by Ann Cleeves
‘Aye,’ she said. ‘There are no secrets between us now.’
‘Mima was a countersignatory to the bank account,’ Sandy said. ‘I saw the chequebook in the drawer. She knew you’d been taking the money. You thought she wasn’t interested enough to check.’
‘She had no proof.’
‘But she guessed,’ Sandy said. He thought this was the most difficult interview he’d ever taken part in, but also the easiest. He knew all the people involved so well and he knew how they thought. ‘Did she ask you about it? Is that what you were discussing the afternoon before she died?’
‘She was worried for herself,’ Evelyn said. ‘What folks would say if it came out. “I know what it is to be the subject of gossip. Trust me, Evelyn, you’d not want that. I’d not wish that on anyone.”’
‘And she’d be worried about Dad,’ Sandy said sharply. ‘About what effect this would have on him.’
‘Aye,’ Evelyn said. ‘You’re right, of course. Mima always doted on your father.’
‘Did you go back later and kill her?’ The question that had been tormenting him since he’d first realized things weren’t right between his parents.
She stared at him, horrified. He saw it hadn’t crossed her mind that he might suspect her of the murder. She still thought of herself as a good woman.
‘Did you see Ronald out with his gun and think that would be a good way to stop her talking? An accident in poor weather. If he shot her by mistake, nobody would ever know you’d been stealing. And then did you think you could make it happen like that?’
‘No!’ she cried. ‘No! Sandy, do you really think me capable of that?’
He didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t thought her capable of cheating and theft.
Now, it seemed, she felt the need to explain. ‘I could have married into one of the fishing families,’ she said. ‘Even then they had more money than the crofters. They hadn’t invested in the huge trawlers, but they were well off by island standards.’ She looked up and smiled. ‘You’d not think it now but I was quite a catch in those days. Everyone said what a bonny little thing I was. Andrew Clouston fancied me rotten, but Joseph was always the one for me. From when we were bairns at school, he was the one for me. I didn’t care about his mad witch of a mother or his lack of money.’
‘Should I go up and see my father?’ Sandy asked.
‘No,’ she said. ‘Don’t do that. Don’t disturb him. I’ve given him a pill and he’s already asleep.’
Suddenly Sandy felt very tired. He got to his feet. He would go to find Perez. It would be a very long night.
‘Where are you going?’
‘Work,’ he said.
Usually she would have been full of questions. Or she would have tried to persuade him that he shouldn’t go out on such a bad night. But she just got up to see him out. They stood for a moment at the door. Awkwardly she reached up and gave him a quick peck on the cheek.
‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘I should have asked you boys for help.’
It was the first time in his life she’d ever admitted she was wrong.
Chapter Forty-three
Fran’s decision to come to Whalsay had thrown Perez. She’d insisted on coming with him as soon as Duncan, her ex-husband, had turned up at Ravenswick to take Cassie back to Brae for the night and she’d realized she’d be free. ‘Oh come on, Jimmy. Let me come with you. I’ve not seen you for weeks. I promise I’ll behave. I won’t get in the way and I’ll do as I’m told.’ How could he resist her? How could he turn her down?
On the drive north to Laxo he’d been distracted by the scent of her, the pressure of her hand on his knee, desultory conversation about London and Cassie and her city friends. She didn’t ask about the Whalsay inquiry. Perez knew she tried not to put him in a position where he had to refuse to discuss a case. On the ferry she insisted on getting out of the car and standing outside, leaning against the raised metal ramp, so she could smell the salt, feel the air on her skin.
‘I’ve missed this,’ she said. ‘These days I don’t feel I can breathe in the city.’
He pointed out a black guillemot displaying on the sea. The sun was milky and occasionally they hit banks of mist and the land disappeared and even the sea. Then the ferry seemed weightless, as if it was floating in space, a strange airship.
In Symbister he took her to the Pier House and booked a room for them.
‘A double this time, is it, Jimmy?’ It was Jean on the desk, not quite winking but grinning like a Cheshire cat. ‘Here we go; this is the honeymoon suite.’ And it was a much bigger room than anything he’d had before there, with a view over the harbour and an enormous enamel bath as well as a shower. The wallpaper was decorated with pink blossoms as big as cauliflower heads and there was a giant mahogany bed.
