Wild Fire

by Ann Cleeves

  ‘You could be right. We all knew Dennis was having financial problems, but none of us saw that coming. And it’s a constant reminder, isn’t it, that grand new edifice on the hill, looking down on us? Daniel was an architect in London and he did make a terrific job of the house.’

  ‘So, there’s a kind of jealousy going on too?’

  The girls had now collapsed into a giggling heap on the grass. The moody Cassie of the morning had disappeared.

  ‘That’s certainly the case with Helena’s knitwear. Her work is famous because she’s a brilliant designer, not because she’s ripped off a few ancient Fair Isle patterns.’ Moncrieff paused for a moment. ‘And of course it helps that my talented wife is working on her publicity.’

  ‘Belle’s working for Helena now?’

  ‘Mm, she started doing odd bits and pieces of local media, but she still has her old press contacts in London and now she does all Helena’s PR stuff. She loves it.’ Moncrieff paused. ‘She and Helena are going to London in a few weeks’ time for a special exhibition. God knows how I’ll manage with all the kids on my own.’

  ‘I thought you had a nanny! You won’t be quite on your own.’

  ‘Ah well, yes.’ Moncrieff looked a little sheepish. ‘Emma started with us when Sam was still a baby and Belle hadn’t long given birth to Kate. She’s fine with the little ones, but really not up to dealing with teenage tantrums. Did you know Martha is sixteen now?’ He began a tale about his eldest daughter and the woes of standard-grade exams; how Martha was a member of the Deltaness rowing team and recently they’d beaten all-comers in the Whiteness regatta. ‘We can’t get her to take school work seriously, and Charlie’s just as bad.’

  Perez stopped listening very quickly. He was wondering why other people’s children were boring, when Cassie was clearly fascinating. He shifted his chair slightly so he could see the girls outside. They were sitting on the grass chatting, but as he watched, their attention seemed to be caught by something outside Perez’s line of vision. The hall door was knocked open and another child ran in. A boy stood just inside the room and started screaming. His hands were over his ears, as if his own voice was terrifying him. It took Perez a moment to make out the words – the boy was gasping for breath. Sweat was running down his face. The room fell silent and everyone was staring at him. The boy saw Moncrieff and ran towards him, caught hold of his hand and pulled him to his feet.

  ‘Please come,’ he said. ‘You have to come.’

  At the same moment, Perez’s phone began to ring.

  Chapter Seven

  Jimmy Perez talked into his phone as he followed Christopher and Moncrieff up the hill.

  ‘Inspector Perez, this is Helena Fleming.’

  ‘If you’re worried about your son,’ Perez said, ‘he’s quite safe. He’s here with me.’

  There was a pause and she sounded confused. ‘Christopher can’t be in Ravenswick. He’s only just left home.’

  ‘No, no. I was in Deltaness for the Sunday teas. He turned up, rather distressed, in the hall. I think he was looking for Dr Moncrieff. We’re both on our way to you.’

  ‘Ah, oh good.’ Her relief seemed so obvious that the words seemed inadequate, understated. Perez wondered if someone was listening in to the conversation. ‘Yes, that makes sense. Thank you.’

  ‘What’s happened there?’

  ‘Something terrible.’ This time there was no emotion in her voice. ‘There’s been another death. Another hanging. A young woman called Emma Shearer. I’ll be waiting for you as you approach the house. I’ll show you then.’

  Perez hadn’t been to the house when Dennis Gear died. Sandy Wilson had been the officer on call and he’d taken charge of the case. The hanging hadn’t been an unexplained death for long. Perez remembered now that Gear had left a suicide note, something self-pitying and very sad about how he’d loved the old house and felt a part of it, that something of him had already died with the renovation and it didn’t seem worth living now.

