Текст книги "Red Bones"

Автор книги: Ann Cleeves

Соавторы: Ann Cleeves
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‘Why wouldn’t she tell anyone? Hattie and Sophie always work on the site together. There are all sorts of health and safety constraints that prevent solo work. Besides, she’s not a thief, inspector. She’s passionate about the project. There’s no way she’d remove objects from the merchant’s house at Setter without recording them properly.’

‘Of course,’ Perez said. ‘It was a foolish idea.’

But he was wondering if anyone else had been rooting around on the site, if any other objects of value had been found there. He imagined the misty, rainy night. Perhaps Mima heard something from her house or went out unexpectedly late to shut up the hens. Of course if the intruder came from Lindby she would recognize them, even from the faint light seeping out of the back of her house. She’d grown up there. Everyone was familiar to her. Islanders had been encouraged to take an interest in the dig, but Mima wouldn’t expect anyone there once the students had left. Had she challenged the person? Shocked them into violence?

He realized Berglund was staring at him. The archaeologist wasn’t a man for quiet contemplation.

‘Is that it?’ Berglund asked. ‘Can I get back to Whalsay now? I’m interested to see the coins for myself.’

‘Of course.’ Perez though was lost in thought. Would Hattie have noticed if someone had been visiting the site when she wasn’t there? And what might the intruder have already found? He remembered the conversation between Sandy and Hattie in the Pier House Hotel, Sandy’s questions about the value of the coins. Perhaps other people would believe them worth stealing. He should find out if there was a black market in objects like this.

Later, in his office, he tried to call Val Turner, the Shetland archaeologist. He thought she would know if the coins had any sort of value. She’d put the Whalsay dig into context for him and because she could have had nothing to do with Mima’s death it would be possible to talk to her more freely than to Paul Berglund. But she wasn’t in and he had to leave a message on her answering machine.

He’d just replaced the receiver when his phone went. He expected it to be Val and was thrown to hear the breathy, little-girl voice of Hattie James.

‘I wonder if it might be possible to speak to you.’

‘Of course,’ he said.

‘No, no. Not on the phone.’

‘Were you planning to come into Lerwick in the next couple of days?’

‘No, no,’ she said again, frustrated because he didn’t seem to understand her. ‘That wouldn’t be possible. My boss has come in today.’

‘You’d like me to come there to talk to you?’ At last he could see what she wanted from him. The idea of returning to Whalsay filled him with an unexpected dread. He liked the island, what he knew of it. Why was he so reluctant to return? Why the clammy claustrophobia of impending imprisonment? Perhaps it was the fog, the lack of any recognizable horizon. Or the twisted family ties that seemed to pull him in too, so he lost his objectivity. He was tempted to suggest that she speak to Sandy, but he thought she needed careful handling, and even the new, perceptive Sandy would frighten her off.

‘Oh, please.’ The relief in her voice was palpable.

‘Is it urgent? Could it wait until this evening? Shall we meet in the Pier House at six?’

She paused. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Come to the Bod. I’ll make sure I’m on my own there.’

Chapter Twenty

Sandy stood at the north end of the island and watched the small fishing boat approach. This was nothing like the Cassandra, the huge pelagic ship owned by the Clouston family. When that went to sea it was away for weeks, far out in the north Atlantic. It landed its catch in Denmark and then went back to the fishing grounds again. There were stories all over the island about how much it had cost when Andrew bought it just before his stroke. A fortune, they said. But as long as Sandy could remember the Cloustons had had money. This boat belonged to Davy Henderson, had just been on a short trip and was already on its way home. It had been kind of Davy to take Ronald with him. It would have done him good to get away from Whalsay, even for a short while.

The wind blew his hair across Sandy’s eyes. He’d driven up the island to Skaw because he needed to get away from Utra for a while. A little way inland was the most northerly golf course in the British Isles, green and manicured despite its exposure to the weather. He came occasionally with Joseph to play and his father was pretty good, though they never took the game too seriously. Now he wished Davy had asked him to go out on the boat too. He wasn’t much of a sailor but it would be worth a few hours of discomfort to get away from his family and the discussion of the funeral.

He wanted his grandmother to have a good send-off, of course he did, but she wouldn’t have wanted all this fuss. She’d have been happy just to know all her friends were there in the kirk. The place she’d been married. The kirk was on a spit of land to the west of Whalsay known as the Houb. It was surrounded on three sides by the sea, and Mima always said that being there made her think of her sailor husband: it was a bit like being in a ship. She’d have wanted lusty singing during the hymns and a bit of a party afterwards. Nothing else would have mattered to her. Now his mother was wound up about getting rooms ready for Michael, Amelia and the baby, planning the food as if she was preparing for a thirty-day siege, working herself into a state about who else they should invite.

