Ann Cleeves - Dead Water

‘I hear there’s an action group, lobbying to prevent the scheme.’

Evie was dismissive. ‘A couple of Nimbys who live in the White House, and a handful of their friends. No real opposition.’

Joe had started walking back down the path towards the hatchery. Perhaps he thought it was more tactful to leave the women together to sort out their differences.

The wind blew a hole in the cloud and a ray of sunshine caught the breaking waves and the pure white of the gannets below. Evie was standing in front of Rhona. All at once the Fiscal had an almost overwhelming impulse to push out, to shove the woman over the cliff. She could imagine herself doing it, had the sensation of movement in her muscles, the touch of Evie’s waterproof jacket on the palms of her hands. Experienced the thrill and the exhilaration of watching the woman fall. Not for a reason that made any sense, but because she could. Because she was stronger, more ruthless. Because, as the woman’s body twisted and bounced down the cliff, she would stop feeling helpless.

The sensation scared her. She stepped back, so that Evie was out of her reach even if she raised her arms. She found that she was shaking. What’s happening to me? What might I do next? Turning, she saw that Joe had stopped and was staring at her. It was almost as if he’d guessed what she’d been thinking. She hurried to join him.

‘Did you hear that the Walshes held a meeting of the action group on Friday night?’ Joe said.

Evie had joined them. ‘Like I said. They’re a couple of Nimbys. No threat.’

‘I did hear,’ Joe said, ‘that they’d invited Jerry Markham to the meeting.’ He paused. ‘Lucky for us that he died before he could write a story about the scheme. Who knows how he might spin it?’ Rhona was surprised by the facetious tone of the comment; Joe walked on before the women could answer.

They’d arrived at the hatchery. It was built of stone, with a rusting corrugated-iron roof and a concrete floor. Evie pulled open the wooden door. Rhona saw that she was still troubled by Joe’s information about Markham’s link to the protest group.

‘Will the police make a connection between Markham’s death and the project?’ Evie asked. She stood aside so that they could see in. The only light came through the open door. The place smelled of damp and mould and made Rhona nauseous. She stayed where she was.

Joe laughed. ‘Markham had enemies enough. And we’ve done nothing wrong, have we? Why would we want to kill him?’

Willow Reeves was back in the station. The lay-by with the skid marks was taped and guarded, and the mist had cleared enough for the planes to be running. Vicki Hewitt had arrived on the overnight ferry and Sandy had picked her up from the Holmsgarth terminal in Lerwick. They would be at the crime scene now. But Willow was restless and impatient. She got on the phone to Perez. No reception. Willow wanted to know if the manager of the Bonhoga coffee shop had recognized Rhona Laing as the strange woman who’d met Markham on the morning he was killed. Surely Perez should have news by now. Why hadn’t he been in touch? She still wasn’t sure what she made of the man. She brooded on the matter for a moment and then phoned her DC in Inverness.

‘Have you found any link yet between Rhona Laing and Jerry Markham?’

‘Nothing. And really, Boss, I don’t think there’s anything to find. No contacts in common. I don’t think he ever even reported any of the cases she worked on before she moved to Shetland.’

So it’s here. Willow stretched. Her muscles were tight and tense. She needed exercise. Yoga. A run. Whatever was going on between Markham and the Fiscal happened here. Or were the Shetlanders right, and there was no connection?

‘Any news on Markham’s phone?’

‘Not yet. I’ll chase it up again.’

She thought she needed to get more of a handle on the case, a better perspective. Maybe she should meet some of the people involved and not rely on the opinion of the local officers.

She found Evie Watt’s work phone number and tried that. A woman said that Evie was out of the office that morning and passed on a mobile number. That connected, though the reception was poor. It sounded as if Evie was driving, using a hand-free device. Willow introduced herself and suggested that they might meet for lunch. ‘If you haven’t eaten already. That way I don’t take up any work time. I’m a veggie. Verging on the vegan. Can you think of anywhere?’ She sensed that the woman on the other end of the phone was surprised by the call, but after a moment’s silence there was a response.

‘I’ve been out onsite. I’m on my way back to town, but I’ll be there in half an hour. What about the Olive Tree in the Tollclock Centre? Close to work for me, and you’ll find something there to eat.’ Then clear directions.

Willow was early and drove along to the ferry terminal to kill time. The NorthLink ferry was still in, but the place was quiet. A sudden squall blew up as she was crossing the car park to the Tollclock, and she knew she would look like a witch blown in by the gale, her hair wild. And Evie Watt did look astonished when Willow landed at her table.

‘Brilliant place!’ Willow said. She carried a plate filled with salads, hummus and pitta bread. ‘Just what I needed. Odd to find something like this in Lerwick. Not at all what I expected.’

‘Oh, we’re quite civilized really.’ Evie smiled. Willow thought that already she had the woman hooked, that Evie was disarmed and ready to talk.

‘Look, I’m sorry to trouble you,’ Willow said. ‘You must be frantic! A wedding on Saturday and so much to organize. I’m surprised you look so calm.’

‘It’s a very relaxed and informal do. And I’ve delegated most of the organization to other people. But I’m not sure how I can help you. I told Jimmy Perez everything I know.’ Evie had chosen a seafood salad, but had eaten very little. Willow wondered if she was worried about putting on weight before the wedding.

The detective leaned forward. She could have been a friend, a bit older than Evie and not as pretty – no competition. They could be sharing gossip. ‘I’m trying to follow Markham’s movements on the day he died. He spent Thursday night in the Ravenswick Hotel. Friday morning he was drinking coffee in the Bonhoga with a middle-aged woman. Any idea who that might have been?’

Evie shook her head. ‘Unless it was his mother. They were always very close. It was a sacrifice for Maria to let her son go south. She understood his ambitions, but she adored him. It always seemed a weird relationship to me – they were more like lovers than mother and son. I mean, I get on well with my dad, but our relationship isn’t as intense as that. Peter must have felt left out at times.’

Willow nodded. She hadn’t considered that Maria might have been Markham’s companion. A mistake. ‘We know he had lunch, on his own, in a chip shop in Brae.’ Sandy had come up with that information. The owner had recognized Markham. ‘Then he had a meeting with the press officer in Sullom Voe. Andy Belshaw. Why would he do that?’

‘I suppose Andy would be the natural first place to start, if he was writing an article about the terminal.’

‘Do you know him?’

‘Sure. He runs the junior football team with John, my fiancé. He has sons of the right age, and John has always got on well with kids.’ She paused. ‘John’s wife couldn’t have children. An effect of the cancer treatment. She became ill in her thirties and was being treated for it most of their married life. John nursed her all that time.’ Her voice was matter-of-fact and Willow couldn’t tell what she made of all that, what it felt like to be engaged to some sort of saint.