  Perez wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting of the place. Perhaps he’d been afraid of something overblown and tasteless, a simple Shetland croft house expanded until the original was unrecognizable, more suitable for Houston than Deltaness. After all, Moncrieff had described it as a ‘great edifice’. As he turned away from the community hall and got a view of the building, he saw this was something altogether surprising and quite different. No attempt had been made to alter the original house – that was still there, virtually untouched and acting almost as a storm porch to one side – but the architect had used construction materials to reference the croft in a completely new two-storey extension. This was a modernist box, all clean lines, with the symmetry of the original and whitewashed in the same way. The flat roof was covered with turf and seemed to disappear into the hillside behind it. Perez wondered what Fran would have made of it and he thought it would have delighted her.

  Helena was waiting for them. She knelt down and took Christopher by the shoulders. ‘You did the right thing fetching Robert,’ she said. ‘Absolutely the right thing. But we’ll take over now. You can go in. Dad’s in the kitchen, if you need him, or you can go back to your room.’

  Christopher nodded. He seemed calmer. Helena stood watching until she saw him go in through the door and then she turned back to them. ‘Christopher found her.’

  She led them across a paved courtyard, down a narrow path between the house and renovated outbuildings to a barn. Perez remembered the photos that had been taken here when Dennis Gear had killed himself. Then an ancient tractor had stood at one end. The man had stood on the wheel arch to throw a rope over a beam and then he’d jumped. The note had been left on the tractor seat.

  Now there was no machinery left inside – presumably the Flemings had got rid of it, and the only indication that it had once been a working croft was a pile of hay bales at one end. They were too far away from the girl for her to climb them to hang herself. Perez thought of her as a ‘girl’ when he first saw her because she had the skinny, unformed look of someone very young, but he thought Fran and Willow would have called her a woman.

  ‘She was already dead when I found her.’ Helena seemed to feel the need to justify her failure to attempt to save the woman. ‘I mean cold. Obviously dead. Besides, I don’t think I could have got her down.’

  ‘It is Emma.’ Moncrieff was standing a little behind Perez and he was staring as if he needed time to process what he was seeing. ‘Emma Shearer. Our nanny.’ Perez turned to face the man and was surprised at how still and impassive he looked. Perhaps a doctor would be used to sudden death, but this woman had been almost part of their family. Moncrieff spoke again: ‘Why would she hang herself?’

  ‘This isn’t suicide.’ Perez had been certain of that as soon as he walked into the space. ‘Not unless anyone has removed anything from the barn.’

  Helena shook her head. ‘Christopher found her. He was standing out in the yard when I saw him, making the noises he does when he’s upset. He obviously hadn’t gone anywhere else. He could scarcely move. I touched her leg, but nothing else at all. Daniel, my husband, only got as far as the door.’ She closed her eyes briefly. ‘It’s like those drawings I showed you. A nightmare.’ Meaning that literally. Perez thought she felt as if she was asleep, unable to wake up. He knew the feeling. He’d spent the first six weeks after Fran’s death living in a terrible dream. Then she turned to him. ‘But they can’t be connected, can they? Nobody would be crazy enough to commit murder just to get back at us.’

  ‘It seems unlikely,’ he said, though he knew that some killers were crazy, that the motives for murder could be ridiculously flimsy. An angry gesture made from one driver to another. Hurtful laughter. A grudge held over years. ‘I have phone calls to make. There are procedures. I’m sure you understand. I’ll need to stay here until another officer comes to secure the scene. But you can go into the house and wait. I’ll come and talk to you as soon as I can.’

  ‘I’ll have to phone Belle,’ Mon
crieff said. ‘She’ll be wondering what’s happened, and Kate’s still at the teas. The plan was that I’d take her home while Belle helped clear up.’

  Perez thought about that. The Moncrieffs could be considered suspects. They’d employed the woman, lived with her. Even if they’d had nothing to do with her death, he’d prefer to talk to them individually before they had time to share their thoughts about the woman, to make up a story that would put them in the best possible light. That was what witnesses did. But it wouldn’t be practical to keep them apart until the investigating team from the Scottish mainland turned up. He had to work within the reality of policing in Shetland; the Serious Crime team from Inverness took charge of any murder in the islands. He nodded. ‘But please tell her to be discreet.’ Word would get out soon enough. Gossip would spread like flames, licking at croft-house doors and windows, moving over kitchen tables, and bars and workplaces. ‘And can you ask her to keep an eye on Cass, until I can get someone to pick her up?’

