White Nights (19 page)

‘Tell me about the night the man died,’ he said.

‘I don’t know exactly when that was. Was it just before Kenny found him?’

‘We assume it was the night of the Herring House party. If not that evening it would have been early the next morning.’

‘I have nothing to tell you. I can’t help you. I didn’t go to the party.’ She sat behind her desk, her hands in her lap; not obstructive, interested, but lacking the excitement that most people seemed to feel when they were involved in a murder inquiry.

‘But you have a good view down to the shore from your house. Perhaps you saw someone leaving the party?’

‘I was in the garden,’ she said. ‘Each year I think I’ll get away with growing a great crop of vegetables, then there’s a west wind and the salt ruins them all. But still I’m optimistic and I weed and water. You can’t see the Herring House from there. Later I had some work to catch up with. I have an office in the spare bedroom.
If I did all my paperwork while I was here, I’d never have time to spend with our clients. It’s at the back of the house. You can’t see much but the hill from there.’

‘Kenny thought he saw someone running up the track towards the Manse.’

‘Then I’m sure he did. He’s not one for making things up. And he was on the hill. He’d have a good view from there.’

‘Why do you think Lawrence left home so suddenly?’

The sudden change of tack caught her off guard. She frowned slightly. ‘Kenny said the dead man couldn’t be Lawrence.’

‘I know. I’m interested. It seems so dramatic. To leave like that without any warning and never get back in touch.’

‘He was a great one for the drama,’ she said. ‘The grand gesture. Then after a while, I suppose it would be hard to come back. He’d feel so foolish.’

‘Do you have any idea why he went?’

‘Kenny thought it was all about Bella,’ she said, frowning. ‘I suppose that could have been it. But he was never the most stable sort of man. Did you ever meet him?’

Perez shook his head. ‘I don’t think I did. Were Lawrence and Bella having a relationship?’

‘I’m not sure. She was always an attractive woman. A bit wilful, but men seemed not to mind that. Maybe Lawrence had hopes and Bella strung him along. She loved having admirers.’ Edith paused, looked up at Perez with a grin. ‘I think she still does.’

Perez considered. ‘Does Bella have an admirer at the moment?’

Edith shrugged. ‘How would I know? She’s too grand for us now.’

‘You’d have heard though.’ Perez was quite certain about that. Even if Bella didn’t mix socially with the Biddista folk now, she’d be the subject of talk. And if Edith was too proud to gossip, she’d hear the news, from the staff in the care centre, the clients she worked with, from the relatives.

‘There was some gossip about her and that writer. Peter Wilding. He followed her up here, they say. Rented Willy’s old house just to be close to her.’ She looked at him again to gauge his reaction. ‘It seems a creepy kind of thing to do to me. I wouldn’t want a stranger tracking me down.’

‘Do they say what she thought of that?’

‘She liked the fact that he went to all the bother,’ she said. She sat for a moment in silence, thinking. ‘I’m not sure Bella could ever do a real relationship. It would get in the way of the one thing that’s most important to her.’

‘What’s that?’

She gave a brief mischievous smile. ‘Bella Sinclair. Her work. Her reputation.’

‘Where does Roddy fit into that?’

‘He makes her feel good about herself. And he does her reputation no harm at all either.’

‘Do you not like him then?’

‘Is this relevant to your inquiry?’

‘Probably not. But I’m interested in your opinion.’

‘Everything’s come too easy to him,’ she said. ‘Looks, talent, money. I don’t think that’s good for a young boy. He flaunted all he had in front of our kids.
But maybe I’m just jealous. Kenny and me, we had to work for everything we have.’

‘Kenny told me Roddy went out with your daughter a couple of times.’

‘Roddy always has to have a woman in tow. Just like Lawrence in that respect. Someone prettier came along and he dropped her. That made me angry.’

‘He lost his father when he was still a child. And his mother too, in a way.’ He’s lonely, Perez thought. He’s portrayed as a golden boy, but he has no real friends.

She considered for a moment. ‘That’s true,’ she said. ‘I didn’t know Alec very well. He’d already left Biddista when I married Kenny. But you’re right. Maybe I shouldn’t be so hard on Roddy.’

‘He spent a lot of time in Biddista when his father was ill. He’d have been around the same age as your children. You say he showed off to them. Did they know each other well when they were younger? Even before he took up with your daughter?’

