Ann Cleeves - Dead Water

‘Jerry was committed to fighting evil.’ The woman’s voice was firm. ‘And that takes courage.’ She looked to her father for support and, although he nodded gravely, Willow thought the reaction was automatic. He didn’t share his daughter’s faith.

Perez broke in before Willow had a chance to speak again. ‘Was there a specific example of evil? I mean, a specific reason for Jerry visiting Shetland so soon after his conversion?’

It occurred to Willow that Perez might well be a God-botherer too. In these northern islands superstition would be rife.

Annabel didn’t reply directly. ‘We were planning to be married,’ she said. ‘Very soon. We saw no reason to wait. Jerry was going to be baptized, but once that was done, we’d decided to make plans.’ She gave a wide, sad smile. ‘Jerry spent Christmas with us. It was very busy for him at work and he didn’t have time to get home. Dad always goes completely over the top at Christmas. The biggest tree in the universe. Carols round the fire. And this year it snowed. It was quite magical. Walking back from Midnight Mass on Christmas morning Jerry asked me to marry him. It was the best present ever.’

Willow was struck suddenly by the similarity between the two cases under investigation. Both Evie and Annabel were committed Christians marrying an older man. Henderson had been quite different in character from Markham, but the outlook of the women – so certain, so proud of their faith, even in their grief – had much in common. But she couldn’t fathom how that could be a trigger to commit murder.

‘But he hadn’t told his parents about you, even though he missed spending Christmas with them and you’d become engaged?’ The thought had occurred to her as soon as the girl had described the proposal.

‘He didn’t want to tell them on the telephone,’ Annabel said. ‘He thought he should talk to them in person.’

‘Is that why Jerry came to Shetland?’ Perez asked.

It was a simple question, but the girl hesitated. ‘I think he might have told them while he was here,’ she said. ‘That was probably in his mind. But it wasn’t the main reason for the visit.’

‘What was that?’ Perez gave a small and encouraging smile.

And Willow suddenly saw this moment as an epiphany, a revelation that this lay at the heart of the investigation. If they could answer that question, they would find their killer.

Again there was a silence. Outside gulls were screaming. The hoot of a cruise ship leaving the pier.

‘He wouldn’t tell me,’ Annabel said at last, an admission she’d rather not have made. ‘He said there were things he had to sort out before he could commit himself properly to our relationship.’

Willow was tempted to scream at the woman: Didn’t you ask him what he meant? Didn’t you want to know if there was another woman in his life? Some sordid secret? She felt her dislike of Annabel Grey as a fog in her head preventing her from thinking clearly. Why the antipathy? Because of Annabel’s beauty? Her certainty? Her complacency? Her pampered childhood and her doting father?

‘Didn’t his secrecy make you doubt his affection for you?’ Perez asked the question gently, but the answer was fierce and clear.

‘No! He loved me and he wanted to spend his life with me. But his faith had made him question his past and his work. He needed time to get things straight in his head. I asked if I should come to Shetland with him, but he said this was something he had to do on his own.’

‘And where did you go when he was away?’ Perez asked.

‘On retreat,’ she said. ‘In the Easter holidays the University Chaplaincy organizes time out for anyone who wants to explore their faith more deeply. There’s a house in Sussex, run by nuns. A place of silence and contemplation. No contact with the outside world. That was why I didn’t find out about his death immediately.’ She looked up at Perez, and Willow saw that her eyes glittered with tears. ‘I had the sense that he needed my prayers.’

‘You told my sergeant that Jerry had sent you a postcard,’ Willow said. ‘Do you have it with you?’

Annabel opened her bag and set the card on the table. The same picture. A painting of three men playing violins. Willow held it by the edges and turned it over. On the back, Annabel’s home address in Hampstead. And two short sentences. Nearly done. Home soon.

‘This is definitely Jerry’s handwriting?’

‘Oh yes,’ Annabel said.

So Jerry had written the card and posted it before his death. But the message, Willow thought, was hardly any help at all.

Later their colleague Morag took Annabel out for a short guided walk of Lerwick. Perez had suggested that she might like to see where Jerry had been at school, the office where he’d first worked as a journalist. While she was away, they interviewed her father. Willow had the sense that Grey was as keen as the detectives to have a discussion in Annabel’s absence, and she felt throughout that he was in charge of the meeting. He set the agenda and told them what he wanted them to know. At one point, describing his work as a human-rights lawyer, he said, ‘Ah sometimes, Inspector, I lose sight of the truth. I’m a weaver of stories. A persuader.’

She thought that was what he was doing here – conjuring a story of the Greys’ perfect lives: the house on the edge of Hampstead Heath, the country retreat in Dorset, Annabel’s academic brilliance. Not necessarily to deceive his audience in any way, but to convince them to treat his daughter gently. And because he wanted Willow and Perez to like him, to be swept along by the energy of his narrative. He was seductive. In her parents’ world of the commune, he would be welcomed as a guru.

‘So you’d met Jerry Markham on many occasions,’ Perez said to start them off. ‘You knew him well?’

But, like his daughter, Richard wanted to describe events in his own way. ‘First,’ he said, ‘a little family history to set events in context. For the last ten years it’s just been Annabel and me. My wife left me when our daughter was eleven. I adored Jane, but she was an impulsive woman, given to strange moods and depressions. She always resisted seeking psychiatric help, but I should have persisted. I see that now. She was obviously mentally ill.’ He paused and looked wistfully into the distance. Willow felt like applauding his performance. She wondered if Grey believed that his wife’s antipathy towards him could be considered a symptom of psychiatric disorder. If so, Willow was a sufferer too. Perez said nothing and waited for Grey to continue.

‘Jane ran away with a younger man. She had some notion that she might take Annabel with her, but she soon realized that would be impractical. She could hardly look after herself, never mind a child.’ Another dramatic pause. ‘Besides, without Annabel to care for, I’d have fallen apart completely.’

It occurred to Willow that Perez might sympathize with Richard Grey. Without Cassie to look after, would he have survived Fran’s murder? Perhaps that was why he was so tolerant of the man’s posturing.

‘Jane was a regular church-goer from before I met her,’ Grey said. ‘I think she liked the theatre of it – the dressing up and the ritual. And there was always someone around to offer her sympathy and give her attention. She used to take Annabel to Sunday School. I never understood the attraction, but Annabel still went, even after Jane disappeared. Perhaps she hoped that one day her mother would turn up in the congregation; of course that never happened. Jane lost all contact with us a couple of months after she ran away. Then, when Annabel was fifteen, St Luke’s appointed a new vicar. He was young and evangelical and he appealed to the younger parishioners. I suppose faith became more real to Annabel then and she took a more active part in the worship. In the whole life of the church. It’s influenced her deeply ever since.’