Текст книги "White Nights"

Автор книги: Ann Cleeves

Соавторы: Ann Cleeves
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Chapter Eighteen

Cassie was already in bed when Perez turned up at Fran’s house. He’d phoned earlier to ask if he could call. ‘It might be late. If you’d rather not be disturbed . . .’ She’d been surprised by the effect his voice had on her. A sensation that the floor had disappeared beneath her feet.

‘No,’ she’d said quickly. ‘It doesn’t matter how late you are. I never get to bed before eleven and this time of year it’s impossible to sleep anyway.’

She was sitting on a white wooden bench by the side of her front door looking out over Raven Head when he arrived. She’d had one glass of wine and was thinking she might help herself to another when she heard the car on the road. He pulled in to the verge and walked up the short path, then sat beside her. He looked very tired.

‘I’ll fetch you a drink,’ she said. ‘Beer? Wine? Whisky?’

‘Could I have some coffee?’ She thought then that he wouldn’t be staying. She supposed it would be less complicated. There was Cassie to think about. The night of the exhibition, Cassie had been staying with her father. She didn’t want Cassie to wake up and find Jimmy in her mother’s bed. Not yet, not until she’d had a chance to explain to Cassie what was going on. But all the same Fran was disappointed.

She left him sitting outside and put on the kettle. When she carried out the mug he was still sitting in the same position, his hands on his knees, his head slightly bent. It was as if he was too exhausted to move.

‘It must be that sleepless night catching up on me,’ he said. ‘Strange. I didn’t feel so bad yesterday.’

‘Sorry.’ She was still standing and stooped to put the mug on the bench beside him.

‘Oh no,’ he said. ‘Don’t be sorry. I wouldn’t have missed it. Not for the world.’ Then he lifted his head so she saw the shadows under his eyes, and a couple of grey strands that she’d never noticed before in the hair which always seemed to need cutting.

‘Nor me.’ She tried to form the words to tell him what the night had meant to her, but he cut in on her thoughts.

‘I have to ask some questions. Work. I’m so sorry it has to intrude.’

‘It always will, won’t it?’ she said.

‘Perhaps. Sarah could never cope with it.’ Sarah was his ex-wife, married now to a doctor, living happily in the borders with children and dogs.

‘I don’t think it’ll be a problem,’ she said. ‘I could never understand someone who wasn’t passionate about their work.’

‘Am I passionate?’

‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘I can testify to that.’

He laughed, and she felt some of the tension go from the situation.

‘Ask away,’ she said. ‘But I’ll get some more wine first.’ She was glad she still felt easy with him; really nothing between them had changed. When she returned she sat beside him again.

‘It’s about the exhibition,’ he said. ‘Why would anyone want to spoil it for you?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Unless it was some warped idea of a joke. And then I don’t think I would be the target.’

‘You’re thinking of Roddy Sinclair?’

‘Perhaps. He’s the only person I can think of who might go to those lengths. He has a theatrical sense of humour.’

‘According to the tabloids,’ Perez said.

‘You’re right, of course.’ She looked at him across her glass. ‘We can’t assume that anything they say is true. I’ve met him a couple of times through Bella, but I don’t really feel I know him at all.’

‘We think the murder victim distributed the flyers cancelling the show. In Lerwick at least. He was seen handing them out to passengers coming off a cruise ship.’

‘But he was a stranger. Why would he want to spoil things for us?’

‘He was a stranger to you. Are you sure Bella didn’t know him?’

‘If she did, she didn’t let on.’

‘Has she made any enemies? People in the business maybe?’

‘Come off it, Jimmy. That sounds a bit melodramatic. Are you saying some artist she might have offended went to all that bother just to spite her?’

‘Is she in the habit of offending people?’

Fran chose her words carefully. ‘She’s never been particularly diplomatic about expressing her opinions.’

‘Meaning?’

‘If she hates a piece of work she’ll say so. To whoever will listen. Big style.’

‘Has she upset anyone in particular?’

‘Not recently as far as I know. Not a professional at least.’

‘Who then?’

When she didn’t answer immediately, he took her hand. ‘Look, you know I’ll find out. It’s impossible to keep that sort of thing secret here.’

She almost said that her ex-husband Duncan had kept his affair secret, but that wasn’t true. She hadn’t known about it, but the rest of the islanders had. Of course that had made the whole separation much more humiliating.

‘Look,’ he said. ‘This is murder. Loyalty to a friend doesn’t come into it.’