He relived the scene at breakfast. His mother had been at the kitchen table, drinking her second cup of tea, surrounded by lists. Lists of food and drink and people who should be told. Joseph had had the sense to make himself scarce and was already out on the croft, checking the ewes.

‘Do you think Paul Berglund would want to come?’ His mother’s question had come out of the blue, sharp, underlaid by a barely controlled hysteria.

‘I don’t know.’ Sandy thought it unlikely. Why would someone with a life want to go to the funeral of an old lady he barely knew?

‘He’s a professor,’ Evelyn said.

‘What has that to do with the price of fish?’

‘I was thinking Michael might get on with him.’

‘Michael will get on just fine with Ronald and the rest of the lads.’ But was that true? The last time Michael had been home it was like he was a different man.

Sandy sat on the grass and watched the boat come in against a stiff south-easterly breeze. It was one of those bright and gusty days: one minute there was sunshine and the next a bit of a squall would come up. At least the fog had cleared. He wished his mother could relax more. When she was relaxed she was a lovely woman. He’d thought with his father working at home and both of the boys gone she’d be able to enjoy herself, become less tense. He didn’t know what to do to help her. Once, confiscating cannabis from a couple of German students who’d been camping on Fetlar. he’d wondered flippantly if that might provide an answer. Chill her out a bit. Years ago he’d gone to visit Michael at Edinburgh University and someone had made hash cakes. He laughed at the thought of slipping some dope into his mother’s baking, wondered what Michael would say about the idea. Once he’d have laughed too, but now Sandy wasn’t so sure. That evening when they’d sat round with his friends in the student house, candles lit, music in the background, was probably the last time they’d really talked.

Maybe he should suggest to his mother that she should see a doctor. His understanding about women’s health was sketchy, but perhaps this anxiety, these swings in her mood were to do with her age. Wasn’t there a pill she could take? Like the cannabis but legal? He knew he’d never bring up the subject with her though, partly because he would be too embarrassed and partly because he was scared of what her response might be. It was pathetic, but she could still terrify him when she was angry.

Something positive had come out of the discussion over breakfast: he was going to move into Setter when Michael and Amelia came up from the south. His mother had agreed as soon as he’d suggested it. Sandy knew she was worried he’d show himself up in front of Michael’s smart wife, though she made out it was because they needed his room for the baby. It occurred to him that she might like Joseph to move out too, in case Amelia got upset by his drinking, his table manners and his limited conversation. He hoped so. He and his father would get on fine together there.

The boat was getting closer, bucking and twisting where the tides met. Sandy thought he’d drive down to the harbour at Symbister and wait at the Pier House for the boys to come in. They’d been out all night but they might be ready for a few pints before they hit their beds. He knew he was supposed to be making discreet enquiries into Mima’s death and he didn’t want to let Perez down, but everyone was entitled to some time off.

Besides, perhaps he might learn something from sitting with the boys in the bar. That was how Perez worked, after all. The inspector listened to folk talking, just throwing in a question occasionally, like tossing a pebble into a pool and waiting to see what the ripples stirred up.

Sandy was in the Pier House Hotel with the gang of men. Davy was there, but there were boys from the pelagic boats too. By now it was mid-afternoon. Sandy had had a couple of pints while he was waiting for his friends to come in, but they’d already caught him up and now they were steaming. They were laughing and joking because Sophie had come to look round the big boat the day before. One of the older men had said it was bad luck having an Englishwoman aboard. There were lots of superstitions about the fishing – words you shouldn’t say, rituals to follow – but Sandy had never heard that one before. Ronald wasn’t in the bar. Sandy had asked Davy where he was, but the man just made a gesture with his thumb to show that Ronald was well under Anna’s control. ‘These days he seems to spend all his free time with that stuck-up wife of his. He’s as daft about the new baby as a lassie. Anyway, he says he’s given up the drink.’

The men gathered at the bar looked at each other and began to laugh. Sandy felt excluded. It was as if they were sharing a joke he couldn’t understand. Because he lived in Lerwick he didn’t really belong here any more.

‘Aye well,’ Sandy said, aware that his words weren’t as clear as they should be. ‘If I’d shot a woman, I’d stop drinking too.’

There was a brief lull in the conversation then, before someone shouted to Cedric for more drink and the talk moved on.

Soon after, Sandy decided he would leave. It didn’t feel right to be here drinking when Perez thought he was working. He shouldn’t let his mother get to him in this way, niggling away at him until he was as tense as she was. He should be more like his father and just let her panic wash over him.