‘Sometimes he came on to the croft to play. I didn’t like my two going to the Manse. I didn’t want them picking up his wild ways and quite often Bella had unsuitable people to stay. Sometimes Willy took all three of them out in his boat.’ She paused. ‘The children all liked Willy. He was a sort of Pied Piper. When he was home they all hung around with him. Like I said, he was full of stories. He never had kids of his own and he enjoyed having them around. He taught most of the children in Biddista to handle a boat. He took Kenny out when he was a lad. And Lawrence was in a boat almost before he could walk.’

Beyond the office door there was the sound of movement, plates banging, the jangle of cutlery.

‘Lunchtime,’ she said. ‘The high spot of the day. Some of our people only come here for the food. Will you eat with us, Jimmy? Have a bowl of soup at least.’

So Perez found himself sat at a table with Willy, a woman with Down’s syndrome called Greta, and Edith. Willy had the look of someone whose clothes had been chosen for him. Despite the heat of the centre he wore a thick jersey over a plaid shirt. He’d shaved that morning but not very well. His hair still had some black in it and was thick and curly.

‘Where are you living now, Willy?’ Perez asked.

Willy looked up at him, his spoon poised, his mouth slightly open.

‘I’m a Biddista man.’

‘But that’s not where you live now,’ Edith said gently. ‘Now you’re staying in the sheltered housing at Middleton.’ She turned to Jimmy. ‘A carer comes in twice a day.’

Willy blinked and raised the spoon to his mouth.

‘Tell me about the old days in Biddista,’ Perez said. ‘You kept a boat there, didn’t you?’

‘The
Mary Therese
,’ Willy said eagerly, his eyes losing their blank, clouded look. ‘A fine boat. Bigger than anyone else’s in Biddista. Some days I had so much fish I could hardly lift out the box.’

‘Who did you take fishing with you?’

‘They all wanted to come fishing with me. All the lads. Kenny and Lawrence Thomson. Alec Sinclair. The lasses too. Bella Sinclair and Aggie Watt. Though Aggie was a timid little thing, and they were awful cruel the way they teased her. Bella was as strong on the boat as a boy. Nothing frightened her.’ He stared into the distance and Perez thought he was imagining
midsummer evenings out on the water. The children laughing and fighting, the family he’d never had.

‘You stayed friendly with them, did you, Willy? As they got older?’

Willy seemed not to hear. He tore a chunk of bread from the roll on his plate and dipped it into the broth.

‘There was Roddy Sinclair too,’ he said. ‘He liked the fishing when he came to stay at the Manse.’

‘That was later,’ Edith said. ‘Roddy was younger than Kenny and Lawrence. They wouldn’t have gone fishing with you together.’

Willy tried to think about that. The soup dripped from his bread on to the front of his jersey. Edith leaned across and wiped it carefully with a paper napkin. Willy shook his head as if trying to clear the pictures in his mind.

‘Did you ever have any English friends, Willy?’ Perez asked.

Willy suddenly gave a wide grin. ‘I liked going out with the Englishmen. They brought a hamper full of food and tins of beer. Sometimes, later, we’d build a fire on the beach to cook the fish and they always had a bottle of whisky. You remember that, Edith, don’t you? The summer when Lawrence and me took the Englishmen fishing?’

‘I remember that Lawrence always liked a drink,’ she said.

Willy grinned again.

‘What were the Englishmen’s names?’ Perez asked.

‘It was a fine time,’ Willy said. ‘A fine time.’ He returned to his meal, suddenly eating with great gusto, and Perez thought he was tasting the fresh fish caught just that day and cooked over the driftwood beach fire.

Perez turned to Edith. He didn’t want to pull Willy back to the present, to the indignity of slopped food and endless games of cards. ‘Do you know who he’s talking about? Were there any regular English visitors to Biddista?’

She shook her head. ‘Willy used to hire out his boat for fishing to the tourists, but I don’t remember anyone regular. Perhaps it was before my time.’

Willy jerked out of his reverie. ‘The Englishman came asking me questions, just the other day,’ he said. ‘But I told him nothing.’

‘Which Englishman would that be?’ Perez asked Edith.

‘There’s a writer called Wilding who comes after the traditional stories,’ she said. ‘Something to do with a book he’s writing. That must be who he means.’