‘I’ve never thought of Bella as a friend. That seems a dreadful impertinence. Like saying Albert Einstein was a best mate! She’s a superstar.’

‘She’d love to hear you saying that.’

Fran thought he understood Bella better than she did. She’d known all along she’d tell him and she began the story. ‘You know I teach an adult-education art class. I’ve been running it since Christmas and some of the group are really very good. And they all enjoy it. We decided to have a midsummer show. Just a bit of fun, I thought. A chance for family and friends to see what the group had been up to. We took over the hall in Sandwick and had a meal together afterwards to celebrate. I invited Bella along to give some feedback. It was a mistake. She wasn’t as tactful as she might have been.’

‘What happened?’

‘She took the pieces one by one and gave a critique of each. I thought she was unnecessarily harsh in her criticism. I’d expected her to give some pointers for improvement, to be encouraging. I didn’t think she’d lay into my students. I felt terrible afterwards.’

‘Did she have a go at anyone in particular?’

‘There was one piece. A watercolour. It wasn’t the sort of thing I’d do myself, but I actually rather liked it. It was a landscape. Delicate and detailed. For some reason Bella took against it. She said it was bland. “Sickly and disgusting”. The artist should just give up. She had no sense of artistic vision. No courage. It was quite an outburst. Terribly embarrassing.’

‘Who was the artist?’

‘A teacher from Middleton. Dawn Williamson.’ Fran saw Perez give a small flicker of interest. He paused for a moment. She thought he was wondering how much to say to her.

‘You know Dawn’s husband is Martin Williamson?’ he said at last.

‘The chef at the Herring House?’

‘Aye, they live in Biddista. Maybe a bit of a coincidence. Bella is Martin’s boss. Do you think there was something personal in her attack on the painting?’

‘There couldn’t have been. The paintings were unnamed. How would she know?’ But again Fran thought this was a place where people did know things. Word got out in a way that was almost like magic.

‘How did Dawn react to the criticism?’

‘She was obviously upset. Who wouldn’t have been in such humiliating circumstances? But she was very dignified. I mean she didn’t shout or threaten revenge. She went very red and thanked Bella for taking the time to look at the piece.’

‘So at that point Bella knew who’d painted it?’

‘Yes. Dawn made a point of standing up and saying it was her work.’

‘Did Bella seem surprised? Embarrassed because she’d been slagging off a neighbour, the wife of an employee?’

‘No. I couldn’t tell what she was thinking. You know what Bella’s like. Suddenly she came over all grand-artist. She had another appointment. Her agent was coming up from London. She had to rush off. Perhaps that was to cover her awkwardness.’

‘When did this happen?’

‘About ten days ago.’

‘Have you had a class since?’

‘No, I put off this week’s because of the exhibition.’ Fran drank the wine slowly. Now they were sitting in shadow. She saw everything in soft focus. Like some cheesy photo for a women’s magazine, she thought. No hard edges here. Perhaps it was the drink. ‘I think Dawn’s quite fond of me,’ she said. ‘I mean, she knew how much the exhibition meant to me. More than it did to Bella. All my class did. I don’t think she would have ruined it for me, even if she’d wanted to get back at Bella.’

He didn’t respond and she wondered if he’d fallen asleep, sitting upright just where he was. Then he said abruptly, ‘Shall we go inside?’

‘I’m sorry. Are you cold?’

‘No. But we’re a bit public here. A night like this everyone will be out.’

‘They all know we’re friends.’

‘I thought,’ he said, ‘we were rather more than that.’

He took her glass from her hand and led her into the house.

He was very quiet and almost painfully restrained. It was quite different from the last time. Then they’d had the house to themselves and they’d both acted like irresponsible teenagers. Every now and then he would ask, ‘Is this all right? Are you sure you’re OK with this?’ They stayed in the kitchen, and she drew the curtains, although this time of year nobody drew curtains in a living room. Anyone driving past would see Perez’s car and know just what they were up to. She knew he was thinking about Cassie, but wished he wasn’t quite so thoughtful. He should have been thinking about her, be so caught up in the delight of her that rational thought was impossible. Besides, the sheepskins she threw on to the floor from the sofa and the back of the rocking chair weren’t as soft as they looked. The bed would have been so much more comfortable.

Yet afterwards she thought this was as good as she’d known. How strange that is, she thought. How we play tricks with our minds.

She poured herself more wine and watched him dress. She wanted to tell him what she was feeling but sensed he wouldn’t be one for post-match analysis. Perhaps he was suddenly aware of her looking at him because he stopped, one leg in his trousers, stooped and gave her a grin.

