Ann Cleeves - Thin Air

Willow and Perez got to their feet.

‘Do you like Monica?’ He asked the question without really thinking about it. There was a pause and he expected a bland and conventional answer. Instead the response was surprising and honest.

‘Not much. She’s self-centred. Unpredictable. A little arrogant. She doesn’t care about hurting people if they get in her way.’ Catherine paused for a beat. ‘But I think she would be a loyal friend. You wouldn’t want Monica as an enemy, but if she was your friend she’d fight for you until the end.’

They left the studio and returned to the main body of the gallery. Perez was drawn again to the portrait of the child in white.

‘Do you know the model for the painting? Is it her granddaughter?’

Catherine shook her head. ‘It was painted a long time ago. Monica had kept it and only brought it up for the exhibition last year. Then Roland, the owner, persuaded her to leave it. It does his credibility good to have a Monica Leaze in the gallery, even though he knows it’s unlikely to sell at the price he’s put on it. That’s Freya, Monica’s daughter. Monica was happy to hang it here because she says the girl was conceived in Shetland. She made it sound like a kind of joke.’

In the car back to the ferry terminal Perez was on the phone to Sandy. More requests. ‘Can we rouse someone at NorthLink and Flybe and see if Monica Leaze left Shetland on the day of the murder. Or the day after. The Sunday. It’d also be great to find out if Eleanor met her on her flying visit to Shetland the week before. I think Monica is friendly with the director of Shetland Arts, so Mareel might be a logical place for them to meet. Do you know any of the kids who work in the bar there? See if they remember the two women meeting. They’d have stood out. Both English, both stylish.’ He paused for breath and imagined Sandy jotting down notes, rather slowly, on a scrap of paper. ‘Did you get all that, Sandy?’

‘I went to see George Malcolmson,’ Sandy said. ‘I had an idea.’

‘What idea would that be, Sandy?’ Perez was glad that he was on the phone. The mood she was in, Willow would already have lost her temper with the younger man.

‘I was talking to Louisa about the fact that she was adopted. I wondered about Lizzie Geldard.’ He paused and Perez didn’t make any attempt to hurry him. Sandy would need time to gather his thoughts. ‘It seems she was the natural child of Sarah Malcolmson. Story is that Gilbert Geldard seduced the girl when she was only fifteen. Roberta took in the little girl, not knowing the history. I wondered how she’d feel about the girl if she found out the truth.’

‘You think Roberta might have drowned Lizzy Geldard?’

‘I don’t know.’ Sandy sounded anxious and worried that he was making a fool of himself. ‘What do you think?’

‘I can see how that might happen.’ Perez thought that an angry woman might blame the child, rather than the man she would be forced to stay married to for appearances’ sake. If Gilbert had loved Lizzie because she was his daughter, to kill her would be a terrible act of revenge. And a denial – a way of eliminating the proof of her husband’s flaws.

‘I don’t see how it could have any relevance to this case, though,’ Sandy said.

Perez didn’t answer. He was thinking that the heart of the investigation lay in complex families trying to survive.

‘How have you and Willow got on?’ Sandy asked. ‘I booked you onto the last ferry. Are you heading back now?’ He sounded nervous.

‘It was very interesting,’ Perez said. ‘We’ll fill you in when we get back. We’re hoping to get the earlier ferry, so we should see you soon.’

Willow was driving like a maniac down the narrow roads. The fog had settled again and visibility was poor. Occasionally house lights would swoop at them out of the gloom, or headlights would appear straight ahead of them so that she had to swerve onto the verge. But Perez didn’t ask her to slow down. Like Willow, he was desperate to get back to Unst. He couldn’t bear the idea that they might have to wait an hour for the last ferry. He sensed that they’d soon reach the end of the investigation and they needed to be on the most northerly island of the archipelago before there was another tragedy.

Sandy was looking out for them. It was nine o’clock. As they opened the main door to the Springfield House the long-case clock in the hall chimed the hour. He had the light on in the kitchen and had been peering out at the shadowy courtyard to check that the car he’d heard belonged to them. He’d looked like an anxious child, left alone in the house for the first time, waiting for his parents to return.

‘I need tea.’ Willow slumped in one of the chairs and took off her shoes. Perez saw that there was a small hole in the toe of her hand-knitted sock.

Sandy switched on the kettle. ‘So, did you find Monica?’

Perez explained about the empty bungalow and the visit to the gallery.

‘So you think she was away before the killings?’ Sandy said. ‘I can’t confirm that. Nobody from North-Link or Flybe will be available until seven tomorrow morning.’

‘She can’t have left on the Friday.’ Willow had her hands cupped round the mug of tea and Perez thought she looked exhausted. ‘She saw Eleanor’s body.’ She explained to Sandy that they’d seen a sketch of the dead Eleanor in Monica’s house.

‘That’s not necessarily true, is it?’ Perez had been thinking about that. ‘She didn’t need to see Eleanor’s body to make the drawing. She just needed to know that it would be there.’

‘The murderer confided in her beforehand, you mean?’ Willow looked up sharply. ‘If you’ve got a theory about this, Jimmy Perez, now’s the time to share it.’

Perez hesitated. He wasn’t sure what to say. His phone started to ring and he took it out of his pocket. Cilla, Eleanor’s mother. He’d saved her number when he was in London.

‘Inspector Perez.’ She sounded very old and her voice was slurred. She’d been drinking. ‘I’ve been thinking about our conversation.’

‘Yes?’

‘I wasn’t entirely honest with you.’ She paused. He imagined her in the room in Pimlico, looking out at the small garden, a large glass in her hand. Mourning her daughter in the only way she could. As far south as London it would already be dark; moths would be attracted to the light in the window. Perez wondered whether he should prompt her again, but at last she continued. ‘I think I know why Nell wanted to talk to me that day before she set off for Shetland. I know what was on her mind.’

Willow couldn’t work out to whom Perez was talking on his mobile. The Shetlander got up suddenly and walked away from her. He opened the kitchen door and continued the conversation there in the doorway, facing outside. She could only see his back, which was hunched slightly. The open door let in the chill air. The call would be about Cassie, Willow decided. She was the love of his life, these days. Fran reincarnated, another kind of ghost. It was a lot for the girl to live up to.

Sandy was talking and he pulled her attention back into the room. ‘I’m pretty sure that I have proof Eleanor was in Shetland before, and that she met up with Monica Leaze.’

‘How do you know that, Sandy?’

‘I did as Jimmy suggested and talked to a friend who works at Mareel arts centre. She couldn’t help, so I contacted the manager at the Hay’s Dock, the restaurant at the museum.’

‘And?’

‘She knows Monica Leaze. She remembers Monica having lunch there with three other people. One of them was a woman with dark hair. I emailed my mate the photo that Polly Gilmour let us have and she confirmed that it was Eleanor.’