Ann Cleeves - Cold Earth

‘This money comes from Stuart Henderson’s personal account, not the business. I’ve checked. And according to Rogerson’s office manager, none of these sums tally with any of the business invoices she’s ever sent out.’

Willow took a seat for the first time. She’d been hovering behind Sandy for long enough. ‘So what are you thinking here, Sandy? Bribery and corruption?’

‘A lot of people wondered how the Hendersons got planning permission for that tourist accommodation, and Rogerson was on the council.’ Sandy looked at her. He was begging her not to tell him he was a fool with an overactive imagination.

‘Well, it wouldn’t be the first time a politician’s been slipped a sweetener to clear the path of a development.’ Now Willow’s mind was racing. This opened up another strand to the investigation. A different set of motives and more suspects. ‘But there are more than a dozen names on this list. They can’t all have been involved in complex planning issues.’

‘I was wondering about blackmail,’ Sandy said. ‘Rogerson was known as a sociable kind of a guy. He’d hear gossip. Some of it related to council business, some to the development at Sullom Voe. Some personal. Maybe he didn’t get the sweetener from Henderson, but he knew the person who did, or at least guessed that something dodgy had been going on.’

Willow nodded. She could see how that might make sense. ‘It seems risky, though. According to Jimmy, Rogerson enjoyed being Mr Popular on Shetland Islands Council. Why would he put all that in danger?’

‘He needed the cash,’ Sandy said. ‘If you look at both his other accounts, he went right up to the overdraft limit each month. It was only transfers from the secret account that kept him solvent.’

‘I wonder if his wife knew.’ Willow thought that a woman who could tolerate a string of embarrassing infidelities probably wouldn’t ask too many questions about regular payments into her husband’s current account. ‘You’ve done some brilliant work here, Sandy.’

‘But Stuart Henderson’s not the only man linked to Alison Teal and Tom Rogerson to be on the list.’ Sandy was flushed with pleasure. He leaned across her and pointed to the last highlighted entry. ‘Have you seen this? He moved his finger so that she could read the name. ‘Kevin Hay.’

Willow wanted to consult Perez before she decided how they should play an interview with Kevin Hay. She wondered if Simon Agnew had been discreetly pointing her in his direction. But she wanted some action. She couldn’t spend the rest of the morning talking to bank managers and studying spreadsheets while she waited for Perez to come out of his meeting. She asked Sandy for the way to the Rogerson house and walked out into the sunshine.

The house was solid and grey with an enclosed garden in the front. A neatly trimmed hedge and shrubs with orange berries. Strangely suburban for Shetland. She knocked at the door and a small, bustling woman opened it. ‘Mrs Rogerson?’

The woman narrowed her eyes. ‘Who wants to know?’

‘Willow Reeves. Police Scotland.’

The woman looked sceptical. Willow supposed she wasn’t most people’s idea of a police officer. She pulled out her warrant card.

‘Only you can’t be too careful.’ The woman’s voice was sing-song Orkney. ‘That Reg Gilbert from The Shetland Times was here earlier, weaselling for an interview with Mavis.’

‘You’re not Mrs Rogerson?’

‘I’m her sister. Joan.’

‘Could I speak to her?’ Willow inched towards the open door. They were still on the step.

‘She’s not here. It’s her day for the Red Cross shop and she insisted on going. I told her nobody would expect it, but she said she’d rather be there. She was a bit hysterical when I tried to stop her, and I thought it was best to let her go for a couple of hours, if it made her feel better. Maybe the routine would be good for her.’ Joan stepped away from the door so that she could look back at the town-hall clock. ‘She’ll be finished in five minutes, if you want to wait. It’ll not take her long to walk up from the street.’

But Willow thanked her and headed away. She was in no mood for waiting.

She arrived at the charity shop just as Mavis Rogerson was leaving. The woman was like a more square and solid version of her sister. Despite the sun, she was wearing a heavy overcoat and sheepskin boots. Willow waited outside until Rogerson’s widow was on the street.

‘Mavis, my name’s Willow Reeves. I’m a detective from Inverness and I’m part of the investigation team working on your husband’s death. I wonder if I could ask you some questions.’

‘Do you want to come back to the house?’

‘We could do that if you like, or we could just have some coffee and chat.’ Willow wanted to keep this informal. ‘I don’t expect you’ve eaten much today. I hear the Peerie Shop Cafe does very good cake.’

Mavis gave a little smile. ‘Tom and I went there every Saturday morning when he was free. A little treat.’

‘We all need a little treat.’

The lunchtime rush at the cafe was over. A few people sat smoking on the chairs outside, but there was nobody upstairs. Willow sat Mavis there and went down to the counter to order. The woman was docile when Willow helped her out of her coat, as if she was grateful that someone else was taking charge. Willow ordered cappuccinos and lemon-drizzle cake for two. It had been a long time since the scrambled eggs in the guest house. She wondered fleetingly if there was any news of a baby.

‘I need to talk to you about Tom.’

Mavis nodded, but she hardly seemed to hear what Willow was saying.

‘We’re looking for reasons why someone should want to kill him.’ The detective fell silent while a young waitress brought their order; then she continued. ‘We’ve been checking his bank accounts. It’s something we’d do routinely in a case like this. You do understand?’

Mavis nodded again. She seemed incapable of speech, but had cut through the lemon cake and put a large piece into her mouth. Willow understood that. Shock made her hungry too.

‘Did Tom ever talk to you about money?’

‘He was never good with his finances.’ The cake seemed to have brought Mavis to life. ‘He was a good earner, but there was never any cash to spare.’ She paused and then felt the need to explain. ‘He always needed to be liked. It was a kind of compulsion with him. It didn’t always come naturally, though, and sometimes he had to buy his friendships. With gifts. Loans that were never repaid. If ever we went out for a meal with another couple, Tom insisted on picking up the bill. In the end folk came to expect it.’

This time Willow nodded to show that she understood. Mavis took another bite of cake.

‘There are some unexplained payments into your husband’s account,’ Willow said. ‘Can you think what they might be? Perhaps they came from people paying back earlier loans.’

Mavis considered. ‘I don’t think that’s likely. Like I said, Tom was always the one who coughed up. Nobody felt the need to pay back.’

‘Could Tom have been doing some legal work that wasn’t going through the company’s books?’

Mavis shook her head. ‘Paul Taylor was a junior partner,’ she said. ‘Tom liked him. He wouldn’t have tried to defraud him.’

‘That wasn’t what I meant. I’m trying to explain these payments.’

But Mavis seemed to have lost concentration again. Willow hadn’t touched her cake and Mavis was staring hungrily at it.

Willow swapped plates, so the cake was in front of Mavis. ‘You’ll be doing me a favour. I’m supposed to be going out for a late lunch. It’ll only spoil my appetite.’