Ann Cleeves - Cold Earth

‘Could you show me the invoices from Rogerson and Taylor?’

‘Not now, Jimmy. It would take me some time to find them, and anyway Jane looks after the admin side of things.’ He turned away and wouldn’t meet Perez’s eyes.

‘Only we can’t find a record of any business dealings with the firm and that seems a bit odd.’ Perez almost felt sorry for the man. He’d started to blush. ‘This would be confidential, Kevin, unless it had some bearing on Tom’s death. You’re not the only man to be paying sums into this secret account.’

There was a long silence. Kevin didn’t speak and he didn’t move.

‘Perhaps we’re talking blackmail here,’ Perez said. ‘That’s how it’s looking just now. If it was blackmail, you’d be a victim. An anonymous victim. But someone has to tell us what’s been going on. You do see that, don’t you, Kevin?’

‘It wasn’t blackmail.’ Now his voice was firm. ‘I’ve told you, there must be some mistake. An accounting error. There’s nothing sinister here. Nothing that can be related in any way to Rogerson’s death.’ Upstairs a door banged shut and Kevin’s voice grew more urgent. ‘That’ll be Michael. He’ll be coming down to fix himself a drink and a snack. I don’t want him worried. These sudden deaths have caused enough disturbance to our lives. It’s time for you to go, Jimmy. If you need to talk to me again, call me into the station. Like you said, that’s the proper way to have a conversation, if it’s official business.’ He was on his feet and almost shooed Perez towards the outside door as if he was a troublesome cat. That image made Perez think of another question.

‘Have you lost one of your cats?’ He was already in the yard. Kevin stood in the doorway.

‘I don’t think so. The farm cat had kittens and we’ve given all those away. Why?’

‘There was a dead cat found in Tain when they cleared through the rubble. I thought it must be one of yours, wandered in just before the landslide.’

Kevin seemed about to say something, but he shut the door without speaking. Perez sat in the car for a moment before driving away.

It was still only just gone seven and Willow wouldn’t be at his house until nine. Perez couldn’t think what he’d do at home for the next two hours except fret and get anxious, so he headed out again towards the complex of holiday lodges owned by the Henderson family. Willow had said that Stuart Henderson was on the list of people who paid money into Rogerson’s secret account. Perhaps he’d be more forthcoming than Kevin Hay. The chalets were grouped around a landscaped area, which in the brochure was described as a traditional Shetland hay meadow. The grass was brown and scorched by wind and salt now, but perhaps in the summer there would be wildflowers. Perez was sceptical. The scene was lit by wrought-iron street lights that would have been more in keeping in an English village square. The whole effect was of a bizarre film set, but two of the chalets had lights at the windows, so tourists must be attracted even in winter.

Stuart’s giant 4×4 wasn’t parked at the big bungalow and when Perez rang the doorbell, it was Craig Henderson who answered.

‘I was hoping to speak to your parents.’

‘They’re out,’ Craig said. ‘Country-and-Western night in the Marlix in town. That’s their thing.’ He flashed a quick grin. ‘At least it gives me an evening a week to myself. No nagging.’

‘Could I have a word with you?’

‘Aye, why not?’ He’d been eating supper from a tray, which had been set on the floor beside his chair. Perez supposed Angie would clear it up for him when she got in. A huge television screen was showing a European football match. Craig turned the sound down. ‘How can I help you, Jimmy?’

‘We’re following up information about Tom Rogerson. He seems to have been receiving rather mysterious payments. I wondered if you could shed any light on them.’ After all, he couldn’t accuse the man’s father of bribery and corruption or of paying blackmail to the dead man.

He’d expected a flat denial and for the television to go back on, but Craig’s attention was on Perez now.

‘There have been rumours,’ he said.

‘What kind of rumours?’ Perez thought it was odd that a man who only spent part of every year in Shetland should know the gossip about the place. But he could see that Angie would be one for spreading any news.

‘I didn’t hear it from here.’

That was even more tantalizing, but Perez didn’t want Craig to think the information was important, so he said nothing.

‘But oilies talk, you know.’

There was a goal on the television that caught Craig’s attention for a moment. Perez started to lose patience. ‘And what do the oilies say?’

‘They’re here on their own. All the men locked up in the floatels, away from their wives and girlfriends for weeks at a time. Those that have wives and girlfriends…’ He paused and grinned. ‘You can see that might provide a business opportunity for some enterprising person.’

Perez was starting to see where this was going. Willow had noticed that all the names on Rogerson’s list were men, but she’d assumed that was because most councillors and business people were male. ‘Spell it out for me, Craig. What was going on here?’

‘Rumour has it that Rogerson could get you a girl, if you wanted one.’ He looked up and grinned again. ‘A selection of girls.’

Willow sat in the car below Perez’s house in Ravenswick. There was a moon, and shreds of cirrus cloud floated in front of it, so the light was milky and opaque. She knew that he was back from talking to Kevin Hay because his car was there and there was a glow behind the curtained window, but she was a little early and didn’t want to disturb him before he was ready for her. Eventually she walked up the bank and tapped at the door.

The fire had been lit, but there were no candles this time. She wasn’t sure whether she was pleased or disappointed. Perez was sitting at the table writing notes under an angle-poise lamp. There were still shadows in the corners of the room.

‘What have you got for us, Jimmy?’ She wanted him to know that she had no expectations of this meeting, that she could be entirely professional.

‘Kevin Hay would tell me nothing.’ Perez hesitated and then stood up. ‘I was thinking it was time for some supper and I might open a bottle of wine. Will you join me in a glass?’

‘Why not?’ One glass over a whole evening wouldn’t cloud her judgement.

He didn’t ask what she would prefer, but pulled the cork from a bottle of red. He had cheese arranged already on a plate on the counter, bread on a board, ready to cut. He set the food with plates and two glasses on a low table in front of the fire.

‘So how did Kevin explain the payments to Rogerson?’

Perez poured wine. ‘Rogerson was his solicitor and they undertook business for him from time to time.’

‘But what sort of business?’ The wine was light and sharp.

‘I rather think that I’ve got to the bottom of that too.’ He reached out and offered her the cheese. She thought how easy it would be to reach to take his hand. Confide in me, Jimmy. Let me rescue you from your dreams and your ghosts .

‘And?’

He smiled. ‘First of all, let me tell you a story. Several years ago, just when it was decided to bring natural gas ashore in Shetland because the oil supplies were dwindling, there was an advert in The Shetland Times . A woman from Aberdeen, who ran an escort agency in the city, was thinking of setting up a branch in Lerwick. I can’t remember the name now. Something flowery and fancy, but it was a name that made it quite clear what the business was about. There was a mobile number, and interested parties should contact her. She intimated that contractors and men working in the oil and gas industries would be especially welcome. There was an outcry and the Times was berated for running the ad. The council made it clear that such a venture would definitely not be allowed in Shetland.’