Ann Cleeves - Thin Air

There was a sudden breeze from the sea, which swirled the mist in strange patterns and she thought she saw a figure standing near the water. She told herself that she was dreaming or the faint light on the horizon was playing tricks with her imagination, but all the same she felt chilled, suddenly scared. As she got closer to the tideline she saw that it was no Peerie Lizzie, no young girl dressed in white. This was an adult clothed in a waterproof jacket and a hood. The fog thickened again and the figure disappeared. Willow screamed Polly’s name and ran towards the shadow, but on the flat sand directions were deceptive and she thought she could be running in completely the opposite direction. She stood still and listened. The tide must be turning now. She heard soft waves breaking. On a morning like this Elizabeth Geldard had slipped away from her adoptive mother, or had been led into danger by her, and been drowned as the water slid down the voe and filled the gullies behind her, cutting off her escape back to the shore. For the first time Willow realized how easily that could have happened.

There was another sound. Human, not supernatural. Choked sobs.

‘Polly!’ Yelling as hard as she could. But it was like screaming in a dream, when no sound comes out. Her voice was lost in the wide expanse of the beach and there was no response. ‘Polly, come away from the water, it’s dangerous there.’ She wondered if the woman had had a real breakdown, or had been attacked and left wandering on the shore. She listened again, but now there was silence, apart from the splash of the waves.

Then, like a curtain rising, the mist ahead of her cleared and she saw the figure clearly, still some way off to the north of her and on the part of the beach that was closest to the Meoness community hall. The water had already come up to the figure’s calves. Willow was reminded of a series of sculptures that she and her mother had visited on a beach in Merseyside. Antony Gormley’s cast-iron figures, which had been moulded from his own body, planted in the sand and covered twice a day by the tide. Each of them had seemed entirely lonely as the water covered them, and Willow had watched, fascinated, as they disappeared a little at a time under the sea.

She ran across the shore, determined to get there before the fog returned. Then she realized that the figure was too tall to be Polly. This was a man, standing motionless and waiting to be swallowed up by the tide.

‘David.’ Still the water came. He was wearing wellingtons and the water had started to spill inside the boots. ‘Come here. You’ll catch your death.’ She didn’t approach him because she wasn’t going to risk wet clothes until there was no alternative, even in midsummer, and he was so distraught that she worried she might spook him, so that he’d walk away from her and deliberately drown.

He turned slowly and, for the first time, seemed to see that she was there.

‘Come away from the water, David.’ No response. ‘Do you want to talk?’

He gave a deep breath, half-sob and half-agreement, and walked towards her. On the sand, under the Meoness community hall and just above the tideline, someone had built a bonfire, perhaps in preparation for a beach party. A pile of driftwood and dry garden clippings from shrubs and bushes, some rotten fence posts.

‘I don’t suppose you’ve got any matches.’ Whoever had built the fire would be hopping mad if they used the wood, but she didn’t want to take Gordon back to Sletts, where Caroline would be waiting, and he needed to get warm.

He felt in his pocket. ‘This was Charlie’s spare jacket. I thought I’d feel closer to him wearing it. Quite ridiculous!’ He pulled out a lighter.

She lit the scrub at the base of the fire and it flamed immediately. They sat on the powdery sand and stared into it. ‘What on earth do you think you were doing?’

‘I lied to you about the night of Eleanor Longstaff’s murder,’ David said. ‘Charles was here in Meoness when she died. I followed him.’ He turned and the orange glow from the fire caught his face. ‘Do you think he killed her? I’ve been going over and over it in my mind. It might explain why somebody wanted him dead.’

‘What reason would he have for murdering Eleanor?’

David looked into the fire. ‘Money,’ he said. ‘We both knew that the business was on the brink of disaster, and neither of us was prepared to admit it.’

‘You think somebody paid him to kill Eleanor Longstaff?’ She couldn’t keep the incredulity from her voice. The thought of the ex-magician as a paid hitman seemed ludicrous.

‘No! At least I don’t think so.’ David stretched out his hands towards the flames. ‘But I’m going crazy. While I was in the garden this afternoon I was going over it all in my head. I’m ready to believe almost anything.’ He paused for a beat. ‘Charles was here on the night of the hamefarin’ and he lied to me. Why would he do that?’

She couldn’t give him an answer, but could see that he wouldn’t rest until he got one. ‘What did he do? What makes you think he was caught up in all this?’

David leaned forward. His damp jeans were steaming in the heat and his face was flushed. ‘Charles had been behaving oddly for weeks. There’d been mysterious phone calls and sudden trips to Lerwick. When I asked him what was going on, he said he was investigating a project that might provide extra income for the business. He’d tell me when everything was settled.’ He paused again. ‘That night we’d decided that we wouldn’t go to Lowrie’s hamefarin’ and I went to bed early. Then I heard Charles go out, the engine of his car starting. I followed him to the Meoness hall in my own car. He parked there, but he didn’t go inside. He walked up the road a little way and met someone. It looked as if they’d arranged to meet.’

‘Did you see the person?’

‘It was a woman. That was a relief of a sort. I suppose I’d imagined that he’d found someone else. Another man. I didn’t see any detail. There wasn’t much light and I was worried about getting too close.’ David paused. ‘The last thing I wanted was for Charles to think I was spying on him.’

‘Could it have been Eleanor Longstaff? Tall and dark.’

‘She was certainly dark-haired. I’m not sure about anything else.’ David was calmer now and focused on getting the facts right. ‘They spoke for a minute and then they walked down here to the beach. They seemed very easy with each other, looking out over the water. Then other people came out of the hall – I suppose a dance had finished and everyone wanted fresh air or a cigarette – and I left. I didn’t want to be seen and dragged in to the party.’

‘Did Charles leave at the same time?’ Willow was trying to work out a time-line for this. Even if Eleanor was Hillier’s companion on the beach, it didn’t turn him into a murderer. She was still alive to go back to Sletts with the others, to sit on the deck and drink more wine.

‘No, when I left they were still talking.’

‘What did you do when you got home?’

‘I went back to bed. As I say, the last thing I wanted was for Charles to know I’d been following him.’ David took off his wellingtons and wrung out his socks. His pale bare feet looked pink and fleshy in the firelight. A piece of pitch pine fell into the hottest part of the blaze and sparks floated upwards.

‘What time did he get back?’

The fire had taken Willow back to parties on the beach close to Balranald. Sometimes the whole commune had been there; middle-aged hippies sang the folk songs of their youth to acoustic guitars. Sometimes it was the wild boys of the island, steaming with drink because they were bored out of their skulls and that was the only excitement they could get.