Chapter Thirty-four
When Sandy came back to the house after letting the hens out and collecting the eggs, Perez was waiting for him. The door was unlocked, but Perez was standing outside as if he had all the time in the world.
‘Your car’s still here,’ he said. ‘I didn’t think you’d be gone long.’
Sandy thought Mima would have enjoyed having these visitors to Setter. She’d have taken to Jimmy Perez, poured whisky for him and told him her stories. Today the inspector was the one with the stories to tell.
‘Let’s stay outside,’ Perez said. ‘Make the most of the weather.’ So they walked down past the site of the dig with its tape and its poles and its mound of earth, to the dyke that marked the end of Setter land. Perez wondered again what would happen to the site now. Would the trenches be filled in and the spoil heap flattened? Would the land then remain undisturbed for ever? He talked about Paul Berglund and Hattie James and what had happened when they worked together on another dig in Sussex.
‘Do you believe what the psychiatric nurse said?’ Sandy wasn’t sure what he thought of the incident. Rape to him was a city crime, a stranger attacking a woman after dark in some alley. Two people having sex in a hotel room was something different. But he knew Perez well enough not to say so.
‘Yes.’
‘It doesn’t really give Berglund a motive for killing Mima though, does it?’
‘Unless Mima had found out what he’d done,’ Perez said. ‘She might have threatened to go public. Or she could have tried to persuade Hattie to tell us. You said Mima liked the girl and that they were close. She was a strong independent woman. Hattie might have confided in her. Berglund could lose his job even if it never came to court.’
‘I don’t really see it,’ Sandy said. He thought Perez always made things more complicated than they really were. ‘He wouldn’t be daft enough to use his own knife.’
Beyond the dyke there was one fat old ewe with rheumy eyes, chewing on the long grass, and two tiny lambs, still unsteady on their feet.
‘What did you make of our conversation with Andrew?’
‘I’m not sure,’ Sandy said. He still didn’t like to commit himself in front of Perez. The inspector was used to working on serious crimes with bright men from the south, not inexperienced local cops like him.
‘Did Mima ever mention meeting a Norwegian man during the war?’
‘No, and it’s just the sort of story she’d have enjoyed telling. Kind of saucy and dramatic.’ Sandy wasn’t sure he believed any of it. Andrew’s memory was unreliable and some days the words weren’t very clear.
‘According to Andrew she never knew the man had been killed,’ Perez said. ‘But she must have been aware of the rumours that were going round. Cedric told me one version and there were probably others. Maybe she didn’t want to make herself the subject of gossip. No more than she already was.’
‘You can’t think that something that happened all that time ago has anything to do with an old woman being shot on Whalsay today?’ Sandy thought Perez was mad to be distracted so much by the past.
‘Probably not.’
‘I was wondering . . .’ Sandy paused. He didn’t want to make a fool of himself.
‘Yes?’
‘Berglund. Is that a Norwegian name?’
‘Scandinavian, certainly.’
‘Another coincidence, do you think?’
‘You’re thinking he could be a relative, a grandson maybe, who’s come in after revenge?’ Perez was amused but not altogether dismissive.
‘I don’t know. Perhaps not revenge, but information. He could have been asking questions and stirred things up.’
‘It’s worth checking,’ Perez said. ‘I’ll do that when I’m back in the office. I’m going home this afternoon. I can’t really justify staying another day and the Fiscal needs to know what’s going on. You know what she’s like.’
‘Will you tell her everything? About my grandmother and the Norwegian?’
‘Of course. She’s very discreet, you know, whatever we think of her. She has to be.’
Sandy shot a quick look at Perez to see if he was mocking him, but he seemed quite serious. ‘I just don’t like the idea of it,’ he said. ‘Folk talking about my family in that way.’ He turned and began to walk back to the house. He was wondering what Joseph would make of it. Or had he always known what had happened sixty years before? Perhaps he should talk to his father before word got out.
