Текст книги "Red Bones"

Автор книги: Ann Cleeves

Соавторы: Ann Cleeves
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Chapter Thirty-two

Sandy woke early. He was lying in Mima’s high double bed. His mother had given him clean sheets to put on it, but the blankets had belonged to Mima. They smelled of peatsmoke and damp like the rest of the house. The sheet was wrinkled uncomfortably underneath him. He’d never quite got the hang of making beds the old-fashioned way. He liked fitted sheets and a duvet.

On the wall in front of him there was a photograph he hadn’t noticed before. Two women walking down a dirt track. It was taken on Whalsay but before any of the roads had been made up. On their backs they had the rush baskets or kishies that were used for carrying peat and they were so full that he could see the peat piled behind their shoulders. They were wearing old-fashioned bonnets and skirts below their knees, heavy boots. And as they walked they were knitting; the wool was held in apron pockets, their elbows were close to their bodies. They smiled towards the camera, poised for a moment, but you could tell the needles would begin clacking again as soon as the shot was over. Sandy wondered if they were knitting just for the fun of it, or because raising peat was boring, or because they were so busy that this was the only time there was in the day to provide clothes for their children. Or if they did it to make money. It was the sort of thing his mother might do, Sandy thought. Not exactly like the women in the old photo, but working at several things at once, because Evelyn liked to be active and because she needed to hold the family together.

He lay for quite a long time staring at the photograph. He didn’t think either of the women was Mima. She’d been much better-looking than they were and she’d never been a knitter. ‘I don’t have the patience for it,’ she’d said when he’d asked as a child why she didn’t knit like the other grandmothers. Then he thought about his father who’d gone to school in dirty clothes because Mima didn’t have the patience for washing either. Sandy didn’t think now he’d have preferred Mima as his mother; at least Evelyn had always fed them well and kept them clean.

Michael and his family were going south on the afternoon plane. Evelyn and Joseph were travelling down to the airport in Sumburgh to see them off. Sandy thought that might give him a chance to go into Utra and have a look round the house without his parents asking questions. His uneasiness about what had been going on there had grown in the last few days. Michael’s words about their parents’ future had brought it into sharper focus. He thought that was what had made his father so tense too – a vague anxiety that things weren’t quite right.

In Mima’s kitchen he made himself coffee and dialled Perez’s mobile. He hadn’t seen the inspector at all the previous day and he felt disconnected from the case. He’d enjoyed being at the centre of things during the investigation, responsible for making things happen. The inspector’s number was busy. He took his coffee outside. He felt the stirrings of hunger. His mother would be cooking breakfast for the whole lot of them in Utra but he didn’t think he could face that: the bairn grizzling, Michael talking about how well he was doing at work, Amelia being saintly. He went back inside, found an old packet of Bourbon biscuits in the cupboard and tried Perez’s number again.

This time it was answered. ‘Sandy. How are things?’

‘Well enough.’ He had wanted to discuss his concerns about the situation at Utra with Perez, but now he couldn’t find the words to do it. Besides, this was probably something he should deal with on his own.

There was a brief pause before Perez spoke again.

‘Did Mima ever talk about the Shetland Bus?’

‘Not to me.’ Of course Sandy had heard the stories but the old folks’ reminiscences had never meant much to him. All that seemed so long ago that it was no longer relevant. They could have been telling tales about trows. He wondered why Perez was interested now.

‘Apparently your Uncle Andrew’s father helped build the little inshore boats that the Norwegian vessels carried across the North Sea.’

‘Aye, I did hear that.’

‘Would Andrew know anything about it, do you think?’

‘I should think he would. He was always interested in anything to do with the sea.’

‘Would he tell you what he knows?’

‘He might. Some days he talks better than others. He minds things that happened long ago better than stuff that went on yesterday.’

‘Would he still talk to you if I was there too?’

‘Aye, I think he would.’

‘We need to ask him if there’s a Norwegian man buried at Setter.’ Perez went on to explain why the question should be asked, but Sandy wasn’t much clearer about what that could have to do with Hattie and Mima dying. All the same he was glad he had something constructive to occupy his time this morning. It gave him an excuse to stay away from Utra until everyone there had left for Sumburgh; he wouldn’t have to put on a show that he was sorry Michael and Amelia were leaving so soon.