  When he was alone, his first call was to his colleague Sandy Wilson. ‘We’ve got a suspicious death. Dennis Gear’s old place.’ He wondered how long it would take before they started describing Hesti as the Fleming place. ‘Will it take you long to get here? I can always contact Morag.’ Sandy had a new woman in his life, and Louisa was a teacher in Unst. She lived on the island of Yell, a ferry ride away, and Sandy often stayed with her. And if he was visiting his parents, they lived in Whalsay, which would involve another ferry.

  ‘I’m at home in Lerwick,’ Sandy said. ‘Half an hour.’ Perez could tell he was already moving; he could hear the man’s footsteps on the stairs. Just as well: Sandy would have to drive like a lunatic to get here in half an hour. Perez was about to replace the phone when he realized Sandy was still speaking. ‘That’s some unlucky house, huh?’ Only then did the phone go dead.

  Afterwards, Perez phoned Maggie, his neighbour. She was his first calling point to care for his daughter. There was no answer to her landline, but she picked up the mobile first time. He explained briefly that he’d been called out on a serious case. ‘Cassie’s at the Deltaness teas. I know it’s a lot to ask, but could you collect her and keep her at yours? Belle Moncrieff is keeping an eye on her at the moment.’

  ‘No problem, Jimmy. And we’re only fifteen minutes away. We were up visiting my mother in Ollaberry. You know Cassie’s bed’s always made up in our house.’

  Next, he rang James Grieve, the forensic pathologist based in Aberdeen.

  ‘Any chance you can make it onto this evening’s ferry? It’s the direct one, so it leaves at seven tonight.’

  ‘Is it really that urgent? We’ve friends coming for dinner and Nicola will kill me.’ He seemed to reconsider. ‘Though they’re not the most entertaining of our friends. University people, and Nicola deals with them much better than I do.’

  ‘It’s a young woman. I’d guess she was strangled – and then the body was strung up from a beam. Maybe an attempt to make it look like suicide, though not a very convincing attempt. Maybe some sort of message. One of the witnesses has been getting strange anonymous notes.’ Perez glanced through the rotten doors behind him at the corpse. It seemed to swing gently. ‘There are young children here. The boy who found her is autistic. I’d like the body removed as soon as we can, so that the family can get their lives back to normal.’

  James had four children of his own. ‘I’m in town anyway – Nicola sent me in to buy some decent wine. No problem about making the ferry. You’ll get someone to pick me up and bring me to the scene?’

  ‘Of course. It’ll probably be Sandy.’

  ‘And who will we have as SIO on this one, Jimmy?’ The pathologist’s voice was mischievous. Perez knew there’d been rumours about his relationship with Willow, the chief inspector of the Serious Crime Squad based in Inverness. ‘Will it be the wonderful Inspector Reeves?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ Perez could tell that he sounded defensive. ‘It depends who’s available.’

  ‘Aye, well, let’s make sure we get her, eh? She’s the brightest spark of the team. And I know the two of you have a great working relationship. Now, I’d best be going if I’m going to make that boat. I’ll call Nicola once we’ve started sailing. Then there’s nothing she can do to stop me.’

  Perez hesitated a while before making the next call. Willow Reeves was his senior officer, in effect his boss. He respected her skills as a detective. They’d worked together before, and she’d helped him when he was still grieving for Cassie’s mother, Fran, first as a friend and more recently as a lover. The relationship was complex and ill-defined, and they’d made every effort to keep it secret. He didn’t want to make demands or trade on her sympathy. Throw into the mix guilt – because he’d been responsible for Fran’s murder and didn’t think he deserved ever to be happy again – and the fact that Willow was his superior, and that meant he was confused. Except about one thing. Willow was the only woman since Fran who had moved him, who had filled his dreams. He wanted to be with her. Even now, debating which phone number to call her on, he felt a thrill.

  He’d meant to be in touch with Willow many times since her last visit to the islands. Lonely nights when Cassie was in bed and he’d sat with a dram, remembering their last night together and trying to pull together the words. But never quite finding the courage to do it, in the end always thinking: The way we left it, it’s her responsibility to phone me. Pride taking over.

