Shetland 05: Dead Water (5 page)

The image of the man in the boat was sparking all sorts of references in her mind beside that of her former soldier lover. The form of a knight carved on the tomb in a medieval church: straight and stiff, arms crossed over his breast. A Viking, given a warrior’s burial at sea, sent out in his longboat, which would then be set on fire. She suddenly became aware that Sandy Wilson was staring at her. Perhaps he’d been trying to catch her attention for some time.

‘Ma’am?’ The voice tentative.

‘For God’s sake, Sandy. “Willow” will do. It’s a crap name, but it’s the one I’ve been landed with.’

She was rewarded with a grin. ‘Vicki says she’ll be here all afternoon. I wondered what you’d like to do?’

Willow considered. ‘You said that Markham’s father arranged for him to visit the oil terminal yesterday afternoon?’

‘At Sullom Voe. Yes. One of the security guys let him in, and he’d set up a meeting with the press officer.’

‘Then we’ll go there. First, though, we should have a word with your Procurator Fiscal.’

Sandy pulled a face, so Willow guessed that Rhona Laing wasn’t the most popular woman on the islands.

‘Come on, Sergeant. I’d guess she makes a decent cup of coffee. And after that we’ll have a bar lunch, on my expenses.’

He gave a wide grin and Willow saw that she already had Sandy Wilson on her side.

Chapter Seven

Rhona Laing watched Sandy Wilson and the new detective inspector walk up the bank from the marina towards the house. She was standing in exactly the same position as when she’d first seen the yoal floating in the water.

I should have ignored it.
The thought had been sniping away at her since she’d seen Markham’s body.
I should have let the tide carry it out to sea. Done nothing. Said nothing.

She composed herself. It was ridiculous to think in this way. She distracted herself by looking at the young woman at Sandy’s side. She was tall and gangling, with long, untamed hair. No make-up. Trousers so long that they’d frayed at the hem, where her shoes had caught them at the back. A baggy cotton jumper in an indeterminate fawn colour, which could have been bought in a charity shop. Over it all a blue Berghaus jacket, unzipped and flapping loose. Rhona felt insulted by the lack of care that the woman had taken over her appearance. Hadn’t she realized that, if women wanted to be successful in their chosen career, they should make some effort? She decided that Inspector Reeves had probably gained her promotion because the Highlands and Islands Police Service felt the need to fill some unwritten quota. The thought pleased her. Willow Reeves would be no competition. She and Sandy passed out of sight briefly to reach the front of the house. Rhona took a deep breath and waited for the doorbell to ring.

Inside the house, with its clean lines and lack of clutter, the detective looked even untidier and somehow clumsy. Rhona wanted to tell her not to move, in case she broke something. It was like having an unruly child in the place. Reeves wandered into the living room and stood there, seeming to take up more space than Rhona would have considered possible.

‘Coffee?’ After all, one did have to be polite.

‘Oh yes, please.’ The detective turned and smiled, and again Rhona thought she looked very young, hardly an adult at all.

In the kitchen, spooning grounds into the filter machine, Rhona wished she could see what they were doing in her living room. She wouldn’t put it past that girl to snoop. To open drawers, lift the lid of her desk. There was nothing to see, of course. Nothing untoward. But still the notion made Rhona uncomfortable. This was her work coming far too close to home.

She carried in the tray and they sat on the chairs that were Rhona’s pride and joy. They’d been imported from Sweden and she loved the pale curved wood and soft leather. The young woman was speaking.

‘I’m wondering why the victim was placed in the yoal. That wasn’t where he was killed. Obviously. But you’ll have worked that out for yourself. We haven’t found the crime scene yet. His car’s still missing. When we find that, we might have more of an idea. So why go to all the trouble of laying him out in the boat? And why here? I just don’t get it.’

Words and ideas were spilling from her in an incoherent stream. A mind that was as untidy as her body. Rhona waited for a moment before responding. Was Reeves an innocent, making a genuine request for the Fiscal’s opinion, or was something more sinister going on here? Was she implying that Rhona knew more than she was letting on?

‘I make it my business never to meddle in the work of the police,’ she said at last. ‘My function is purely supervisory. I’m sure you understand that.’