At the meeting in the hall he kept looking at Fran across the room. She was talking to everyone, to Evelyn and Sandy, to Jackie Clouston and the other women pouring tea. He could tell what she was saying without hearing her words, just by the way her body moved. All the time he kept wishing that he could be on his own with her, that he could run his hands down her spine and feel the curve of her under his fingertips. The case that had been at the centre of his thoughts since Mima had died now seemed like a petty distraction.
He forced himself to focus on it. He had a limited time to work on the women’s deaths. The Fiscal had made that quite clear at their last meeting. Perez’s announcement to the island that Hattie’s death wasn’t suicide was a gamble. If it didn’t work he didn’t think anyone would ever be charged. When the event in the community hall was over he dropped Fran back at the hotel. He walked with her as far as the lobby. ‘Don’t wait up for me. It could be a long night.’
She smiled up at him. ‘This wasn’t exactly what I had in mind for my first evening back.’
He kissed her, not caring that they might be seen from the bar.
Fran stood in the doorway of the hotel and watched until he’d driven away. The fog seemed as dense as ever, bouncing back the reflection of his headlights. This is crazy, he thought. What do I expect will happen? He thought of the warm hotel room, the big deep bath.
He parked in an old quarry between the community hall and Setter and waited. There would be no action for a couple of hours at least. He heard a car pass quite close to him but he could see nothing. Time seemed to move very slowly. His mobile phone had been set for silent and suddenly it vibrated in his jacket pocket, startling him. It was Sandy, apologetic.
‘I couldn’t stay in the Pier House. I left them in the bar, set for making a night of it. I had to talk to my mother. You can understand that.’
Perez wanted to ask how Sandy was coping, but the new Sandy seemed to be managing very well without Perez to look out for him.
‘What should I do?’ Sandy said. ‘I thought I should wait at Setter. Everyone thinks I moved home after the fire.’
‘Aye,’ Perez said. ‘Do that. But no lights. ‘Did you see Cedric in the Pier Head?’
‘Aye, he says it’s done.’
‘What was the reaction?’
‘I didn’t get a chance to ask. Mrs James and Berglund were there.’
Perez eased himself out of the car. His joints already felt stiff from sitting still for so long. He walked along the road, missing the path occasionally and feeling the soft grass of the verge beneath his feet, because the darkness was almost liquid, so dense that it seemed to be drowning him.
He’d stopped for breath and in an attempt to get his bearings, when he heard footsteps on the road ahead of him. They were moving away from him and that was what he’d been expecting. It was past midnight now and this wasn’t the weather for an innocent night-time stroll. He stood very still and the sound of the footsteps disappeared into the distance.
He followed slowly, treading carefully to make as little noise as possible. This is ridiculous, he thought. We could be bairns playing hide-and-seek. This isn’t a professional way to carry on. Suddenly, there wa
s a square of light that had come out of nowhere. It was like a beacon on the land above him. It must be an uncurtained front window in Jackie and Andrew’s grand house on the hill. He thought the fog must be lifting a little if he could see that from the road. Now he was sure where the murderer was heading and he felt less lost, with at least one landmark to give him his bearings. He imagined the men going out in the Shetland Bus on nights like this with no radar and no GPS, just a chart and a compass.
Approaching Setter he felt a breeze on his face and he thought again that the mist was clearing. He must be close to the croft now, but Sandy had done as he was told and there were no lights on. Perez wished he could talk to Sandy, to warn him they were on their way, but didn’t want to risk the noise of a conversation or of a phone ringing in the house. The murderer had killed twice before and was unpredictable. He stopped walking and there was total silence except for the regular and occasional moan of the foghorn. In the distance there was a tiny, moving spark: a torch being carried by the walker. It hadn’t been visible when the fog was most dense.
