Текст книги "Red Bones"

Автор книги: Ann Cleeves

Соавторы: Ann Cleeves
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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

Chapter Eighteen

Outside the Pier House, Hattie and Sophie stood briefly before separating. Hattie had only drunk two halves but felt disengaged and a little woozy. She wasn’t used to eating a big meal at lunchtime.

‘The boys have promised me a look round one of the big ships,’ Sophie said. ‘I’d like to see what it’s like inside and they might not ask again. Don’t suppose you want to come?’

‘Who’s going to be there?’

‘Oh, you know, the usual Artemis crew.’

Hattie shook her head. The way she was feeling a boat would make her sick, even if it were moored at the harbour. Anyway, she never knew what to say to most of the fishermen with their unintelligible voices and their stories of adventures at sea. Besides, she had other plans.

‘They said I could go out with them sometime,’ Sophie said, looking out towards the Shetland mainland. ‘There’s a spare cabin I could use. It’s got a DVD, everything. Do you think they’d take me for a spin today? The sea’s flat calm.’

She turned back to Hattie, a challenge as well as a question in her look.

‘You should be careful,’ Hattie said. ‘You’ll get a reputation.’

Sophie laughed, her head thrown back, so Hattie could see her long neck, stretched even further, much paler than her face.

‘Do you think I care about that? It’s not as if I want to make my life here.’

‘Shouldn’t you be here when Paul gets in?’ Hattie was thrown by the thought that she might have to deal with Paul on her own. She felt a return of the old panic.

‘Oh, I wouldn’t really want to go.’ Sophie grinned, so Hattie realized the woman had just been winding her up. ‘But don’t expect me back until the morning!’

She grinned again and loped away quite steadily, though she’d had twice as much to drink as Hattie. There was a rip in her jeans and the flesh of her thigh showed through. It reminded Hattie of the fat on the steak Sophie had just eaten. Hattie watched her walking away down towards the harbour. There were times when she hated Sophie for her beauty, her easy way with men, her thoughtlessness. There were times when Hattie wanted to lash out and slap her.

It seemed to Hattie that the walk down the island had a hallucinatory quality. Phrases and ideas came into her mind with no logic or reason.

April is the cruellest month.

Living in the south of England, that had never made sense to her in a literal way. Spring was a time of gentle rain and imperceptible growth. Now she thought of the last ewes lambing untended on the hill with the ravens circling above, Mima lying on the sodden ground at Setter. She repeated the phrase under her breath to the beat of her footsteps.

She wasn’t used to drinking in the middle of the day. Perhaps that was it. She hadn’t slept the previous night, consumed by a recurring paranoia that the shot that had killed Mima might really have been meant for her. The implication of that was so shocking that now she couldn’t bring herself to consider it in any detail and she allowed her thoughts to float away from her.

Instead she tried to relive the moment of finding the silver coins in the Setter dig, from glimpsing the first glint of metal. The scene was so close to what she’d dreamed of that she found it hard to believe in the reality of it. Still walking, keeping the rhythm of her feet on the road and the words of T. S. Eliot at the back of her mind, she took her hands out of her pockets and looked at them. Under the fingernails she saw the soil in which the coins had been buried. In that one moment, the instant of rubbing the earth from the dull silver, she’d justified the project, established a future for herself in the islands. Unreal, she thought. It’s unreal.

She decided to walk on to Utra. She’d ask Evelyn to open the drawer of her desk and show her the coins. There was a British Museum website with images of coins and she wanted to check it out, see if there was anything similar to her find. Evelyn had a computer with internet access. Hattie thought if she didn’t do something constructive, in her present state she’d go crazy, maybe even manage to convince herself that the find was a dream; in the past after all she’d muddled fantasy and reality. She wished Mima were still alive; she’d always helped Hattie get things in proportion.

As she walked down the track that led to Utra, she passed an elderly couple. The old man was pushing a wheelbarrow with a hoe and a fork balanced on the top. The woman carried a plastic carrier bag containing something so heavy that one shoulder was lower than the other. Hattie didn’t recognize them. They stopped; the man smiled and said a few words of greeting. He only had one tooth and Hattie couldn’t understand a word he said.

‘Good-afternoon!’ She grinned, lifted her hand. ‘Good-afternoon!’