She wished she had a camera, but knew that the image would stay with her for ever.

It was eleven o’clock. She pulled back the curtains. There was still enough light to see colour and she could make out the line of the horizon and the shape of Raven Head. A huge container ship on its way south. She made more coffee, though her mind was already more alert than it had been all day. She felt as if she’d just woken up.

‘Do you think Dawn hired someone to spoil the exhibition for us? It seems so elaborate. Not like her at all. She’s a down-to-earth Yorkshirewoman.’

‘I don’t know.’ Now he seemed reluctant to talk about work.

‘And even if she did, what has that to do with the murder? Are you saying Bella found out what was going on, strangled the man and strung him up to teach him a lesson? It’s ridiculous.’

He said nothing.

‘Of course it could have been me,’ she teased. ‘If I’d found out what he’d done. This was my first major exhibition. I had more to lose than Bella did.’

There was a pause. She didn’t think he was going to reply.

‘Of course I know it wasn’t,’ he said lightly. ‘You’re the one person it couldn’t have been – I was with you all night.’ He went up to her and put his hands on her shoulders, pulled her towards him and kissed her forehead. ‘I’ll always remember that evening. Not for the murder – that was work and in time it’ll be an interesting case, nothing more – but because it was the first night I spent with you.’

He rinsed out his mug under the tap and set it carefully on the draining board. She stood at the door and watched him walk to his car. Soppy git, she thought. Then, So he is serious about me, after all. That she found a little scary. She stared out over Raven Head, lost in thought, until he drove away.

Chapter Nineteen

Perez arrived at the school in Middleton at eight-fifteen. He reckoned Dawn should already be there by then, but the kids wouldn’t have arrived. He didn’t want to talk to her in Biddista with Martin in attendance, though he wasn’t sure why. Perhaps because Martin would try to lighten the conversation, would shy away from any serious discussion. Perez knew the teacher by sight but he’d never spoken to her. She hadn’t been a part of the family when Martin’s father drowned.

The school was a low modern building, with a football pitch to one side and a playground to the other. It looked over a narrow inland loch. A bit of a breeze had blown up and the water was whipped into small waves. The children came from the houses scattered over the surrounding hill and from settlements as far as the coast. Like all the Shetland schools Middleton was well maintained and well equipped. The oil had brought problems to some communities but it had its benefits too. Shetland Islands Council had negotiated a good deal with the companies to bring the oil ashore and the income had been channelled into community projects.

There was already a line of cars parked in the yard and the main door was unlocked. No one was in the office and he wandered through to one of the classrooms. A young bearded man was writing on the board.

‘I’m looking for Mrs Williamson.’ Perez hovered at the door. Even this school was much bigger than the room in Fair Isle where he’d sat to do his lessons, but the smell was familiar.

‘Are you one of the dads?’ The man was polite enough, but hardly friendly. Perez wondered what it was about schools that made him uneasy. Maybe all adults felt exactly the same way. Too big and clumsy for a place built for children. He supposed a stranger walking into his working environment would be intimidated too. Then he thought he would love to be a dad. It was something he’d always wanted. He wouldn’t mind then the effort of coming into school, of attending parents’ evenings and nativity plays.

The man had turned from the board and was waiting for him to reply.

‘No,’ Perez said. ‘No, I’m not.’ He was thinking how to explain his presence without causing Dawn problems when he heard footsteps on the corridor behind him and he saw her walking towards them, a mug of what smelled like herbal tea in one hand. She was a little older than Martin, he thought. Early thirties, curly red hair, a wide mouth.

‘Mrs Williamson,’ Perez said. ‘Could I have a word? It’ll not take long.’ He couldn’t tell if she recognized him. Perhaps she thought he was a parent too.

She took him into a classroom and he sat on one of the children’s desks, feeling a moment of wickedness because when he’d been a boy sitting on the desks wasn’t allowed.

‘I’m Jimmy Perez,’ he said. ‘I’m looking into the death of that man in the Biddista hut.’

She nodded as if to say she knew who he was. ‘Is it about that mask that Alice was wearing? Aggie said you were interested in it. Maybe I should have got in touch with you before, save you dragging all the way out here, but I don’t think I’ll be of much help. Is it important?’

He couldn’t think of any reason not to explain. ‘We’re treating the death as suspicious. He was wearing a mask just like the one Alice was wearing. It might help us trace him.’

He saw that he’d shocked her. She seemed suddenly very pale.

‘Can you remember where Alice got the mask?’