His Aunt Jackie must have seen them coming up the hill because she had the door open before they arrived.

‘Come in,’ she said. ‘Come in, come in.’ He wondered why she was so pleased to see them, and then remembered how sociable she’d been before Andrew was ill. The house was always full of people. When they’d been bairns they’d gathered at the Clouston house; Jackie would welcome them all in no matter the noise or the mess they made. She even liked them around the place when they were teenagers, drinking cans of lager and playing loud music. Andrew had bought them a full-size snooker table. It must be hard for her now. She and Andrew had built this grand new house which was perfect for parties, and she rattled around in it with nobody to talk to.

They went into the kitchen and she had coffee made and a plate of flapjack on the table in no time. Andrew was sitting in his usual chair in front of the Rayburn.

‘I’m sorry we couldn’t make it to the funeral,’ Jackie said. ‘Andrew was having a bad day. He didn’t want to leave the house. But I heard it went off very well.’ She didn’t ask what Perez was doing there, but shot suspicious glances towards him.

‘Aye,’ Sandy said. ‘Very well.’ Now he was here he wasn’t sure how he could explain Perez’s presence or engage the big man in conversation. Jackie often acted as if her husband weren’t in the room, or as if he were deaf. He turned to his uncle. ‘Are you feeling more yourself today?’

Andrew stared, then nodded briefly.

‘Look,’ Jackie said. ‘While you’re here would you mind staying with your uncle while I get to the shop? I’ve run out of flour and I wanted to get some baking done. I don’t like to leave him on his own.’ She looked again at Perez. ‘That is if you’ve nothing you need to ask me.’

‘No,’ Perez said easily. ‘We were just wanting to talk to Andrew. Chat about the old times. Nothing important at all. You get yourself away.’

Sandy knew this was a good thing, because they’d be able to talk to his uncle without Jackie overhearing, but he couldn’t help being nervous. Perez would expect him to persuade Andrew to confide in them and he wasn’t sure it would be that easy. Folk said Andrew’s intellect hadn’t been affected by the stroke, just his speech and his short-term memory, but Sandy thought he’d become quite a different man. Before the illness Andrew had been loud and strong and fierce. Competitive. Sandy remembered him on the golf course, swearing because he’d made a mess of a drive. Sandy had been a bit frightened of his uncle when he was a boy.

There was a moment of silence. Then they heard Jackie slam the front door and the roar of the Audi as she drove it down the track to the road.

‘This is Jimmy Perez,’ Sandy said. ‘He’s my boss. You don’t mind him listening in while we talk?’

There was a pause, a brief shake of the head.

‘Your father knew the men on the Shetland Bus? He built boats for them?’ Sandy had just bitten into a piece of flapjack, it was more crumbly than he’d been expecting and the oats fell out of his mouth as he spoke. He felt himself blushing, wondered what Perez would think of his clumsiness.

Andrew continued to stare at him then nodded.

‘Did he ever talk to you about it?’

‘They built the yoals the Norwegian men used once they got to their country.’

‘Responsible work,’ Perez said. ‘They’d have known the Norwegians’ lives depended on it.’

Andrew stared at him and nodded again. ‘The Whalsay men took the yoals out into open sea to test them.’

‘It must have been scary, out there in a tiny boat.’

‘They were young,’ Andrew said. ‘Reckless. They thought they’d live for ever. And they were all pals together.’ He stumbled occasionally over a word, but he knew what he wanted to say.

‘Jerry was with them too. Mima’s Jerry.’

‘He was just a boy. More reckless than anyone, my father said.’

‘You’ve heard they found some old bones at Setter?’

This time the silence lasted so long that Sandy thought Andrew hadn’t heard him.

‘They don’t tell me things any more.’

‘The lass from the university found them.’

‘The one that died?’ This time the response was immediate and so sharp that Sandy was surprised. He hadn’t thought Hattie’s death had registered at all with his uncle.

‘She found a skull,’ he said. ‘At least my mother found it while she was working there as a volunteer. Then I believe it was the other one, Sophie, who found some bones.’

There was a pause. Andrew raised a mug of cold coffee to his mouth and slurped it.

