Shetland 05: Dead Water (8 page)

‘That’s Jimmy Perez,’ Sandy said. He shouted to the guard, ‘You can let him in. He’s with us.’ Then he bounded out of the car. Willow followed more slowly. She thought Perez’s appearance suited his name; he was dark-haired and dark-eyed and his skin was olive. She thought he’d pass unnoticed in southern Spain, but he stood out here. She wondered how he’d got on at school. She knew what it was like to be different in a small community. Sandy was bouncing around him, but Perez took no notice and walked towards her, his hand outstretched.

‘You’ll be the inspector from Inverness,’ he said. ‘You’re very welcome.’ And he smiled as if it took a great effort. ‘You don’t mind if I sit in? I’m supposed to be easing myself back gently. You’ll have heard about that. Sandy will have told you.’

She nodded.

‘Should we get on?’ he said. She realized that she was staring at him and that they were all expecting her to speak.

She pulled herself together and nodded again. ‘Of course.’

Everything about Belshaw was big: his hands, his head, his teeth, his voice. He was another incomer from England. Willow wondered how that worked. Did all these folk from the south lead an ex-pat existence, socializing only with each other? She had a brief image of colonial Africa, the white men with their exclusive clubs and their cocktail parties and their delicate wives. But surely, she thought, Shetland could be nothing like that.

Belshaw was welcoming. He offered them tea and sent his assistant off to make it. All the time there was that beam with the big white teeth, the jovial voice that sounded as if he was laughing, even when he was saying how sorry he was about Jerry Markham. ‘He was a good journalist,’ he said. ‘One of the best of his generation.’

Belshaw’s office was in a concrete block that looked as if it had been put up in a hurry and still had a temporary air. Out of the window a view of bare hillside and sheep. Perez had tucked himself into a corner and took no part in the conversation. He sat very still and Willow wondered if he’d always been like that or if he’d become half-frozen after the death of his lover. Had guilt and self-pity chilled him and made him sluggish? Was it a weird form of hibernation?

‘You knew Jerry Markham?’ Willow asked. ‘Before he came here yesterday, I mean.’

‘I’ve lived in Shetland for fifteen years,’ Belshaw said. ‘I came here on temporary contract straight out of university, an admin post in the press office. But I got hooked. Married a local girl. I knew Jerry when he worked at the
Shetland Times
.’

‘You were friends?’

‘He was younger than me, but we had a few beers together. You had to be careful, though. He was always after a story. No off-the-record with Jerry.’

‘Did Jerry phone up to make an appointment?’ Willow asked. ‘Or turn up on the off-chance that you’d be free to see him?’

‘Peter fixed it up,’ Belshaw said. ‘His father.’

‘Why would he do that?’ Willow asked. She saw that another squall had blown up and that the clouds had blocked out the view of the hill. Soon there’d be more rain. Weather moved through here as quickly as it did in the Uists. ‘Why didn’t Jerry phone you himself?’

Belshaw shrugged. ‘Maybe he was on his way north. No phone reception on the ferry.’

Willow didn’t push it, but stored the detail away. ‘What did he want?’ she asked. ‘What had brought him all the way up to Shetland to talk to you?’

‘Oh, it wasn’t like that.’ Belshaw smiled his toothy grin. ‘He was coming up to visit his folks anyway and thought he might do a piece about the gas. A background article on the islands’ contribution to energy needs. He was going to check out the wind farms too, and the plans to export electricity to the mainland. The new gas plant, just next door to us here. And he mentioned tidal power. There’s talk about setting up a pilot project for that. All small-scale compared to us, of course. Perhaps his story was comparing renewables with traditional energy sources.’

‘I see.’ But Willow thought that wasn’t the impression Jerry had given his parents. According to Sandy, he was in Shetland following up a lead on a big story. Of course Sandy might have got that wrong. He was a man who might get the wrong end of the stick. Perez shifted in his chair and she wondered if he had a question to ask. She looked over to him, but he gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head and another reluctant smile.

‘I took him round the plant,’ Belshaw said. ‘Gave him the guided tour, showed him the safety measures in place for the oil. He was interested in the exercises – we practise for the possibility of a spill.’

‘Did he speak to anyone else while he was here?’ Willow asked. There was a sudden violent shower, rain whipping against the office window, the noise on the flat roof so loud that she had to raise her voice for Belshaw to hear.

