Wild Fire

by Ann Cleeves

  ‘She drove Emma’s car up to Hesti,’ Perez said.

  ‘Yes, she waited until she could see the family on the hill, then drove up the track and tucked the car between the house and the barn, so it couldn’t be seen from the community hall. By that point Charlie was back from football and Robert Moncrieff had gone to the community hall. She’s a strong young woman – she rows for Deltaness in the regattas – but it would still have been too much for her to throw the rope over the beam, put the noose round Emma’s neck and string her up on her own. She’ll never admit Charlie’s part in it, though.’

  ‘She was lucky nobody saw her either driving up the track or while she was in the garden.’ Perez was totally engaged in the conversation now. ‘A place like Deltaness, where everyone’s watching.’

  ‘But somebody did see her.’ Sandy found he was losing concentration and he was impatient to move the conversation along. He had other things on his mind and he couldn’t wait to get back to Louisa. ‘Margaret Riddell.’

  ‘Margaret didn’t see Martha at Hesti that Sunday, but we know what an interest she took in other people’s business. She often watched the Moncrieff place, in the hope of catching Emma with another man. Or of seeing anything to give her ammunition to break up Magnie’s relationship with Emma. She saw Martha in the back of Emma’s car that Sunday morning. And Martha saw her.’ Willow paused. ‘Margaret was such a sad and bitter woman. If she’d just concentrated on getting on with her own life, she’d still be alive.’

  ‘Why didn’t Margaret tell us about seeing Emma and Martha together that morning?’ Sandy asked.

  ‘She wouldn’t have thought it had any significance. Emma was always driving the kids around. And she would have had to explain what she was doing spying at Ness House. The sycamores hide the place from the road. She must have been standing right in the drive.’ Willow paused. ‘Martha thought it was important, though. She brooded over it. Every time she saw the woman she was scared that Margaret was about to threaten her with what she’d seen. Margaret was outside Ness again the night of the fog. Perhaps spying had become a habit or perhaps she was just catching her breath on her way to Hesti. It freaked Martha out, though. That night, after her parents had taken a taxi to their friends’ house, she took her mother’s car. We know Margaret was scared of driving when it was foggy and we know she hated walking. She’d already walked all the way to Hesti to pass on the gossip about Daniel’s so-called affair, and I think she’d have been ready to accept a lift from anyone that night. But instead of taking her home, Martha strangled her and drove to the dunes at Suksetter.’

  Sandy knew what had happened then. He’d sat in the interview room watching Martha fall apart, the words spewing out of her, as she’d described half-carrying, half-dragging the woman to the bench that Magnie had made in memory of Dennis Gear: It’s where she would have wanted to end up. That’s what I thought. So I was doing her a favour, wasn’t I, by taking her there? It was an effort, but I knew it was the right thing to do. And the girl had stared across the table at them, begging them to understand.

  ‘Why did she leave the shoes on the beach?’ Perez asked.

  Willow shrugged. ‘I think that was probably Charlie. He found them in the boot of Emma’s car when they got back to Ness House, and he’d been carrying them around in his school bag since then. He left them below the tideline and hoped they’d disappear with the debris of the bonfire. It must have been a shock when Christopher stumbled over them.’

  Sandy was still haunted by the sight of the girl unravelling before their eyes. ‘What will happen to Martha?’

  ‘Who knows?’ Perez said. ‘Her father can afford the best lawyers. But Charlie, his golden boy, is dead and they might blame Martha for that. I hope her family will help her now. Through guilt, or because they want to be seen doing the best for her. Perhaps Martha will get the support that Emma never had.’

  Sandy stood up. ‘I need to go. Louisa’s waiting for me. There’s a teacher-training day in town tomorrow, so she’s staying over at my place.’ Then he couldn’t resist telling them. He’d planned to keep his secret and save the news for a happier time, but he couldn’t keep quiet. He’d never been brilliant at secrets. ‘I asked Louisa to marry me this afternoon. We met up for tea after the interview with the Moncrieff girl. It seemed time for something good to happen, you know, so I plucked up the nerve.’ He was aware of Perez and Willow staring at him. ‘She said yes! Can you believe that? She said yes.’ And then he was crying because some days he was even soppier than Perez, who could be the soppiest person he knew.