The old woman said nothing. Further along the track, Hattie swivelled back to look at them, but they’d disappeared. She told herself that they’d turned off. Perhaps they were working in one of the planticrubs, the old woman with her grey skirt and her wellingtons, the old man with his gummy smile. But she wasn’t entirely sure that they existed at all. Perhaps they were ghosts, like the merchant’s wife at Setter and her powerful husband, conjured up by her own imagination.

Evelyn was real enough. She was standing at the kitchen table cutting meat. The knife was small with a sharp, serrated blade. There was a pile of fat and bone pushed to one side of the wooden chopping board. It made Hattie feel ill.

‘I thought I’d do a casserole,’ Evelyn said. ‘There was some of last year’s mutton left in the freezer. It needs using. Sandy’s taken some leave from work to help with the arrangements for the funeral. I never know what time he’ll be in to eat.’

‘Can I do anything towards the meal? We’re not working this afternoon.’ Hattie hoped the activity might stop the whirling thoughts.

‘You can peel the carrots if you like. I won’t ask you to do the onions. They’re big strong ones and they’ll have you crying like a baby.’

‘I don’t mind.’ Hattie thought you couldn’t make up tears, the stinging of the eyes, the taste of salt in the mouth as they ran down your face. But she sat at the table next to Evelyn and began to peel the carrots, aware of how slow and clumsy she was. She knew the older woman was watching.

‘Would you and Sophie like to come for dinner?’ Evelyn looked up from the growing pile of meat. ‘There’s plenty, and you can’t just go back to the Bod on a night like this.’

‘I don’t know . . .’ Hattie set down her knife.

‘Of course we must celebrate! It’s a dream come true. I wish I’d been there with you when you came across that first coin. This is just what we need before we put together a funding application for a big dig. I’m so thrilled for you. It’s much more exciting than the piece of old skull.’ She tipped the meat into a bowl and, using the same knife, cut an onion in half. A smear of blood was transferred to the white semicircle. She held it face-down on the board and chopped it very fast into translucent slices.

‘Would you mind if I used your computer?’ Hattie asked. ‘There are some museum websites with images. Until Val gets in, I thought I might check the coins out, see if I can identify them. And I’d like to take another look at them.’ Hattie wished she could have the feel of the coins on her fingers again; she wondered what they would smell like and imagined the sharp metallic scent of blood.

‘Why not? Just let me get this in the oven. I’d be interested in what you can find out too.’ Evelyn shook oil into a heavy pan and threw in the vegetables. Hattie saw her eyes were glistening. The onions must have made her cry.

‘Mima would have been so excited,’ Hattie said.

Evelyn stopped stirring; the wooden spoon was still in her hand. ‘We have to make plans,’ she said. ‘When we have the information back about the skull and the coins we’ll call a meeting. Perhaps something grand in the new museum in Lerwick. Or even better we could arrange something on the island. Show the folk from town what great work’s going on here in Whalsay.’ She shut her eyes briefly and Hattie saw that this was a woman with big dreams too. She was imagining a glittering evening, with all the important Lerwick folk in Whalsay, wine and canapés and Evelyn at the heart of it. ‘We can turn Setter into a museum now, a celebration of Whalsay history. Wo uldn’t that be a fine thing? We could name it after Mima.’

‘I’m not sure that would be what she wanted.’ Hattie paused, remembered conversations in the Setter kitchen, drinking tea. ‘She said she wanted a young family to move into the house when she died. She was always teasing Sophie and me. “Find a nice island lad and settle down here. You can rent this place when I’m gone. The boys won’t want it. Bring up your bairns in Lindby.”’

‘Aye well,’ Evelyn said. ‘Mima was a great one for telling other folk how to live their lives.’

She scattered flour over the meat in the bowl and tossed the mutton in it with her fingers until all the pieces were covered, then tipped it all into the pan. There was a smell of searing flesh and the oil hissed and spat. She pushed at the meat with a wooden spoon to stop it sticking.

How competent she is! Hattie thought. I’d never know how to turn a dead animal into a meal. There was a sweetish smell coming from the pan, which made her feel again that she was going to throw up.

‘I’m not sure what plans Sophie has for this evening,’ she said. ‘The boys were going to show her around Artemis. It’s just come back from Lerwick.’

‘She’s a fine boat.’ Evelyn tipped a jug of water over the stew, continued stirring while it thickened and came to the boil. ‘Call Sophie’s mobile and ask her. They won’t feed her on board.’

‘I will.’ Hattie made no move to find her phone though.