The surface beneath his feet changed. They’d left the road and were on the pot-holed track leading up to the house at Setter. Ahead of him the killer stumbled; the footsteps faltered for a moment and then continued. Perez was closer now. The torchlight ahead of him shone on the wall of the house and swung to light the path around to the site of the dig. Perez caught a brief glimpse of the flotation tank, the shadow of the spoil heap. He stood still. He mustn’t be heard. Not yet. Ahead of him the light continued to move but there were no footsteps. The killer had moved on to the grass. The light stopped, then swung in a wide arc so Perez had to flatten himself against the wall of the house to avoid being seen.
A moment of complete silence.
‘Cedric!’ A man’s voice. Not angry, but almost pleading. ‘Cedric! Are you there? What do you want from me?’
Ronald Clouston was suddenly visible caught in the beam of a powerful spotlight. It looked like a searchlight swinging over no man’s land, and he was trapped in its beam, frozen and horrified. He was standing next to the trench of the dig and in the background there was the spoil heap, still shrouded in mist. Perez thought it would only take a high wall topped with barbed wire to turn this into a scene from a Cold War spy movie. Over his arm Ronald carried a shotgun.
‘Cedric.’ This time the man’s voice was firmer. ‘Stop playing games, man, we can talk about this.’
‘Cedric won’t be here.’ It was Sandy, armed with nothing more than the powerful torch. Ronald squinted his eyes against the light. Perez ran behind the men, keeping in the shadows. He crouched and waited. Even from those first four words Perez could tell Sandy was furious, angrier than he’d ever been in his life.
‘What will you do now, Ronald?’ Sandy yelled. ‘Will you shoot me too? It’s a misty night. You could say you were out after rabbits. Or will you hit me over the head with a rock and slit my wrists? Like you did to the young lass from the south.’ There was a pause and it sounded to Perez as if Sandy was sobbing. ‘How could you do that, Ronald? To a young girl?’
Clouston stood quite still in the fog and said nothing.
‘What was this all about?’ Sandy went on. ‘Family pride? Did two people have to die for the Clouston family pride?’
‘Don’t be a fool, man!’ At last Ronald was provoked to speech. The words came out as a roar. ‘Pride had nothing to do with it. This was all about money.’
He raised the shotgun. Sandy stood, his arms out wide, still holding the torch in one hand. Perez ran out into the light.
‘Give me the gun,’ he said. He spoke very slowly and quietly. ‘You can’t shoot the both of us at once.’
Ronald turned, hesitated for a moment. The inspector reached out and lifted the gun from his hands. There was a moment of resistance then he gave it up without a struggle, grateful, Perez thought, not to have to make the decision to use it. Perez dropped the gun on to the ground, then pulled Ronald’s arms behind his back so he could cuff his wrists. For a moment they stood very close as if they were performing a strange dance. Sandy lowered his hands. The inspector realized then that Sandy hadn’t known Perez was there. He’d expected to die at the hands of his friend. History repeating itself.
Chapter Forty-four
In the police station on the hill Perez sat in the interview room and waited for Ronald Clouston to come in with his lawyer. It was still dark. Perez stood at the narrow window and looked down at the lights of the town. At the end of January, during Up Helly Aa, the guizers would march right past here and there’d be the sound of pipes and chanting men, the pavements packed with watching people, their faces lit by the burning torches. Now everything was quiet.
In the corridor outside he heard murmured voices. The door opened and Ronald Clouston came in with a middle-aged lawyer and Perez’s colleague Morag. The conversation had been between the professionals; Ronald seemed to be sleepwalking. He was quite calm but his eyes were glazed. He stood by the table and would have remained standing if his lawyer hadn’t touched his shoulder and gestured for him to sit down.
Perez switched on the tape recorder, gave the date and the time, listed the people present. Then he sat for a moment. It should be his moment of triumph, but he was only aware of a terrible sadness. The story of Ronald Clouston and the Whalsay murders would be passed on like the tale of the dead medieval merchant, the Shetland Bus and Mima’s infidelity. The real and personal tragedies would be lost in the telling.
‘Why did you kill Mima Wilson?’
No answer.
