Ann Cleeves - Blue Lightning

‘Then charging doesn’t come into it,’ Sandy said. ‘But if he knew the woman then he might have something useful to tell you. It would be wrong not to ask him about her. He’s an important witness.’

‘He’s tampered with a crime scene,’ Perez said. ‘Perverted the course of justice.’

‘Maybe,’ Sandy said, ‘if you have got this right, he’s trying to save his marriage.’ He paused. ‘And his son from embarrassment.’

They sat in silence and watched a huge orange sun rise over the sea beyond Sheep Rock. In the distance there was the sound of an approaching plane.

Perez went to the airstrip to watch the plane arrive. It must have left Tingwall at first light and it certainly wasn’t a regular scheduled flight. He met Dougie Barr, the fat birder, on his way; the man was flushed despite the cold and out of breath.

‘I’ve just been up to Golden Water,’ he said, the words coming out in short, painful bursts, ‘to check that the swan’s still there.’

‘And is it?’ After a night of anxiety about his father, Perez saw the birdwatchers now as an amusing distraction. He’d always found the obsession of these men faintly ridiculous. He realized that they were mostly men. Angela Moore was a rarity.

‘Yes. Just where it went to roost yesterday evening.’

‘You’ll take them straight up to the north end and then back to the plane. No detours. Otherwise the flights will be stopped.’

‘I’ve explained all that to them.’ They both stepped off the track to allow Dave Wheeler to drive past.

There were still signs on the airstrip of the preparations for the emergency flight the night before – piles of ash where the fires had been lit, scorched grass. The plane circled the strip and came in low to land, smooth and easy. Tammy Jamieson’s wife turned up, not in the van – Sandy was still using that – but in a gold Ford Capri with the wheel arches eaten away by rust. She parked just where Perez was standing and wound down the window. She was a Fetlar woman; she and Tammy had met at school.

‘Glad to have Tammy out with the boat?’ Perez asked.

‘Aye, he’s like a bear with a sore head if he doesn’t get on to the water every week. And I’m glad of the peace. I love him to bits but we all need some time on our own.’

‘Anyone you know coming in on the flight?’

She grinned. ‘Nah, I’m here as a taxi. Maurice phoned last night to ask if I’d give the birdwatchers a lift to the north end and bring them back. I’ll be at it all morning, it seems. A kind of shuttle. He said they’d pay and it’ll be something towards the holiday fund.’

Perez thought Maurice must be slipping back into his role of field centre administrator. Perhaps Jane’s death had forced him to pick up the reins again. Or maybe Rhona Laing had something to do with it; few men would have the nerve to stand up to her and Maurice had always taken the easy course. Almost immediately after thinking about the Fiscal, his mobile rang and her name flashed on to the screen.

‘Jimmy. Where are you?’

‘At the airstrip seeing the first lot of birdwatchers in.’ He watched them climb out of the plane, laden with telescopes, tripods and cameras. Dougie shepherded four of them into the waiting car. Even from where he stood he could sense their excitement. They stuffed their equipment in the boot and piled into the back. Dougie took the front seat. ‘You can start walking up the road,’ he said to the remaining four. ‘We’ll pick you up as soon as we’ve dropped this lot off.’

‘Jimmy?’ The Fiscal, impatient, waiting for an answer.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t catch what you said.’

‘I’ve fixed a time for the press conference. Two o’clock in the hall.’

Perez couldn’t hear what else the Fiscal had to say, because the plane rolled past him on its way to take off. He supposed the aircraft was doing a shuttle too. It would bring another lot of birders in and take out the folk already here.

‘Sorry,’ he said again. ‘Could you repeat that?’

‘I’d like you there, Jimmy. At the press conference.’ He sensed her growing irritation. She was used to getting an immediate response.

‘How are the reporters getting in?’

‘We’ve arranged one special charter. The rest will come on the boat. I’m hoping we’ll have got rid of most of the day-tripping birdwatchers by then.’

He thought she’d choreographed the whole procedure very well.

‘Well, Jimmy?’

‘Sorry?’

‘You will be at the press conference?’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes, of course.’

In the North Light they were eating breakfast. Dougie was missing, but all the other suspects were there: the Fowlers, Hugh Shaw, Ben Catchpole, Maurice Parry. Perez stood at the door watching them before they noticed he was there. One of you is a murderer. They all looked so ordinary, so unthreatening, that the idea seemed a ridiculous exaggeration.

Again Sarah Fowler had taken up Jane’s place in the kitchen. Now Poppy had gone, she was the only female long-term resident left. Perez wondered what Fran would make of the assumption that she’d do the cooking, but he saw that she’d taken over the role with enthusiasm. The desperation of the night before seemed to have dissipated. She stood behind the counter just as Jane had done, sliding bacon and fried eggs from the warm tray on to plates, looking up occasionally to talk to the other guests. Again he wished he could find a way of understanding her better. What lay behind her switches in mood? Of course, last night, they’d all seemed to be in a state of shock. This morning, it was as if they’d determined to ignore the violence and continue as normal. Perhaps the fact that Jane’s death had occurred away from the centre made that more possible.

‘Would you like some breakfast, Inspector? Or coffee?’ Sarah Fowler had seen him and called him over.

‘Coffee,’ he said. ‘Please. So you’re left doing all the work?’

‘I’m much better having something to do. Really, there’s no need to organize anyone else to cook. I’d prefer to be busy.’

There was no sign of Vicki or the Fiscal in the dining room.

‘You’ve just missed your colleagues,’ Sarah said. ‘They took the field centre Land Rover.’ To the Pund to collect Jane’s body, then to the helicopter landing pad near the South Light.

He nodded, took his coffee and sat at a table next to Maurice. ‘Poppy went out OK with the Shepherd ?’

‘Yes.’ Maurice was tidier than Perez had seen him for a while. Had he shaved before seeing his daughter on to the boat? Made a last effort to hold things together for her sake? Or was it the Rhona Laing effect again?

‘In the end she seemed quite reluctant to go,’ Maurice went on. ‘She said she was worried about me.’ He looked up. ‘Did you get in touch with Jane’s relatives?’

‘Her sister,’ Perez said. ‘Jane’s parents are quite elderly. The sister will pass on the news to them.’ He looked over to the birdwatchers on the other side of the table. ‘Why aren’t you at Golden Water with that American swan?’

‘The work of the field centre has to go on. We’re not all on holiday.’ Ben flushed and Perez wondered what had provoked such an angry response. Did he resent the plane-loads of birders tramping across the island? ‘Fair Isle isn’t just about rarities, despite people like Dougie. We’re doing real science here.’

‘Of course.’ Perez drank his coffee.

‘I’ve walked round the traps and now I’m going to do the hill survey. Without Angela someone has to keep things going.’

‘If you’re up on Ward Hill you’ll have a good view of the Pund.’

‘So?’ Another flash of anger and defiance.