After the dark of the bar it was a shock to come out in to bright sunshine, to realize that it was still daytime. A couple of bairns ran up the street ahead of him, whooping and laughing until a pretty young woman came out of a house near the High School and called them in to their tea. He decided he would leave the car where it was and walk back to Utra. On the way he’d call into the Clouston house and see how Ronald was.

At first it seemed that the bungalow was empty. He opened the front door and everything was quiet. Then he thought perhaps the baby was asleep and Anna was resting. He didn’t want to shout in case he woke them so he closed the door quietly and started to walk back up the path.

‘Sandy!’ It was Anna. She was leaning out of the workshop window. ‘Sorry, I didn’t see you. I was dyeing some yarn. Come on in.’ Ronald had explained to Sandy about Anna’s ambitions to set up courses in spinning and knitting. It seemed odd to him: an Englishwoman presuming to teach other folk the traditional island crafts. He would have understood if that had annoyed his mother, but she’d said very little about it.

He went into the large room that was already kitted out for students. She lifted a hank of yarn out of a big old pan with a pair of stained wooden tongs. The wool was a sludgy green colour. He couldn’t imagine anyone choosing to wear it.

‘What do you think?’ she said. ‘It’s a new recipe. Lichen. Pretty, isn’t it?’

‘Aye.’

He was surprised to see her working so soon after the baby was born. Amelia had taken to her bed for what seemed like weeks after the birth of his niece. Evelyn had gone down to Edinburgh to help out, to cook and clean and shop.

‘Is Ronald in? I ken he was out with Davy earlier, but he’s back now, isn’t he?’

‘He was,’ Anna said. ‘But he went up the road to see his mother.’ Sandy thought Anna still sounded angry. He had a picture in his head of a pan of soup standing on the Rayburn and ready to boil over. He thought that was how Anna was feeling: ready to boil over at any minute. It couldn’t be easy having a mother-in-law like Jackie living just up the hill and a baby crying and keeping you awake all night. ‘She phoned to say that Andrew’s had a bad day. Ronald went a while ago though, so he shouldn’t be long.’ She paused. ‘Do you want to wait? Can I get you some tea?’

Sandy wondered if his mother would have been more pleasant and easy to get on with if she’d had a little business of her own like this, if she hadn’t been forced to live her life through her sons.

‘Aye,’ he said. ‘Why not?’

He followed her when she walked through to the kitchen, carrying the sleeping baby with her in a basket. She was talking about some of the emails she’d had from women wanting to book on her course. Their enthusiasm seemed to have excited her. Sandy had never seen her so lively, so lit up.

‘There was one from Idaho who said she’d knitted Shetland patterns for twenty years and never thought she’d actually make it to the islands.’ Anna turned from pouring out tea to look at him. ‘You and Ronald were very lucky to grow up here, you know.’

Sandy supposed that was true, but now he was just looking for an excuse to leave and to get back to Lerwick.

She stood with a mug in each hand. ‘Shall we take this outside? The sun’s still quite warm out of the wind.’

They sat on a white-painted seat, their backs to the house. Sandy felt suddenly awkward. He’d never been on his own with Anna before and didn’t know what to say to her. After her chattering in the kitchen, it seemed quiet; there were just the noises he didn’t usually notice, the sheep and the gulls, the wind rattling a bit of loose wire on the fence.

‘How is Ronald?’

It must have sounded abrupt to her because she seemed startled and hesitated before she replied.

‘Obviously he’s pleased the police have decided to drop the case against him, but he’s still upset.’

‘Only natural.’

‘Perhaps now he’ll think a bit before he goes out with the boys, drinking, behaving like a lunatic. Perhaps he’ll realize how much he has to lose.’

Then it seemed to Sandy that Anna was almost pleased that Mima was dead because it had pulled Ronald back into line. She’d always have that one moment of foolishness to hold against him. Just remember what happened last time when you didn’t listen to me. What was it with island women that they had to control their men?

He set down his mug on the path.

‘Maybe Ronald didn’t kill Mima,’ he said.

‘What do you mean?’

He realized he’d been a fool to open his great mouth. What could he say to her now? But as he’d spoken he’d thought it was probably true. Ronald was no fool. He wouldn’t have shot Mima no matter how dark and foggy the weather.

‘Nothing,’ he said ‘Nothing official. I just don’t believe it happened the way everyone thinks. There could have been someone else who was responsible.’

Anna looked up at him astounded. He mumbled an excuse and walked away before his great stupid mouth let him down all over again.