‘I wonder how Anna’s getting on with the baby,’ Evelyn said. She’d put the pot in the oven and turned, her hands still in the oven gloves. ‘She wasn’t getting much sleep last time I saw her. Maybe we should take a walk down to the bungalow. Anna was talking about working on her website if she got the chance. It would be good to put something up about the coins. The folk keen on signing up for her workshops would be interested in hearing about the project. And maybe you’d like to see the baby.’

Hattie thought that was the last thing she wanted; she’d much rather go back to the Bod and begin her plans for the project.

‘You could write something about the dig for her site,’ Evelyn went on, ‘It might persuade folks to book up. It’d help put Whalsay on the map.’

‘We can’t do that yet!’ Hattie felt anxious just at the thought of it. She looked up at Evelyn in horror. ‘We should keep the find secret for as long as we can. If word gets out you’ll have a bunch of people trespassing on the site, looking for buried treasure. It could damage the project.’ She had the image of geeky men in grey anoraks with metal detectors marching all over her dig.

Evelyn seemed not to have heard her. ‘Maybe we should take the coins to show Anna. She has a digital camera. I’d love to have a photo of them.’

‘Not yet. Paul Berglund should be coming in tomorrow. I think I should wait and see what he says.’

‘Maybe you’re right. I wouldn’t want you to get into trouble with your boss. And it would be good to keep a bit of mystery about them, before we show them to the public.’ Evelyn put the knives and chopping board in the sink to soak. ‘Come on then. Let’s go and look at your treasure.’

The desk was in the living room and locked with a small brass key, which Evelyn took from her jeans pocket. Hattie had put the coins into a clear plastic box. They were small and dull. They were in the box just to prevent the need for their being handled, but Hattie longed to touch them. ‘Imagine them being in Mima’s garden all the time,’ Evelyn said. ‘All those hundreds of years.’

Hattie shut her eyes for a moment and resisted the temptation to lift the lid of the box and put in her nose to sniff the coins. ‘I can’t do any more until Paul comes in tomorrow,’ she said. She replaced the coins in the desk on top of a file containing the Amenity Trust documents and a chequebook.

‘I’ll need someone else to countersign the cheques for the project,’ Evelyn said. ‘Mima used to do it. If we’re going to expand the project it might make sense for you to be a signatory.’

Hattie wondered how the woman could discuss Mima’s death so dispassionately. She still felt herself falling apart whenever she thought about it. What would it feel like to know that you were dying? To be lying in the grass in the rain knowing there was no one to help you or hold you? But perhaps a farmer’s wife who helped slaughter animals took death in her stride. It was all part of her competence.

Later, after they had looked at the British Museum website, they walked to the Cloustons’ bungalow. Evelyn insisted and Hattie didn’t know how to stand up to her without appearing rude or stand-offish. They found Anna in the workshop, not in front of her computer. She had switched on the light and for a moment they stood outside and looked in through the long window, watching what she was doing. She had no sense that they were there. There was no sign of Ronald.

It seemed to Hattie a terrible intrusion, to be staring in at her. The baby was in his basket on one of the big trestle tables. Next to him, some cloth was soaking in an old tin bath. Anna was carding some fleece, preparing it for spinning, combing it between the carders with strong easy movements. The process seemed very complicated to Hattie; she could work out the theory but knew she’d be useless in practice. The fleece was combed between flat hardboard sheets pierced with thin nails. Anna moved the untangled fleece from board to board, then pulled it free of the nails and curled it into a loose roll. Now it was ready for the spinning wheel. Another competent woman, Hattie thought. I can’t even peel a carrot with any sort of skill.

Then Anna noticed them through the window. Their presence had obviously startled her. She stared at them sharply before waving them to come in. She met them at the workshop door and there was a moment of awkward silence. Hattie almost expected her to send them away.

‘You’ve heard about Ronald?’ She kept her voice low, though there was no one to hear except the baby. ‘The police have decided to take no further action. They’ve accepted Mima’s death was an accident.’

‘He’s a lucky man,’ Evelyn said.

‘I know that, and so does he. He’s going out fishing with Davy for the night. I told him it would do him good to get away for a while.’

Hattie found the atmosphere in the bungalow almost unbearable. I’m going to faint, she thought.

‘At least we can go ahead and organize the funeral now.’ Evelyn walked ahead of Anna into the workshop. ‘The Fiscal has agreed to release the body.’

‘Ronald wants to be there,’ Anna said, ‘but he’s not sure what Joseph would feel about that.’

‘Joseph’s an easygoing sort of man. He’s not one to bear a grudge.’