  When he left the house, he looked through the window and saw Perez and Willow, deep in conversation.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  It was Midsummer Day. At midnight all the beacons on the island had been lit to celebrate the solstice, an excuse for a party. Perez had gone to Deltaness the night before on impulse; it had felt the right thing to do, a way to complete the case properly. The beacon had been built again, the community glad of something to pull them together. He’d only stayed long enough to eat a barbecued burger and to watch the other bonfires lit along the coast – the fog, it seemed, had gone for good now – but he’d seen the Flemings there. The family had seemed solid enough, Daniel with his arm around Helena’s shoulders, surrounded by neighbours who might become friends. Helena had given him a little hug; he’d smelled the wood-smoke on her hair.

  He’d expected to see Christopher staring into the beacon, but he was standing a little way off, wary.

  Helena had noticed Perez watching the boy. ‘The drama on the hill seems to have cured him of that particular obsession. We should have no more trouble with him setting light to waste paper in school. He’s still into CSI, though. Maybe he’ll become a detective one day.’ She’d smiled and Perez had walked away. Now Perez was going home. Kind of. He was on the Good Shepherd on the way to Fair Isle and it felt as if he was already there, because he had family all around him. His father was skippering the mail boat, his last trip before retiring. His cousin was in the wheelhouse too. The chat was of sheep and the new teacher, and some strange hippy types who’d taken over one of the crofts but seemed to be making a go of it, despite the way they looked.

  In the passenger cabin below there were three tourists and a young woman who would spend the rest of the season as assistant cook in the field centre at the North Light. He’d had a few words with them while they were all waiting at Grutness for the boat to come in. Beside him was Willow. Perez took her arm. ‘Shall we go on deck? It’s calm enough, but this old tub rolls at the best of times and I’m not the best sailor.’ That was all true, but really he wanted to get her on her own. They’d talked long into the night after Sandy had left them, the day of Martha’s arrest, but that had just been connecting again. No plans had been made. Willow had disappeared south the following morning and he still wasn’t entirely sure how things were between them.

  His invitation for her to come with him to Fair Isle had been another impulse. He’d phoned her a few days earlier, after a sleepless night when he’d rerun in his mind his panic when Willow had appeared out of the fog in search of the Deltaness killer. The possibility of losing her and the baby seemed real now too.

  ‘I’m going to Fair Isle to catch up with my folks at the weekend. Do you fancy coming along?’ Still, even then, he had no idea what he might say to her, or how the situation between them might be resolved.

  There’d been a moment of silence. In the time that it took her to answer, he thought how crass he’d been and how thoughtless. He should have offered to go to her, not dragged her north again.

  ‘That would be lovely, Jimmy,’ she’d said. No questions and no drama. ‘Will you pick me up from the airport? I’ll get the early plane.’

  The sunshine was hazy, but once the Good Shepherd left the shelter of Sumburgh Head, they could see the silhouette of Fair Isle, clear on the horizon.

  ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘Better,’ she said. ‘Not exactly
blooming but not perpetually tired, either.’ A pause. ‘I’ve told them at work. About the baby. That I’ll need maternity leave.’

  ‘I’m sorry about how I reacted to the news. It was wrong. Entirely wrong.’

  ‘Ah, Jimmy, it was quite a relief to see you’re human like the rest of us. Not some kind of bleeding-heart saint.’ She was facing the prow of the boat and her hair was streaming out behind her, so she looked like a figurehead. Majestic. He put his arm around her and she leaned her head back against his body.

  In that moment he felt lighter, as if he could soar in the air like the gannets following the boat. The guilt and indecision that had weighed him down for so many years were gone, dumped overboard into the sea between Shetland and Fair Isle. ‘I want to be a part of it,’ he said. ‘Your life. The baby. However you want to make it work. Move to Shetland, or I’ll move to you.’

  She turned to face him. ‘Come on, Jimmy! Would you really do that? Move Cassie out of school and away from her dad?’

  ‘Her dad’s moving anyway,’ he said. ‘But yes, I’d give it all up. All this.’ He waved his arm to include the boat, the family, Shetland disappearing into the distance. ‘For you. And for our child.’

  She turned once more, so that she was facing him. ‘I’ve been offered a new post, once my maternity leave is over. Police Scotland want someone senior to cover the Scottish Islands – the Hebrides as well as the Northern Isles. It’s the government’s new thing. A nod to rural policing.’ She paused. ‘I’ve said I’ll take it, if I can be based in Orkney. They must be desperate, because they’ve agreed.’

