Ann Cleeves - Dead Water

It was the last thing he fancied, but how could he refuse when he still felt that he’d treated her in a way that wasn’t quite honourable? So he walked with her past the noisy public bar to the residents’ lounge. With its dark-panelled wood and leather armchairs, it had the air of a shabby gentlemen’s club. Standard lamps with dusty parchment shades threw out small pools of light. In one corner two elderly American tourists talked about Shetland ponies and puffins. They shouted and weren’t listening to each other, so would be unlikely to listen in to a conversation at the other end of the room. A middle-aged waitress came to take their order and Willow ordered two malt whiskies, then turned to Perez quickly. ‘That is all right for you?’

‘Sure.’ Now he felt very tired and wanted to get to his bed. He’d had a text from his neighbour to say that Cassie was fine. The girls had a high old time and now they’re both fast asleep. But still he’d have been happier back in Ravenswick, where he’d be closer to her.

‘So, Jimmy,’ Willow said. ‘Where do we go from here?’

He thought for a while. Was this a trick? Was he supposed to defer to her and offer no opinion of his own? ‘Maybe you’d like to talk to Maria Markham?’ he said at last. After all, the woman had asked the question. ‘You’ve not interviewed her yet, and if she was the person Jerry met in the Bonhoga, it’d be interesting to know what they were discussing. Why could they not have their chat at the Ravenswick Hotel?’

‘Why not, indeed?’ Willow was sipping the whisky. ‘And you, Jimmy? Will you be up to working with us again tomorrow?’

That threw him. He’d assumed that he was part of the team now. It hadn’t occurred to him that Willow would expect him to bow out after a couple of days on the investigation. ‘Do you think I’m not up to it?’ he asked.

‘I think you’re sharper than any other detective I’ve worked with,’ she said. ‘But don’t expect me to like it. I don’t enjoy the competition.’

He saw that it was a sort of joke, a compliment, but still it felt like a criticism. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I shouldn’t wander off doing my own thing. And I shouldn’t take over in interviews.’

She smiled. ‘So, tomorrow? I’d like you to interview Andy Belshaw. Like you said before, he links the victims too. And Henderson might have talked to him, if they were mates. Will you head up to Sullom first thing? And I know you’ve phoned Henderson’s boss, but you should see him too.’

‘No problem.’ He swilled the drink round his glass and swallowed the last mouthful. ‘At least, I’d like to take Cassie to school first, if that’s OK, but I could still be in Sullom for nine-thirty.’ He stood up and paused, suddenly anxious, remembering her dig about child-care. ‘That is OK?’

‘Of course.’ There was a silence and for a moment he thought she had more questions. But she stood too, leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the cheek. The touch was routine, two colleagues saying goodnight, but it shocked him and he felt himself blushing. The gesture felt almost like an apology, but why should she feel sorry? ‘Take care, Jimmy. Let me know as soon as you have anything.’ And she wandered off towards the stairs and her room. He stood, frozen for a minute, and then made his way outside.

When he got home it was past midnight. He went to bed and slept better than he had for months, and woke up suddenly to daylight and the sound of gulls fighting, worried that he’d miss getting Cassie to school. But it was only six o’clock. He made tea, listened to Radio 4 and then to Radio Orkney, showered and ate toast. Radio Shetland didn’t broadcast in the morning, and Orkney carried the news of Henderson’s death. No details. ‘The police will make a statement later today.’

When he arrived at Maggie’s house the children were still at breakfast and he drank coffee while he waited for them to finish. Cassie was chatty and giggly, the mischievous girl he remembered from the year before. He drove both girls down the bank to school, and for the first time since Fran had died he left before the children were called in from the playground.

He hadn’t phoned Belshaw in advance. Better to catch him by surprise and, if he happened to be south on business, the trip to the oil terminal wouldn’t be wasted. Perez needed to talk to Joe Sinclair, the harbour master, anyway.

The same security officer was on the gate at Sullom. Still unsmiling and officious.

‘Mr Belshaw isn’t onsite today.’

‘Where is he?’ The question mild and polite.

The man checked a clipboard. ‘Working from home.’ A sniff of disapproval.

If Perez had asked for an address, the guard would have refused to give it or made a fuss about it, and Perez didn’t want to give him that pleasure, so he said nothing. He knew that Belshaw lived in Aith and that his wife was the school cook there. He could track down the Belshaw home in seconds. Driving past the Harbour Authority complex on the other side of the voe, Perez was tempted to call in there first, to talk to Sinclair and the pilots, but Willow had asked him to talk to Belshaw as a priority and she was the boss. He’d see Sinclair later. After feeding back the results of the Belshaw interview to Willow. No point making things hard for himself, or for her.

It was a fine day, mild and still. The Aith road was quiet and he just had to stop once to let a tractor pass in the opposite direction. He slowed down to come into the village and caught a brief glimpse of Rhona Laing, looking out of an upstairs window of the Old Schoolhouse. Willow had said the Fiscal was on leave, and Willow had notified Laing’s assistant about the second murder. Perez couldn’t understand why Rhona had taken time off. It wasn’t like her to give up her role in a major inquiry. Perhaps she’d been told to back away because of her involvement, but he couldn’t imagine she’d give way without a fight.

His first instinct was to pull in next to the Old Schoolhouse and talk to her. A courtesy, but also because he was curious to gauge her reaction to Henderson’s murder. Then he remembered Willow’s antipathy to the woman and thought again that he should check with the inspector first. In this investigation he wasn’t free to make his own decisions. So he carried on through the village and pulled in next to the co-op. No phone signal in the car, but just enough to make a call when he got outside and walked towards the marina.

Willow too sounded rested, less stressed than she had the night before. ‘Jimmy. What have you got for me?’

He explained about Belshaw working from home and that the Fiscal was in the Old Schoolhouse. ‘I wondered if you’d like me to talk to her. About Henderson.’

There was a long pause, and Perez thought first that Willow would insist on doing the interview herself, and then that the phone connection had broken.

‘OK, Jimmy.’ A small, hard chuckle. ‘You’ll be more tactful than me. But don’t tell her more than you need to. And don’t let her get away with anything.’

He was going to ask how she’d got on with Maria Markham, but this time the phone did go dead. Besides, there’d been background noise, which sounded as if she was still in the police station and hadn’t yet made the trip south to Ravenswick.

In the co-op Perez bought a bar of chocolate and a bag of tatties for the evening’s supper and found out where the Belshaws lived. The house was just out of the settlement on the way to Bixter, and he thought he’d walk up to the Old Schoolhouse first and talk to the Fiscal. He could do with stretching his legs and he enjoyed these mild spring days. He stood for a moment at the gate, looking in at her garden. He hadn’t noticed it before and was surprised by its lack of order: overgrown shrubs and a patch of grass thick with clover. In one corner an old enamel bucket over a head of rhubarb. She obviously wasn’t much of a gardener. His father had always divided people into those who loved the water and those who loved the land.