Ann Cleeves - Dead Water

‘And what did it say?’

For the first time the woman seemed uneasy, less than confident. ‘Look, this isn’t really something I feel comfortable discussing on the telephone. I’m coming up anyway. I’ll bring the postcard then. I need to see where Jerry died. I need to meet his family.’

‘Do the Markhams know about you?’

Another pause. This time so long that Sandy thought he should repeat the question.

‘I’m not sure,’ she said at last. ‘Jerry was going to tell them, I think, but he said he needed to wait for the right moment. Perhaps he hadn’t had the chance.’

‘Have you booked your travel?’ Sandy asked. Back to the facts again. He felt happier already. ‘We could help with that.’

‘I’m speaking to you from Heathrow,’ she said. ‘I’m already checked in for the Aberdeen flight. I get into Sumburgh late afternoon.’

‘OK.’ Sandy was in awe of someone who could arrange travel so quickly, on a whim. ‘We’ll arrange for someone to meet you.’

‘Will it be you?’ Annabel asked, and for the first time she sounded anxious.

‘I’m not sure.’ Sandy was out of his depth again. ‘Would you like it to be?’

‘Yes.’ The voice incisive. ‘I would.’

He looked across at Willow, who nodded. ‘Well then,’ he said. ‘Yes, I’ll be there. And we’ll organize accommodation for you.’

‘Ah,’ she said. ‘Of course you will. I should have had more faith.’

Willow asked Sandy to go with her to interview Maria Markham. It was on the way to the airport, and she said Jimmy Perez could supervise the incident room as soon as he got back from Aith. He could keep tabs on the information coming in. Sandy wasn’t sure what Perez would have made of that. Maybe he would have liked to meet Jerry Markham’s girlfriend, but when he arrived back at the station Perez didn’t say anything. He just nodded and took Sandy’s place by the phone.

Maria Markham saw them in the hotel office on the ground floor, not in the flat. Sandy thought she wanted to keep them away from her personal space. She was wearing office clothes too – a grey, fitted suit, which looked a little too large, as if she’d already shrunk after hearing the news of her son’s death. Her hair was clean and pinned back from her face and she’d put on lipstick.

‘Peter’s out,’ she said. ‘He has a friend who’s a sailor and has offered him a day on the water. I encouraged him to go. He needed to get away from this place, just for a day. It was killing him. He didn’t love Jerry as I loved him. Inevitably. A father doesn’t have the same bond. But now he feels guilty, and thinks if he’d loved Jerry more, he’d have kept him safe. Quite ridiculous, but I can’t help feeling that too. That somehow it was Peter’s fault. We all need someone to blame perhaps and, until the killer is found, I only have my husband.’ She paused, embarrassed by the confessional stream of words. ‘I’m sorry. All this must sound very silly.’

‘We will find the killer, Mrs Markham.’ Willow sounded so confident that Sandy almost believed her too. ‘But we need your help. That’s why we’re intruding on your grief again.’

Maria took her seat behind the desk, and Willow and Sandy sat opposite her like junior staff members, a waiter and a chambermaid, failing in their duties. ‘So,’ Maria said, ‘what do you want this time?’

‘You’ll have heard of John Henderson’s death?’

‘Yes.’ She shot a quick look at Willow. It was as if Sandy was invisible. ‘Did Henderson kill Jerry and then commit suicide? A kind of remorse? I did wonder if that was what happened. I’d feel kind of cheated. It’s not a real justice, to choose when you die.’

‘No,’ Willow said. ‘It was nothing like that. Henderson was murdered too.’

‘Evie Watt’s two men both dead.’ Maria Markham gave a little laugh. Sandy thought there was something quite mad about the woman. ‘I wish I could believe that Evie was the killer, but I don’t see it.’

‘Jerry met a woman the morning before he was killed,’ Willow said. ‘In the Bonhoga cafe. She’s been described as middle-aged, well groomed. Do you know who that might have been?’

‘No,’ Maria said. ‘It was something to do with his story, maybe. A contact.’

‘It wasn’t you?’

‘Of course not! If I wanted to chat with my son I’d do it here. I wouldn’t drive twenty miles north to meet him.’

‘But you didn’t have much opportunity to talk here. Not really talk. You and Peter are so busy, and your son had just come in on the ferry the morning before. I’d understand that you might arrange to meet somewhere – ’ Willow hesitated – ‘neutral. Somewhere you wouldn’t be interrupted. Everyone says how close the two of you were.’ The women stared at each other. The background music in the bar was jazz piano and it seeped between them. Maria Markham spoke first.

‘I’ve told you, Inspector, that I didn’t meet my son in Weisdale the morning that he died. I wish I had. I wish I had another memory to add to my collection, but I didn’t. I was here all day. Of course my staff will confirm it.’

‘Of course.’ Willow nodded gravely. There was a brief pause. ‘Did your son know the Fiscal, Ms Laing?’

‘No!’ Maria gave that crazy laugh again, the one that made Sandy want to run from the room. ‘Why would he? Unless he interviewed her when he was a reporter here. He might have met her then. But that was years ago.’ She got to her feet. ‘Are we finished here? I don’t sleep well. I get tired easily.’

Willow remained where she was. ‘Just one more question.’

Maria remained standing and looked down on them. ‘What is it?’ Sandy thought her voice did sound very tired.

‘Did you know that your son has a new girlfriend?’

‘No!’ The retort was too loud and surprised them all.

‘Her name is Annabel Grey and she lives in London.’ She paused for a beat. ‘Apparently.’

Maria recovered herself quickly. She straightened her jacket and sat down again. ‘I’m sure,’ she said, ‘that Jerry would have told me in his own time if he’d found someone special. Perhaps that’s why he’d made the effort to come home. He wanted to tell us personally, not by phone. He’d know that we’d be delighted.’

‘Would you?’

‘Of course. We only wanted him to be happy.’

They were early at Sumburgh airport and the plane was a little delayed, so they sat, drinking tea, waiting for Markham’s girlfriend to arrive.

‘What did you make of Maria?’ Willow Reeves looked smarter today, Sandy thought. Maybe she’d had time to iron her skirt in the hotel bedroom, and she’d coiled her hair into a twist at the back of her head and fixed it with a comb.

‘She seemed kind of crazy,’ he said. ‘But she’s just lost her son.’

‘Could she have killed Henderson, do you think?’ Willow asked. ‘In revenge for Jerry?’

‘If she’d thought Henderson had killed her son? Yes, I do.’ Sandy shivered slightly. A kind of disgust at the thought. Before Willow could answer, through the window beyond the baggage belt they saw that the plane had arrived. They stood up to cross the hall and meet Jerry Markham’s new woman.

Annabel Grey wasn’t alone.

Standing beside Sandy, watching the passengers walk across the airstrip to the terminal, Willow tried to guess which of these women was Markham’s girlfriend. Sandy had said she sounded very young. There was a small dark girl in a duffel coat and striped scarf, but she was waving to her waiting parents even before she came into the building. Not her then. Nor the smart lass in the trouser suit carrying a briefcase, who headed straight for the car-hire desk. Willow thought that she and Sandy should have prepared a card with Grey’s name on it and should have stood there like the taxi drivers collecting the gas contractors.