Cold Earth

by Ann Cleeves

  ‘Well,’ he said. ‘If you’re sure.’

  When they arrived back at the house in Ravenswick it was Cassie’s bedtime. Further south, the men were still working to clear the road and there was a background rumble of heavy machinery, but Cassie slept much better these days. There were fewer nightmares.

  Jimmy had made tea and a fire, when Sandy phoned. ‘What have you got for me, Sandy?’

  ‘I wondered if I could come round. There’s something I’d like you to see.’

  ‘Why not?’ It no longer felt like an intrusion to have colleagues in the house that he’d shared very briefly with Fran. ‘But tell me, have we got a name for our woman in the red dress?’ He wanted a name – a little dignity for her.

  ‘One name,’ Sandy said. ‘Or maybe part of a name.’

  He arrived more quickly than Perez had expected. He must have been ready to leave home just before phoning. There was a gentle tap on the door and then he came in, carrying a small wooden box and a couple of bottles of Unst beer. Sandy preferred lager himself, but he knew Perez liked White Wife.

  ‘We’re lucky to live north of the landslide,’ Perez said, ‘or we’d be stranded too, with no chance to get into town.’ He knew Sandy didn’t like to be rushed into giving information. It took Sandy a little time to get his thoughts in order, so the small talk was about giving him some breathing space.

  ‘I went down to Tain earlier,’ Sandy said. ‘The boys had cleared it just enough to make it safe to get in.’

  ‘Did they find anyone inside?’ But Perez thought even Sandy would have passed on a fact like that straight away.

  ‘Nothing human. The body of a cat.’ Sandy paused. ‘And that seemed kind of weird. I mean, if it had been a holiday let?’

  Perez thought that was a sensible query. ‘We need to find out who’s in charge of letting the place. A priority for tomorrow. Maybe they advertise privately through the Promote Shetland or Visit Scotland website. Someone must have a phone number for the owner in the US.’ A pause. ‘But you’re right. A cat actually inside the house does seem a bit strange.’

  ‘I think the woman’s name was Alis,’ Sandy said. ‘Spelled with an s. If it is a proper name. I didn’t find anything useful like a passport, but there was this.’ He set the box very carefully on the table, as if it was a valuable gift. ‘It was inside a cupboard and it wasn’t damaged at all by the landslide.’

  Alis. Surely that was an abbreviation. Perez lifted the lid and took out two photographs. The first was of an elderly couple sitting on a white wooden bench in a garden. The bench seemed to stand on sandy soil. The woman wore a flowery summer dress and the man had a brown face, creased like old leather. She looked rather stern, even hostile, with her feet flat on the ground. His legs were slightly splayed and he had a wide, gappy smile. Both squinted slightly because they were looking into bright sunshine.

  ‘Where do you think that was taken? Somewhere hot, I’d say. Greece? Spain?’ Perez hoped it was Spain. He wanted to believe that Alis came from the country of his ancestors. He imagined a landscape that smelled of thyme and olive oil.

  Sandy shook his head. He didn’t know anything about hot countries. How could he, when he’d never lived away from Shetland?

  ‘I don’t know. It could have been taken in a sunny garden anywhere in the world. The background’s all blurry. It could even have been taken in Shetland on a fine day in midsummer.’

  But Perez’s imagination had taken him to Spain. ‘Are they her parents, do you think?’ They’d be the right sort of age.’

  ‘Aye, maybe.’ Sandy drank his beer slowly and watched Perez take the other photo from the box.

  Two children aged about five and seven, not on the bench, but on swings in a play park. There was the same sandy soil beneath the swing. The girl was the older. She was wearing shorts and a jumper and stared defiantly at the camera. She’d lost almost as many teeth as the old man, but Perez supposed that she’d get new ones. The boy had curly hair and a smile that must have charmed old ladies. ‘And are these Alis’s children?’

  Now it was clear that Perez was talking to himself, and Sandy made no attempt to answer. Perez turned both pictures so that he could look at the back, hoping for a name or a date, but there was nothing. ‘So how did you get a name for her, Sandy?’