‘It was the Middleton Sunday teas,’ she said. ‘I bought it for her there.’

The Sunday teas had become a Shetland institution, almost a tradition, though Perez couldn’t remember anything like that happening when he was a boy. Then, Sunday had just been a time for the kirk and the family. Now local ladies would provide tea and home-bakes in the nearest community hall on Sunday afternoons in the summer. There were always plants for sale and a bring-and-buy stall. It was a place to meet friends and catch up on gossip, and funds would be raised for a good cause.

‘Do you remember who was selling it?’

‘Some lass I didn’t recognize. She must have got them cheap when she was south, because she had a whole load of them. Animals mostly, then there were the clowns. I tried to persuade Alice to go for a cat but she wasn’t having any of it.’

‘Was anyone else from Biddista there that afternoon?’

‘No, we were on our own. Aggie usually comes with us, but she wasn’t feeling well. Martin was working in the Herring House. It was quite nice to spend some time with Alice, just the two of us.’

‘It can’t be easy living so close to your mother-in-law.’ Perez was thinking of his ex-wife Sarah’s mother, a formidably competent woman who ran the Women’s Institute and won prizes for the spaniels she bred. And again he was distracted by thoughts of how Fran would get on with his own mother. Sarah had found her unconventional, rather intimidating. He thought Fran might like her.

Dawn gave a little smile. ‘I should be grateful. I wouldn’t have been able to come back to work full-time if she hadn’t offered to mind Alice. But families are never easy, are they? Aggie thinks I’m bossy and I should be a better wife to her son. She never quite says it, but I know that’s what she’s thinking. Martin laughs it off. He doesn’t see it as a problem. I don’t usually, but it was good for Alice and me to run away to Middleton together.’

‘Was anyone else you recognized there?’

‘Some of the families from school. As I said, nobody else from Biddista. That doesn’t mean they weren’t there later, though. We went in early, just as it opened, and we didn’t stay long.’

Some of the children had arrived in the yard. Through the window Perez watched two boys chasing each other, grabbing hold of each other’s jerseys, rolling over on the ground. Did boys always end up fighting?

‘How did you land up here in Shetland?’ Probably it had nothing to do with the case, but he was always intrigued by the different routes incomers took to the islands.

‘I did my education degree in a college in West Yorkshire. So close to home that I could take my washing back at the weekends. I wanted to see a bit more of the country. When I saw this job advertised, I thought, Why not go for it? I only expected to be here for a couple of years. Now I know I’ll never live anywhere else.’

‘That’ll be down to Martin.’

‘Oh,’ she laughed, ‘I fell for the islands before I fell for him. I’d rented a place in Scalloway when I first moved here. Aggie and Andrew ran the hotel there then and Martin worked in the bar. He made me laugh. We started going out . . . Before I knew it, I was married with a child on the way.’

‘You look well on it.’

‘I love it all. Teaching in a place like this still has its challenges, but if I think of some of the schools where I did my teaching practice, there’s no comparison. And Martin is pretty much in charge of the café and restaurant at the Herring House. Bella doesn’t interfere too much.’

‘How do you get on with her?’ he asked.

Dawn shrugged. ‘We don’t usually mix in the same circles. She likes to give the impression that she’s rooted in the community, but she’s away a lot of the time. She and Aggie grew up with each other; now she talks to Aggie as if she was some sort of servant when she comes into the post office. Or she’s so patronizing she makes me want to throw up.’

‘I understand tact isn’t really her thing.’

Something in his voice made her realize what he was on about. He saw she was a very bright woman. Nothing would need spelling out. The kids would get away with nothing in her lessons.

‘You’ve heard about her putting me down at the art class then.’

He hoped she wasn’t going to ask who’d told him. ‘All sorts of things come up during the course of an investigation.’

‘She just made herself look a bit daft,’ Dawn said. She turned her back on him and continued talking as she wrote on the whiteboard. He wished he could see her face, judge her reaction to what she was saying. ‘It was an amateur show. A bit of fun. Why did she take the thing so seriously?’

‘Why do you think she did?’

‘God knows. Maybe she’s not as confident as she makes out and she needed to come across as the grand artist by showing us up. Pointless. We all know we’re not in her league.’

‘Do you think she recognized it as your painting?’

She put down the marker pen and turned back to face him. ‘I’m sure she did. I was doing the sketch for it out on the hill one evening after Alice had gone to bed. Suddenly I found she’d come up behind me and was looking over my shoulder.’

‘Did she comment on it then?’

