Ann Cleeves: Dead Water

The image of the man in the boat was sparking all sorts of references in her mind beside that of her former soldier lover. The form of a knight carved on the tomb in a medieval church: straight and stiff, arms crossed over his breast. A Viking, given a warrior’s burial at sea, sent out in his longboat, which would then be set on fire. She suddenly became aware that Sandy Wilson was staring at her. Perhaps he’d been trying to catch her attention for some time.

‘Ma’am?’ The voice tentative.

‘For God’s sake, Sandy. “Willow” will do. It’s a crap name, but it’s the one I’ve been landed with.’

She was rewarded with a grin. ‘Vicki says she’ll be here all afternoon. I wondered what you’d like to do?’

Willow considered. ‘You said that Markham’s father arranged for him to visit the oil terminal yesterday afternoon?’

‘At Sullom Voe. Yes. One of the security guys let him in, and he’d set up a meeting with the press officer.’

‘Then we’ll go there. First, though, we should have a word with your Procurator Fiscal.’

Sandy pulled a face, so Willow guessed that Rhona Laing wasn’t the most popular woman on the islands.

‘Come on, Sergeant. I’d guess she makes a decent cup of coffee. And after that we’ll have a bar lunch, on my expenses.’

He gave a wide grin and Willow saw that she already had Sandy Wilson on her side.

Rhona Laing watched Sandy Wilson and the new detective inspector walk up the bank from the marina towards the house. She was standing in exactly the same position as when she’d first seen the yoal floating in the water.

I should have ignored it. The thought had been sniping away at her since she’d seen Markham’s body. I should have let the tide carry it out to sea. Done nothing. Said nothing.

She composed herself. It was ridiculous to think in this way. She distracted herself by looking at the young woman at Sandy’s side. She was tall and gangling, with long, untamed hair. No make-up. Trousers so long that they’d frayed at the hem, where her shoes had caught them at the back. A baggy cotton jumper in an indeterminate fawn colour, which could have been bought in a charity shop. Over it all a blue Berghaus jacket, unzipped and flapping loose. Rhona felt insulted by the lack of care that the woman had taken over her appearance. Hadn’t she realized that, if women wanted to be successful in their chosen career, they should make some effort? She decided that Inspector Reeves had probably gained her promotion because the Highlands and Islands Police Service felt the need to fill some unwritten quota. The thought pleased her. Willow Reeves would be no competition. She and Sandy passed out of sight briefly to reach the front of the house. Rhona took a deep breath and waited for the doorbell to ring.

Inside the house, with its clean lines and lack of clutter, the detective looked even untidier and somehow clumsy. Rhona wanted to tell her not to move, in case she broke something. It was like having an unruly child in the place. Reeves wandered into the living room and stood there, seeming to take up more space than Rhona would have considered possible.

‘Coffee?’ After all, one did have to be polite.

‘Oh yes, please.’ The detective turned and smiled, and again Rhona thought she looked very young, hardly an adult at all.

In the kitchen, spooning grounds into the filter machine, Rhona wished she could see what they were doing in her living room. She wouldn’t put it past that girl to snoop. To open drawers, lift the lid of her desk. There was nothing to see, of course. Nothing untoward. But still the notion made Rhona uncomfortable. This was her work coming far too close to home.

She carried in the tray and they sat on the chairs that were Rhona’s pride and joy. They’d been imported from Sweden and she loved the pale curved wood and soft leather. The young woman was speaking.

‘I’m wondering why the victim was placed in the yoal. That wasn’t where he was killed. Obviously. But you’ll have worked that out for yourself. We haven’t found the crime scene yet. His car’s still missing. When we find that, we might have more of an idea. So why go to all the trouble of laying him out in the boat? And why here? I just don’t get it.’

Words and ideas were spilling from her in an incoherent stream. A mind that was as untidy as her body. Rhona waited for a moment before responding. Was Reeves an innocent, making a genuine request for the Fiscal’s opinion, or was something more sinister going on here? Was she implying that Rhona knew more than she was letting on?

‘I make it my business never to meddle in the work of the police,’ she said at last. ‘My function is purely supervisory. I’m sure you understand that.’

‘But you live here in Aith.’ Willow gave another of her wide, immature smiles. ‘You know the other women in the rowing team. Would any of them have any connection with Jerry Markham, do you think?’

‘There are six teams in Aith, of different ages and genders, and I couldn’t speak for them all.’

‘You share the boat?’

‘Yes,’ Rhona said. ‘We share the boat.’ She took a childish pleasure in thinking of the work that would make for the inspector – the phone calls and the interviews.

‘But you can speak for your own team?’

The woman was persistent, Rhona thought. She had a dogged stubbornness. ‘I wouldn’t have thought they would have known Markham. I row with the veterans, and we’re all over forty. Too old to have gone to school with him, surely? Of course I’ll give you a list of their names and contact details. I have that stored on the computer in my office. I’ll get it for you now. And I can give you the names of contacts for the other Aith teams.’

She was surprised when Reeves got to her feet too and followed her up the stairs to the small bedroom she had turned into a study. It felt as if she was being hounded by an untrained and very large puppy. The woman stood in the doorway and leaned against the frame as Rhona switched on the computer. The Fiscal couldn’t prevent herself from thinking of the mark that the grubby jacket might make on the paintwork.

‘Do you do much work from home?’ The detective’s question appeared guileless, but again Rhona considered before she answered.

‘I have an office in Lerwick, of course, but I often catch up here in the evenings.’

‘And what brought you to Shetland? It’s very different from a successful practice in Edinburgh.’

Rhona checked that there was paper in the printer, then looked up. ‘I love the sea,’ she said. ‘I always have. A successful legal practice in Edinburgh didn’t allow much time for being on the water, and Shetland has magnificent sailing. Besides, in professional terms, it’s always good to gain experience in a different field.’ She wondered why she’d told the young detective these things. They were both true, but she seldom discussed her motives for moving to the islands. She thought that, like Jimmy Perez, the woman had the ability to persuade people to talk.

The printer chugged and spat out the list and contact details of the rowing team. ‘You’ll see that the squad is bigger than the six women needed to race,’ Rhona said. ‘We’re busy people, and we can’t all turn out for every regatta.’

Willow Reeves took the paper, looked at it briefly, then put it in her jacket pocket.

‘When was the boat last in the water?’

‘We had our first meeting of the season last week. Over the winter it was stored in a shed on the shore. We cleaned and varnished it, and last week the weather was good, so we took it out. A bit of light training to start us off.’ Rhona thought how she’d enjoyed that evening. The clocks had just gone forward and it was light until eight o’clock. She’d realized how she’d missed the company of the women over the dark days of the winter.