‘But you live here in Aith.’ Willow gave another of her wide, immature smiles. ‘You know the other women in the rowing team. Would any of them have any connection with Jerry Markham, do you think?’

‘There are six teams in Aith, of different ages and genders, and I couldn’t speak for them all.’

‘You share the boat?’

‘Yes,’ Rhona said. ‘We share the boat.’ She took a childish pleasure in thinking of the work that would make for the inspector – the phone calls and the interviews.

‘But you can speak for your own team?’

The woman was persistent, Rhona thought. She had a dogged stubbornness. ‘I wouldn’t have thought they would have known Markham. I row with the veterans, and we’re all over forty. Too old to have gone to school with him, surely? Of course I’ll give you a list of their names and contact details. I have that stored on the computer in my office. I’ll get it for you now. And I can give you the names of contacts for the other Aith teams.’

She was surprised when Reeves got to her feet too and followed her up the stairs to the small bedroom she had turned into a study. It felt as if she was being hounded by an untrained and very large puppy. The woman stood in the doorway and leaned against the frame as Rhona switched on the computer. The Fiscal couldn’t prevent herself from thinking of the mark that the grubby jacket might make on the paintwork.

‘Do you do much work from home?’ The detective’s question appeared guileless, but again Rhona considered before she answered.

‘I have an office in Lerwick, of course, but I often catch up here in the evenings.’

‘And what brought you to Shetland? It’s very different from a successful practice in Edinburgh.’

Rhona checked that there was paper in the printer, then looked up. ‘I love the sea,’ she said. ‘I always have. A successful legal practice in Edinburgh didn’t allow much time for being on the water, and Shetland has magnificent sailing. Besides, in professional terms, it’s always good to gain experience in a different field.’ She wondered why she’d told the young detective these things. They were both true, but she seldom discussed her motives for moving to the islands. She thought that, like Jimmy Perez, the woman had the ability to persuade people to talk.

The printer chugged and spat out the list and contact details of the rowing team. ‘You’ll see that the squad is bigger than the six women needed to race,’ Rhona said. ‘We’re busy people, and we can’t all turn out for every regatta.’

Willow Reeves took the paper, looked at it briefly, then put it in her jacket pocket.

‘When was the boat last in the water?’

‘We had our first meeting of the season last week. Over the winter it was stored in a shed on the shore. We cleaned and varnished it, and last week the weather was good, so we took it out. A bit of light training to start us off.’ Rhona thought how she’d enjoyed that evening. The clocks had just gone forward and it was light until eight o’clock. She’d realized how she’d missed the company of the women over the dark days of the winter.

‘But it wasn’t put back in the shed?’ Willow broke into her thoughts.

‘No. Too much fuss to get it out every time we’re training. It sits on that grassy bank close to the water. We cover it in tarpaulin. It comes to no harm there.’

‘And everyone in Aith would know that.’ Willow was talking almost to herself.

‘Almost everyone in Shetland would know that,’ Rhona said. ‘Anyone who came to Aith for the sailing, or who took a drive out this way on a pleasant summer’s evening, or watched a regatta.’

‘Of course.’ Willow pushed herself away from the door frame to let the Fiscal past. ‘I’m just puzzled by the placing of the body in the yoal. Why would the killer bother? Why risk being seen? It must have been put there in daylight. Yet Sandy’s team has asked everyone who lives here, and nobody saw anything. Or claims not to have done. No strange car. Nobody mucking around near the boat. It’s as if Jerry Markham arrived miraculously, conjured out of thin air.’

Rhona didn’t know what to say to that, but she felt that a response was required. ‘It was very foggy yesterday afternoon,’ she said. ‘Nobody
would
see.’ She led the way down the stairs.

‘You didn’t notice anything odd when you came in from work?’

Again Rhona thought how persistent this woman was. She was beginning to find her presence in the house unbearable. She clenched her fists by her sides, felt her nails digging into the skin of her palm.

‘I do think I might have mentioned it,’ she said. ‘A killer lifting a corpse into our racing yoal – yes, I do think I might have told you, without waiting to be asked.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Though Inspector Reeves didn’t seem sorry at all. It was the routine apology of a sinner who intends to continue sinning. She smiled again. ‘But it bugs me. Not understanding how it might have happened.’

