Ann Cleeves - Thin Air

‘There are bairns from the north of the island who come to the school, but nobody of that age living just around here.’ She frowned with concentration as if she wished she could conjure them from thin air just to please him.

‘You’ve got a climbing frame in your garden,’ he said. ‘Your Vaila’s a bit young for that just now. Are you thinking ahead?’

She gave a little laugh. ‘Kind of. Every day there’s a change in her, and you know she won’t be tiny for very long. But nah, we got that for Neil’s boys. He was married before and they come to stay with us every other weekend.’

Perez thought about that. He’d assumed that a girl had been singing on the recorder, but young boys’ voices sounded very similar. Willow was looking at him, impatient for him to continue.

‘When were they last here?’ he asked. ‘Were they here for Lowrie’s hamefarin’?’

Vaila shook her head. ‘Neil’s a Yell man and he’s no relation to Lowrie or his family. Grusche invited the boys out of politeness, but it wasn’t their weekend for staying and they’re kind of wild. I didn’t need the added complication of keeping them under control. Neil’s bringing them back for the weekend tonight with a peerie friend. That’s the end of my peace for a few days.’

So it hadn’t been either of her stepsons singing for Eleanor.

Willow stood up, eager to move on. Perez thought she’d been restless all day, anxious to have positive information to pass on to her boss to justify their staying in Springfield House. They stood in the front porch, ready to leave. The baby was asleep now and, on impulse, Perez reached out to touch her hair. It was as fine as down and he could hardly feel it. Her mother smiled at him – it was quite natural to her that he’d want to stroke her baby.

‘Do you want a cuddle?’

‘No!’ He felt himself blushing. ‘I wouldn’t want to wake her.’

‘Ah, once she gets off she sleeps like the dead.’

Vaila held out the sleeping baby as if she was a gift. Perez took her in his arms, felt for a moment how smooth and fragile she was and then handed her quickly back. He was worried that he might cry in front of Willow. He’d always thought he and Fran might have a child, though it had never been discussed.

Outside Willow stared at him. ‘What was all that about?’

‘I’ve always been soft about tiny bairns.’

‘Jimmy Perez, you never fail to surprise me.’

They left the car where it was and walked towards the old croft house. It was mid-afternoon and suddenly still and humid, with the smell of flowers from the in-bye land that was no longer grazed or cultivated. He was reminded of Fair Isle and wondered when he’d be brave enough to take Cassie to see where her mother had died. He’d promised they’d go before the end of the school summer holidays and he hadn’t yet broken a promise to her. He’d wait for a still day like this, and they’d sail in from Grutness with his father at the helm of the Good Shepherd , so that Cassie could sit out on deck and watch the island get closer.

Willow was walking ahead of him and waited for him by the door. ‘Well,’ she said. ‘What brought Charles Hillier to this place the day that he died?’

‘Money.’ Once the word was spoken it was obvious to him. ‘He and David might not have had a conversation about how hard up they were, but both must have known that the business was failing. And they were desperate.’ He imagined the men skirting around the subject, not wanting to face the difficult decisions that would have to be made, trying to be kind and not to blame the other.

‘You think he might have tried his hand at blackmail?’

‘Maybe.’ But Perez had other ideas swirling around in his head.

‘The English people all had the money to pay up,’ Willow said. ‘But what could Charles have that might hold them to ransom? Eleanor’s digital recorder? All it tells us is that Vaila Arthur was telling the truth about being interviewed. And that a child sang a song about Lizzie Geldard to Eleanor Longstaff before she died.’

‘Perhaps it wasn’t the recorder at all.’ Out at sea a flock of gulls followed a small fishing boat. ‘Perhaps it was information. Perhaps he knew who’d committed the murder of Eleanor Longstaff.’

‘He saw her being killed, you mean?’

‘Or saw enough to guess.’ Perez still wasn’t sure how that might work out.

‘So you think Charles had arranged to meet someone here?’ Willow opened the door of the old house, but remained outside. Perez smelled damp stone and peaty soil. ‘And Polly and Ian disturbed him?’

‘It’s possible.’ In his mind he was running through a theory that seemed at once too elaborate and too simple.

‘Shall we bring Vicki Hewitt back? See if we have evidence of a fourth person in the place?’

He was about to speak when there was a noise inside, something scrabbling and clawing, and a cry, piercing like a child’s. Willow was about to go in, but he put his hand on her arm to stop her, and a creature shot past them.

‘Feral cat,’ he said. ‘There are colonies on the cliffs throughout the islands. It probably got in down the chimney and couldn’t get out. Trapped.’

His hand was still on her arm, which was downy like the baby’s head. He could feel her shaking from the shock. A little embarrassed, he took his hand away.

On the hill near the small loch where Eleanor Longstaff’s body had been found, George Malcolmson stopped for a moment to watch what was happening in Meoness. This was a part of his daily routine. Every afternoon he’d walk the hill to check his sheep. Always in the same direction, quartering the hill in the same way, and always counting. It seemed there’d been another man killed. Another outsider. George couldn’t pretend to be upset by that. He’d met the man a few times in the bar at the Springfield House, but didn’t really know him. It wasn’t like losing a family member. It wasn’t enough to keep him away from the hill.

Now he looked down at Utra. He wasn’t old enough to remember anyone living there, but when he’d been a boy the house was much as it had been left when the last inhabitant died. There’d been scraps of furniture inside and a couple of sheepskins. George’s father had finally taken them to Voxter when it became clear that the roof was letting in water, and now one of the chairs stood in his and Grusche’s bedroom. A car pulled up and two people climbed out: Jimmy Perez and the female detective who dressed a bit like a scarecrow. George thought professional people should be tidy. He’d enjoyed wearing his lightkeeper’s uniform and it still hung in the cupboard at home. The two detectives stood in the door of Utra and looked about to go in, then stopped for a moment. He couldn’t see why they hadn’t just gone inside.

Then they disappeared into the house and the settlement was empty. George was about to continue walking when he saw a car pull up outside Spindrift, the new house built by Vaila’s man. Neil was driving and then the kids got out of the back and chased round the house and started to swing on the climbing frame. Neil let himself into the kitchen. After a while the bairns went inside too – perhaps Vaila had called them in for their tea.

George thought back to the time when Lowrie was young. He’d never been a boy for shouting and chasing. Whenever George remembered him he was sitting at the kitchen table, doing his school work. He’d always been fascinated by numbers and had shouted for Grusche to give him sums to do, just in his head, as if the quiz was the best kind of game there was. Sometimes when George came home from the lighthouse he felt like an outsider in his own house, because Lowrie and Grusche understood each other so well. They shared silly jokes that George couldn’t understand. Then Grusche had told him that Lowrie had got his love of numbers from his father. ‘I was always stupid about maths,’ she’d said. ‘He certainly didn’t get that from me.’ And that had made George feel better. Proud.