Perez would have liked to spend the afternoon there, sitting in the sun flooding in through the windows, listening to Willy talking about fishing and the Biddista children, but he knew he couldn’t justify it. How would he account for his time to Taylor? Edith got up from the table and walked with him to the door.

‘Come back,’ she said. ‘Any time.’

In the car, his mobile phone suddenly got a signal again. It bleeped and showed a couple of missed calls, both from Sandy. Perez rang him, could hear the buzz of the incident room in the background. Sandy seemed to have his mouth full of food and it was a moment before Perez could make out what he was saying.

‘I’ve tracked down the lad who gave the Englishman a lift. Stuart Leask. He works on the desk at the NorthLink terminal and he’ll be there all afternoon.’

Fran was working on a still-life, some pieces of driftwood and a scrap of fishing net she’d found on the beach. It was more as practice than for a picture to sell. She’d become obsessed by the need to improve her drawing. Even at art school, she thought, she hadn’t paid it enough attention.

The phone call came just as she’d taken a break from work and put on the kettle for tea. She thought it would be Perez. He was her lover, the man who had been there at the back of her thoughts for months. But when she heard the English voice at the end of the line, there was a thrill of guilty excitement. She’d looked Wilding up on the internet. He had his own website, which listed the reviews. Perhaps he wasn’t bestseller popular, but he was recognized as an interesting and original author. One of his short stories was in production for a feature film. There was in his celebrity the same glamour that surrounded Roddy and Bella.

‘What are you doing?’ His voice was easy, slightly amused.

‘I’m working.’

‘So I won’t be able to persuade you to meet me for lunch then?’

The invitation reminded her of the spontaneous arrangements that had been part of her city life. A call from a friend. A meeting in a wine bar or over coffee. There’d be gossip and laughter then she’d run back to the office to finish the day’s work. Things weren’t quite so easy here. Perhaps in Lerwick it might be possible, though the choices of venue were limited. Here in Ravenswick, miles from anywhere, it was all much more complicated. Socializing took place in friends’ houses. There was nothing new.

‘I’ve got a hire car,’ he said. ‘I can pick you up. Half an hour.’

‘I’ll have to be back at three to collect my little girl from school.’ As soon as the words were spoken she realized they’d be taken as acceptance of the invitation.

‘No problem. See you soon.’ And the line was dead. It was as easy as that. She felt a pleasurable guilt, as if she’d already been unfaithful.

She went back to work, but couldn’t concentrate. Where would he take her? Of course they would bump into someone she knew. A friend of Perez’s. Or a friend of Duncan’s. She started forming the excuses and explanations in her mind.
He wants to commission a piece of art. Of course I had to talk to him. It was just a business lunch
. Should she phone Perez now and tell him what was happening? But then that would give the meeting more importance than it warranted. And how should she dress?

He arrived before she was quite ready and she felt flustered. She had to invite him into the house to wait and was aware how small it was, saw the dead houseplant on the windowsill, Cassie’s toys all over the floor,
through his eyes. He remained standing while she ran into the bedroom to get her bag. She’d compromised on clothes – jeans with a silk top she’d bought on her last trip south. She’d meant to put on make-up but he’d arrived before it was done and she couldn’t cope with the thought of him watching her.

Down in the valley it was lunchtime in Ravenswick School. She could just make out the figures of the children running in the yard.

She wanted to mention Cassie.
My daughter will be one of those. Maybe you can pick her out. She’s wearing a red cardigan
. But before she could form the words he’d handed her into the car and they were on their way. She was glad she had no near neighbours to watch.

Away from Ravenswick she began to let go of the guilt. Why shouldn’t she have some time just for herself? In the run-up to the exhibition she’d done nothing but work.

He’d taken the road south after leaving Ravenswick, away from Lerwick and any of the restaurants he might have chosen.

‘Where are we going?’

‘Wait and see.’ He turned towards her. ‘You’re looking lovely,’ he said. ‘Really.’

In her old life she’d have been able to bat away a compliment like that with a flippant, witty one-liner. Now she felt herself blushing.

He signalled west off the Sumburgh road and they were driving on a narrow track which she didn’t think she’d ever been down. There was a cattle grid, then a damp patch with flag irises and a long, narrow loch with a square stone house perched at the end. A grand
house for Shetland. Two storeys. Then the land seemed to drop away, so the house almost formed a bridge between the loch and the sea. Fran felt a moment of apprehension. Where was he taking her? What had she been thinking of, getting into a stranger’s car?