‘I’m sure there’s a perfectly rational explanation.’ Rhona remained where she was at the bottom of the stairs. She intended to make it clear that the detective’s visit was over.

And at last the young woman seemed to get the message. She called to Sandy that they were ready to go. He got up from his chair to join them, and for a moment the three of them stood awkwardly in the hall of the house. Willow held out her hand. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘You’ve been incredibly helpful. Really.’ Then she had the door open, and she and Sandy were outside. Rhona stood watching to make sure they’d left the garden before closing it behind them.

She was shaking.
This is ridiculous. What have I possibly got to worry about?
She went into the living room and straightened the cushion on the chair where Sandy had been sitting. She thought she should get out. She could go into Lerwick and use the gym at the Clickimin Sports Centre. Maybe have a swim, if the pool wasn’t too full of screaming children. But she couldn’t move. Usually she had no time for people without drive or energy, but she was overtaken by a lethargy that made her feel that she might sleep as soon as she sat down. The kitchen was at the back of the house and sheltered from the road by the straggling rowans that previous owners had planted as a windbreak. She felt safer here. The view of the marina that had prompted her to buy the Old Schoolhouse in the first place now left her with the idea that she was like a goldfish in a bowl. All the police officers and the sightseers could look inside. Better to stay here in the kitchen or in her office, until it was dark and she could reasonably close the curtains.

She opened a cupboard and took out a bottle of Highland Park and a tumbler. She poured herself a drink, sipped it and felt the warmth of the whisky. She carried the glass upstairs to the office and sat in front of the computer. She remained there for a moment. No more whisky until she’d made the call. She needed a clear head. She picked up the telephone and dialled a number she knew by heart. The voice at the other end of the line was curious and reassuring. If he was angry, he didn’t show it.

‘Yes?’

She would be the last person he’d be expecting.

‘It’s Rhona Laing.’ She was quite calm now. This could have been a routine work matter. ‘I’m afraid Jerry Markham has come back to haunt us.’

Chapter Eight

They had lunch in the bar in Voe. Another settlement close to the water. Another small marina. Sandy wondered where they’d all sprung from, these smart developments to cater for folk with sailing boats and motor cruisers. He couldn’t remember there being so many when he was a child. Willow Reeves ordered soup and bannocks. She ate hungrily, and that pleased him. He didn’t like women who were always worrying about how much food they put into their mouths. Two people he knew were in the pub, talking about the hen party that had happened the evening before. It had been the usual thing. They’d hired a minibus to take them round the bars in North Mainland and everyone had dressed up. This time, though, it had been a three-legged pub-crawl and the lassies had been collecting for charity.

‘Did you see that Jen Belshaw? She doesn’t have the figure for showing that much flesh.’ More giggling like schoolboys.

Sandy almost joined in the conversation to describe the pair of women climbing out of the bus the night before, their legs still tied together, but decided just in time that it wouldn’t be professional. He could have fancied a beer, but Willow was drinking water, so he stuck to the orange juice. They sat at the window, away from the chatting couple at the bar.

‘Usually very tense, your Fiscal, is she?’

He felt for a moment that he should defend Rhona Laing. She might be a soothmoother, but she lived in Shetland now, and she’d been good to Jimmy Perez after the business on Fair Isle. Then he remembered her sarcasm, the cutting comments that had been directed towards him. ‘She’s not an easy woman,’ he said. ‘A stickler for procedure.’

‘Honest, though?’ Willow looked at him. Her hair was too long at the front and flopped over her eyes. ‘Never any question of that?’

‘Good God, no!’ He was shocked that she could even imagine it. ‘Not just honest, but efficient. You know, sometimes things go wrong, cases cocked up – not through any intention, not corruption, but because folk might be lazy. Not thorough. No question of that with the Iron Maiden.’

‘That’s what you call her?’ Willow grinned. ‘The Iron Maiden?’

‘It’s what Jimmy used to call her. Sometimes.’

‘She just seemed very uncomfortable,’ Willow said. ‘If she were a witness, an ordinary witness, I’d bet ten pounds that she was hiding something.’