Chapter Twenty-one

Perez didn’t tell Sandy about Hattie’s phone call or that he was coming into Whalsay to meet up with her. He was hoping he could reassure her and leave again before word got out that he was there. He assumed that she wanted to talk to him about the dig. On the phone he’d sensed she had something to confess, something that was making her feel sheepish, uncomfortable with herself. It would likely be some irregularity she wouldn’t want Paul Berglund and the university to know about. Perhaps there had been earlier finds on Setter land and she’d had her own reasons for not telling her supervisor about them. It would be easy enough to set her mind at rest if the matter had nothing to do with the old woman’s death.

Although he hadn’t been looking forward to the trip, when he arrived at Laxo the weather lifted his spirits. The fog had cleared. The breeze blew the water into little white peaks and even on the ferry he could feel the sea moving beneath his feet. Billy Watt was on duty again and they stood on the car deck chatting. Billy had married late and had a little boy. ‘Eh, man, it’s fantastic. The best feeling in the world. You should try it.’

I should, Perez thought. He imagined what it must be like to hold his own child in his arms. Do men get broody? Is this how women feel? He told himself it was just the time of the year. Spring. All those new lambs on the hill. He should concentrate on the case.

‘I’m meeting one of the lasses from the university in the camping bod,’ he said. ‘Can you tell me how to find it?’

So when he drove off the ferry at Symbister he knew exactly where he was going and he didn’t have to ask. He pulled into the side of the road and walked down past a couple of empty houses until he reached it. He looked at his watch. Five to six. He was pleased; he didn’t like to be late. Many of the Shetlanders he knew had a relaxed attitude to time and it always irritated him.

He expected Hattie to be waiting for him. There’d been desperation in her voice on the phone; although she’d said it wasn’t urgent he knew she’d been eager to talk to someone. But there was no response when he knocked at the door. Ten minutes later he was feeling uneasy. He looked inside. It seemed quite primitive: a bare floor, a camping stove and a pile of assorted plates, cutlery and tins on a wooden shelf. Equipment for use with the dig was stored there too: a theodolyte, camera and tripod, surveying poles. On the table a pile of pink sheets of thin paper that seemed to be used for recording finds. There was no sign of Hattie and no explanation for her absence. He walked into the house in case she’d left a note for him and once inside couldn’t help looking around. Beyond the kitchen there was a bedroom with four bunks, two against each wall, the lower of each made up. One was tidy, the sleeping bag straightened for use, clothes folded on a plastic chair at one end. The other, which he presumed was Sophie’s, was a mess.

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

He turned, startled and embarrassed. The inside of the house was in shadow and the figure was silhouetted in the doorway.

‘I was looking for Hattie.’

‘In our bedroom?’ Sophie stood accusingly where she was, blocking his exit.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t know. We’d arranged to meet here. I thought she might have left a note.’

She said nothing, though just the way she was standing made it clear what she was thinking. Ye ah, right!

He walked towards her and her image came into focus. ‘Look, I’m sorry to have intruded. There must have been a misunderstanding. Just tell me where she is and I’ll leave you in peace.’

Still she stood her ground. She was almost as tall as he was. She wore a sleeveless vest under a denim jacket. Her stomach was flat and firm. She had the poise he associated with film stars and models. He wondered how she and Hattie got on away from the dig, what they could have to say to each other.

‘What do you want her for?’ Her tone was amused, but he was left in no doubt that she expected an answer.

‘I think that’s between her and me.’

‘I haven’t seen Hattie since lunchtime.’ At last Sophie did step aside to let him past and they stood together in the sunshine.

‘Where was that?’

He thought she was going to question his right to put the question but after a pause she answered. ‘We were at Utra. Evelyn invited us for a meal. Paul was there too – his first chance to look at the Setter coins. Afterwards he wanted to talk to Hattie about her PhD. I suppose they were planning what should happen next, the focus of the next phase of the project.’

‘You weren’t involved in that discussion?’

‘No, I’m just the hired labour.’

He couldn’t tell what she made of that, whether it rankled. ‘Where did they have the meeting?’

‘I’m not sure. I left them at Utra.’

‘What were you doing this afternoon?’

‘I went back to the dig and carried on working for an hour. I expected Hattie to join me there.’

‘But she didn’t?’

‘No. I presumed Paul had taken her back to the Pier House for a celebratory drink. I thought, Sod them! and I packed up early. I’ve been visiting a couple of the fishing boys.’ She seemed edgy and out of sorts. Perez wanted to ask whose house she’d been in, but it probably wasn’t any of his business.

‘Hattie doesn’t strike me as someone who would enjoy an afternoon in the bar,’ he said, keeping his voice light, hoping it didn’t sound like an interrogation. The day before when they’d been there, Hattie had been jumpy, nervy even after a couple of drinks.