  He called her personal mobile. At this time on a Sunday evening she was unlikely to be at work. She’d be in her flat looking over the river in Inverness. He’d never been there, but she’d described it to him and he could imagine how it would be: big and light and messy. It took her a while to answer and he was preparing to leave a message when she spoke. ‘Jimmy?’

  ‘I’m sorry to disturb you at home.’ Even after hearing just one word he thought she sounded tired, almost as if he’d just woken her. But the Willow he knew was indefatigable; she wouldn’t have been sleeping at six o’clock in the evening.

  ‘It’s nice to hear from you.’ Her voice was guarded.

  ‘We’ve got a suspicious death.’

  ‘Ah,’ she said, ‘so this is work, is it, Jimmy? And I thought it was me you wanted to talk to.’

  He was surprised by the bitterness in her voice. ‘I do. Of course.’ He paused. ‘I’m sorry. I suppose I wasn’t sure if you wanted to hear from me. I didn’t want to bring all that back. The stuff that happened when you were last here.’ The fact that you almost died, that I almost lost you too.

  ‘No, I’m sorry that I snapped. I’m just tired. Tell me about this case.’ She almost sounded like herself again.

  He told Willow everything he knew. ‘Can you make it? Or are you tied up with other investigations?’

  There was a moment’s silence. He heard sheep on the hill and waves breaking on the beach below the house. Shetland sounds. He wondered if she could hear them on the other end of the line.

  ‘You know I’m never too busy to spend time on the islands, Jimmy. I’ll book myself onto the first flight in the morning.’ He sensed there was something else she wanted to say and waited. Nothing. It seemed she was waiting for him to answer, because when she spoke again it was with a touch of impatience. ‘Will you be there to pick me up, then?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Good.’ This time there was a shorter pause. ‘Come by yourself, will you? There’s something we need to discuss.’

  The line went dead. He thought: She’s going to tell me that there’s another man in her life. She’s too classy to tell me on the phone.

  In the distance, he saw Sandy’s car driving through Deltaness and making its way up the track towards the house.

  Chapter Eight

  When Perez turned away to make his phone calls, Helena led Robert Moncrieff into the house, into the big, light kitchen where the family spent most of their time. He looked around as if the place was strange to him, but of course he’d been there before. The Moncrie
ffs had been their first visitors after they’d moved to Deltaness. Helena remembered shared suppers at the long table that Daniel had found in a sale in Lerwick. According to Moncrieff, in the past it had stood in the dining room at the Anderson High and the staff had sat around it. One particular evening returned vividly: the meal over, she and Belle had been discussing their plans for the future over a sharp red wine, while Robert and Daniel had struggled to make any kind of conversation and they’d all drunk far too much.

  After speaking to Perez in the courtyard, she’d asked Robert where he’d like to wait for the police, but he hadn’t answered. He just wandered in behind her, not speaking, and now he sat on the small sofa and looked out into the garden. Helena had never known him be quiet for so long; she always had him down as one of those people who can’t stand silence.

  She and Daniel had agonized over where to put the sofa, when they’d first moved in, and she still wasn’t quite happy. It rested against one wall and made her think of the old people’s home where her mother had spent her last months. It surprised her that the position of the sofa was so important to her, when a young woman was dead. She put on the kettle to make Moncrieff coffee and then, without speaking herself, she ran upstairs to check on Christopher.

  ‘Are you OK?’

  Christopher nodded, his eyes fixed on his screen, then turned to face her. ‘She’s dead, isn’t she?’

  ‘Yes,’ Helena said. ‘I’m sorry, she is.’

  ‘I’m not sorry.’ He paused. ‘She was there that night at the bonfire on the beach the Friday before last.’

  ‘What did happen that night?’

  ‘No,’ he said, ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ He shut his mouth tight, as he had when he was a small child and she’d tried to feed him the wrong food, using the wrong spoon. Still not looking at her, he spoke again. ‘What’s a hangman?’