‘My boss seems to think the bones could come from that time,’ Sandy said. ‘That they might belong to a Norwegian man. Did your father ever talk about that?’

Now Andrew turned towards Perez. ‘Why do you want to know? Why are you still here if the woman killed herself?’

‘Oh, you understand how it is,’ Perez said. ‘There are forms to fill in, boxes to tick.’

Andrew nodded, apparently reassured. ‘Fishing got that way too in the end.’

‘So did your father talk about the dead Norwegian?’

Another pause. Andrew seemed deep in thought. ‘He mentioned it.’ There was a brief grin, which reminded Sandy of how his uncle had been before the illness. The life and soul of any gathering, a teller of jokes, a dancer. He could fill a room with his laughter. He could drink more than any man on the island and still stay standing. ‘After a few drinks he’d talk about the war.’

‘What did he say?’

‘That he was shit-scared every time he went out to test a yoal. That maybe he owed his life to Jerry Wilson.’

Sandy had a sudden flash of intuition. It was something in Andrew’s voice. ‘Is that why he kept quiet about the dead Norwegian?’

Andrew looked up at him. ‘Has someone been talking?’ Again a reminder of the old Andrew, who had a fearsome temper when he was roused.

‘No.’ I’ve just learned a few skills from Perez. ‘Will you tell me what happened?’

‘How would I know? I wasn’t there.’

‘You’ll remember your father’s stories.’

‘Maybe they shouldn’t be told.’

‘Two people have died,’ Sandy said. ‘It has to stop. And folks will go on thinking Ronald shot Mima if we don’t find out what happened.’

‘They’ll soon forget.’

‘Will they?’ Sandy demanded. ‘Will his wife?’

Andrew sat in silence again for so long that Sandy thought Jackie would soon be back from the shop.

‘I only know what my father told me,’ Andrew said at last. ‘I can’t say if it’s true. I think it’s true but I can’t be sure.’

‘I understand that. Old stories. Who knows what to believe?’

‘They say that Jerry Wilson shot a Norwegian lad.’

‘I heard that. It was because he’d betrayed some Shetland boys to the Germans.

‘No,’ Andrew said. ‘That was the story they put about on the island when folks started asking questions. But that wasn’t what happened. Not according to my father.’ Throughout the conversation Andrew’s speech had become more fluent, but now he stopped.

‘So why was the Norwegian shot?’

‘Because he was Mima’s lover.’ There was a sudden pause. Andrew seemed surprised that he’d spoken the words. He continued in a rush. ‘And one day Jerry found them together. The Norwegian had come into Whalsay to try out one of the new yoals. He was stranded there because of the weather, or because there was a problem with a boat. I don’t know. My father never said that part. Just that Mima had been flirting with him all day and they ended up in bed in the Pier House. Jerry was out in the Lunna House to talk about future operations and he wasn’t expected back. Then he came back and he found them in bed together.’

‘But Jerry went on to marry her.’

‘He didn’t blame her. Not so much at least, though the marriage was never as fantastic as everyone made out. That was what my father said. She was only a girl, too young to understand what she was about. Jerry blamed the Norwegian.’

‘So he took him out and shot him?’

‘That was what my father said. Jerry was never . . .’ Andrew paused to find the right word, ‘. . . stable.’

‘And he buried the body at Setter?’ Sandy didn’t get that bit. Why Setter, where Mima and her grandmother lived? Was it to be a constant reminder to his new wife that he wouldn’t be messed with?

‘That was the story.’ Andrew leaned forward and very carefully set his mug on the table. Sandy saw that his hand was shaking. ‘One of the stories.’

Sandy looked at Perez, wondering if he wanted to continue the interview, but the inspector nodded for him to go on.

‘I don’t understand why Mima allowed the dig on her land,’ Sandy said. ‘She must have realized there was a chance the body would be found.’

‘She didn’t know,’ Andrew said. ‘She might have guessed but she didn’t know.’

They heard the sound of Jackie’s car approaching the house. Andrew didn’t register it. Sandy reached out and took another piece of flapjack. This was his breakfast, after all, and he felt he deserved it. Jackie opened the door and came in laden with carrier bags.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I hope you’ve not had such a boring time. Andrew doesn’t have much to say for himself these days.’

