Ann Cleeves - Dead Water

‘I’m sorry,’ Perez said, the famous patience finally wearing thin. ‘I don’t quite understand what this has to do with Jerry Markham.’

‘It explains her infatuation,’ Richard Grey said. ‘When Jerry turned up at the advent course that day – challenging, screwed up, but very attractive – she thought she could save him. He was like a male version of her mother. Annabel is young and passionate, and Jerry Markham became the most important thing in her life. More important than her friends, or her academic study at St Hilda’s.’

‘And what did you make of him?’ Willow asked. ‘You must have realized that he had a reputation as a journalist. He was known to be ruthless and very ambitious. And he was a lot older than Annabel.’

Grey frowned. ‘He wasn’t the man I’d have chosen for her, but sometimes you have to let go. To allow the people you love to make their own mistakes.’

‘So you thought Jerry Markham was a mistake?’

Grey hesitated. ‘He seemed pleasant enough. Devoted to my daughter. Prepared to go along with the whole thing – baptism, confirmation – just to please her. He made her happy.’

‘But you didn’t feel you could trust him?’

‘I didn’t know,’ Grey said. ‘I suppose I wasn’t sure she wouldn’t get hurt. He reminded me too much of my ex-wife.’

There was a knock at the door and Morag was there, looking apologetic because they were back so soon. Annabel rushed ahead of her, flushed from the walk. ‘I’m so glad that we came,’ she said. ‘I feel that I’ve met Jerry all over again. It’s as if I’ve bumped into him in the street and followed in his footsteps along the waterfront.’ She stood behind her father and kissed his head lightly. ‘Thank you so much for bringing me.’

They continued the conversation standing by the marina in Aith, though now Annabel was with them, so it was difficult to revisit the subject of Jerry’s suitability as a husband. A weak sun provided no heat and Willow had given Annabel a spare jersey, which covered her dress and looked on her like a designer outfit, something weird and boho seen on the catwalk. Richard had pulled a Berghaus jacket from the holdall and seemed perfectly at home. Out in the voe some kids were having sailing lessons at an after-school club, skittering over the water in tiny dinghies. Annabel had asked if she might see where Jerry had died. Perez had said immediately that they could take her to where the body was found. Willow admired his tact. This place, by the water, with the hills on all sides, would provide a better memory for the woman than a lay-by next to a busy road. She wouldn’t have been so thoughtful. But then she wasn’t taken in by long legs and innocence. To think that she’d believed Perez would be immune to that sort of charm!

Now Annabel sat on an upturned wooden crate looking out over the sea. ‘It’s lovely,’ she said. ‘More bleak than I was expecting, but bigger, more open. Jerry had shown me photos, but you can’t really tell from those. You don’t get an idea of the scale.’

‘What did Jerry tell you about his life on the islands?’

Still Perez was leading the discussion. Willow had decided to let him get on with it – she’d worked out that Annabel was someone who would respond better to men.

‘He talked about his parents, working so hard in the hotel,’ Annabel said. ‘He was very close to his mother. No siblings, so we had that in common, and with his dad so tied up with the business, I suppose that was natural. I know Maria phoned Jerry almost every day.’

‘And Jerry didn’t mind that?’ Perez was standing beside Annabel’s makeshift bench and, like her, he was staring over the water, so there was no eye contact. ‘He didn’t find it intrusive?’

‘No. As I said, they were very close. I think he welcomed the way she kept in touch.’

‘Who would Jerry have talked to if he had a problem?’ Perez asked. ‘His mother? You?’

Now Annabel turned so that she was looking directly at him. ‘I didn’t see it as a competition,’ she said. ‘Dad and I are very close, but Jerry didn’t resent that, either.’

Willow looked at Richard Grey. No response at all.

‘I’m not suggesting that you resented Maria.’ Perez gave an awkward little laugh. ‘But in this case it’s important to know if Jerry confided in anyone. We need to know what brought him to Shetland. Maybe he had a close male friend? Here or in London?’

‘Jerry didn’t find it easy admitting to problems,’ Annabel said. ‘And he certainly didn’t like asking for help. A sort of macho thing. He thought he should be able to deal with stuff himself.’

‘Did he ever talk to you about Evie Watt?’ Perez asked. ‘She’s a young Shetlander. She and Jerry were lovers before he left the islands for London.’

‘I’m sure Jerry had lots of girlfriends before he met me.’ Annabel stared back at the sea. ‘But this was going to be a fresh start for us both.’

Willow couldn’t believe that the girl had never asked about Jerry Markham’s past. That was what lovers did: shared their intimate secrets. It was part of the game.

‘Evie’s boyfriend was the second murder victim,’ Perez said. ‘So you do see how this is relevant.’

‘You think Evie Watt killed them both?’ The question came from Richard Grey. He’d been leaning against the harbour wall, apparently just enjoying the air, but Willow saw that he’d been following the conversation closely.

‘No!’ Perez said. ‘There’s no evidence for that at all. But it’s a connection. A link that we have to explore.’

In the voe one of the dinghies tipped on its side and a young boy with bright-red hair climbed onto the hull, spluttering and laughing.

‘Jerry talked about betrayal,’ Annabel said. ‘Late one night. We’d been out for a meal and he was walking me home. It was early January, before I went back to St Hilda’s, a sharp frost, and he had his arm around me. We’d shared a bottle of wine. I asked about Shetland. Would he ever go back to live? He said it wasn’t the paradise that people from outside believed it to be. When you trusted people and they let you down, that was the worst sort of betrayal.’

‘Did he say who’d betrayed him?’ Willow asked the question and felt that she was intruding into a private conversation. But this was her case, her chance to make a mark.

Annabel shook her head. ‘That was all he said.’

All evening Perez had the images of the women in his mind. He drove south to Ravenswick and collected Cassie from his neighbour’s house. He ran her bath and listened to her chatting about her friends and her day at school, and still the images were with him. Two women, both attached to Jerry Markham. One a student, pale and fair, at home in the city. One small and dark, living in the islands. Opposites. Shadows of each other. Yet sharing a faith. A passion for God and for Markham. A belief that they could save him from himself.

When Cassie was asleep he made a fire with scraps of driftwood that he’d collected earlier from the beach. There was one dense piece of pitch pine that would last most of the night. Then he prepared for his visitors. This time he’d invited Willow and Sandy to come to his house to discuss the case; he hadn’t waited for Willow to invite herself. A week ago he would never have imagined doing that. He would never have considered opening up his house, Fran’s house, to visitors. He’d have slammed the door in their faces.

There’d still been soup in the freezer; it had been made by a neighbour at some time over the winter. And a home-made cake. All the women in Ravenswick had decided that he needed feeding in the months following Fran’s death. He wiped down the patterned oilcloth on the table, laid it with cutlery and glasses and put the soup on to heat through. There were oatcakes from the Walls Bakery and he’d stopped in the community shop in Aith for bread and beer. He didn’t see Willow as a woman who would drink wine. Not with veggie soup, at least. Then there was a sudden desire to run away, not sure after all that he could face the intrusion.