  He looked towards Fair Isle. A group of puffins flew very low over the water. ‘Then I’ll come too.’

  She pushed him away a little, so she could look into his face. He couldn’t tell what she was thinking. She smiled, but she didn’t answer and he didn’t push her. For now, this was enough.

  The Isle was getting closer. He could see the seabirds on the cliffs. The boat rounded the point into the North Haven and he recognized his mother’s van parked near the jetty. Islanders were standing in the sun chatting, waiting to help unload the boat. He wondered what they’d make of Willow and decided he didn’t care. He’d always liked things straightforward, clear-cut. From now on, he could see that his life might be messy and ambiguous. It would take some getting used to. Willow slipped her arm through his and they looked together towards the approaching shore.

  WILD FIRE

  Ann Cleeves is the author of over thirty critically acclaimed novels, and in 2017 was awarded the highest accolade in crime writing, the CWA Diamond Dagger. She is the creator of popular detectives Vera Stanhope and Jimmy Perez who can now be found on television in ITV’s Vera and BBC One’s Shetland. The TV series and the books they are based on have become international sensations, capturing the minds of millions worldwide.

  Ann worked as a probation officer, bird observatory cook and auxiliary coastguard before she started writing. She is a member of ‘Murder Squad’, working with other British northern writers to promote crime fiction. Ann is also a passionate champion for libraries and was a National Libraries Day Ambassador in 2016. Ann lives in North Tyneside near where the Vera books are set.

  By Ann Cleeves

  A Bird in the Hand Come Death and High Water

  Murder in Paradise A Prey to Murder

  A Lesson in Dying Murder in My Backyard

  A Day in the Death of Dorothea Cassidy

  Another Man’s Poison Killjoy

  The Mill on the Shore Sea Fever

  The Healers High Island Blues

  The Baby-Snatcher The Sleeping and the Dead

  Burial of Ghosts

  The Vera Stanhope series

  The Crow Trap Telling Tales Hidden Depths

  Silent Voices The Glass Room Harbour Street

  The Moth Catcher The Seagull

  The Shetland series

  Raven Black White Nights Red Bones

  Blue Lightning Dead Water Thin Air

  Cold Earth Wild Fire

  Acknowledgements

  This is the last Shetland novel and I’d like to thank all the people who inspired and supported me throughout the series. It’s an impertinence for an outsider to write about a place that’s so special, but Shetlanders have been generous throughout. My special thanks to Ingirid Eunson for her friendship and her stories.

  Thanks to the Aberdeen support team – James and Nicola Grieve and Lorna and Robbie Dawson – for their kindness and for their willingness to share expertise with a scientific duffer. James, Nicola and Lorna get a mention in Wild Fire, but Robbie should be there too! Robert Moncrieff appears in the book through a generous donation by his wife to Bardsey Bird Observatory. Thanks to you both.

  I have worked with a number of editors on the Shetland series and I’d like to acknowledge them all here. You’ve all contributed to the success of the stories: Sarah Adams, Julie Crisp, Catherine Richards, Vicki Mellor and Marcia Markland.

  I’ve been published by Pan Macmillan for so long now that I feel like part of the family. There are far too many people to mention individually, but I’d like to thank you all for your kindness and your tolerance. Maura Wilding has become part of the team too; she’s a friend and advisor as well as an extraordinary publicist. Thanks, too, to everyone at Minotaur in the US, especially Sarah Melnyk and Martin Quinn.

  Last but not least, a huge thanks to my agent Sara Menguc, and to her associates around the world. A special mention to Moses Cardona in the US for arranging the best pre-awards party ever.

  First published 2018 by Macmillan

  This electronic edition published 2018 by Macmillan

  an imprint of Pan Macmillan

  20 New Wharf Road, London N1 9RR

  Associated companies throughout the world

  www.panmacmillan.com

  ISBN 978-1-4472-7827-6

  Copyright © Ann Cleeves 2018

  Cover photography © Shutterstock

  The right of Ann Cleeves to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  Pan Macmillan does not have any control over, or any responsibility for, any author or third-party websites referred to in or on this book.

  You may not copy, store, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  Visit www.panmacmillan.com to read more about all our books and to buy them. You will also find features, author interviews and news of any author events, and you can sign up for e-newsletters so that you’re always first to hear about our new releases.