Chapter Thirty-three

Berglund had hired a car from Bolt’s in Lerwick. It was still parked outside the Pier House. Perez could see it from his bedroom window. He phoned Bolt’s office and asked how long they expected Berglund to keep it.

‘He’s travelling south on the NorthLink this evening. He’ll drop it off in the car park at the terminal at around four-thirty. That was what we arranged, at least.’

Perez wished he had a reason to keep Berglund in Whalsay, but there was no way he could justify it. It was possible that the Setter project would be abandoned altogether now without Hattie to champion it. Rhona Laing was determined that Hattie’s death was suicide and that the use of Berglund’s knife had no significance. And perhaps she was right. The professor had been on the island when Mima was shot, but what reason could he have for killing an old Whalsay woman? He didn’t even have access to a shotgun as far as Perez knew. Hattie was a different matter. Perez could understand why the man would want her dead, and he was the last person to see her alive. But was it possible that the two deaths were unconnected, coincidental? He wondered if he should ask Berglund to stay, at least if he should arrange a more formal interview before the man left. But if he did that he’d be showing his hand. Berglund was a clever man. Better at the moment to let him think his secret was safe.

Perez continued to sit at the window, waiting for the moment when he saw Berglund drive down to the pier and on to the ferry. He wanted to be sure the man was off the island. He had almost an hour to wait before that happened, but Perez didn’t become restless or bored. He valued times of inactivity. He could think more clearly then. In his head he considered the characters playing out this drama in Whalsay. Were any of them capable of killing two people? There were occasions when his stillness drove Fran crazy. Sometimes she’d scream at him, laughing but irritated too. ‘How can you just sit there? What is going on inside your head?’ He was never quite sure how to answer. Stories, he thought. I just tell myself stories.

His mind left the inquiry, drifted back to Fran and again to marriage. Would she laugh if he proposed to her? It would seem an old-fashioned concept to her and quite outdated. Ridicule would almost certainly be her response.

When the ferry sailed off he got up. He went to the shop in Symbister and bought bread rolls, cheese, ham, fruit and cakes. There were other customers there and they fell silent until he left, when he was aware of a sudden buzz of conversation behind him. He turned back to the shop to buy a couple of cans of beer and was amused that the silence returned. He put his purchases in his car and drove to the Bod to see Sophie. With Berglund out of the way he supposed he’d find her alone.

She was sitting inside the bothy at the Formica table, seemed to be filling in some sort of form. He could see her through the grimy window. Remembering the time she’d found him there uninvited, he was careful to knock and wait outside until she called him in. She seemed disappointed. ‘Oh, it’s you.’

‘Who were you expecting?’

She hesitated. ‘I thought Paul might call in before he left.’

‘No,’ Perez said. ‘He’s already gone. I saw him go off on the ferry.’

‘I’m tidying up the paperwork for the project before I leave.’ Sophie turned round in her seat. ‘There’s no point my hanging around here. I might as well go back to London. It was what I planned anyway.’

‘So you’ll be running a cafe bar in Richmond?’

She grinned up at him. ‘Maybe. That’s one of the options. I’m not going to rush into anything. Maybe I’ll just take some time out.’

Perez was going to ask what she would do for money, but he saw that was no real concern for her. He didn’t think he’d met anyone before who didn’t have to work for a living. Duncan Hunter was probably the richest person he knew, but he still worked.

‘Will you stay with your parents?’

‘In their house. Daddy’s just gone off to Hong Kong for six months. Something about one of the businesses. So they’re not there.’

‘You don’t want to be with them?’ He thought despite the confidence and the loud voice she could use some support.

‘Why would I want that?’ Her voice was scathing. ‘I’m a grown-up. I’m not going to run away to Mummy every time I feel a bit miserable. Besides, all my friends are in London.’

‘Why are you miserable?’

She stared at him as if he were completely mad. ‘Why do you think? The person I’ve been sharing my life with for two months just killed herself. But don’t worry. A couple of decent nights out and I’ll be fine.’

‘Is that what you believe? That Hattie killed herself?’

‘Of course. What other explanation is there?’