As they approached the house, a car drew up and Ronald Clouston climbed out. He hadn’t noticed them and when he did he seemed startled. Like a great awkward schoolboy caught out in mischief. Sandy thought perhaps Ronald had hoped to speak to him alone.
‘Aye, aye,’ Sandy said. His father’s greeting. ‘Are you coming in? I have to get to Utra in a while to see Michael off, but not just now.’
‘No.’ Ronald stood with his hand on the car door as if he was ready to make a get away. ‘I can see you’re busy.’
‘I’m just going,’ Perez said.
‘No,’ Ronald said again. ‘I’ll get off. I’ve got things to do.’ He got into the car and drove away.
‘What was all that about?’ Perez asked.
‘Folk get kind of shy when the police are about.’ Sandy wished Perez hadn’t been there. Maybe he’d give Ronald a call later and find out what he’d come for. He could tell that Ronald had wanted to talk to him and had lost his nerve at the last minute. He turned to his boss. ‘What do you want me to do?’
‘Can you bear to stay in Whalsay for a little while?’
‘Aye, I suppose so. I’d like to get home soon though.’
‘I’m hoping we’ll have it all cleared up in the next few days.’
Sandy wondered if Perez had any real reason for saying that or if it was wishful thinking. He repeated his question. ‘What do you want me to do?’
‘Do you think you could get Sophie to talk to you? She spent all that time with Hattie. She might know something that doesn’t seem at all important to her. You’re more her age and she knows you socially.’
‘I can try.’ Sandy had a sudden vision of how it would be if he got Sophie to talk, if he discovered a fact that moved the case forward. How pleased and proud Perez would be! ‘I’ll go to the Bod this evening, maybe take her to the Pier House for a drink.’
‘I wondered if she has a relationship with Berglund. She says not, though, and I don’t know why she should lie, unless she’s worried about getting him into trouble.’
Sandy was tempted then to talk to Perez about his anxiety about his parents, but he decided that was his problem. If he discussed it with Perez it would become official and until he was sure what he was dealing with there was no question of that.
At Utra they were all just about ready to leave for the airport. Michael’s big hire car was packed with luggage and Amelia was standing in the yard, obviously impatient to be off. She was wearing very tight jeans, a jersey with a scooped neck, a little jacket. Michael was fixing the baby into her seat in the back.
Evelyn came hurrying out of the house. ‘There you are,’ she said. ‘Amelia was just thinking we should leave without saying goodbye to you. I told her there was plenty of time. Sumburgh’s not like those big airports in the south where it takes an hour to check in.’
Sandy couldn’t tell whether Evelyn was more irritated by him or by her daughter-in-law.
‘Well, I’m here now.’
Michael turned round. He took Sandy in his arms, gave him a great bear-hug. ‘Now you’re the great traveller and you can find your way to London on your own, there’s no excuse for not visiting.’
‘I will,’ Sandy said.
Amelia was already in the passenger seat. As the cars drove off she waved to Sandy. A little flutter of the hand, as if she were a film star, or the Queen. Sandy waited until both cars were well on their way to Symbister before he went into the house.
Inside there were signs of the hurry there’d been in getting Michael’s family ready to leave. The washing-up had been done, of course – Evelyn would never leave the house with dirty pans in the sink, but they were still piled on the draining board and not dried. There were crumbs on the floor and the waste bin was full.
Now he was here, Sandy wasn’t sure what he was looking for. He sat down at the table and forced himself to think clearly. He needed reassurance, that was all. He couldn’t understand how his parents had managed to renovate the house on their limited income. He wanted to check that they weren’t in debt. That had been his nightmare: that they’d borrowed foolishly to allow his mother to compete with the pelagic fishing families. He knew the stress that came from owing money. He was crap about finance and in the end he’d cut up his credit card because he couldn’t face the monthly bills; he still remembered the tightness in the pit of his stomach when he’d realized how much he owed.
