Ann Cleeves - Thin Air

‘We could go for a long weekend. I asked my teacher. She said it would be fine to have a couple of days off. She thinks it’s an important thing for me to do.’

‘Then we’ll go.’ There was nothing else to say. ‘The first weekend when the weather’s good, when it’s calm enough to take the Good Shepherd .’

She didn’t reply, but he heard a gentle sigh at the other end of the line. Satisfaction because she’d got her way.

In the loft Willow was still fretting, but she was calmer. The yoga training perhaps. ‘What do you think, Jimmy? How can we find Monica? This is the only address we have, and Annie’s like Neighbourhood Watch on speed. If there was any gossip to be gained about the woman, then she’d have it.’

‘We could try the gallery.’ He thought he’d like to look at the painting of the girl in white again, if it was still there. He wasn’t quite sure what good that would do, but it seemed important.

‘Of course.’ There was relief in her words because at least they had a plan of action. ‘It’ll be shut, but maybe someone nearby will have some information. We’ll be able to track down the key-holder at least.’

Outside, she was set to drive off immediately, but Perez insisted on going next door to thank Annie.

‘Did you find anything helpful?’ The woman wanted to keep him there, chatting. She even had her hand on his arm. This was more about her being lonely than inquisitive.

‘Not really. As you said, it looks as if Monica has moved on. We’ll try her landlord. But you’ve been a great help all the same.’ And then he had to walk away because Willow was flashing him evil looks from the driver’s seat. Annie stood in the doorway watching until they’d turned the car and driven off.

He directed Willow to the gallery and left a message for Sandy at the same time. They drove through an empty hillside scarred with peat banks. In the gloom everything was dark and colourless. The gallery was so well camouflaged that Willow almost shot past, and when Perez pointed out the building she slammed on the brakes and had to back up to get into the car park. The door was locked, but there was a light inside and when they banged on the door a woman opened it to them.

‘The gallery’s not open in the evenings.’ She had a European accent that Perez couldn’t quite make out. French?

‘We’re police officers.’ Willow was already holding out her warrant card. The woman stood aside to let them in. Inside the space was quite different from how Perez had remembered it, and the unreliability of his recall troubled him for a moment. How could it be so altered from the picture he’d kept in his head? It seemed smaller and more drab. Perhaps it had seemed grander on the night of the opening exhibition because of Monica Leaze’s energy and the sense of occasion. Because Fran was there with him.

He saw the painting of the girl in the white dress on the far wall and went straight towards it, leaving Willow to engage with the woman. The murmur of conversation behind him didn’t distract him. The girl in the painting at least was as he remembered her. There was the knowing smile, and the curls. She was just as Polly Gilmour had described the child she’d seen on the beach. He turned back to join the women.

‘This is Catherine Breton,’ Willow said. She frowned as if she resented his lack of attention. ‘She’s a potter. She has a studio here and looks after the place.’

‘Do you know Monica Leaze?’ Perez felt foolish as soon as he’d put the question. It was the first thing Willow would have asked.

‘Of course. She’s a painter. She exhibits here.’ The woman was dark and heavily built, with muscular arms. There was clay under her fingernails. Perez sensed that she just wanted to get back to work.

‘Do you have any idea where she is now?’

She shrugged. ‘Monica has a complicated domestic life. I’m never sure exactly where she is.’

‘Tell us about that.’

She must have realized that they wouldn’t go away because she led them into her studio. At one end there was a beaten-up sofa and a low table. She sat them down there. A glass wall showed through to the gallery.

‘This must be like working in a goldfish bowl,’ Willow said.

‘It’s part of the deal. I get to live in Shetland, and the studio comes for free.’ Catherine paused. ‘And in winter we get few visitors here.’

‘So tell us about Monica.’

‘She’s a painter from London. A good painter, and recognized. She has a…’ the woman paused, seeking the right word, ‘… turbulent relationship with her partner. A couple of years ago she decided that she couldn’t live with him full-time. He bored her.’

Perez’s thoughts were racing. He remembered his conversation with Cilla, Eleanor’s mother. Cilla had said that Ian would bore Eleanor eventually. Perhaps Eleanor and Monica knew each other from London. Perhaps they were friends. If Eleanor already had Monica’s contact details that would explain the lack of family name or phone number in the notebook. He looked up at the potter and kept his voice calm. ‘So she moved to Shetland.’

‘She rented a house in Shetland. But she doesn’t live here all the time. She has a daughter. Grandchildren. And she still maintains a relationship with her husband. So it’s a kind of semi-detached attachment that she has with the islands.’

Another complicated family , Perez thought. Like me and Cassie and Duncan. But perhaps it’s a good thing that families have changed over the years. I think my mother suffocated in her marriage. And I kind of suffocated as a result. Now we let some air and space in and give individuals a chance to breathe and grow .

‘When did you last see her?’

Catherine considered. She was a very precise woman, Perez could see. ‘A week ago. On the Friday morning.’

The day before the hamefarin’. The day before Eleanor’s murder.

‘Could you tell us about the meeting?’

‘Monica called in here. There’d been some family crisis in London, she said. One of the grandchildren was ill. She’d decided to go home. She asked if I could let the owner of the gallery know. She’d agreed to run a workshop here later in the month and she wasn’t sure that she’d be back in time.’ Catherine looked at her watch. It was clear that she felt reluctant to spend any longer with them. ‘She seemed pleased to be going back to London. Almost excited to be leaving. She claims to love Shetland, but she misses the city, I think, and her friends there.’

‘Does Monica have any friends in Yell?’ Perez thought the woman he’d seen in the gallery with Fran had been sociable. She’d enjoyed an audience. Monica might find Annie’s questions too intrusive, but he couldn’t imagine her leading an entirely solitary life while she was in Shetland.

‘She’s very close to Jen Arthur and her parents.’

‘And they are…’

‘Jen’s a musician, a songwriter. She has a young family. Divorced.’ Catherine allowed herself a brief smile. ‘She found her husband very boring too. They met at school. Married too young, according to Jen. She had two sons with him, then decided that she’d be better on her own.’

‘Is her ex-husband Neil Arthur? Lives in Meoness in Unst? He’s a plumber.’ Willow interrupted with the questions, suddenly excited. It took Perez a moment to make the connection. Neil Arthur’s second wife was Vaila, Lowrie’s cousin. They had Neil’s sons to stay with them every other weekend. Another complicated family trying to make things work. And Vaila claimed to have seen the ghost of Peerie Lizzie. She’d also met Eleanor on the afternoon of her death.

‘That’s right.’ Catherine stood up. She’d been barely polite throughout the conversation and now she was making it clear that she wanted them to leave.