Ann Cleeves - Blue Lightning

It was quite dark when he got to the centre. He dumped his gear in the dormitory, then went to the common room and helped himself to a can of pop, putting the money in the honesty box, because nobody was running the bar. The place had a deserted feel and he realized that was because there was no sound coming from the kitchen. Jane usually had the radio on. Not music but talk and the discussion seeped through as a background hum into the common room. The quiet unnerved him and though he still felt awkward when he remembered the truth game, he was relieved when Hugh and Ben wandered through. Something about the empty lighthouse spooked him.

‘We met up on the road north,’ Hugh said. He caught Ben’s eye. Dougie wondered why Hugh had felt the need to explain the meeting. Was there something conspiratorial in the way they looked at each other?

Again he felt like the fat boy in the playground, never invited to join a gang. He wondered what they’d been chatting about, suspected that there might have been jokes at his expense. Ben reported catching a few migrants on the trap round and they discussed the possibility of another rarity on the following day.

‘I’ve done all the crofts at the south this afternoon,’ Hugh said. He stretched as if the exertion had exhausted him. ‘Nothing special but it’s looking good for tomorrow. Especially if there’s a bit of drizzle at dawn.’

It was the sort of conversation they would have had with Angela.

‘How did you get on with Perez?’ It seemed odd to Dougie that everyone was carrying on as if she hadn’t been murdered, as if there wasn’t a detective camped out in the hall conducting interviews.

‘He made me show him the swan,’ Hugh said. Dougie thought Hugh seemed almost jubilant. ‘Really, I’m not sure how bright he is. Now the weather’s cleared, surely they’ll send someone in from the mainland to take over the case.’

‘I think he’s bright enough.’ Ben was drinking beer too. ‘He pretends he’s slow, but he seems to have a pretty good idea what’s been going on here. I wouldn’t underestimate him.’

The Fowlers arrived then, showered and changed for dinner as always, as if this was some smart hotel. They always looked scrubbed clean. Everyone sat waiting for the bell to go for the meal. There was an odd tension. There was no more talk about Perez and the questions he’d asked them. They just sat, looking at each other. Only Hugh seemed relaxed, lounging in his chair, reading an old Shetland bird report.

‘Jane’s a bit late tonight.’ John Fowler looked at his watch. ‘Not like her. It smells good though.’ Then they lapsed into silence again. Sitting beside her husband, Sarah had twisted her handkerchief into a ball, and was passing it from one hand to the other, incapable, it seemed, of sitting still. The constant movement frayed Dougie’s nerves. If she doesn’t stop soon, I’ll scream.

A couple of minutes later they heard a noise in the kitchen, the door from the staff quarters being opened, and there was a moment of relief. Dougie only realized then how dependent they’d all become on Jane. It was the routine of the field centre – trap rounds and mealtimes, the log being taken each evening – that had prevented them falling into panic after Angela’s murder. Without Jane in the kitchen, the reassuring ritual was falling apart. Now she was here, all would be well again.

But instead of Jane, bustling in to lay the table and apologizing for the delay, they saw Maurice and Poppy.

‘We thought we’d eat with you tonight,’ Maurice said. ‘It’s Poppy’s last night. Where’s Jane?’

Before they could answer they heard the plane going over. It seemed very low, even more noticeable because it had been several days since they’d last heard the engine noise.

‘Perhaps she’s been arrested.’ It was Hugh, making a joke of it. Dougie thought any more jokes like that and one of them would slap him. ‘That’s the plane coming in to take her away.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ Maurice’s voice was more assertive than Dougie had ever heard it. Perhaps the man couldn’t bear the thought of life on the island without Jane to make things run smoothly for him. ‘She’s probably down at Springfield with Mary and Fran. She needs some time off, for goodness’ sake. Dinner’s all ready. I think we can help ourselves.’

It occurred to Dougie that none of them had expressed any concern over Jane’s safety. She was one of those efficient women who could always look after themselves. And nobody speculated about the arrival of the plane. They assumed it would be police business. They’d watched dramas on the television. Now, it seemed getting fed was the most important thing in their lives. It was at least something to focus on, just as he gave all his attention to birdwatching when he was troubled.

So they all went into the kitchen and the Fowlers took control, setting Poppy to lay the table and asking Ben to put out the plates. John Fowler found rice keeping warm in the oven, almost as if Jane had expected to be delayed. Sarah carried the big pot of chicken casserole to the serving hatch and began to dish it out, acting just as Jane would have done, even wearing Jane’s apron.

They were so quiet when they ate that they heard a vehicle coming into the lighthouse yard.

Again there was a collective sense of relief. ‘Jane must have got a lift back,’ Poppy said, the words unnecessary, because it was what they were all thinking. She’d put on the black eyeliner and the gel in her hair so she looked almost back to her normal self. They heard the outside door of the lighthouse open and then the door into the dining room. Dougie thought they were all preparing things to say: You see, we managed without you. Did you have dinner at Springfield? I bet it wasn’t as good as this. Words so Jane wouldn’t know how thrown they’d been by her absence.

But it wasn’t Jane who came into the room. A strange woman stood there, looking at them. She had the groomed hair and subtle make-up of a television news presenter. Jimmy Perez stood behind her. The woman moved aside and obviously expected Perez to speak.

‘This is Rhona Laing,’ he said. ‘The Procurator Fiscal. She’s supervising the police investigation here. The Scottish legal system is different from the English and she’ll be involved through to the prosecution.’

‘Have you seen Jane?’ Maurice spoke for them all. At the moment Jane’s whereabouts seemed to concern him more than the appearance of a lawyer from Lerwick. Who would make the coffee? ‘She seems to have disappeared. We thought she might be at Springfield with you.’

Dougie saw a look pass between Perez and the Fiscal.

‘Jane Latimer is dead,’ the woman said briskly. ‘That’s why I’m here.’

They all stared at her.

‘What happened?’ Hugh’s smile had disappeared. Dougie thought his face looked quite different without it.

‘We’re here to ask questions, not to answer them,’ Rhona Laing said. ‘Her death is suspicious. That’s all you need to know for the present.’

Dougie thought her approach was very different from Perez’s. But probably easier to deal with, he thought. More straightforward. He found Perez’s silences, his quiet understanding, terrifying. This woman would bluster and bully but she wouldn’t have the detective’s ability to read minds.

‘When did you last see her?’ Rhona demanded. She stood at the head of the table and looked at them all. She didn’t have to ask them to introduce themselves. Perez must have described them to her. It seemed to Dougie that she was enjoying herself. Perhaps she spent most of the time in an office, and the flight through the dark to the island, this confrontation with possible suspects, was a great adventure to her.