The tension between his parents could be caused by anxieties about money. He preferred to think it was about that. Any other cause – sex: that one of them had fallen for someone else – was simply horrible. They were old and they were his parents; he couldn’t contemplate it. He wondered if he was overreacting. Perhaps the two deaths so close to home had made him jittery and caused him to blow trivial arguments out of proportion. Then he remembered his father yelling at his mother after Mima’s funeral. Joseph had never raised his voice to Evelyn throughout their marriage, even when he was exhausted after working all day for Duncan Hunter. Sandy wasn’t overreacting. Something was wrong between them.
Then came the difficult part. He forced himself to order his ideas and take the next logical step. If his parents had problems with money, was it possible that one of them had shot Mima for her house and her land? Not Joseph. He could tell how upset his father was. Besides, he’d been made a good offer for the house already and he’d turned it down. Evelyn then? Sandy had known all along that this was where the thinking would end up. Evelyn had never particularly got on with Mima. She could shoot well enough and there was a shotgun in Utra. But if the couple had no money problems, then there would be no real motive. That was why Sandy was lurking in Utra like a thief or a spy.
He knew where his mother kept the bank statements: in the drawer in the sideboard in the living room, where the lasses had put the silver coins before the man from the university had taken them away. It was locked, but the spare key was hanging from a hook in the larder along with all the others. Evelyn had always been the one to look after the family finances. Even when his father had worked for Hunter she’d sorted out the bills and the invoices and filled in Joseph’s tax returns. Sandy could remember her sitting at the table every month, going through the bank statements, frowning when she saw how little they had to live on until the next paycheque.
He found the key and unlocked the drawer. The statements were neatly clipped together in the blue file he remembered. He looked immediately at the balance and felt a wild relief when he saw it was in credit. He scanned back over the past twelve months. No problems. Little excess in the pot, but no debt. He wondered if Evelyn could have taken out a loan, but there was no sign of that and the paperwork would be in the drawer too.
How could I have doubted her?
he thought.
How could I have even considered for a minute that she would be capable of murder?
He looked at his watch. It was almost six o’clock and he felt suddenly ravenous. He hadn’t had any lunch. He felt like celebrating. He thought he’d go down to the Pier House for his supper, maybe have a couple of pints. Some of the boys might be in and they could play cards, talk about the old times. Davy Henderson should be around. Maybe Anna had relented and let Ronald out for the evening. Then he remembered that Perez had asked him to talk to Sophie. He locked the drawer and hung up the key again, making sure everything was as it had been before. He hated the idea that his parents might know he’d been snooping.
On the way to Symbister he stopped by the Bod. The Pier House would be quiet this early and they’d have the chance to talk. It wasn’t such a chore; Sophie was good company. She had a knack of making every man she was with feel special, attractive. He wondered whether he could persuade her to open up. If he’d made more effort to get to know Hattie, perhaps she’d have felt able to confide in him too. But when he knocked on the door there was no answer. He looked inside. All the archaeological equipment was still there in a heap at one end of the living room, but Sophie’s personal belongings seemed to have gone.
In the Pier House, Cedric was behind the bar, staring into space. He’d looked the same age since Sandy had been a boy, but recently he seemed to have got older. His responses were slower.
‘Have you seen the lassie from the Bod?’
Cedric turned his head to look at Sandy.
‘Aye she was in earlier. She took the ferry out. I was down at the pier to meet Jean. Sophie was all loaded up like a packhorse with that huge rucksack. She seemed pleased to be away.’
Sandy phoned Perez and told him what had happened. Perez went very quiet, but he didn’t seem to think Sandy was to blame for allowing the girl to leave. It occurred to Sandy that Hattie might be travelling to Aberdeen on the same ferry as Sophie, but she’d be in the anonymous Transit van that the undertaker used to carry bodies for post-mortem, and Sophie would be in the bar.