He didn’t answer directly. ‘I’ve got a picnic,’ he said. ‘Let’s go up the island and have a bit of a walk.’

Again she stared at him as if he was a madman.

‘It’s all right,’ he said, though he wasn’t quite sure why she might need reassuring. ‘I just want to go somewhere we won’t be disturbed or overheard.’

They parked near the golf clubhouse. Again the weather was unusually mild: a gusty breeze blew startling white clouds and there were moments of bright sunlight. There were no other cars there and the golf course seemed deserted. They walked right to the end of the island and sat on rocks looking out to the Skerries, the inhabited island which stood very clear on the horizon.

‘I’ve lived all my life in Shetland and I’ve never been there,’ Perez said. He handed her one of the cans of beer and spread the food on a flat rock. A red-throated diver flew over their heads calling. Last time I heard that sound, Perez thought, was just before Hattie’s body was found. Although he knew it was superstition, he felt uneasy. What terrible thing would happen now? He turned his attention back to the Skerries. ‘Maybe I should pay a visit one day.’

Sophie tugged on the ring pull of the can. ‘What is all this about?’ she said. ‘What do you want from me?’ She was wearing shorts again and the big boots, a loose sweater with holes in the elbows. No bra, he thought. She leaned forward with her arms on her knees.

‘What do you think of Paul Berglund?’ Perez asked.

He pulled apart a crusty roll and cut a piece of cheese off the block of Orkney cheddar with his penknife, handed the makeshift sandwich to her.

‘I’ve always found Paul OK,’ she said. ‘He’s been all right to me.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah. You could have a worse boss. He can be a good laugh.’

‘What about Hattie?’ He broke off a piece of chocolate and put it in his mouth. He thought she sounded defensive. ‘Was he all right to her?’

Sophie didn’t reply. A gull swooped down, scavenging for bits of food. A curlew shouted in the distance.

He went on. ‘Did Hattie tell you about Paul? Maybe warn you about him? Did she think the two of you were getting close and want you to know how he’d treated her?’

She stared out to the islands on the horizon. ‘Paul hasn’t done anything wrong,’ she said. ‘He wouldn’t have.’

‘Did he tell you that?’

She didn’t answer.

‘Something made Hattie kill herself,’ Perez said. ‘If that’s what happened, she used his knife to do it.’

She turned away from him. ‘I hate it here,’ she said. ‘Everyone knowing each other’s business. At first it was OK. Different from anywhere else I’ve ever lived. The boys from the boats were good fun, they know how to party. Now I can’t stand it. Once the fog rolls in you feel as if the world outside doesn’t matter at all. People here lose any sense of proportion. Tiny incidents that happened years ago fester and take over their lives.’

‘What incidents?’

She shook her head in frustration that he didn’t immediately understand.

‘There’s nothing specific. Just a feeling that the islanders can never break free from their history. That they have no free will. Or that they won’t allow themselves any.’

‘Go home then,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing to stop you. Just leave me your address.’

She’d pulled out a piece of heather and was tearing the tiny dead flowers off the stalk one by one. Perez thought it might take more than a night of clubbing and drinking to make her feel happy again.

‘Did Hattie talk to you before she died?’ he asked.

She turned, startled. ‘Of course she talked to me.’

‘So you got on OK?’

A brief hesitation. ‘Boarding school’s great practice for this sort of work,’ she said. ‘You have to muck in together.’

He wasn’t sure that was a real answer. I went to boarding school, he thought. If you can call the hostel at the Anderson High School a boarding school. I’m not sure it taught me much.

‘Did she talk about Paul Berglund?’ he asked. ‘About what happened when they worked together before?’

‘Paul says it’s all rubbish. She just had a teenage crush.’

‘What did she say?’

‘Was it true then, all that stuff about Paul?’ Sophie looked at him; her eyes seemed huge. ‘You could never tell with Hattie. Sometimes I thought she was mad. She came up with such odd ideas.’

‘Like what?’

Sophie shook her head, unwilling to be specific. ‘I don’t know. She just let her imagination run away with her .’

‘But she did talk to you about Paul?’

‘Yes, she thought he was hitting on me. She was warning me off. I told her I was a big girl and I could look after myself.’