‘I don’t think so. Maybe he had a quick word with someone he recognized from the old days.’ Belshaw paused. ‘He made a phone call. Apologized, but said it was important.’

‘No idea who he was speaking to?’

Belshaw grinned again. ‘None at all. He walked away, so I couldn’t hear.’

Willow thought she needed to track down Markham’s phone service provider and trace the calls.

Perez stirred again in his seat and this time he did ask a tentative question, looking to Willow for permission first. ‘Do you know if Markham planned to go straight home? I wondered if he might talk to the harbour master or any of the pilots.’

Belshaw shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t know anything about that. They operate out of their own base next to Scatsta Airport.’ He paused. ‘I had the sense that there was something else he wanted from me. The tour I gave him was routine, after all, and he’d worked long enough in Shetland to know that stuff already. Perhaps he was hoping I’d know more about the gas and the renewables, but that’s quite outside my area of expertise.’

Outside they ran through the rain to their cars. ‘We’ll meet back at the station, shall we?’ She shouted the invitation to Jimmy Perez. He’d made no comment at all about what he’d intended to do next. He hesitated for a moment and then nodded.

‘I’ll follow you back,’ he said. ‘And I’ll see you there.’

Chapter Eleven

Standing outside the police station, Perez felt a moment of panic. Across the road was the town hall, Scottish Baronial, with its impressive entrance and its turrets, and down the hill was the play park where they set fire to the Viking galley at the Up Helly Aa fire-festival. This place was as familiar as home to him. Usually he’d walk into the station without thinking about it. Only last week he’d been inside, chatted to the officer on duty at the desk, gone through to his old office with its view of the town. But now, with Sandy and the lanky woman with the wild hair staring at him, it seemed an impossible task to push open the door. He imagined the smell of the rooms inside, the colour of the gloss paint on the walls, and was overcome with an irrational terror. Fran’s killer had sat inside that building and had justified his violence with a string of meaningless words. The memory of the encounter came back occasionally to disturb Perez and it was with him now, paralysing him and preventing him from moving, the anxiety and the rage making him feel physically ill. He could almost convince himself that he was having a heart attack.

‘Why don’t you come to my place?’ he said quickly. ‘Not the house in Ravenswick, but my old place down by the water. I was there only a few days ago to air it. There’ll be coffee and tea. Beer, if you fancy it. We can talk there without interruption. You can come down in my car and I’ll drop you back.’ He knew he was talking too much, but felt he’d be better on his own territory.

‘Why not?’ Sandy said, as if it was the most natural offer in the world.

The woman said nothing, but she followed.

The house was tall and narrow and stood with its feet in the water. Once boats had moored outside to unload their goods. The rooms were filled with a reflected, liquid light.

‘What a lovely place!’ Willow walked ahead of him and looked around. She stopped just inside the door and he nearly knocked into her. The long hair brushed across his face and he smelled the shampoo she’d used that morning. Lemon. Perez stepped back, shocked because he wanted to reach out to touch her, to run a hand over the curve of her shoulder, and he’d thought he’d never want to touch a woman again. Furious again – this time at himself.

He sat them in the living room and went to the tiny kitchen to make coffee. There was a packet of biscuits at the back of the cupboard and he ripped it open and tipped them onto a plate. Chocolate digestives, Cassie’s favourites. He pulled a can of lager from the fridge for Sandy. He heard the murmur of conversation, but made no attempt to listen. The flash of curiosity he’d felt earlier that day about the Jerry Markham murder had long gone. He wondered why he’d bothered to get involved, to walk down the hill to the Ravenswick Hotel to talk to Peter and Maria.

When he carried in the tray, Willow was still standing at the window, looking over the Sound to Bressay. She took the mug that he handed her and sat, straight-backed, on the floor. Sandy pulled open the beer and took a handful of biscuits.

‘So what have we got?’ Willow said. She looked at them, and Perez thought they were an odd team for her to be lumbered with. It didn’t seem fair when it was her first major case. An emotional cripple who was likely to burst into tears or lash out at any opportunity, and a young Whalsayman who hadn’t really had the chance to grow up. Suddenly he felt sorry for her and made an effort to become engaged.