‘Thank you.’ Anna reached out and touched Evelyn’s shoulder. ‘I hope this doesn’t change things between us.’

There was a brief pause before Evelyn said, ‘Of course not. Why should it?’

Hattie had the impression that suddenly Evelyn was very pleased with herself, but she couldn’t work out why. She’d never been any good at picking up unspoken communication. Sometimes she felt lost, a stranger in a foreign country, only half understanding the language. I shouldn’t be here, she thought. She had to control an impulse to turn and run away.

‘Have you heard about the find at Setter?’ Evelyn took a seat at the table where Anna had been sitting.

No chance of keeping it secret then! Hattie didn’t know what to say. She thought Evelyn had used her as an excuse to be there. She wanted to make her own excuse and leave, but couldn’t think of a way of doing it with any sort of dignity.

‘Tell me all about it.’ Anna leaned against the trestle and Hattie could see the swelling around her belly where the baby had been. Hattie mumbled an explanation of the significance of the coins. The baby started crying, a griping grizzle as if he was in pain. Anna lifted him out of his basket, rocked him in her arms. Suddenly she held him out to Hattie, a kind of challenge. ‘Would you mind taking him while I tidy this away? He’s got colic and he’ll scream the place down if I put him back in his basket.’ She gave a tight little smile. ‘Actually he’s been driving me mad today.’

Hattie found the baby in her arms before she could object. She held him gingerly, slightly away from her body. He seemed very light and fragile. She had a moment of panic when she imagined herself dropping him; in her imagination she deliberately opened her arms wide and he slipped from her grasp and his head cracked on the floor like one of Mima’s big white eggs. There’d be a puddle of blood. The picture was so vivid that she was surprised that there was no sound, no crying and shouting, but the two island women were chatting about the next forum meeting and seemed to take no notice of her. The baby smelled very sweet. When the time came to hand him back, Hattie wanted to protest and to hold on to him. Perhaps after all it wouldn’t be so terrible to be a mother.

Evelyn seemed to have forgotten her decision to invite the archaeologists to supper, and Hattie was pleased. She couldn’t bear the thought of another meal in the Utra kitchen, forcing herself to eat to keep Evelyn happy. She knew Sophie wouldn’t be back for hours. She’d be in Artemis with the boys, drinking and flirting, the nearest she’d get to her wild London social life here in Whalsay. Hattie wondered what else she’d be getting up to.

She started walking down the road towards the Bod. It was the beginning of dusk, what Shetlanders called ‘the darkenin’’, but there was still light enough to make out the colours of the stone in the wall and the peat on the hill. She began to think of Mima again, recalled their conversation sitting outside the house of Setter, Mima’s anger and her loud words shouted into the telephone.

Chapter Nineteen

Perez woke early. He’d been dreaming about Fran, turned and panicked when he found the bed next to him was empty. He lost the details of the dream on waking but was left with a sense of unease, a premonition of danger that he knew was ridiculous. He had to lose the notion that life away from the islands was risky. He’d seen too many parents reluctant to give their children the freedom to move away. Another week and Fran and Cassie would be home.

But he couldn’t return to sleep. He found himself running over the details surrounding Mima’s death. It was absurd to let the incident haunt him. Ronald must have killed the old woman in a freak accident. Any other explanation seemed so melodramatic that it was ludicrous. The Fiscal had been right. He didn’t really believe Sandy’s stay in Whalsay would result in fresh information. He thought they would be left with the worst possible outcome: not really knowing what had happened. He would have to live with that, but knew he would find it hard to stomach.

He’d heard Sandy talk about Mima so much that he felt he knew her well. In fact he’d only met her once, at Sandy’s birthday party on Whalsay. He remembered a tiny, bird-like woman with a surprising belly laugh. She’d matched the men drink for drink but apart from flushed cheeks hadn’t shown any sign of inebriation. It hadn’t affected her ability to dance the most intricate of steps.

He wondered what there was about her that might have invited violence. Had that sharp tongue provoked one of the Whalsay folk to kill her in a rage? Or was it something she knew? Something she’d seen? But perhaps, after all, her death was simply an accident and he should accept this most obvious explanation. What was it in his nature that forced him to question the accepted version of events? Fran said he was too sympathetic to be a cop, that he always saw the best in people, but he knew that not to be true. Everyone was capable of violence, he thought, even of killing a harmless old woman. He was capable of it himself.

