the road just now. I wondered if he'd come to visit you.'

'Some colleagues came earlier in the day. They were very kind, brought food, a casserole of some description. I suppose I should eat it sometime. But since then, no, I've had no visitors.'

He still hadn't taken a seat. He'd poured the coffee and was drinking his where he stood. Perez could tell he was desperate to have the house to himself again, before the elusive scent of his daughter faded altogether.

'That's all then,' he said. 'I'll come back tomorrow when we have some news from the pathologist. Do you have any questions for me?'

He wasn't expecting anything. He thought Euan would see him gratefully and quickly to the door. But the teacher paused, his mug in his hand. 'The old man at Hillhead . . !

'Yes!

'People are saying that he was responsible. That it wasn't the first time. That he'd killed before. . !

'There were rumours. He was never charged, let alone convicted!

'When I first heard it hardly seemed to matter. Catherine's not alive any more. What else is there to care about?

But if it's true, it means that Catherine's death could have been avoided! He looked directly at Perez. Through the spectacles his eyes seemed unnaturally large, staring. 'I would find that unforgivable!

Then carefully he set down his mug and showed Perez to the door.

Perez was sitting in his car, thinking about that, when his phone rang. It was Sandy Wilson from the Incident Room. 'We've had a call from Fran Hunter, that wife who found the body!
Wife? When does
a
woman stop being
a
girl
and
become
a
wife?

'What did she have to say?'

'I don't know. She wouldn't talk to the chap from Inverness who was manning the phone. She'll only speak to you!

Perez ignored the snigger in Sandy's voice. It was automatic, meant nothing. 'When did she ring?'

'Ten minutes ago. She said she'd be in all evening! 'I'm in Ravenswick now. I'll call on my way home!

He knocked quietly because he thought Cassie might be in bed, but she was still up, just as he'd imagined in dressing gown and slippers, sitting at the table. She was drinking hot chocolate and there was a mushroom-coloured moustache on her upper lip. Fran had looked out of the window before opening the door to him.

All over Shetland people would be doing that. Here more than anywhere, he thought, that poem by John Donne they'd had to read in school, was true. One person's death affected them all, made then see the world differently. And perhaps that wasn't a bad thing. Why should they be protected? What made them special?

'I wasn't expecting you just yet: Fran said. 'I hope you
didn't rush over here on a wild goose chase. It's probably not important. . . Look, can you
wait just a minute, while I sort Cassie out?'

He sat in the big chair, where he'd imagined her sitting. She brought him a glass of red wine, which he knew he should refuse, but didn't, and a slice of cheese and spinach flan. 'I don't suppose you'v
e
had a chance to eat,' she said, not making a big deal of it.

He heard the two of them chatting, in the bathroom, and singing a silly rhyme about a fox in a box, then the murmured words of a story, which were too soft for him to make out.

'Sorry about that! Suddenly she was behind him and she'd poured her own glass of wine. He realized he'd probably dozed off.

'You wanted to talk to me!

He stood to give up the chair, but she shook her head and sat on the floor, looking into the fire, so he couldn't see her face.

'It's probably nothing. You probably already have the information!

'Tell me anyway!

'Cassie stayed with her father last night. I went to collect her this afternoon! She hesitated. 'I know where Catherine was the night before I saw her get off the bus with Magnus Tait.

Duncan told me!

'He hasn't been in touch,' Perez said, noncommittally, 'not as far as I know!

'He wouldn't. He'd see it as an inconvenience. Having to go into Lerwick, maybe make a statement. That's what he's like. Always busy. Always hustling!

'We've only put out a general request for information so far,' Perez said. 'There'll be a big press conference tomorrow. Everything takes much longer to organize than people realize!

'She was at a party at the Haa. One of Duncan's open houses. Half of Shetland will have been there. You'll be able to confirm it.'

Perez had been to Duncan's parties. They were legendary. No invitations, nothing formal ever. Word would get out. A do at the Haa tonight. The parties never got going until late. When the bars started to think about closing, then you'd get a taxi, or a friend not quite as pissed as everyone else, and drive up the island. You never knew who you were going to see there. Often musicians.

Duncan liked to encourage local talent. That was how he described it, though Perez was never sure what the kids with their fiddles and guitars got out of the event beside a hangover and a sense that they'd brushed against celebrity. Because occasionally you'd bump into a minor star as you passed round Duncan's bottle of Highland Park.

An actor on holiday, or a politician up for some conference, a small time director or producer only the arty set had ever heard of. Duncan liked to encourage the arty set. And sophistication.

Perhaps that's what the kids felt they got out of it. The guests dressed differently, talked about different things.

It wasn't like going to a dance in the village hall.

'Did Duncan say who she was with?'

'He didn't seem to know. I think he was even more out of it than usual. He'd had a row with Celia!

Celia Isbister. Robert's mother. That was the way things worked in Shetland. It wasn't necessarily significant.

People were related in complicated and intimate ways. Coincidence couldn't be allowed to appear sinister.

'Do you know if Robert was there?'

'I don't know. Duncan didn't say. Quite often he was! Her voice was dry, slightly hostile.

'You don't like him!

'He's a spoilt rich kid. Hardly his fault, I suppose! 'Not a kid any longer!

'Shame he still acts like one! She turned round, brushing Perez's knee with her shoulder. 'Look, take no notice. I hardly have an unbiased view of that family. His mother wrecked my marriage. At least, Duncan wrecked it. She was complicit. Only it seems she's had enough. She's walked out too. Gone back to Michael full-time. Convenient, just before Up Helly Aa.

She'll be there to support him in front of the cameras. Everyone will say what a lovely family they are. Duncan's on his own again. Poor, lonely Duncan!

For the first time he thought she must have started drinking before he'd got there.

'Did Catherine ever mention knowing him?' 'Robert? No!

'And Duncan?'

'No, but then she wouldn't, would she? She must have known he was my ex. Even new to the place, she'd have picked up that bit of gossip. And you can't imagine Duncan would have had a fling with Catherine? She was only a child!