Ann Cleeves - Cold Earth

The woman only shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, Jimmy, I only work a couple of stints in the Red Cross shop these days. I’m sure I haven’t had a customer like your woman.’ Perez wondered what it must be like to have a husband like Tom Rogerson, who was out at meetings most nights, while Mavis herself had little reason to leave this dark and rather claustrophobic house in the winter.

‘We’ve been told the school can open as usual on Monday,’ Kathryn said.

Perez was pleased he wouldn’t have to make the visit to the Rogerson home a regular event. The news made him feel suddenly gracious. He took another mug of tea and congratulated Mavis on her baking, but when he left soon afterwards with Cassie, it was with a sense of freedom. Life was slowly coming back to normal; the following day Cassie had been invited to spend the weekend with some friends. And Willow Reeves would arrive.

Willow phoned soon after he’d put Cassie to bed. He’d lit the fire and the house was warm.

‘I’ve been working all day on your behalf, Inspector.’

‘We think we have a first name for her,’ he said. ‘Alissandra. I’m wondering if she could be American – the owner of the cottage that was destroyed in the landslide.’ Perez wondered why he was so resistant to that idea. Because he’d had a romantic notion about a Spanish beauty who was a stranger to the islands, not a middle-aged American with an aunt who was a Shetlander? Not someone northern, restrained and buttoned up, checking out that her inheritance was safe.

‘Ha! Well, that checks out with what we have!’ Willow sounded triumphant. ‘An Alissandra Sechrest was booked on the ferry at the beginning of January. I assume that she’s your victim. Boat passengers don’t have to show any ID, but it’d be too much of a coincidence if it was a different woman.’

So now they had a name for her. They’d be able to check with Craig Henderson, the last tenant of Tain, if she was the owner of the croft. But again Perez felt slightly disappointed. Sechrest wasn’t a southern European name. He felt his dream of the dead woman slipping away from him; instead she was taking on a completely new identity.

‘She called Befriending Shetland, a counselling charity, the week before she died,’ he said. ‘It seems she was contemplating suicide.’

‘But her death was murder?’

‘According to James Grieve, there’s no doubt about that.’ Perez stretched out his legs towards the fire. ‘And when she was last seen, the day before the landslide, she seemed almost cheerful.’

‘Ah, we can all put on a show when we need to. It doesn’t stop us being desperate inside.’

Perez didn’t know how to answer that. He couldn’t imagine Willow Reeves ever feeling desperate. She was the strongest and most resilient person he’d ever met. ‘I’ll be at the airport to meet you tomorrow,’ he said. ‘We can stop and look at the scene on the way back to Lerwick.’

There was a brief silence at the end of the phone. ‘I’ll look forward to it, Jimmy.’ It was lightly said, but he could tell that she meant it. He was about to answer but the line had already gone dead.

Craig Henderson, Tain’s previous tenant, arrived at Sumburgh from Aberdeen an hour before Willow was scheduled to come in from Inverness. It was a brighter day and the planes were all on time, flying from the east and landing into the wind. Sandy was with Perez, though they’d driven separately to the airport. Sandy had been at school with Craig and gave a wave of recognition as the man sauntered up to the baggage belt. He was brown and fit and his hand-luggage was a smart leather holdall. He’d have looked more at home in Dubai than Sumburgh. Perez watched the encounter between the younger men from a distance. It was civil enough, but he could tell they weren’t bosom pals. Sandy led Craig towards an office they’d borrowed from the airport staff. That was when Perez joined them and introduced himself.

‘So I get the big boss too, do I?’ Craig said. ‘Do they not trust you to do the job yourself, Sandy? Do you need a minder these days? Well, that figures.’ He took a seat by the desk.

The office was near the departure lounge and looked out over the runway. An Eastern Airways charter had just brought in a group of workers for Sullom Voe and they were walking from the plane towards the airport building.

There was a moment of silence, broken by Craig. ‘What’s this about, Sandy? What am I supposed to have done? I’ve been away for six months, so I don’t think you can pin anything on me this time.’ His voice still had a Shetland accent, the tone amused, a little arrogant.

Perez had looked up Henderson’s record. He’d been charged for fighting in a bar in Lerwick, and Sandy had been the arresting officer, so that explained the needle.

‘We’re after a bit of information,’ Sandy said. ‘That’s all.’

‘And it couldn’t have waited for a few hours until I got home, had a shower and a beer.’ Craig looked up suddenly and his voice changed. ‘Has anything happened to one of the family? Has my father taken ill again? He had a heart attack a year ago, but he seems to have been fine since then.’

‘Nothing like that.’ Sandy shook his head. ‘Have you heard about the landslide that blocked the Sumburgh road for a couple of days?’

‘My mother texted me about it, but I only picked up the message when I got to Aberdeen.’

‘The slide went straight through Tain, completely wrecked the house, and we found the body of a woman in the garden. You were the last person to rent the house. We’re still trying to identify the woman and we thought you might be able to help. How did you come to be living there?’

Perez was sitting away from the table and he found his mind wandering. By now Willow should be aboard the plane in Inverness. It should even have taken off. He had to force his attention back into the room.

Craig was speaking. ‘I work away on contract in the Middle East. Six months on and three months off. It suits me just fine. By the end of my leave in Shetland I’m desperate to get back to work. And the money’s good. My folks would be happy for me to spend all my leave with them, but they make me feel like a bairn again. They want to know when I’ll be in for my tea and if I’m going to be back for the night, and there’s always pressure to have me back working for the family business. It kind of cramps my style. So last time I was home I rented the house at Tain. Close enough to get to my mother’s for her to do the laundry, but my own space. You know what I mean?’ A grin to show that he was only being half-serious.

Sandy nodded. ‘How did you come to rent that place in particular? I can’t find any record of it being advertised as being up for let.’

‘Old Magnus Tait told me about it.’

The room fell quiet until Sandy spoke. His voice was soft. ‘Did you hear that Magnus died?’

There was another moment of silence before the man replied. ‘Nah, but he had a stroke right at the end of my last leave, and my mother told me he never really got over it. I’m not surprised. I’ll miss our chats, though.’

‘They were burying Magnus when the landslide hit,’ Sandy said. ‘You know that Tain is just up the hill from the cemetery.’

‘Poor old bugger.’

‘Were you friends?’ Perez asked.

‘I suppose we were, in a way. When I was home last, I saw him struggling to clip his sheep and offered to help. He was an old man. Still strong, but the arthritis had got into his fingers and his wrists and he found it hard to manage. I used to give my grandfather a hand when I was a boy. He had a croft out at Nibon.’ There was a moment of hesitation while Craig seemed to be remembering happy times. ‘Magnus didn’t say much while we were working, but he took me into the house for a dram afterwards. It was just as it must have been a hundred years ago. I felt as if I was stepping back in time. And then he started telling his stories about the old days. Fascinating. It was just like talking to my granddad, when he was alive. My folks aren’t interested in any of that. They just want the new kitchen every couple of years and their holiday to Spain in the summer. Money for a flash, showy car.’ Craig paused again. ‘I’d go round to see Magnus some evenings. Take a bottle with me. He’d ask about my work abroad and then, after a couple of drams, he’d start with his stories.’