  ‘From the letter.’ Sandy nodded back to the box. ‘I haven’t read it all. I thought I’d wait for you.’

  Perez laid the letter on the table in front of him. There was no address from the sender at the top. The writing was precise and rather formal. He thought it must have been written some time ago. Even older people now used email and texting. Everyone had forgotten the art of writing, and any handwritten notes he received these days were sprawling and untidy.

  My dearest Alis

  What a joy to know that you’ll be back in the islands again, after so many years! I’ve so enjoyed our rare encounters on my visits south and I know you’re the same beautiful woman who first attracted me when we first met. I’m sure we can make a go of things and that we’ll have a wonderful future together.

  There was no signature at the bottom, just a row of kisses, and Perez wondered what that suggested. Perhaps this was a married man who didn’t want to leave any evidence of his adultery. Someone cautious, keeping his options open, despite his promise of a future with the now-dead woman. Or perhaps the writer felt that a name was superfluous. Of course Alis would know the identity of the writer.

  ‘And this was all you could find?’ Perez tried to keep his voice free of irritation, but he found these brief glimpses into the woman’s life frustrating. He could make up a story about the dark woman, about her parents and her children and the island man who’d fallen for her, but that would be a fiction. He needed something more concrete to help identify her.

  ‘There’s this book. I thought we might get fingerprints.’

  ‘Which will only help if she’s on our system.’

  ‘I was very thorough, Jimmy.’ Sandy had taken the words as criticism, despite Perez’s efforts. ‘Tain is a small house and there was very little left inside. If we search through the debris left in the garden, we might have more success.’

  Perez didn’t answer immediately. ‘Was there any response to the Radio Shetland appeal for information?

  ‘Jane Hay called in,’ Sandy said. ‘She thought she might have seen someone of that description in the Co-op in Brae a week ago. I was thinking I’d go and see her tomorrow.’ He paused. ‘She seems like a sensible woman. I can’t see that she’d make up something like that.’

  ‘No, I’ll talk to her.’ Perez wanted to be the person to breathe life into the dead woman. It was ridiculous but he couldn’t help himself. ‘I can call in on my way to work. She’s a neighbour. The Hay place is right next to Tain. Kevin said he hadn’t seen anyone in the house, but Jane might have done.’

  Sandy stood up and Perez led him out. Usually it would have been quiet and dark. There were no street lights here, and Magnus’s house was still empty. But further south the men were working to get the road clear for the following day, and the powerful arc-lights threw strange shadows across the hill.

  Chapter Five

  Jane Hay settled on the wooden chair and nodded to the other people in the circle. There were fewer than usual this evening. There must be friends who couldn’t get to the meeting because of the landslide. She sipped tea, waited for the latecomers and was aware of the calm and gratitude that always accompanied her here on meeting nights. The community hall was heated by a Calor gas heater and the fumes caught in her nostrils and at the back of her throat, but she was so used to them that they had become a part of the experience.

  Alf Walters spoke a couple of words of welcome and they started. Jane cleared her throat and there was a brief moment of tension as she waited for her turn. She’d been coming to meetings for more than eleven years, but she was still a little nervous.

  ‘My name’s Jane and I’m an alcoholic.’

  She stayed b
ehind for half an hour afterwards because she was sponsoring a young woman, an emergency doctor based at the Gilbert Bain Hospital, and wanted to see how she was doing. Rachel had been coming to meetings for three months, but she was still struggling. After a stressful day at work, her colleagues all turned to a glass of wine to help them relax. For Rachel one glass, or one bottle, would never be enough. She still occasionally phoned Jane in the early hours of the morning, either very drunk or needing support and reassurance: ‘I’m sorry. I’m such a failure.’ Jane could tell she was sobbing.

  Jane understood what she was going through and was always patient. ‘You’re not a failure at all. This is a disease and the treatment is brutal. If you were going through chemo for cancer, you wouldn’t be so hard on yourself.’

  Kevin was less tolerant of the late-night calls. ‘Is that one of your alkie pals, pissed again?’