‘Not really. I think she made another put-down comment, like it was nice for me to have a hobby, a break from the family.’ Dawn paused. ‘I know it sounds stupid, but sometimes I wonder if she’s jealous of me. I do have a family. I even usually get on with my mother-in-law. Aggie’s a love, despite what I said just now. Bella must be lonely most of the time, rattling around the Manse on her own.’ She hesitated. ‘I haven’t told anyone here yet, but I found out a couple of weeks ago that I’m pregnant again. I’m thrilled to bits. We’d been trying for a while. So I couldn’t really get worked up about Bella behaving like a spiteful six-year-old in front of my painting.’

‘Congratulations.’ Sarah had been pregnant once. Perez too had been thrilled to bits. Then she’d had a late miscarriage and it had seemed like the end of their world. It had marked the beginning of the end of their marriage.

‘Thanks.’ He saw that she couldn’t help bursting out in a huge grin.

‘Do you think Roddy is a substitute child for Bella?’ he asked.

‘Perhaps. But he’s not much to be proud of, is he?’

‘Lots of people would think so.’

‘He’s a grand musician,’ she said. ‘And he can hold an audience. When you listen to him play it’s easy enough to be taken in by him.’

‘Has he done anything specific to upset you?’

‘Nothing serious. Apart from getting my husband bladdered every time he comes home. The last time was Alice’s birthday, and Martin missed the party.’

Perez wanted to ask if that wasn’t Martin’s responsibility – Roddy Sinclair had hardly tied the man up and poured the drink down his throat – but he found himself a little in awe of Dawn Williamson. It was the pregnancy, he thought, and the fact that she was so untroubled by Bella’s outburst. Besides, what did it have to do with this investigation? A bell rang. The children jostled into the school and formed a chattering queue outside the classroom door.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I don’t think I’ve helped much.’

‘I’m sorry to have disturbed you at work.’

She must have given a sign to the children because they began to file in, blocking the door. He had to wait for a moment until they were all at their desks. He shook hands with the teacher and began to leave.

‘Give my best wishes to Fran,’ she said. ‘She’s a brilliant teacher. I loved the exhibition.’

He wondered how much she knew about their friendship. What had Fran told her?

‘Were you there at the opening?’ He couldn’t remember seeing her.

‘I had a look before most of the people arrived.’

‘Did you see the man who died?’

‘How would I know?’ The children were getting restless. They were expecting the register and assembly. Perhaps that was why Dawn’s answer seemed a little curt. She wanted him gone so she could give her full attention to her work.

‘He was the one who caused the scene by crying.’

‘I must have left before then.’ She reached into the drawer of her desk and brought out the long thin register, opened it, held a pen in her hand. ‘I didn’t see that.’

‘If you were outside and on your way home you might have seen him arrive. Slight, shaved head, dressed in black.’ He was standing at the door to let her know that he was about to go and his words were gabbled to show he was hurrying. It would only take a moment for her to answer this last point.

She stood poised, torn between calling the names of the children and considering his question.

‘I think I did see him. He was getting out of a car.’

‘Was he driving?’

‘No. Someone dropped him off.’

‘Anyone you recognized?’

‘No. It was a young man. The car was pretty old and battered. And no, I didn’t see the number and I don’t know what kind it was. It was white, I think. But mucky.’

She saw he wanted to ask her more, but cut him off. ‘I’m sorry. There’s really nothing else I can tell you. And I have to get on with my work.’

From the corridor he watched her. She smiled at each child as she called out his or her name. Further down the hall other classes were already gathering for assembly. The bearded man was playing the piano. By the time he reached his car the children had begun to sing the first song.

Perez drove back to Biddista. The evening before, Taylor had arranged for a sketch of the murdered man’s face to be released to the national press. Until they had identification, he said, they couldn’t move forward. Perez had taken the comment as a statement of his own incompetence. He should have focused on tracing the victim, not spent two days drinking tea in croft kitchens. Yet now, Taylor was keen to get to know the people in the community too.

Driving west, the sun was behind him and made the driving easy. At least he had something to offer Taylor. A battered white car, which had dropped the victim off. He’d get Sandy on to finding that. If he didn’t know already who it belonged to he would by the end of the day.

The land tilted slightly and Perez had a view down towards the main road from the south and Biddista beyond. He could see all the houses. The three small ones at the jetty, the Manse and Skoles. Already he knew more about these people than he did about his own neighbours. He realized then that he hadn’t yet talked to Kenny’s wife, Edith. She’d been at work when the body had been found and would probably be at work today. It would be something else for Taylor to pull him up about.