‘No, definitely not her scene. She doesn’t do pleasure. He should have asked me instead.’ Sophie grinned, but Perez thought she was finding it hard to keep things light. ‘But he’s her supervisor, isn’t he? Her boss. She wouldn’t have the guts to tell him it wasn’t her thing.’

‘Yes,’ Perez said. ‘He seems to me like a man who usually gets what he wants.’ But if he hoped this would encourage Sophie to give her own opinions of Berglund he was disappointed. She shrugged and said she’d had a hard day. All she wanted now was to sit in the sun with a nice cup of tea. Or maybe a can of lager.

‘So you have no idea where I could find Hattie now?’

‘Sorry, I haven’t a clue. And it’s no point me giving you her mobile number. Her phone doesn’t work anywhere on the islands.’

‘If she comes back tell her I’m looking for her.’

‘Sure,’ Sophie said. ‘Sure.’ But he thought she was a mischief maker and he didn’t know how much he could trust her.

He found Berglund sitting alone in the bar of the Pier House Hotel. There was a tray of coffee on the table in front of him and he was scribbling notes on an A4 pad. Perez saw that the writing was large and spidery and quite unintelligible. The place was empty apart from Berglund and Cedric Irvine, who was sitting behind the bar reading the Shetland Times.

‘What can I get you?’ The landlord recognized him from the day before, gave a knowing smile. Perez thought he would probably have as much information as anyone about what had been going on in the island. He wondered if Sandy had thought to talk to him about Mima.

‘Coffee,’ Perez said. ‘Strong and black.’ Cedric nodded and disappeared.

Berglund waved at him. ‘I thought you weren’t coming into Whalsay today.’

‘Something came up.’ He sat at the same table. ‘Did the Setter coins live up to expectation?’

‘Absolutely. They’re in fine condition too.’

‘I’m looking for Hattie.’

Berglund raised his eyebrows. ‘What do you want with her?’

Perez smiled. ‘Just a chat. More loose ends.’

‘I presume she’s in the Bod.’

‘I’ve just been there. Sophie said she was with you.’ This was becoming ridiculous. He didn’t want to play hide-and-seek throughout the island, looking for a neurotic girl. He had better things to do with his time.

‘We had a quick chat earlier just about where she should take the project from here, but I haven’t seen her for a couple of hours.’

Cedric came over with Perez’s coffee. Perez waited until the landlord was engrossed in the newspaper again before continuing.

‘You didn’t bring Hattie in here?’

Berglund pulled a face. ‘Good God, no. Earlier on the place was full of men from the trawlers. It was pretty rowdy and Hattie’s a sensitive sort of flower at the best of times. We just walked along the shore below Utra. It was quite sheltered there, very pleasant.’

‘Did she say where she was going when she left you?’

‘She was going to walk on a little way, just to collect her thoughts, plan out in her own mind how she should organize the work at Setter. I thought she would go back to the dig later. Sophie was already there. I came here. As I said, it was pretty wild in the bar. I sat in my room to make some phone calls – we need to get the coins validated, but I have other work at the university too.’

Perez sipped at his coffee. He supposed Hattie had regretted the phone call to the police station as soon as she’d made it and was hiding from him, too embarrassed to face him. People often behaved irrationally in their relations with the police. The sensible thing would be for him to go back to Lerwick. But he could still hear the desperation in Hattie’s voice when she’d called him. Even if she’d changed her mind about confiding in the police, perhaps he could convince her that she needed to talk to someone. Fran would understand if he missed the call to Cassie tonight. He left the Pier House without discussing his plans with Berglund.

Perez walked to Setter along the edge of the loch. He stood for a moment looking out over the water, and a red-throated diver flew in. It was the first diver he had seen that spring. He supposed later it would breed there. It called. Fran had once said that the cry made her think of a lost child desperate for help. He’d laughed at her then, but now he knew what she meant. The old folk called the diver ‘the rain goose’, and the superstition was that its arrival predicted storm or disaster.

Setter looked just as unkempt as on his first visit. There was the same pile of rusting junk by the side of the house and the nettle patch and untidy hens were still there. The scabby cat was sunbathing on the roof of the byre. Perez wondered what his father would have made of Mima Wilson; he set great store by keeping his Fair Isle property tidy and would have disapproved of her wild ways and her drinking. He knocked at the door. He thought he heard a sound inside, but when he tried the door it was bolted from the inside. He looked through the window into the kitchen. Sandy’s father was sitting in the one easy chair. He had his head in his hands and he was weeping. Perez knew he couldn’t intrude on an old man’s grief. He looked quickly over the site of the dig to check that Hattie wasn’t there and then he walked away.