  He thought Jane’s attendance at meetings was a form of masochistic indulgence. Tonight he’d had a go at her as she left the house. ‘You’ve been sober for years. Since just after the kids started school. Why do you still need all that nonsense? It’s not so convenient, you disappearing up to town two nights a week. And I’ll be worried about you being out on a night like this.’

  Usually she let it go. She couldn’t change him, just as he couldn’t change her. But she’d been tense all day. The rain and the background noise of the machinery at the landslide had stretched her nerves. The boys had been moody too, sniping at each other over the supper table, answering their parents in monosyllabic grunts. They were such different characters that usually they got on fine, but that evening she’d sensed an underlying animosity between them, something bitter and brooding. She’d felt the stress as a tightness in her arms and spine, in the twitch of a nerve in her face.

  ‘Would you rather I was drinking?’ They’d been on their own in the kitchen. The boys had disappeared to their rooms, to relieve their own tension by killing people on separate computer screens. Or so she supposed. She’d felt herself trembling, could hear the shrill voice that was almost out of control. ‘You’d rather I was disappearing off into the night and coming back bladdered in a taxi in the early hours of the morning? Not knowing where I’d been, not being able to care for the bairns and a total mess.’

  He’d stared at her without speaking for a moment. ‘You know what?’ He’d turned away to look out of the window into the dark, so she couldn’t see his face. ‘You were a lot more fun in those days. At least we could have a bit of a laugh.’

  He’d turned back to the room quickly to hug her and apologize, but she’d heard the wistfulness in his voice. She’d told herself then that the outburst was to do with Kevin feeling middle-aged; he was looking back to his youth with nostalgia. Now, driving back towards the farm, she wasn’t so sure. For the first time in years she felt the compulsion to drink. Tesco’s was still open. She could buy a bottle of wine and sit in the furthest corner of the car park, where nobody would see her. If it had a screw top, she’d have no problem opening it. She imagined the sensation of the alcohol in her bloodstream. It would relax her. The tension in her back would disappear. The jangling nerves would quieten. She wouldn’t need to drink it all – just enough to make her forget the anxieties of the day. She would drive home, be more pleasant to Kevin and the boys, and she would sleep more easily than she had for weeks. Nobody need ever know.

  At the roundabout on the edge of Lerwick she signalled to turn into the supermarket car park and then at the last minute changed her mind, causing the taxi driver behind her to hit his horn and mouth obscenities about women drivers. She took no notice and continued on the road south towards Gilsetter.

  Kevin was waiting for her. He’d lit the wood-burner and some candles. There was the smell of real coffee, beeswax and peat.

  ‘What’s all this about?’ She was shaking off her coat, pulling off her boots at the living-room door. This was her favourite room in the house, but they spent most of their time in the kitchen. He’d been sitting in front of the television, but zapped it off when he stood up to greet her. She thought he’d been dozing. He had that tousled little-boy look that he had when he first woke up.

  ‘It’s Valentine’s Day. I thought I’d remember it, for once.’

  She walked towards him and was aware of the contrast of polished floorboards and sheepskin rugs on her bare feet.

  ‘And I’m sorry about earlier,’ he said. ‘That was just crass. I don’t know why I said it. Frustrated about the weather maybe, and needing someone to blame.’ He was going to say more. Jane knew what it would be: how he couldn’t manage without her. The sort of things you might say to a housekeeper or a mother, though with a little less emotion. She put a finger to his lips to stop him talking and took him into her arms.

  Jane had just got the boys out to the bus the next day when Jimmy Perez arrived. She’d waved her sons out of the house just as she had done when they were tiny. Andy had left school the year before, but he still went into town each day. He’d started at university in Glasgow on an English course. She’d thought he’d adore it; he was the sparky one, always full of adventure, telling her about his reading, the films that he watched. But when he’d arrived back at Christmas he’d announced that he wouldn’t be going back. No reason given, and not open to persuasion. He’d found a job in the bar in the Mareel arts centre in Lerwick and it seemed to suit him; he was working with other arty young people and he didn’t mind doing the late shift, if there was music.