‘I think she was telling the truth about Paul,’ Perez said. ‘But there’s no evidence and he’ll never be charged, if that’s what’s concerning you. I just need to hear what she told you.’

Sophie finished the beer and crushed the can with her fist. She told her story looking out to sea in a flat, unemotional voice. Throughout, there was no eye contact.

‘It was at the end of her first year at university. She’d already had some sort of stress-related illness after A levels. I guess she was that sort of person. An obsessive. Then in the summer vacation she worked as a volunteer on a dig in the south.’

She paused but Perez said nothing. He knew all this, but Sophie had to tell the tale in her own words.

She continued: ‘That was where Hattie met Paul. She fell for him. I mean absolutely head over heels. She admitted that to me. He was married but when’s that ever stopped anyone?’

Now Perez did interject. ‘Did she know he was married?’

‘Maybe not. She was so naïve, it probably never occurred to her. He must have been flattered. She was young, bright, quirky. He took her out a couple of times. Enjoyed her company but wanted more. Men do always want more . . .’ She paused again and continued to stare into the distance. Perez wished he knew what she was thinking about. ‘One evening, they both got drunk. He invited her into his room for coffee. She went, expecting coffee, maybe a kiss and a cuddle. Like I said, she was very naïve. Paul expected more than that.’

‘He raped her,’ Perez said.

‘No!’ she said and now she did turn towards him, shocked. ‘Not rape. That sounds horrible.’

‘Rape is horrible.’

‘They were both drunk. He misread the signals. She never actually told him to stop. Not really. Not so he understood.’

And perhaps that was true, Perez thought. Hattie had so little confidence. After a while perhaps she had just given in and let the man do what he wanted, too scared to shout and make a fuss. And afterwards she’d blamed herself instead of him. And the anger had eaten away at her and made her ill. Had it turned to paranoia here in Whalsay? Had she been scared it would happen again? Did she imagine him watching her, waiting for his moment? But everyone said she’d been happy until Mima’s death. It didn’t quite make sense.

He didn’t want Sophie to think he was blaming her. He looked out at the water too, at the reflected sunlight shifting with the movement of the waves and the windblown shadows.

‘Are you having a relationship with Berglund?’

‘No!’

Perez had an image of the two archaeologists as he’d seen them the day before, standing together outside the Pier House after Mima’s funeral, both dressed in black. Berglund had put his arm around Sophie’s shoulders, but she’d resisted and walked away. He thought she was telling the truth. He stood up, starting to feel cold. Despite the brightness of the light there was still a chill in the rock where they sat.

‘Have you discussed her allegations with Paul?’

‘I couldn’t help it. It was while we were in the kirk before Mima’s funeral. We got there early. Everything was so solemn and dreary. I couldn’t just sit there in silence. We were the first people there. There was nobody to overhear. And I had to know what he had to say for himself.’

‘What did he have to say?’

‘He laughed it off, said she was a screwed-up kid with a serious crush on him and she didn’t know what she wanted.’ She hesitated. ‘Then he warned me off: “Don’t go spreading rumours about me, Sophie. I’ve got a lot to lose.”’

‘Do you think Hattie discussed it with him when they had their meeting?’

‘I don’t know.’ Sophie’s attention seemed to be wandering now, or perhaps she was feeling the cold as much as he was. ‘Paul didn’t say anything about that to me.’

Did he warn Hattie off too? Perez thought. Or did he take more drastic action to stop her talking? As he’d said, he had a lot to lose.

‘Do you think Hattie killed herself?’ The question came out unplanned, but he found that he’d caught his breath while he waited for the answer.

‘Of course,’ she answered, looking at him as if he were a little mad. ‘What else could have happened? Though . . .’

‘Yes?’

‘I’d have thought she’d have left a note. She was always writing. It was the best way she communicated, how she made sense of things.’

He knew he should find Sandy and that the Fiscal would be waiting to hear from him, but despite the cold now he was reluctant to move. He thought Sophie had more to tell him, that he’d mishandled the situation. He hadn’t asked the right question. But Sophie had grown impatient. She got to her feet too and strode across the cropped grass of the hill back towards the car, past the loch where the clouds were reflected in the water and where soon the diver would build its nest. He was left to follow.