‘Did you hear that Markham left Shetland under a bit of a cloud?’ Perez said. He described what he knew of Jerry’s relationship with Evie Watt.

‘I’ve seen her about,’ Sandy said. ‘She didn’t go into bars much. You’d have her down as a quiet, studious sort of girl. Her father’s always going on about the old ways in his column, and she seemed kind of old-fashioned to me too. Religious.’

‘So she’s not one for partying then?’ Perez asked. Sandy liked girls who were up for a party.

‘No,’ Sandy said. ‘Not at all.’

‘But she fell for Jerry Markham.’ Willow looked up. ‘And was too naive to stop herself getting pregnant. Or perhaps that was her strategy. She thought it would be a way of holding on to him, the glamorous young journalist. Only he ran away.’

‘She lost the baby soon after,’ Perez said. ‘It looks as if she’s graduated and is working in Shetland. It might be worth tracking her down. She’d provide an insight into the man, even if she’s an unlikely suspect.’

‘Will you do that, Jimmy? She’s more likely to talk to you than to an outsider.’

Perez thought this inspector from the Western Isles was pleased to find him something to do, something safe and easy to build his confidence. He didn’t resent it. For once it was a relief to follow orders instead of give them. If he were heading up this team he’d do exactly the same thing. ‘Sure,’ he said. The next day was Sunday. He wondered if Evie was still religious, if she’d be at the kirk. Or had she lost that comfort while she was south at the university?

‘We need to check Markham’s phone.’ Willow was talking again. She seemed quite comfortable on the floor, one leg stretched in front of her, the other bent. ‘The Markhams will have the number and we can get the details from the service provider. The phone wasn’t with the rest of his belongings.’

‘Should I try Vicki Hewitt?’ Sandy took another biscuit and held it carefully at the edge so that he didn’t get melted chocolate on his fingers. ‘She should be back from working the crime scene at the museum by now.’

‘It can wait until tomorrow.’

Again Perez thought that was just the approach he’d take. No point rushing. It was more important to get a feel for a new place. They sat for a moment in silence. Outside the tide was falling and they could hear the water sucking at the shingle on the beach.

‘This is delicate,’ Willow said. ‘I was wondering about the Fiscal . . .’

Perez looked up in surprise.

‘What about her?’

‘I think she’s involved. Knows something. Not that she’s the killer – I can’t see her carrying a bleeding body into a boat. Blood just wouldn’t look good with cashmere. But there’s something she’s not telling us.’ She looked across Sandy at Perez. They could have been parents discussing adult matters and ignoring the child in the room. ‘Do you think I’m being stupid? Imagining things?’

Perez didn’t answer directly. ‘She’s a very private woman,’ he said carefully. ‘And you can imagine how that goes down here. We love to stick our noses into other folk’s business. I can see how she’d feel very awkward, an inquiry coming that close to home.’

‘Was it really a coincidence?’ Willow asked. ‘The body being found in the yoal just outside her house. Why didn’t the murderer leave Markham where he was killed? Rowing is the only activity Rhona Laing shares with the community. People would know she’d keep an eye on the boat, that she’d most likely be the person to find the corpse.’

‘You think it was a kind of message?’ Perez wasn’t sure what he made of that. He’d never been one for conspiracy theories and weird signals. But if he’d considered weird theories and ideas last October in Fair Isle, Fran might still be alive. Now, maybe, he should be a bit more open-minded.

‘Probably not!’ Willow grinned at him. ‘You think I’m being daft, don’t you?’

‘I think it wouldn’t do any harm to check if there’s ever been a connection between Markham and the Fiscal. We’d do the same thing for any other witness. She might have come across him when she was a lawyer in Edinburgh. She’s only been here for a few years.’

‘I’ll get one of my team in Inverness to do the digging,’ Willow said. ‘There’s a lad who’s a wizard at that kind of thing. Sit him in front of a screen all day and he’s happy.’ She got to her feet. It took one supple movement, not a scramble. Perez thought if she weren’t so tall, she could be a dancer or a gymnast. ‘We should get back to the station and make some calls. I need to find out if anyone was in the museum yesterday afternoon. They might have seen the car being dropped off there. I mean it was daylight and it was an unusual vehicle. Maybe you could take that on, Sandy? Again it’s more a job for a local.’