Ann Cleeves - Dead Water

Rhona drove off, feeling as if she’d been dismissed and that the woman from Uist was very much in charge.

Jimmy Perez sat in his car outside the kirk and watched the people go in. Once there’d been a community here and you could still see where the houses had been, the crumbling walls and the outline of the fields, but now the church was all that was left and most of the congregation came by car. It was one of those still, sunny days that came occasionally in late spring. The light was reflected from the sea and from a small loch close to the road. He was sitting only a few miles from Sullom Voe terminal, but there was no sense of the oil industry here.

Perez had been dragged to services regularly when he was a boy. His father was a lay preacher and his mother’s faith had always seemed strong enough to carry her through difficult times. More recently he’d wondered if the Sunday mornings of worship – the fine singing and the thoughtful sermons – had been more about continuing the tradition, a kind of comforting habit for her, than the reality of belief. Fran had dismissed faith as a trust in fairy tales. On impulse, at the last moment, he got out of the car, walked across the sheep-cropped grass and slipped into the back of the building. After the brightness of the sunshine the place seemed dark and he waited for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. The first hymn had already started and he helped himself to a hymn book and service sheet. The place was only half-full and most of the congregation were elderly. It seemed that the ritual of Sunday worship had loosened its hold on the younger generation.

After Fran’s death he’d rejected his father’s attempts to provide any sort of spiritual comfort, but now he found the familiarity of the words and the music relaxing. He couldn’t be angry with a God who didn’t exist. The sounds washed over him and allowed him space to think and remember.

During the notices the minister announced the forthcoming wedding of two members of the congregation. ‘We’re delighted that Evie and John will be married here on Saturday. Let’s hope for fine weather and pray that they have a long and happy life together.’

There were fond smiles and even a smattering of applause. The happy couple were sitting at the front and gave a little wave to acknowledge their thanks. The minister continued, ‘And I understand that Evie’s hen party on Friday night raised £500 for our chosen charity of Water Aid. I wouldn’t normally be one to encourage a pub-crawl, but on this occasion I’m sure we all thank those who took part. And we’re pleased that Evie has a clear enough head to be with us this morning.’ A little polite laughter, followed by the final hymn.

Perez left before the hymn had finished. He knew what it would be like if he stayed: folk would approach, wanting to welcome him into the fold. There’d be invitations back to houses for coffee or lunch. Questions. He’d never been sociable, but these days he found small talk impossible. Outside there was warmth in the sunshine and he stood for a moment and almost allowed himself to enjoy the sensation, before returning to his car. He wasn’t sure now whether his coming to the kirk had been such a good idea. He’d found Evie’s number in the Shetland phone directory, but when he’d called there’d been no response. This had been the nearest place of worship to her home and he’d thought he’d give it a go. Sandy had described Evie as religious, so it was worth a chance.

At home he’d felt restless; he’d agreed with Duncan that he wouldn’t pick up Cassie until after she’d had her tea, and the empty day had stretched ahead of him. Now Perez thought it had been a mistake to come here to find Evie. He hadn’t considered that she might be with her fiancé. He could hardly discuss the woman’s dead lover in front of the new man.

But John Henderson drove off very quickly in a white car, as if he had an appointment to keep. Perez saw him briefly – a man in middle age, very smart in his Sunday suit. Evie waited until all the other people had left, then stood chatting just outside the door of the kirk to the minister, making the final preparations for her wedding day, Perez supposed. She had a round face and dark hair, and though he couldn’t hear what she was saying, she seemed happy. Eventually the minister returned to the building and Evie walked across the grass to the road. There were no cars remaining and Perez assumed that she intended to make her way home on foot. He opened the door and climbed out.

‘Can I give you a lift back to your house?’

Anywhere else such an invitation would be treated with suspicion, but Evie just smiled.

‘No, thanks. It’s such a lovely day and I was looking forward to the walk.’

‘Could I walk with you then?’ Perez had joined her now. She had her back to the sun and he had to squint against the light reflected from the loch. ‘I’m an inspector with the police. We’re investigating Jerry Markham’s death.’

‘I thought I recognized you.’ Her voice was light and there was still a trace of the Fetlar accent. ‘Your picture was in the Shetland Times when your wife died.’

‘My girlfriend,’ Perez said. ‘Though we were engaged. We’d planned to marry.’

‘Oh!’ She was horrified. Her own impending marriage brought the tragedy close to home. ‘I’m so sorry.’

They’d already started walking along the single-track road. A hire car with a couple of tourists came towards them and they climbed onto the verge to let it past.

Perez left his questions about Markham until they’d arrived at her house. It was tiny, a single-storey croft-house, freshly whitewashed. A kitchen with a small table, a sofa against one wall and a portable television; a bedroom and a shower room built onto the back. There was a view down to a pebble beach. She left the door open and the sound of sheep seemed to fill the room.

‘You weren’t tempted by life in the city then?’ Perez knew she’d been to university in Edinburgh and achieved a good law degree, but hadn’t taken the steps needed to become a barrister or solicitor.

‘No,’ she said. ‘I missed the islands every minute I was away.’ It was a dramatic statement, but Perez thought it was probably true. It was hard to imagine her in a busy street jostled by crowds, hemmed in by tall buildings, no view of the sky. Some Shetland kids thrived on the anonymity and the sense of freedom, when they escaped home for the first time. It seemed Evie hadn’t been one of those. ‘I bought this place as soon as I came back. It was dead cheap, hardly more than a wreck. My father helped me do it up.’

‘Where do you work now?’

‘For Shetland Islands Council, in the development unit. We encourage new business into the place. It’s important as the oil reserves run out.’ She switched on the kettle and spooned coffee into a jug. Perez sat on the sofa.

‘You’ll be busy now then,’ he said. ‘This business with the gas coming ashore at Sullom Voe.’

‘That’s not really my area of expertise.’ She poured water onto the coffee and the smell reminded him of Fran, who’d been a coffee snob. ‘I’m more interested in green industries. I think that’s the way forward, especially in a place like Shetland. We could become almost self-sufficient and provide a model for the rest of the world.’

He thought she was an evangelist by temperament.

‘Did Jerry Markham contact you when he was home this time?’ There was a pause and he wondered if she was considering whether she might lie.

‘He tried to contact me,’ she said at last. ‘He left messages on my answer machine here and on my mobile – he must have got that number from friends, because it’s not the one I had when we were together.’