‘I think it was because your father told you to.’ Perez could have been talking to himself. ‘You always did what your father told you to, didn’t you? Even after he had his stroke, he was really in charge in the big house. You could never stand up to him. He told you to leave university and work on the Cassandra and you did. Do you really have any personality of your own, Ronald? Did your parents decide it was time for you to marry and have a family, so there’d be another generation to go to the fishing?’
I understand that sort of pressure after all. I know the effect that can have on a man.
Ronald looked up, his eyes focused on Perez for the first time. ‘Anna has nothing to do with this. Leave her out of it.’
‘She will have to deal with it though. With having a husband who’s a murderer. Your son will have to deal with it.’ Then, hardly missing a beat. ‘When did you first find out your grandfather was a murderer? Were you still a peerie boy?’
They stared at each other.
Even now and knowing what the man had done, Perez suddenly felt a trickle of pity for him. What is wrong with me?
Ronald began to talk: ‘Father told me when I was taking my Highers. I was planning to go to university. Mother was fine with that but my father was furious. My place was with the family and the boat. “You don’t know what we’ve been through to achieve all this. And now you want to throw it all away.” That was when he told me.’
‘But you still went off to take your degree?’
‘Yes, I still went off. After what he told me I wanted nothing to do with the boat. I thought I’d never go back to Whalsay.’
‘You changed your mind when your father was ill?’
There was another moment of silence.
‘I suppose it was a matter of loyalty,’ Ronald said.
‘And money!’ Perez was surprised by how hard and bitter he sounded. He hardly recognized his own voice. ‘You told me yourself the money was addictive. Did you miss the good life while you were away in the south?’
Ronald said nothing.
Your father welcomed you back,’ Perez went on. ‘The prodigal son!’
Now Ronald spoke. ‘I’ll not discuss my father’s part in all this. He’s an old man and he’s ill. I confess to the murders. He should be left to live his life in peace.’
Perez felt a sudden jolt of fury. No pity now. ‘Really, I think that’s the last thing he deserves.’
Ronald
looked away.
Perez took a breath. ‘So, you refuse a discussion. Let me tell you a story then. Let me explain what’s been going on here.’ In his head Perez still had the image of Hattie’s body lying in the trench in the blood, and he wondered how he could sit here having a reasoned conversation with her killer, how he could have felt that moment of pity. Because it’s what I do, he thought. And it’s the only thing I do really well.
He started to speak, directing his words at Ronald as if they were the only people in the room, talking only just loudly enough for the tape machine to pick up his voice. ‘It’s the war. We have three brave Whalsay men working with the Shetland Bus: Jerry Wilson, Cedric Irvine, whose son now runs the Pier House, and your grandfather Andy Clouston. Saving lives. Then along comes a young Norwegian man. Per. He was brave too and deserves the dignity of a name. He’d come to Britain for a special purpose, more an accountant than a soldier, to collect money to finance the work of the resistance.’
Ronald’s eyes widened.
‘How do I know that?’ Perez went on. ‘Because a detective digs into the past. I’m an archaeologist too. I’ve spoken to the Norwegian Embassy and to historians here in Shetland. When Per disappeared he was carrying a fortune in Norwegian currency, sealed up in half a dozen tobacco tins.’ He looked up. ‘It sounds like a child’s tale, doesn’t it? An adventure story or one of the trowie myths. Buried treasure. Unreal. But it was real enough at the time. Until the fortune disappeared and everyone assumed that Per had turned traitor and taken the money with him.
‘But Per was a brave and honest man. Mima was a wild woman even then, and she’d been flirting with the good-looking stranger, who was kind to her, kinder than her husband would ever be. Jerry Wilson found them in bed together, lost his temper and killed the man. And disposed of the body with the help of his friend, who just happened to be a Clouston. Old Andy Clouston, your grandfather. News of the man’s disappearance got out, as it always will in a place like Whalsay, so they put around stories of their own: one of the tales, passed down to Cedric, was that Per had been a traitor.’ Perez paused. He wished he’d thought to bring a bottle of water into the interview room. His throat was dry and he felt light-headed through lack of sleep. He looked up at Ronald, who must have been exhausted too. He could have had no real rest since he started killing.