Perez got out of bed and went to the kitchen to make tea. It was too early for the heating to have come on and the house was cold. He imagined the damp seeping in through the stone walls, could almost smell it. He opened the curtains and sat in the window seat looking out at the harbour, drinking coffee. Eventually he came to a decision and set off for the ferry terminal.

Paul Berglund was one of the last passengers off the Aberdeen ferry. If the archaeologist had left earlier Perez might have missed him. Some people ignored the bright voice on the PA system announcing the arrival of the NorthLink to Lerwick, they stayed in their bunks and had breakfast in the cafeteria before making their way ashore. Berglund sauntered down the gangplank almost as soon as Perez arrived. Perez wasn’t sure what he would have done if Berglund hadn’t disembarked now. Would he have waited in the cavernous terminal until the stragglers emerged? How could he justify that?

Berglund could have been a squaddie home on leave. His hair was cropped and he carried about him the sense that he could look after himself in a fight. That at least was how he came across to Perez. It seemed an odd image and Perez thought he shouldn’t make up his mind about the man without knowing him. He had no reason to think of Berglund as an aggressive man. The academic was wearing jeans and a Gore-Tex jacket, heavy trainers. He carried a small rucksack, in one of its pockets was a small archaeologists’ trowel and in the other a big knife in a sheath. Perez supposed they were tools of the trade. He wondered what excuse he could give for being here to meet Berglund. It seemed a disproportionate gesture.

‘Mr Berglund.’ As soon as he spoke he realized he’d got the title wrong. Berglund was a professor. But Berglund stopped and turned slowly, curious but not offended. At first he didn’t recognize Perez and seemed confused. Not far away a family was welcoming back a young man, a student, and there was a lot of noise. Everyone was there – both parents and a couple of children. The returning teenager seemed embarrassed by the attention, the hugs and the shrieking voices.

‘I’m sorry to trouble you,’ Perez said. ‘I wonder if I could have a few words. It won’t take long. It’ll save me a trip to Whalsay.’

Now Berglund did recognize him. ‘Of course: you’re the detective.’ A pause and a frown. ‘What’s happened now?’

It seemed a strange question. Perez wanted to ask, What were you expecting to happen? ‘I just need to complete my report for the Fiscal. Routine. I’m sure you understand. She’s satisfied Mrs Wilson’s death was an accident, but as you were on the island when it happened . . .’ It sounded an unconvincing explanation to Perez, but Berglund shrugged and nodded his agreement.

They had breakfast together in a small and steamy cafe by the harbour. Bacon rolls and tea in thick china mugs. There was nobody to overhear them. Berglund shrugged off his heavy coat and Perez saw he was wearing a hand-knitted sweater in a pattern he didn’t recognize.

‘That’s not Shetland, is it?’ Small-talk because he wasn’t quite sure how to begin.

If the archaeologist was surprised by the question it didn’t show. ‘No, my grandmother’s a great knitter.’

The pattern of the sweater and the name made Perez think Berglund’s family must be Scandinavian.

At first he seemed nervous, almost jumpy. Perhaps it was just a natural reaction to being questioned by the police. He talked too much about the dig at Lindby and the find of coins the girls had made. ‘Hattie will be pleased. It’s her commitment that set the project going. She’s a strange young woman. Obsessive. There are times when I worry about her. I hope this will take the pressure off a bit. She doesn’t need to justify herself now.’

It was warm in the cafe. The condensation on the window meant there was no view outside.

‘Have you known Hattie long?’ It had come into his mind. Of course it had no relevance to the inquiry, but perhaps he could form a proper question while Berglund answered.

Berglund considered for a moment. ‘I’ve been supervising her since the beginning of her project.’

Was that a real answer? But Perez thought he couldn’t justify following it up. Berglund’s personal life was none of his business.

‘How did you get on with Jemima Wilson? I take it you knew her?’

‘She was a joy,’ Berglund said. ‘So many landowners can be a real pain. They don’t want the hassle or the disruption of a dig. Or they expect compensation. Mima loved having the girls at her place. I think she was glad of the company.’

‘Even though she had her family close by?’

‘They’re all men.’ Berglund was beginning to relax. He’d eaten half his bacon roll, almost finished the tea. ‘She had a son and two grandsons. Not quite the same. She told me once that she’d always wanted daughters.’

‘It seems an odd kind of thing to say to a stranger.’

‘I called round one evening with a bottle of Scotch to thank her for her help. We had a few drinks and we started chatting. We got on surprisingly well. I had the feeling that if I’d been thirty years older she’d have seduced me. She must have been wicked when she was young.’