  Michael, the younger son, had never had ambitions to leave the island. He was doing his Highers, but they all thought he’d join the family business when school was over. They’d always known he was more practical than academic and, besides, he had Gemma to hold him here. They’d been seeing each other since they were fifteen and they already seemed like a settled married couple. Jane thought it might not be too long before she became a grandmother.

  So when Jimmy Perez arrived, the house was quiet. Kevin had been out for a while, contracted by the council to work on clearing the road. He was happy. He’d felt he’d put things right between them and he hated an atmosphere. Watching through the kitchen window, Jane saw that the inspector had his small daughter with him.

  ‘Sorry about this.’ Perez nodded towards the child. ‘The school’s closed until after the weekend. Kathyn Rogerson’s offered to mind her, but I thought I’d come here before heading off to Lerwick.’

  ‘Have you got time for a coffee?’ She was pleased that she’d already loaded the dishwasher with the breakfast plates. Jane hated mess. She was proud of this house. When she’d first moved here with Kevin, soon after their marriage, his parents had only recently moved out to a modern bungalow in town. The farmhouse had been modernized by Kevin’s father in the early Seventies and not touched again until Kevin and Jane moved in; it had had loud orange wallpaper and clashing carpets, both mostly hidden by mounds of clutter. She and Kevin had extended it, and Jane had designed it to her taste.

  ‘Why not?’ Perez smiled at her, and she thought how handsome he was, dark like a storybook pirate.

  She found crayons and paper for Cassie and sat her at the table. ‘What can I do for you, Jimmy?’

  ‘We’re trying to identify the woman who was living at Tain, the one who was killed in the landslide. You phoned in, to say you might have seen her.’

  ‘Yes.’ Jane had called the police station on impulse when she’d heard the description on Radio Shetland, before going out to her meeting. Kevin had come into the kitchen while she was making the call and, when she’d described the woman she’d seen, he’d frowned.

  ‘I was with Jimmy at Tain yesterday,’ he’d said.

  ‘You didn’t say!’ It had seemed such a huge thing, to have seen a dead woman thrown up by the tide of mud, like flotsam on a beach. She couldn’t believe that Kevin hadn’t told her.

  ‘I walked away before he found her,’ he’d continued. ‘I didn’t know anything about it, until the ambulance turned up. I helped clear a way
for them. Besides, it’s not something you’d want to remember.’ Looking back, it seemed that their argument of the night before had started there, with Kevin brooding about the imagined picture of a dead woman, holding it to himself as if it was something he couldn’t bear to share.

  Now she saw that Jimmy Perez was waiting for her to describe her meeting with the strange woman and she tried to remember the encounter in detail. ‘I was in Brae,’ she said. ‘I was up there chatting to Ingirid Eunson. I’m hoping she’ll help me out with the business this year. They have a couple of polytunnels too. She might grow some stuff for me. I’m running out of space.’

  Jimmy nodded. ‘How’s the business doing?’

  ‘Really well!’ Once the boys were at school, Jane had developed her own enterprise on the croft. She grew herbs, fruit and salads under polythene and, after a slow start, things were going well. She supplied most of the hotels and restaurants in the islands and had been approached about exporting her products to mainland Scotland and beyond. Now she had three giant polycrubs on the land closest to the house. She’d chosen a sheltered position for them but, even so, at this time of year Kevin helped her to cover them with fishing nets, pegged into the earth to stop the tunnels from blowing away.

  Jane returned to her story. ‘I stopped off at the Co-op just to pick up a couple of things for my lunch, and I saw the dead woman there. I’m sure it was her. She was buying champagne.’ She still noticed what people bought to drink. That never left her. She paused, distracted by a sudden thought. ‘If she lived in Tain, why would she be all the way north in Brae doing her shopping? There’d be more choice in Lerwick, and it’d be much closer to go there.’

  ‘Can you describe her?’ Perez’s voice was quiet. At the other end of the table Cassie didn’t seem to have heard him speaking.