Ann Cleeves - Thin Air

‘Did Eleanor eat with you often?’

The man had made Perez coffee. Now he disappeared again and poured one for himself. He sat at the next table, not presuming to join Perez, but willing to gossip at a distance. ‘She was a regular. She came for coffee and pastries sometimes on her way to her office. She worked here on her laptop. Or with her writing.’ He nodded to the notebooks on the table. ‘Just like those.’

‘I’m a police officer from Shetland,’ Perez said. ‘I’m investigating her death.’

‘So not her friend then?’

Perez paused. ‘I didn’t meet her while she was alive. But I feel as if she’s almost a friend. That I’m responsible for finding out who killed her.’ He wondered where that had come from. The waiter would think he was mad. And he’d only had a small glass of sharp red wine with his lunch.

The man nodded again to the books. ‘Do you think they’ll help you?’

‘I’m not sure. Perhaps.’ Perez drank the coffee. He thought Fran would have loved it here. She’d have charmed the waiter, as Eleanor obviously had. ‘Did she come here with her husband?’

‘A couple of times. Mostly for lunch, not dinner, and then they were always in a hurry. No time to drink coffee and chat.’ The waiter smiled.

‘And you’re sure that it was her husband?’

The man nodded. ‘Strong man, square face. Very short hair. Besides, Eleanor introduced him.’

‘Did she come here with any other men?’

This time there was no immediate reply.

‘It’s important,’ Perez said. ‘I’m trying to find out who killed her. If it’s not relevant nobody else need know.’

‘She came one evening with a man,’ the waiter said. ‘Could have been anyone. A colleague from work.’

‘But she often came with colleagues.’ Perez drained the coffee. ‘This must have been different or you wouldn’t have remembered.’

‘ She was different. Like a little girl. Nervous.’ He smiled again.

‘And the man? What can you tell me about him?’

The man shrugged in a return to the Gallic performance. ‘It was very busy. Bad weather, and everyone wanting to get out of the rain. I didn’t notice.’

‘You were fond of her. You would have noticed.’

They were both looking out of the window rather than at each other, but the tension increased.

‘I think he was younger than her. A good-looking man. And she was nervous to be with him. Or anxious, perhaps that’s a better word. That’s all I can tell you.’

Perez wasn’t sure that was true, but he knew it was all he was going to get today. He stood up and paid his bill. ‘Who paid that night?’ If the man had paid there might be a record of his credit card.

‘Eleanor.’ The waiter paused. ‘When they were leaving they argued about it and Eleanor said. “Just think about it, will you?” It seemed to matter very much to her, whatever she was asking him. Then they went out into the night. He held an umbrella over her head, but she walked ahead of him into the rain.’

‘Did you ever see him again?’

The man shook his head. ‘Eleanor came in after that. The last time was a week ago and she had her breakfast as usual. But I never saw him again.’

Perez spent the rest of the evening in his hotel, reading through the notes. He went out and bought another notebook, hard-backed just like Eleanor’s, and transcribed her words into that, leaving dashes for each letter he couldn’t quite read. At eight o’clock he phoned Fran’s parents’ house to make arrangements to collect Cassie the following morning. He explained that he’d be coming in a taxi, which would go on to take them to Heathrow. ‘I won’t be able to come in, I’m afraid. It’s such an early flight to Aberdeen.’ An elaborate arrangement to avoid too much contact with them. Hating himself for the duplicity because they were good people.

‘Of course, Jimmy. We understand. She’ll be ready.’ Fran’s mother was excited because they’d had such a fine day and she was willing to be kind to him. He asked to speak to Cassie.

‘I bet you’ve had a wonderful time.’

There was a rush of words as the child described the trip down the river, seeing the Tower of London and eating out. ‘Real pizza in a real Italian restaurant.’ A pause and then she added in a whisper so that her grandparents couldn’t hear her, ‘I’ll be glad to go home, though.’

‘So will I, Cass.’ He whispered too and then clicked off the phone and went back to his notes.

On Thursday morning Sandy left Springfield House without talking to Willow. He could see her in the yellow lounge that had become her office and she seemed engrossed in a phone call. He didn’t want to disturb her. He’d already said that he’d finish the interviews of the party guests and would call again on the people who’d been out when they’d done their first round of canvassing. Caroline had given them a list of everyone invited. Her family had left for home in Kent the day after the party, and before Eleanor’s body was found. Willow was talking to them on the phone. Sandy was pleased to leave that to her. He didn’t understand the southern accents.

He found that he’d become obsessed by the child on the beach, the little girl seen by both Eleanor and Polly. He didn’t believe in ghosts, so she must either be real or a figment of the women’s imaginations. And he couldn’t see that both women would have conjured up the same vision from nowhere. Yet the girl wasn’t on the guest list and nobody else had noticed her. Willow said that people often wandered into island events – friends of friends, who hadn’t been formally invited, but who would be made welcome just the same. That was probably true, but Sandy was stubborn and needed to pin this down. And though he would never have admitted it to himself, he wanted something concrete to hand to Jimmy Perez when he returned. He wanted Jimmy to tell him that he’d done well.

Outside he looked anxiously up at the sky. It was grey and there was drizzle, but it was surely clear enough for the planes to get in. Sandy drove carefully out of the courtyard and towards Meoness. The school was tiny, one of those scheduled for closure, and only saved after the community made a fuss. Perhaps because there’d been doubt about its survival it was still in the original stone building that looked more like a kirk than a school. There was a view of the voe and the open sea. When he arrived it was playtime and the children were yelling and chasing in the yard. Less than a dozen of them, and most of them boys. Sandy hesitated outside. It wasn’t just that schools – even peerie schools like this – made him uncomfortable. He knew the teacher. They’d been friends once. She’d been his first teenage crush. She’d gone away south to university and had worked in Edinburgh for a while and he’d heard that she was back. There’d been a piece in The Shetland Times about it, about her giving up her post as deputy head in a big school in the city to take on Meoness primary. Head teacher. Sole teacher.

A woman came out into the playground and rang an old-fashioned hand bell. He recognized her immediately as Louisa Laurence. He hadn’t seen her for ten years, but she hadn’t changed so much. A bit skinnier maybe, her hair shorter and smarter. The children filed inside, giggling and pushing. Sandy thought he’d timed this badly. She’d be busy now. Perhaps he should come back at lunchtime when she might be free to talk. But then he thought he’d look foolish if he just drove away. Someone might have seen him from inside the school and, besides, Jimmy Perez wouldn’t have done that.

He knocked at the classroom door and went in. There was a smell of poster paint, clay and floor polish. They were sitting around tables in rough age groups. The older ones were working from maths sheets. Louisa was squatting with the little ones, helping them build a model from cardboard tubes.