‘She has a daughter-in-law,’ Perez said.

‘Ah, that’s not at all the same, apparently. I have the impression that Mima had never really taken to Evelyn. Perhaps that’s always the way with mothers and sons. I’m an only child and sometimes I think my mother was always faintly disappointed that I felt the need of a wife at all. She should have been enough for me.’

My mother wants me to find a wife, Perez thought. She wants a grandson to carry on the family name. What will Fran make of that when she finds out? It seemed to him a terrible kind of pressure and he wondered if that had something to do with his reluctance to propose to her. Would Fran think it was all about keeping a Perez in Shetland?

‘Did Mima ever tell you what she had against Evelyn?’

‘Evelyn won’t let Joseph be himself. I think that was the essence of it.’ Berglund drank the dregs of his tea. ‘All the man wants is his croft and his friends. A beer or a few drams in the evening. A good dance once in a while with a band to play. Evelyn was interested in making him an important man in the community.’

‘Evelyn’s an important woman in her own right, isn’t she? I had the impression that she’d supported your project, and according to Sandy she’s managed to bring funds for other community events into Whalsay.’

‘Oh, I’ve got nothing against the woman. She’s been helpful to us.’

‘What else did Mima say about her?’

‘What is this about, inspector? It’s just gossip.’ But he grinned and continued without waiting for an answer. ‘Mima thought Evelyn was spending all Joseph’s money. “Why on earth does she want a bigger kitchen? What’s wrong with the old one? She’ll bankrupt the lot of us.” That sort of thing.’

‘When did you last see Mima?’

‘The afternoon before she died. Late afternoon, after the girls had gone back to the Bod. The weather was so bad that they’d left early. I was planning to leave on the first ferry the following day so I went to say goodbye. She made me tea, cut us each a slice from one of Evelyn’s cakes then got out the whisky. To keep out the cold, she said, though it was always warm enough in her kitchen.’

‘How did she seem?’

Berglund looked up sharply. ‘What possible relevance could her state of mind have if she was killed in an accident?’

‘We have to rule out all the other possibilities.’ Again Perez thought how unconvincing he must sound.

‘She wasn’t suicidal, if that’s what you mean. The idea’s ridiculous. I’ve never met anyone more full of life than Mima Wilson. She’d want to stay around just to cause mischief.’

‘Can you remember what you discussed?’

He frowned. ‘The girls. I told you they’d become like members of the family. She felt very protective of Hattie. “She’s too wrapped up in the work. What she needs is a fine young man to give her something else to think about. Don’t you think so Paul? Bring her a couple of boys up here to help on the dig.” I told her times had changed and young women wanted careers as well as families now. She said Sophie had a bit of spirit about her. She reminded Mima of herself at that age. Fond of a party.’

‘Anything else?’

‘She was going on about Evelyn again. By that time I’d had two whiskies and in the warmth of the kitchen I was finding it hard not to drop off. She said something like, “That woman’s gone too far this time. I’ll have to sort it out. Make sure I arrange things so Joseph doesn’t get hurt.”’

‘Do you know what she was talking about?’

‘Not really. Like I said, I wasn’t exactly giving the conversation my full attention. I assumed it was about island politics of some sort. I don’t know Evelyn well but she seems to build alliances then fall out with people. That sort of thing happens in the university too. I try not to have too much to do with that either.’

Perez still found it hard to think of Berglund as someone who worked in a university. His speech was too blunt and he was too big. University professors should be skinny and use long words.

‘This discovery Hattie made—’

‘Wonderful,’ Berglund interrupted enthusiastically. ‘It’s just what she needs at the beginning of her career. And fascinating. Nobody had any idea there was a house of such proportions on Whalsay. Hattie seems to have an instinct for domestic archaeology. I’m still not sure how she got it so right.’

Perez supposed the fact that Mima was shot just days before the coins were found by the students was a coincidence. He disliked coincidence, but he couldn’t see how the two events could be related. Not if things had happened that way round. Then there was the skull. Could the discovery of an ancient body have triggered these events in the present? Of course not, but he wished he knew more about it.

‘There’s no possibility that Hattie could have found coins on an earlier visit?’ He kept his voice tentative. The last thing he wanted to do was question the student’s integrity without good reason. But if Mima, or any of the other islanders, had known there was something of value on her land it would bring a new perspective to her death. It seemed to Perez a more natural order of events.