Ann Cleeves - Dead Water

‘How long will that take?’ She was bouncing up and down on the spot, partly to keep warm because the low cloud was cold, but partly because she was so impatient that she was finding it hard to keep still.

Sandy looked around. None of the hills were visible. ‘Could be a couple of days. The forecast says it’s unlikely to clear until Wednesday. If we hurry, we could get her on this afternoon’s ferry from Aberdeen.’

‘We’re the first people at the scene,’ she said. ‘Our decision.’

‘Aye.’ But he knew the decision had already been taken.

She took it slowly and didn’t rush into it. Plastic overshoes. Gloves on her hands. She didn’t have a full scene-suit, so she found a scarf in the car and wrapped it round her hair. Then she walked backwards and forwards across the empty lay-by.

‘There might have been other vehicles parked there since Friday.’ Usually Perez was the person to council caution while Sandy rushed in with daft ideas. He felt suddenly very grown-up.

‘Over a weekend?’ She looked up and waited for his opinion as if it mattered.

‘Maybe not.’

‘So they could have come from Markham’s car.’ She grinned. ‘He’d have unusual tyres. We’ll be able to check.’

Where the lay-by joined the hill there was a row of whitewashed stones, to stop vehicles running down the bank on foggy days like this. A couple of cars went north along the main road in the opposite direction. Too fast for the weather conditions, Sandy thought. The drivers didn’t even see them because the fog was so thick.

Willow was bent double, looking at the crack between the stones. He thought she was more supple than anyone he’d known. Suddenly she straightened. ‘There’s a smear of blood on the underside of this rock. Washed down by rain maybe?’ She grinned again at Sandy. ‘The killer pulled Markham out of the car and hit him here. He fell and caught his forehead on the rock. You remember the wound. Not random. Planned. An ambush.’

‘The blood could be anything!’ Sandy being sensible again. ‘A rabbit. A sheep hit by a car.’

‘It could.’ She nodded. ‘But I’d bet my career that it wasn’t. Let’s get the whole lay-by taped and bring someone to keep an eye on it. And let’s get Vicki Hewitt onto that ferry.’

Perez walked Cassie to school. There was a neighbour who had offered to take her as soon as they’d settled back in the Ravenswick house after Fran’s death: ‘Just drop her in, Jimmy, on your way to work and I’ll take her down with my bairns. It would be no trouble.’ But Perez had thanked her gravely and said he was working flexible hours at the moment. Later, maybe, he’d be very grateful for the help. He still took Cassie to school every day and couldn’t imagine entrusting her to someone else.

Today she had a music lesson, so he carried her tiny fiddle in its case and her schoolbag.

‘Are you going to work today, Jimmy?’

‘I’m not sure,’ he said, hedging his bets. Would Cassie worry about him being at work? Would she prefer him to wait for her at home?

‘You should go,’ she said. ‘We need the money. There’s a school trip to Edinburgh and I want to go. It’s £150.’

‘I’m still being paid!’ He wasn’t sure what he felt about her going to Edinburgh.

‘But they won’t give you money for doing nothing forever.’ Her voice was matter-of-fact.

Before he could reply she saw a friend on the path ahead, took her violin and her bag and ran off.

He waited out of sight, watching her in the playground, until the bell rang and she went inside. As he walked up the bank from the school his phone had a signal and he phoned Willow Reeves, laughing to himself because he was taking orders from a seven-year-old. She answered quickly and he thought she sounded manic. Too much coffee and too little sleep.

‘I wondered if I could help at all?’ In the background Perez heard someone shout that they’d got the video conference up and running for the meeting with Inverness.

‘We need all the help we can get, Jimmy!’ He heard the laughter in her voice. He’d always liked women who laughed easily.

‘I might just call into the Ravenswick and chat to the Markhams then,’ he said. ‘See if I can clear up the matter of Jerry’s story, and why his editor knew nothing about it.’

‘That’d be great.’ She paused. There was more noise in the conference room and he could understand how it would be. Inverness ready to speak, waiting for her to shout the meeting to order. He thought she would end the phone call as quickly as she could, but she continued, her voice so low that he could hardly hear it above the background sound. ‘Have you had any more thoughts about Rhona Laing?’

A vague idea floated into his head and then disappeared.

‘Has your contact picked up anything between her and Markham?’

‘Nothing.’ Another pause. ‘Not yet.’

‘You want me to talk to her?’

There was another silence and for a moment he thought she’d switched off her phone, but it seemed she was answering a question in the room, because then she repeated, ‘Not yet. First I’d like to know for sure who Markham met in the Bonhoga on Friday morning. The lasses Sandy spoke to only worked weekends. Could you check that out?’

Another easy job, Perez thought, to keep him out of mischief. Willow didn’t trust him to talk to the Fiscal. Worried which side he was on? He wasn’t certain himself. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘I’ll go to the Ravenswick first and do the Bonhoga afterwards.’

Then she did end the call without saying goodbye.

It was the quiet time in the hotel. Breakfast over and the bosses of the contract firms working in Sullom had long left. The sound of vacuum cleaners in the distance, and in the kitchen someone was whistling tunelessly. Brodie was on reception again. Perez wondered if he ever slept or if he had any sort of private life at all.

‘Is Peter in?’ Perez asked. He wasn’t sure if he could face Maria. Her grief was too raw and immediate. Peter’s control made him an easier interviewee.

‘He’s out in the garden. Fresh air, he said.’

‘How are they coping?’

Brodie shrugged. ‘They’re hiding out in the flat. No phone calls. No visitors. Maria hasn’t been out at all, and this is the first time Peter’s escaped.’ Brodie paused. ‘You wouldn’t think it to look at him, but he’s taking it harder than she is. The doctor’s given her something and she’s kind of doped. I don’t think he’s slept since Sandy came with the news about Jerry.’

‘Were they close, Jerry and his father?’

It seemed an innocuous question, but Brodie hesitated. Perez waited and the silence stretched. At last Brodie said: ‘Peter’s old-fashioned. Honourable. Maria thought Jerry could do no wrong, but Peter dared to criticize. Occasionally.’

‘And that caused some tension in the family?’

‘Maria was always over the moon when Jerry turned up. I’d say that Peter was more relieved when he went away again.’

Perez nodded his thanks for the information and took the door outside. It had been designed as an informal English garden with shallow terraces leading down to the shore. The grey wall provided some shelter and there were trees and shrubs, the trees just coming into leaf, looking strangely out of place. Daffodils in the borders, and in a few weeks there’d be bluebells in the grass. Woodland flowers in a place where there were scarcely any trees. Despite the protection from the wind it was a chill morning. Peter Markham was huddled in an overcoat. He sat on a wooden bench in one corner, smoking a cigarette.

‘Do you mind if I join you?’ Perez remained standing. He’d have gone back to the hotel and waited there, if Markham had told him to.